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They were wrapping their arms around their partners and choking them.
“You okay, Ramsay?” Cohen asked.
I shook my head, but I couldn’t talk.
“Ramsay?”
Sweat ran down my back.
We were up next. Everyone else had done it. They’d all done it so well, made it look simple and easy, and I wanted to throw up because they didn’t know. I bet none of them knew what it was like to feel like you couldn’t breathe, to fight someone because you were so fucking scared for your life. Terrified that, at any moment, any second, you might black out, and they could kill you if they wanted. Or worse.
I bet none of them knew that.
But I did.
“Cohen? Ramsay?” Miles stepped toward us.
Everyone was watching.
I couldn’t do it.
“She’s shaking.”
“Ramsay?”
I was frozen in place. I couldn’t move.
Miles frowned, a flicker of emotion flashing over his face. “Get Scout.”
I wasn’t here anymore. I was back there with Max the night he’d gotten through the door, when he’d grabbed me and squeezed—when I couldn’t knock his hands off my throat. And the aftermath . . .
My dad.
I shook my head. “I can’t. I’m sorry. I can’t.”
Then Scout was there. “Hey. Hey.” He moved into my personal space.
I stepped back, feeling Max. Feeling him. “No.” I whimpered, and God, it sounded like it came from the depths of my soul. “No. I can’t.”
“Ramsay.” He touched my elbow and stood right in front of me. “It’s me. Me. You know I won’t do anything—”
I shook my head. “I don’t know shit. He said that too. He did.”
“Babe. It’s me.”
Babe. I shook my head. “He said that too,” I whispered.
Tears. God. Tears.
I could taste them. I hated them.
All this shit. He had no idea. No one did. One day to break us down. How much work it took to build back up. Maybe years to stand back up. Maybe never.
No one saw that. No one stuck around for the progress report. All good? That was what they asked. They wanted to hear, “Yep” so they could move on and live their lives while we were still fighting just to try to live ours.
“Hey. Hey.” Scout was still in front of me.
I shook my head, trying to get away. I was in full fight-or-flight mode.
“Hey.” He gentled his tone, touching my face. “Hey. Look at me.” His thumb swept over my cheek. I felt his forehead touching mine. “I need you to look at me.”
God. Look at him. I blinked, coming back to where I was standing.
I was at Scout’s uncle’s gym, and we were standing on a mat. Scout was in front of me, and I needed to do a chokehold technique.
I was remembering. I was back.
“I’m okay.”
“You’re not.”
I wanted to shove him away, but he was right. “He tried to choke me before,” I whispered. “I thought he was joking, but then I knew he wasn’t. He would’ve, if he could’ve. Then he did. He just kept—I couldn’t shake free.” I gasped. “I couldn’t get away from him.”
“We’re going to teach you to do that. Today. So you’ll never be in that position again. Okay? Never again.” Scout was fierce, staring at me. “Never fucking again, Ramsay. You can control it. You can say no, and you’ll not only mean it, know it, believe it, but you’ll say it as a warning to them.”
Yeah. I was down for that. That sounded good.
“To do that, I have to wrap my arm around your throat. I have to apply pressure.” He looked tortured. “But you think, and you listen, and you do what my uncle tells you to do. You think.” He touched my forehead. “That’s Fighting 101. You always have to be thinking. Okay? You think and listen and then do.”
Think.
Listen.
Do.
I nodded, my body still shaking as Scout slowly moved to stand behind me and wrapped his arm around my throat. He was barely pressing, but it didn’t matter.
I knew he could.
Miles was speaking. “You have two options, Ramsay. One, you can reach behind him and go for his nuts. That’s the easiest route, and ninety-eight percent of the time, you should choose that route. You can do that. Or you can grab his arm, twist out of his hold, use your leg to trip him, and then you can punch down.”
The nuts seemed the most logical option, but I forced myself to breathe and think and do what Scout would do. He’d go for the second option. He’d want to hit back.
I did that option, and Miles said it again. He gave me instructions, step by step.
“Grab his elbow.”
I grabbed his elbow.
“Twist down.”
I twisted down.
“Turn your head.”
I turned my head.
“Slip his hold.”
I pulled my head out of his hold.
“Yank his wrist up.”
I pulled it up behind him, forcing him down.
“Hit your knee behind his.”
I did.
“Punch down.”
I raised my hand and held.
