Page 21 of Bad Man on Campus

“For instance, your parents have the perfect marriage. Unlike my parents. I think their marriage was difficult for a while before Sky’s death. Divorce was inevitable. A relief. Dad’s remarriage is another step in the right direction, even if I do feel left out of my own family sometimes now. Like my family isn’t a family at all anymore.”

I stroke his temple and feel the pang of painful longing as if it’s my own, feel the hollowing out in my chest as if it were my own family missing, caving in my life.

“We’re not like your parents, Kace.”

“No.” He takes me in his arms and pulls me on top of him so that every part of my body molds to his. “Promise me we’ll be like your parents, Glory. Happy until we’re old and gray.”

“We will.” I say the words but at the same time I hear the last words his mother said to me and I know, in spite of his family being a mess, maybe because of it, he won’t, can’t dismiss his parents’ feelings toward me.

“What about your mom? Do you think she’ll find someone? I have this theory that if she finds a man to love her, it’ll help her heal.”

Kace snorts. “Fucking lot of good it did for my dad. He’s still messed up, still doesn’t want me to see you.” His words are a fresh punch to my gut, wounding me, making my insides tremble.

“I didn’t realize he still felt that way. What are we going to do?” I don’t know why I ask because I know there’s not a damn thing that can be done about it. The last thing I want to hear is Kace’s choice between his parents and me. Nausea wells up at the insidious awful choice.

“I’m not going to let the advice of a man who couldn’t keep his marriage together dictate who I see, Glory.”

“Don’t be so hard on your dad, Kace. It was a tough time and your mother . . .”

I don’t know what to say about her because my heart breaks for her, losing her baby girl. I can’t imagine—don’t want to imagine how it would feel to lose a child. The horror slams into me as fresh as if it all happened yesterday. My chest aches, squeezes tight until I can’t breathe. I try to force air into my lungs, but they won’t open up, it’s hard and I panic, sitting up, gasping.

“Glory, what’s the matter?” Kace sits up with me, holds me and I look at his face, trying to breathe, forcing my lungs in and out, forcing myself to feel his touch the warmth of his breath on my face. He breathes so close I can feel it. I open my mouth and take in his air and feel the panic subside, my chest loosen, my muscles relax as his gentle hold, his heat, his concerned eyes and his soft mouth on my face calm me.

Chapter 4

Kace

The west campus cafeteria is the last place I expect to be on the first day of class, but I don’t mind meeting Glory here for lunch like I’m a freshman. Last night was a confusing mess. Taking the blame for Glory’s crash was crazy, but I had to do it. I need her in my life, not in jail. The way we ended up in my bed proves it and erases any doubt. In the three years and countless women since Glory, I haven’t felt that alive or turned on or lost in another person, truly given over to them. I need her to be whole, to heal whatever’s broken, fully.

The aroma of greasy food assaults me before I reach the door. Whatever they’re serving, I knew the food isn’t going to be what I’m used to at BMOC House, so I’d asked our house cook, Majik, make me a boxed lunch for later. There’s no shortage of appetite in me.

The second I walk inside I feel the eyes, hear the whispers and the fingers and phones point my way. Sure, I’m on the hockey team, but you wouldn’t think half the student body would know who the hell I am since I wear a helmet with a cage during the games.

Lucky, or not so lucky for me, they do know me because the campus broadcast news is friendly with the hockey team. In truth, they’re more like unapologetic fans, especially with Phoebe as one of the sportscasters since last semester. Now I may as well be wearing a jersey with my name and number splashed across it in neon lights because more than a few strangers greet me. The heat of the crowded space, along with the unwanted and unwarranted attention, makes me sweat.

I spot Glory because how can I miss her? She’s standing on a bench wearing my jersey and waving her hands. And looking a lot like I remember her from high school, in the center of attention. Dooley is with her, flagging me down in the crowd. More phones are raised, filming us as if we’re in the middle of a reality TV show. There’s nothing to do but go to Glory and give in to the laugh in my hammering heart, the sweat of discomfort on my brow evaporating.

What’s more than annoying are the interested stares from too many guys in the room watching Glory and her irresistible vivacious beauty standing above the crowd in the middle of the cafeteria. It doesn’t matter to them that she’s zeroed in on me. I know all about horny college guys.

Reaching the table, I hoist Glory down from the picnic table style bench and kiss her. It’s the kind of kiss that makes it clear I’m staking my claim.

“Smile for the student paparazzi,” Dooley says and nods toward a couple of girls with phones aimed at me. They wave at me and blow kisses when I turn to them. They turn and run before I have a chance to react, as if I’m going to give chase. Jesus. Maybe I need to get out more so I don’t feel like a rare sighting, as if I’m some kind of college hockey version of Bigfoot.

Interest in me is heightened way beyond the usual. Hockey season hasn’t even started yet and my ego isn’t big enough to think I’m this big a deal on campus for no good reason. What the fuck is going on?

Dooley slaps my back and takes me in his version of a man hug. His sly smile makes him look like he’s hiding a secret. He probably is. He’s like the funnel of campus gossip, every whisper leads to his ears where it gets deposited and then redistributed or kept for safekeeping at his will. Lucky for me he’s an honorable man and knows how to keep the real secrets locked tight in his mind-vault. We all sit. There’s a tray of food waiting for me on the table.

“You gotta see this,” he says before I have a chance to settle. Glory frowns at him and he avoids her eyes. Something’s going on and he hasn’t told her, waited to tell me first. He taps his phone and slides it over. Glory is on my other side and I block her from looking at it, at least for the moment.

His Instagram feed shows and there’s a video clip of Glory’s crashed car being towed from the front yard at BMOC House. The camera pans over to the house and lands on me talking to the police. But it’s the caption that’s really disturbing.

The poster speculates about the cause of the crash, insinuating that I’m getting away with something. Worse, insinuating that I’m getting away with drunk driving because I’m a student athlete.

“Fuck.”

“I know, right? Fucking ironic,” Dooley whispers. Narrowing my eyes at him in warning because Glory is trying her damnedest to read over my shoulder, I click on the poster’s tag to find out who the fuck is making these accusations based on thin air.

“Motherfucker,” I say out loud, needing to swear again, but it’s not enough to cool my frustration. I shove the phone into Dooley’s chest. He takes it from me and slips it in his pocket in spite of Glory’s protests.