Page 2 of Bad Man on Campus

Charlie speaks first, his voice floating from outside and seeping into the connection between me and Kace, breaking the spell.

“Glory, it’s great to see you. Don’t you look like the gorgeous sweetheart you always were.” Charlie stands and gives me a hug in greeting. He’s warm and gracious and I know his hug is genuine. I’ve hidden myself away for the most part these past three years, not out of fear, but out of lack of will, out of setting priorities and working on building myself back up into a presentable person. We break from our hug and now convention would dictate that Kace and I greet each other, but the awestruck connection that first hit us is replaced by awkward tension.

This is my show and my time. So, I throw myself into the deep end. Again.

“Hi, Kace. I’d ask how you’ve been, but I’ve been reading and hearing about your hockey team for the past three years so I know you’ve been doing spectacularly well.” It’s true. A superficial and distant observation, like an ordinary fan, like I know nothing about his past or his family. Or how he feels up against my back in bed, spooning naked until dawn when he has to get up and rush home before our parents discover we’ve spent the night together.

“Glory Rose.” He says my name like a prayer, like he’s sleep walking and I’m in his dream. I know how he feels, can feel myself slipping back under his spell as he stands, as he steps into my space. His scent, his energy, his essence overwhelm me, letting loose all the emotions that I’d so carefully corralled, controlled, managed like a good girl, in the name of moving on and starting over.

When he wraps his arms around me, the bands of restraint I’d imposed turn to paper. They don’t stand a chance against the holy warmth inside the space of Kace Jennings’s hug, the solid, hard feel of him unnerving and soothing all at once. Tears flow with the inevitable ease of a summer stream, natural and real and refreshing because I don’t bother stopping them.

He whispers in my hair, something about how beautiful I am, how good it is to see me, how he hopes I’m doing well. And I feel it then, the deep well of sadness in him, the extent of how superficial his spectacular hockey accomplishments are to him. My tears stop because I can’t feel sorry for myself, not for another minute. I want to fill whatever I can of the void in his soul that I caused three years ago, because there’s not enough sorry in the universe to make up for the past, for the loss, but there is the future and joy to be had. I’m convinced of that, especially in this moment. Until he lets me go.

“I’ll get us a round of drinks,” Charlie says. “You still drink Lite beer, Glory?”

I nod. It’s a simple gesture, too small for undoing the last three years and the vow I made not to drink. But it’ll be okay. I’m not driving. And I need it tonight, this once, to settle my nerves, to be half normal with Kace after all this time. Charlie leaves in a hurry, heading in the direction of the bar and getting lost in the crowd.

“We might not see him again,” I say. I let the noise of the bar, the smell of beer and jukebox music pin me in the moment, keep me focused on now. Never mind the jittering of my guts, the deep need gnawing at me to jump his bones.

He smiles, part sad, part bemused, like he’s not sure I’m real, not sure what to make of me because I’m not the same girl he knew. He studies me and I know he notices how skinny I am.

“You don’t look like you’ve changed since the day we graduated,” he says, “except I know you have.”

Boom. There it is. He’s braver than I expected. Braver than he was three years ago when he left for college. But the wounds were too fresh then to talk. My smile falters.

“I’m skinnier,” I say, not so bravely. Then I suck it up. “No, you’re right. I have changed. I’ve come a long way. Time. Hard work helps. Needing to move on, to think of my mom and dad and deal with… life.”

He nods. “I’m so sorry, Glory—”

“You? Sorry? For what? You did nothing wrong.” Of all the things he could say, this is worst of all. And it makes no sense.

“Yes, I did. I should have supported you, been there for you. I should have called you yesterday when I got here.” He pulls his phone from his pocket, taps and scrolls and shows me the unsent text. To me. “I was too chicken to send it. Too fucking chickenshit to call or knock on your door.”

I scoff, make a harsh sound in my throat. “Don’t be ridiculous, Kace. Why should you?”

“I shouldn’t have left you on your own all these years.”

“You did the right thing. You were the one hurt through no fault of your own. I stole—”

“It was an accident.” He speaks with such defiance that my eyes widen and I shut up, stop breathing. “It wasn’t your fault. I know that. I always knew it, but now I really get it. The reality has taken a while to take root after the emotional fallout. And for that I’m sorry. I wish I could go back and be stronger for you—”

“No. No need. No going back.” I don’t believe I say the words, but it’s clear to me now. He’s not the same boy I knew any more than I’m the same girl he knew. Whatever we had is gone, dispersed like a pile of fairy dust hit by a nuclear bomb.

Charlie comes back with the drinks and I barely stifle my urge to down the whole glass of white wine like it’s a shot of whiskey. Maybe I should have ordered a whiskey. But I haven’t changed that much.

“Thanks, Charlie.” Kace takes his mug, forces out a smile and says, “Did you know Derek Sanderson once beat Bobby Orr in a chugging contest? I swear it’s true. Part of the big bad Bruins legend from the 70s.” He crosses his heart and grins as he lifts his mug for a sip. I take a big sip of my wine.

“You so made that up,” Charlie says, laughing

“Another obnoxious hockey history fact, courtesy of Kace the hockey nerd.” I say, laughing for real.

“You mean fascinating hockey history, right?” he says. It was a thing of his, apparently still is. He’d read every book about hockey, all the biographies of the great players, all the histories of the old teams, the origin of the NHL and old hockey colleges. Everything I never knew I wanted to know about hockey came from Kace. But I had fun learning because he loved the sport, loved sharing his passion. He revered hockey and I wonder if he still does.

“You going to school in the fall, Glory?” Charlie asks me, but I look at Kace when I give the answer.

“I got my full scholarship reinstated. I’m going to SPU.” I can hear the quiver in my voice and clear my throat.

“You’re coming?” Kace asks, disbelief vibrating in his voice.