Page 33 of Notorious Man on Campus

“Pit stop.” I pull the car into the lot with a gas station and convenience store and pop open my door. “Use the ladies’ room now because I’m not stopping again.”

My eyes meet Nyla’s and she gives me a smile and salute.

“Yes, sir.” I don’t even smirk in return. I make no response, giving the outside appearance that I actually have turned into the robot Allie accuses me of being.

We’re all out of the car and I take the gas pump hose from its cradle to fill the tank.

“Want anything?” Roman asks.

“Yeah. Pick me up some black licorice if they have it.” Nyla is walking toward the store and stops short. She turns and comes back to me, still aiming her painful, soul-searing smile at me. She’s still too fucking damn hopeful for her own good.

“No need to buy licorice,” she says. “I brought some with me. For you.” She pulls two sticks of the special brand of black licorice that I like from her bag and holds them out to me. My chest tightens as I accept the candy from her. Meeting her eyes, I take in the burning warmth she radiates. Emotion clogs my throat, but I don’t let it show, can’t let it show that she got to me, that her dart hit close to a bull’s-eye. I mumble a thank-you and shove the licorice in my pocket as I turn away from her to finish filling my gas tank.

* * *

I pull the car into the Forest Glen Inn and Resort where the wedding is and where we’re all staying the night. There’s a chapel on the grounds and I drop everyone off there then park the car. After slamming the car door, I walk to the chapel alone, not in a hurry. It’ll give me a chance to clear my head and have a fortifying drink of whiskey—not the oxymoron it sounds like—from my newly filled flask, compliments of Kace for his groomsmen. I stop along the way near the back entrance of the chapel and watch the guests all decked out and excited as they parade in the front door.

Lifting the flask to my lips, I don’t bother to hide it as I take another long pull. When I see the limo pull up and the bride step out, I realize I can’t put it off any longer and I go in the back door to join Kace in the vestibule.

“Glad you’re here, buddy.” Kace takes me in a man-hug, thudding me on the back and holding on an extra beat. “I know you don’t like weddings.” I nod in acknowledgement of his appreciation for my sacrifice and I vow to myself I’ll behave.

“Couldn’t miss it.” Truth, otherwise I wouldn’t be here. Wanted to miss it, but I don’t say that. He grins as he moves from one foot to another, darting glances at the open door in the direction of the chapel’s stage and podium.

“You’re nervous.” A Captain Obvious statement, but I’m surprised. He chuckles, doing nothing to ease my concern.

“Normal jitters. Happens to everyone, according to my dad.” I don’t recall my dad being nervous at any of his weddings, more like a zombie. Not worth mentioning. Not worth dwelling on.

The minister, a wiry white-haired man, waves his bony veined hand for Kace and me to come onto the dais, instructing us to stand on the right side. The raised platform is filled with flowers and a stained glass window at the back sprinkles colored light over the space. The pews are nearly full because it’s a small chapel, holding somewhere around a hundred guests, but I’m no expert. I’m used to tens of thousands of fans filling a stadium. Even so, this crowd’s energy seems more intense.

Weddings are like that, in my experience, wrought with tension and anxiety. Marriages are even worse if my Dad’s any example. Luckily his three marriages after my mom were all short-lived, and he hasn’t submitted us to the torture again since. But after the third divorce, my dad was dejected, even more closed off than he was after Mom’s death. But I didn’t care. Don’t care.

I’m still struggling to forgive him for the first stepmother. And that first painful wedding. No one blames me for not going to weddings after that, for missing three cousins’ nuptials in the process. All I know about weddings is what I’ve seen in my parents’ wedding album hidden in the attic. I used to sneak up there and look at it because those were the only photos left of my mother after the first remarriage. My mom’s disappearance from sight and discussion, turning into a taboo subject, devastated me. Fuck. I need to get out of my head and stay in the here and now. As fucked-up as the here and now is, it’s still better than reliving weddings past. I fist my hands until I feel the pain of my nails eating into my palms.

