Page 17 of Bad Man on Campus

“Let’s go upstairs and talk,” Kace says.

Brick snorts. Fitz gives me a smile, the furrow still present, giving him a pained appearance. Like he has gas, so he really can’t appreciate whatever smiley thing is happening.

“See you in the morning,” Fitz says to Kace.

We go up the back stairs, presumably to Kace’s room. My steps feel shaky, and I’m not sure what to expect. I’d thought maybe our hookup at his dad’s would be our last. After what his mom said. Holding my hand as we head to the second floor reminds me of when we’d sneak upstairs in my house sometimes late at night. Back in high school. Sky would cover for him at home. In the mornings, I’d come downstairs for breakfast like I didn’t have a hot boy in my bedroom and when my parents would go out to church or breakfast or golf or wherever they would go, always together, Kace would come down and he’d make us breakfast. I’d secretly pretend we were a married couple. He would eat like a horse and I’d laugh at him, loving it, loving to watch him eat, or do anything.

He ushers me into his room and the feel of his firm hand on me, strong and hot, sends a shimmy down my spine to the spot between my thighs, making it throb. When he closes the door behind us, I turn into him and press my hips against his to let him know where my mind is.

Holding onto my hips, he moves me away from him, but not before I feel the bulge of his raging interest.

“We have to talk first.”

I close my eyes. Those words, those horrible, mean, destructive words send a chill through me. But I force my eyes open, any dizziness or buzz from earlier all but gone, and I know he’s right.

“Tell me what happened. How did you miraculously make this problem go away?” The realization that that’s what he’s done strikes me and I want to throw myself in his arms all over again. Get a grip, Glory. I really do want to know how he did it. Guilt stings because maybe he shouldn’t have made the problem go away, maybe I need to face it, deal with it myself.

“I told the police I was driving the car, that I crashed it into the tree.” His jaw tics and a few heartbeats go by while his words fall like ashes after a fire, settling around the debris of my mind.

“No, you can’t—”

“I did. Problem solved.”

“But didn’t they ask why you were driving my car? How can you . . . I can’t let you lie for me.” Appalled horror shakes me to the core.

“What did you think I was going to do, Glory? Let them arrest you for drunk driving?” Again. It’s the unspoken word that settles heavily like a coal-dark blanket on my soul, a reminder of my poor choices, of past mistakes. Of another mistake. I search his face. My chest tightens as the sobering realization that my new start, finally crawling from the hole of my past undoing, will disappear and my gut slides as I tumble back into the hole deeper than before.

“Yes. Maybe you should. I’ve already been to three therapists, maybe I need to go to jail to learn my lesson.”

“You don’t need more penance, Glory Sunshine. You need to forgive yourself. And you need to stop drinking.” His face is grim as he lets go of me and paces around the room.

Shock at his words slams me. Anxiety rises like a cobra tightening around my internal organs, squeezing the life out of me. I can’t appreciate being in his room, alone, can’t take in my surroundings or lie on his bed with him. Not until we deal with the new terrible mistake I made in driving over here after having a couple of drinks. And the even worse mistake he made in lying to the police about it.

“No. There’s so many things wrong with this. You can’t do it, Kace. You can’t lie for me. We have to tell them the truth. The last thing I want to do is have you—”

“Too late. It’s done. Forget about the police. It’s fine.” His voice is clipped and he stares. There’s censure behind his eyes.

I laugh and hear the slight hysterical note as I try to keep tears from spilling again, to clear my head enough to be rational, logical. But he’s staring at me, lines of concern around his eyes. He puts an arm around me and pulls me to sit with him on his bed.

“What were you thinking?”

“I don’t know. I swear I only had a couple of beers. I didn’t think I was that . . .”

He reaches for my hand. “After all you’ve been through, all we’ve been through? I don’t get it.”

He doesn’t say after you killed my sister because you were drinking and driving, but I hear it. My head bows, collapsing into my hands. Because the thing is, he’s right. I don’t know what’s wrong with me, why I would make such a bad call. “My judgment sucks.”

“You have to promise me, Glory. No more—”

“I swear on Sky’s soul in heaven, Kace, I won’t drink and drive ever again. The car . . .” I wave a hand. “I’ll sell it. It’s a junker and I don’t know why I brought it to campus. I don’t need it.” I manage a smile. I know I can do this. “I don’t ever need to drive again.”

“What about the drinking? What did your therapist say about that?”

I look down. “Depends on which one you talk to.” Taking a deep shuddering breath, I face him. “It’s so hard, Kace. To be normal, to be around people with the guilt and remorse, with Sky’s death shadowing me, knowing she should be the one here now and not me.”

“Don’t say that,” he pulls me in. “You deserve to live as much as she did. I know she was drunk that night too, that you were driving because she was almost passed out, that you were trying to cover for her, getting her car home so she wouldn’t get in trouble.”

I lift my head, his words should sooth me, but they don’t. My penance isn’t over and there will be no redemption if I can’t get past my guilt, my sorrow, the constant evil companion of despair lurking under the surface, ready to pop. But how do I do that? I reach for Kace’s hand.