Page 51 of Big Man on Campus

“It’s all because of SADD and her vendetta against student athletes who get special treatment.” I don’t mention the traitor at BMOC house.

“Why do they suspect I was driving? I don’t get it?” She looks at me and I don’t know what she sees in my eyes, but I should know I can’t hide anything from her. “Someone told them. Someone from the house.”

Her hand goes up and she caresses my face, her eyes deep pools of empathy, all her energy and attention on me, she feels like sunshine again, warming me, making my trouble disappear when she can’t, when it’s all still there, all still in play.

The kids interrupt, tugging on us and we reassure them that their cartwheels were great. Coach blows a whistle calling an end to the break.

“Whatever you do, Glory, promise me you won’t admit anything. To anyone.”

She holds up two fingers. “Scouts honor.” Then she leans in and kisses me, a brief kiss, a pause in the universe where I feel the zap of our connection restore me, so that I can fight another day. After a quick ruffle of the twins’ heads, I say good-bye. Some of the girls wave and giggle, some of them give me sultry looks as I leave. Not one of them ignores me as I feel eyes on me walking away. I feel like I escaped a pool of sharks and wonder how Glory manages the cut-throat competition among girls for male attention as if we’re all still cavemen and fighting for survival.

No matter, I know Glory is up to it, that she has the attention of this caveman for life. No matter what.

Instead of going out through the locker room, I swing to the side gate to get off the field. The football team is straggling out of the locker room and I don’t want to run into Brick. Not that he’ll stop me from doing what I’m going to do, but I don’t want to get him involved. He’s got playoffs around the corner and enough to worry about.

Practice would be in an hour, but since I’m not going, that gives me plenty of time to get back to the house and do some investigating of my own. I’ll be skipping the usual afternoon nap today. And so will Romeo. He’s not practicing with the team today, nursing his right ankle, and we’re going to be having a talk.

Jumping on a shuttle bus because I left my car home today, I take a seat for the ride to my neighborhood just off campus while I ignore the stares. Fucking hostile stares.

A second after I lean my head back and close my eyes for the only nap I’m going to get today, my phone rings. So much for the cat-nap. So much for ignoring my new bad-boy rep on campus. All eyes are on me as my phone rings a second time.

In spite of the unfriendly crowd, I have to answer it because no one calls me unless it’s important. They usually text. Slipping my phone from my pants, I see it’s Fitz and tap it on.

“What’s up?” I keep my voice low as my gut tightens.

“Two police cars just pulled up and a troop of uniforms and a couple of plain clothes guys are heading for the front door. Got any idea why?”

“Fuck.”

Chapter 14

Kace

“Don’t tell them anything.” As my heart pounds louder than my impossibly low voice, I stand and walk to the front of the bus. “Let the guys know not to talk.”

“Of course. But maybe you should consider—”

“No fucking way. You know how much shit I’ll be in for covering up?”

“Right. The cover-up is always worse than the crime.”

I snort as I jump off the bus as it comes to a stop before the doors are fully open. The driver shouts something about fucking privileged jocks and it takes every ounce of restraint in me not to give him the finger.

“I’ll be there in thirty seconds,” I say, ending the call.

I race down the street, my heart pumping even faster than my legs, and don’t slow when I see two cruisers and another car out front. “Fuck.”

They’re holding no bars with an all-out army of cops here to question my friends. I’ve heard my dad talk about the tactic meant to prevent collaboration or time to think up common stories when a group of people need to be questioned. It’s overkill to the nth degree in a case where no one died, not even an injury, and I wonder what the fuck is going on here.

Coming to a halt at the front door as it swings open, I get my answer.

My dad stands there, arms out in front of him, to confront me. All the breath is sucked out of me.

“Where the fuck are you going in such a hurry, son?” His words punch a hole through my gut

“What the fuck are you doing here?” I’m too stunned to say anything else. He’s dressed in his plain-clothes detective attire, a white shirt, a plaid jacket and khakis, not too dressy and not too casual. He always said it was the least confrontational uniform he’d found to wear. He hasn’t dressed in his uniform in years, since he retired from the police force and went into private security consulting. Now I’m not sure what to make of him as dread pools like lead in my gut.

He takes me by the elbow and ushers me back down the front steps onto the front walk.