Page 64 of Best Man on Campus

"I wish I could blow him away all over again, but without Jazzy there, before he got to her.” I hold my shit together long enough to turn and walk out without another word, closing the door after us. When I get outside close to the road, I bend over the dirt with my hands on my knees and force air in and out of my lungs, willing myself not to spill my guts here.

“Let’s get out of here, man.” Kace doesn’t touch me, doesn’t console me and I know I owe him an apology and my right arm for dragging him on this trip to hell for a talk about the devil.

* * *

We get back to campus in time for the team meeting, but Coach may as well be talking Swahili. We hit the ice for a short practice which goes poorly. one of the guys, not Voz for a change, says something about Jazzy. Something about her wet T-shirt contest because vid clips are everywhere. A few clips of me helping her off the bar and taking her out the back door too. I should have known, should have worn dark glasses and a moustache or something. But his snicker ignites the fucking mountain-high pile of tinder inside me and I drop my gloves and take a swing, hitting something close to his jaw. It hurts like hell and I deserve it.

Coach blows his whistle, calling practice and calls me out. Kace tries to cover for me with some bullshit story about a cheap shot, but it doesn’t matter because I plead guilty.

He follows close behind me to the locker room, talking at me, low enough for my ears only.

“We got NHL scouts here. You suppose you impressed them with your play at last night’s game? Not fucking likely. No goals and two penalties. Penalties, Weaver? You’re the least goddamn penalized man on the team and you get penalties in the fucking Frozen Four tournament?” He holds me up outside the locker room door, a fist tight on the sleeve of my jersey. I have nothing to say. Not that he wants to hear it. This is meant to be a one-way conversation. “Fighting with your fucking teammate now? Get your head out of your ass. Don’t throw your chances for a fucking NHL contract down the drain for who knows what fucking reason is going through your thick head.” He shoves me aside and walks past the locker room door heading who the fuck knows where.

I’m hot, sweaty, and miserable. And I feel like a fucking ungrateful asshole, taking everything I have for granted. Fuck. Pushing through the door to the locker room, I head straight for my locker, pulling my shirt off as I go.

I thought I had a choice between the NHL and med school and now I don’t know if I have either.

After I dress, I go to the training room to find Doc Walter and remind him that I need the med school recommendation so I can send in my application.

“Can I ask you something—give me an honest answer. Why do you want to be a doctor?” he asks.

I’ve answered the question to a lot of people hundreds of times and I start to spout the same answer I always give and then stop. He sighs and nods his head.

“Not that you asked my advice, but I think you ought to reconsider med school. And not only because of your aversion for blood, though that’s a consideration. It could actually be your body telling you something. I also think you might have some regrets if you give up a chance at playing pro hockey.”

“I know. I’ve thought of it a million times, but it comes down to the fact that you can’t have your cake and eat it too. I’ll have regrets no matter which choice I make.” I pause and he doesn’t look convinced. But it doesn’t matter. I’ll get a recommendation from my organic chem professor instead. I turn to leave.

“I’ll email you my recommendation tonight,” he says as I’m walking out the door.

* * *

I mull over what doc said as I drive back to BMOC House and then I finally can’t stand it anymore. I wish I could call Jazzy and talk to her, not that she has the answers, but she has a way of giving me perspective on life, puts things where they belong. Picking up my phone, I consider calling. But the problem is that she never answers, so I toss the phone back on the passenger seat of my Jeep.

Pulling into the driveway, the problems of the day feel like a black cloud and all I want to do is eat dinner and not think about anything for one hour. The last thing I expect when I walk in the back door into the kitchen, is to see my mom sitting at the kitchen table having coffee with Majik.

“You’re here. Good.” Mom stands and holds out her arms.

“What’s going on—not that I’m not happy to see you.” My gut jitters with dread. I give her a hug and Majik goes back to her stove.

“How about if we go up to your room to talk?” I nod and yell up the back stairs to make sure there’s no naked guys running around. She laughs, but it’s not her laugh, it’s brittle. When we get to my room she sits in my desk chair and I sit on my bed.

“Is this about Dad?” I guess based on our last conversation. She nods.

“I told your dad I want a divorce—”

“What the fuck?” I jump up from my bed and go to her, but she waves her hands.

“No, let me finish. That’s what I told him to wake him up. He didn’t pay attention until I had an attorney draw up papers. But it worked. I finally got him to talk.” Her voice breaks and tears stream from her eyes now.

“What is it, Mom? What did he say?” I brace myself for news that Dad has a mistress, in spite of what Mom thinks of that idea. It would explain things, make him feel more human, more like a real man I can relate to.

But when Mom wipes her tears, she lifts her chin and her compassionate eyes, the eyes I see in the mirror every day, look pitifully sad. My gut rolls.

“Dad is dying,” she says “He finally told me he has XDR Tuberculosis—the drug-resistant kind. He caught it from a patient on his last trip to the Philippines with Doctors Without Borders.”

“Fuck, Mom.” My heart races and my chest bunches up as I fight off the overwhelming emotional response. That’s not what Mom needs from me. I lean in and hug her where she sits in the chair, her words echoing, bouncing off my brain and refusing to settle into reality. “Is he getting treatment?”

She nods. “It’s not hopeless. Thirty percent of people recover and he’s getting the newest, best drugs.”