Susanne Novan - Driven

Grinning, she jumped to her feet, glass still in hand. "Shan, you dog! I knew you weren’t ready to stop yet! Hang on a second and let me get the…ouch!…

damn…crap! Stupid thing…door open."

In quick succession, the alarm was switched off, and deadbolt released, and the lock opened. Throwing open the door, Cat greeted her late night visitor

with a beaming grin.

Which quickly faded upon the realization that not only wasn’tShaniqua Chaney standing outside, Dylan Lambert was.

"Oh. Um…Hi, Coach!" The grin returned, glaring in its insincerity.

"Catherine."

The false smile left as quickly as the real one did. "Is…something wrong?"

"Nope. Just checking to see how you’re doing."

Cat’s eyes narrowed. "And that requires a house call?"

Dylan gave a casual shrug. "Sometimes."

Cat sighed. "Well…if you went through all the trouble of coming out here to check up on me, the least I can do is let you in." Stepping back, she gestured Dylan inside with a tilt of her head.

Dylan followed, taking careful note of the apartment’s interior. It seemed a different place from the one she had left the morning after Cat’s assault.

Though hardly slovenly, the normally immaculate living space was cluttered with newspapers, books, old clothes, and beer bottles. The beautiful floor-to-

ceiling windows were all covered over by heavy black draperies pulled tight enough not to let even the faintest sliver of light through. The windows on the top floor showed a similar treatment. And Dylan knew without looking closely that the alarm system was both new and top-of-the-line.

Feeling eyes upon her, Dylan turned her attention to the couch where Cat was sitting. The younger woman was sipping from her glass, and the gaze she

leveled at Dylan was equal parts curiosity and challenge.

"So…is there anything I can help you with?" Cat asked in a deceptively mild voice.

"Like I said," Dylan replied, "I’m just checking to make sure everything’s okay with you." Her gaze darted around the room, once again noting the changes.

Cat felt her jaw clench at the cataloguing. She knew exactly what Dylan was doing; what she was thinking, and it made her guts burn. Maybe it was the

alcohol lubricating her emotions, but she didn’t feel inclined to halt her words. "Begging your pardon, Coach, but I already have a mother. I don’t need another one."

Dylan’s eyes widened for a second, then she tipped her head. Touché. She cleared her throat. "I tried to see you after practice today, but you’d already left."

Cat’s face colored slightly, and she looked down at the drink in her hand. A drink she no longer wanted. "It’s…just a stupid superstition anyway. I’m making my foul shots just fine in the games."

Dylan nodded, even though she didn’t believe a word of the excuse. "True."

"Well, is it something else? Am I not doing my job in some way? Screwing up in practice? Screwing up in the games?"

"No, no. It’s none of that. You’ve been exemplary. In practice and during the games."

At any other time, Cat might have glowed in pleasure over the compliments. Now, however, wasn’t one of those times. Her anger continued to grow. The

sane, sober part of her knew that Dylan was reaching out, trying to help. The irrational side of her slapped those thoughts away. "Then I’ll ask you again.

Why are you here? You’re my coach. You have say over what goes on in my professional life. But this, here, where we are now, is my personal life. And

unless there’s a problem that you’re not telling me, I don’t see that what I do in my personal life is anyone’s business but my own."

Dylan was quiet for a moment, absorbing the words thrust at her. Then she nodded. "You’re right. Your professional conduct has been above board and

without complaint." She nodded again. "I’m sorry for having disturbed you. I’ll see you at practice tomorrow."

With that, Dylan turned, all the while cursing herself for seven kinds of fool.

"Coach?"

Reaching the door, Dylan grasped the knob, but the tone of the soft call stopped any further action. She turned her head and was met with a look of such

pride and such pain that her chest tightened against it. Her hand slipped from the knob as she gathered her thoughts, determined to make one more try.

"Catherine." She began slowly, softly. "Cat…it’s okay to be afraid."

Cat laughed. It sounded more like a sob, but her eyes were dry.

"It’s okay to hurt."

Cat laughed again, rubbing at her face. "How would you know?" she spat. "How would you know what it’s like to be so angry all the time you feel like you’re going to explode? How would you know what it’s like to go to sleep afraid, and to wake up the same way?" She shook her head. "I mean, look at you!

You’re an Amazon, for god’s sake! How would you even begin to know what I feel?"

Dylan took in a deep breath, then let it out slowly. An extremely private woman, she knew she had a difficult choice. To say nothing, and let this escalate, or to share a bit of herself and take the chance that maybe it would help.

The decision was easier than she thought. Turning fully, she retraced her steps back into the apartment, stopping when she came level with the couch. "I’m not invincible, Catherine."

Cat snorted. "No?"

"No. I know what it’s like to have anger eating away at me, and I know what it’s like to be afraid."

"How? How do you know?"

"May I?" Dylan asked, gesturing to the couch.

"Oh. Sure." Scooting over to one end, Cat made room for Dylan to sit.

"Thanks."

A long silence fell between them.

"So?" Cat asked after clearing her throat. "How do you know?"

Dylan loosely clasped her hands, and stared down into them, as if divining the secrets of life from the lines in her palm. She kept her gaze focused there as she began to speak. "I was sixteen and had just graduated High School. I’d been given a full athletic scholarship to UCLA and I thought I was the baddest thing on two legs."

Cat responded with a genuine laugh at that. She hadn’t been too different upon her own graduation.

"I shouldn’t have been walking out alone so late at night, but I wasn’t thinking about that at the time." Dylan laughed bitterly. "I wasn’t thinking at all, really."

"What happened?" Cat was sitting forward now, elbows on her knees, drink forgotten.

"There were six of them. Big pot-bellied redneck assholes out in sunny California to do god knows what. They decided that a gang bang was the best way to end a night of boozing, and they picked me as the bangee."

"Oh no…" Cat whispered.

"I hadn’t finished growing yet. I was tall, but still pretty skinny." She clenched her hands tighter, watching as the skin turned white from the pressure. "I fought like hell, but together, they were a lot stronger than I was, and it wasn’t long before they’d beaten me down to the sidewalk. If I let myself

remember, I can still feel their hands on me, ripping at my clothes as I tried to fight them off. Even after they’d blackened my eyes and broken my jaw to shut me up, I didn’t stop fighting."

If Dylan would have looked up at that moment, she would have seen large tears rolling silently down Cat’s cheeks. She didn’t, however, as she continued to stare down into her hands, clenched to tight fists now. "I couldn’t…." She shook her head. "Anyway, before they got much further, I suddenly felt their weight lifted off of me. When I looked up, I saw these…kids…not any older than me. They were wearing gang colors and had guns, every single one of

them. And they were beating the crap out of my intended rapists."

"Jesus!" Cat swore.