As the flower girl marches down the aisle like in a movie, removed and distant, my head buzzes. Then two bridesmaids, Glory’s cousins, do the stilted march to the heart-bracing organ music until finally Glory floats down the aisle. Even through my alcoholic, miserable haze, I admit to myself she’s pretty, acknowledge the obvious elation on Kace’s face.

But that only makes it worse knowing it’s all going to crash and burn. I look away, picking a spot in the audience, and manage to avoid looking in Nyla’s direction. But when the minister starts the ceremony in his crusty old voice, my glance meets hers and locks. I keep it there, trying to ignore the scraping of his voice like claws ripping my skin, until I hear his unexpected words, jolting me into cold awareness.

“If anyone knows of any reason why these two should not be wed, let them speak now or forever hold their peace.” A sharp pain shoots across my shoulder blades. There’s no way I can’t speak, no way to stop the elemental need to protect my friend. It’s hard-wired and unstoppable.

“I do.” My voice rings out clear and loud in the otherwise stark silence. There’s another beat of silence where I hear my own heart thudding like a kettle drum and I glance at Kace. His face is white, his mouth half open. Disbelief, shock and then outrage pass over it. The outrage sticks and morphs into all-in, one-hundred-percent anger. And it’s all aimed at me as he gets in my face. He raises his arm for a roundhouse I can see coming all the way. I’m frozen in place—right up to the moment of impact where his fist hits my cheek, whipping my head around and knocking me back. He tries for another swing, but I get my hands up and back away. The momentum causes me to stumble to the floor.

I don’t fight back. Not even my strong alpha male instincts kick in to attempt to punch him back. His outrage stuns me into the sudden realization of the cost of my actions and I’m not ready to lose one of the best friends I’ve ever had. Shoving down the panic, I’m only dimly aware of the shocked response of the guests, the shrieks, the rush of confused babbling. What was he thinking? What is he doing? And more talk like that. But the only one I’m concerned about right now is Kace.

Dylan and Roman grab his arms and pull him off me. Glory, who I expect to be crying and angry, is perfectly serene and calm. She looks at me and has nothing but compassion in her eyes as if I’m the injured party, but she quickly turns her attention away from me and focuses on Kace. Like she should.

She leads him away with the minister’s guidance to the vestibule while I still lie on the floor as if I’m too low for anyone to bother helping up.

Until I feel a hand on my shoulder and take my eyes from the closed vestibule door to see Nyla’s golden brown eyes as she leans over me, the glow of sunlight from a stained glass window surrounding her like she’s an angel. I almost smile. Her eyes speak volumes of understanding, holding that connection between us like she knows where this all comes from. Though there’s a slight tension around her mouth that tells me she’s not okay with how I handled things. The glint of censure comes through a small crack in her compassion.

“Are you all right?” Kneeling next to me, she touches my face gently around my cheek and eye and I wince in answer. Then she stands and, with Dylan, helps me up. Not that I need it. But I might have stayed on the floor longer because I don’t know if I’m ready to stand and face the music. She whispers to me, close so that her breath heats my skin and my awareness of her blocks out the death glare from Dylan.

“You need to apologize to Kace and Glory. Like now.” I look at her. She’s blocking Dylan from saying a word or maybe getting in his own punch, but I can feel the anger coming off him. Roman looks partly amused under his scowl. She continues when I don’t respond.

“Tell them the truth.” She answers my unasked question. “And then you need to apologize to the guests.” I stare her down, contemplating my options. Do I want to ruin my friendship with Kace because I know he’s making a mistake? No. Can I stand by him and help pick up the pieces when his life crumbles down the road? Yes. I should have had this talk with myself before the ceremony, but one too many pulls from my flask and my fear of weddings and marriage stopped me.

I nod and she takes my arm. She sticks to my side like she’s with me, like she’s my date, which is all wrong but I don’t shake her off. I need the bolster for my conscience to do the right thing. I nod at the expressionless minister, who’s probably seen worse than this in his career. Steeling myself, I rap twice on the door to the vestibule.

There’s a mumble from inside and, taking that as permission to enter whether it is or not, I open the door. Coming face-to-face with my friend is a lot like looking at my conscience in the mirror and not liking what I see. He sits in a chair, his bride bent over him as she caresses his face. Which is the picture of misery.