The Sowing

7. Training Day

Sebastian

"Again," Meredith was barking at me as she danced around the dusty makeshift ring. Hair restrained in a single braid down her back, she bobbed, pawing at me with the punching mitts she wore.

I wiped the sweat off my brow, hands on my hips to stabilize myself. I shook my head no.

The insufferable woman leaned in, whacking my shoulder, "You think they're gonna give you a break because you're tired? Eliminate the threat, DuPonte. Come on - one more round."

Exhausted and annoyed, I retreated in search of my water.

With blitzkrieg speed, Meredith was on my back, locking me in a chokehold. Like some kind of feral animal, she had me pressed against the sparring mat in one second. In another second, she was straddling me, arm on my throat as I struggled to suck in a breath.

"Never, ever turn your back on your enemy," she let up on my trachea, and I coughed the sensation away, suddenly both physically and mentally weary.

"When I give you an instruction, you follow it, dammit. You're gonna get your stubborn ass killed," Meredith's chest rose and fell as she sat atop me sporting her usual grimace. It was the closest I'd been to her, and although she was still hiding behind a homey long sleeve thermal, I could feel the corded muscles of her legs as she squeezed the life out of me.

I couldn't help myself. A slow grin spread across my face as I stared up at her.

"Oh, you think that's funny?" Meredith reached down to pinch my nose. I both winced and laughed through her grip.

She released her hold as I watched her tuck an errant strand behind her ear. Although grumpy, I could see the ease in her gaze; she looked comfortable.

I shook my head, still brimming with mirth despite my weariness.

Her lip curled, "You think this is a game. What a waste of fu-"

I bucked my hips upward, sending her crashing forward. It was the only self-defense maneuver I could ever remember.

She caught herself but looked momentarily surprised.

My grin was smug as I spoke, "Never underestimate your opponent."

With her normal swiftness, she held a sharp short blade to my carotid artery. Meredith whispered, "Dead."

I sighed in exasperation but didn't move an inch for fear of being nicked.

"Just like your manners," I let the smugness consume my features.

She rolled her eyes, folding the switchblade back into place.

I lifted my hands in a surrendered posture offering my most sympathetic expression, "Okay, okay. I'm sorry, but can I ask you something... personal?"

Meredith's eyes squinted as the muscles in her thighs softened against my waist.

"Are you enjoying being on top of me?"

She pushed on my chest, using the leverage to lift herself.

"What? You spent like five minutes up there!" I wheezed out a laugh, spent from training with her.

She wasn't physically stronger than me, but her skill and tactical intelligence made her lethal. I wondered if she'd performed other unverifiable duties during her service. She was special operations good.

We had hit an early morning stalemate after arriving at the range. She hadn't fussed at me as I wandered off, allowing my panic to wane. I had a sneaking suspicion that the break was as much for me as it was for her.

I shook the thought away, not wanting to make the short return trip down memory lane.

She'd marched up to me with all of her usual bravado and offered an ultimatum. If I refused to learn to shoot, I'd have to learn to fight.

"No sense in having a good for nothing yellow-belly running around," she'd mumbled, walking away.

Sitting up on my elbows, I watched her replace mitts and gloves as she scowled. I was only slightly regretting the quip.

She threw a towel down at me with more force than necessary, "You can join Merle and Tommy in the fields. Be back by dinner."

My brows knitted on their own accord, "Seriously?"

Her eyes cut at me, "As serious as a heart attack."

I was bone-tired. How she figured I'd be any kind of useful in the realm of physical labor after hand-to-hand combat training was beyond me. The regret I'd experienced blossomed like ink in water.

I maintained my composure, rising off the mat, "What time's dinner?"

"You'll figure it out. Don't be late," she was out of the barn-turned-gym before I could use the towel.

I patted my temple, smirking. To say this woman was a piece of work was an understatement. She was more snarles than smiles, and yet she was clearly trying to help me. And despite her jarring disposition, I hadn't felt safer on the perilous journey than with her. Meredith was affirming in a way I couldn't quite place; she was safe in a way I hadn't been able to discern. Had it been her egregious hospitality or her insistence that I take responsibility for my own safety?

In spite of her threats and gun-toting, I hadn't a doubt that she'd throw everything into protecting me. The thought filled me with both relief and loathing. Here I was relying on some stranger - a woman - to offer me some semblance of safety. But according to her messed up rulebook, I had to stop protecting myself in order to start protecting myself.

The dreadful feelings that had assailed me earlier returned. I stared at the polished pearl grip revolver displayed on the wall of the gym.

If my heart hadn't been frozen in trepidation, I might've laughed at Meredith's twisted sense of home decor.

I walked over to it, staring at the iridescent gleam in the light that came through the slatted windows. I reached a hand out to touch the chrome barrel, swallowing the lump in my throat.

I wasn't ready for the destruction. I wasn't equipped for the responsibility or the power. I wasn't ready to feel the weight of one again, but I was committed to trying. According to Meredith, my life depended on it.

Meredith's clucking brought me out of my reverie.

"Shit."

She sat atop her horse while holding the lead to the one I'd ridden.

I yelled at her receding figure, "How am I supposed to get back?"

Meredith returned the yell without looking back, "You got legs and a brain, don't you?"

I couldn't help the small smile on my face.

She's a pistol, that one.