Page 5 of Big Man on Campus

“Sure.” I sigh. “But sometimes life doesn’t let you believe in fairy tales anymore.”

He nods, his smile fading. The memories of those carefree times fading.

“Shit,” I say. “I’m sorry. I have to stop doing that. Stop bringing the tragic past into every moment. It’s the hardest thing, you know? Trying to stay present, focused on now, and hoping for the future.”

“I understand, Glory. You’ve been here dealing with Sky’s ghost and the repercussions every day. And I… well, I’ve had the distraction of hockey and school and a new environment and new people who know nothing about what happened.” He pauses, looking down at nothing. “You want to know the best thing about St. Paul University? It’s that nothing there reminds me of home or my family. Not one fucking thing. All the people are different, the routine is different, the weather and food are different, everything is new. Truly a fresh start.”

“I’m so glad. You have no idea how happy I am to hear you say that, Kace, that you’ve been able to move on. To get some distance and closure—”

“I didn’t say that. No closure. Avoidance isn’t closure.”

“But you’ve moved on with your life like you should.”

He snorts. “Let’s get out of here. We need to have this conversation, but it’s one we should have in private.” He stands and takes my hand, pulling me to my feet. I’m not as steady as he is, the beer has me buzzed because I’m not used to it after so long, but it feels good, dulling the ache, blurring the sharp edges of life. Funny how you don’t notice the effects of a couple of glasses of beer until you stand up and try to walk.

He throws some cash on the table and I’m surprised.

“Cash? Still? So old-school,” I say.

“I know. It’s a quirk. I like cash, the feel of it.”

“You always were a sensual guy,” I say as he wraps an arm around me.

“I still am, Glory. How about you?” We walk to the door.

“If you’re asking me if I think we should have our conversation naked, then the answer is yes.” It’s a bold thing to say, but I’m running with the moment, with the tingling shiver running along my spin and the chance for something I haven’t had in a long time. Shutting out the past, I seize the here and now, holding on tight and ready to wring every ounce out of whatever it gives me.

His eyes flare with surprise that I don’t miss, lighting me up, sparking my dormant desires, making me feel the liquid honey pool between my thighs.

“That can be arranged. If you promise you won’t hate me tomorrow.”

“I could never hate you, Kace.” I say it with meaning, and he pushes the door of Coaly’s open. When we walk outside, he takes me in his arms as the fresh night air hits us.

“You have no idea how much I’ve longed for you, Glory. But you were so out of reach.”

“I know. I couldn’t face you or anyone then.”

“Why did you turn me away that night?”

He’s talking about the night of the funeral when he came to see me. My parents let him in when I begged them not to, let him come up to my room because they were so distraught. They would have let us do anything we wanted because they were so worried about me. But I couldn’t. I was numb. I told him it was over, that his parents were right, that he should move on, that we were over. That Sky’s death was an unbridgeable divide. Because that’s what it felt like then. Now?

“I can’t stand the gulf between us, Kace. Not anymore. I was wrong to turn you away, too weak, but I’m not sorry I did. You’ve done so much, you’ve—”

“I’ve tried, but not succeeded, Glory. Not entirely. It’s not like I’m all better, like nothing ever happened. What hurt me as much as losing Sky was losing you and that’s something that I’ve come to realize more and more.”

Maybe I shouldn’t, but I read dark meaning into his words, like he’s tried other women to try to forget me. A sharp ache shoots through my chest. We get to his car and he opens my door because he’s that kind of guy. He always opened my door.

“I’ll bring you home tomorrow,” he says.

And just like that, it’s decided that I’m spending the night with him as I slip into his cool, rusty old Mustang and he gets in the driver’s side. My heart starts beating too fast again, nerves and wine making me hiccup.

“You never got your car painted.”

“I never did a lot of things I planned to do,” he says. “But maybe I will now.”

There are no cars on the road and it’s a short quiet drive to Kace’s house. It’s not one of those small-talk moments or time for lighthearted banter, as much as I’d prefer it. My gut winds tighter and tighter the closer we get until he pulls into the driveway of his childhood home.

I’ve walked by dozens of times in the past three years. It’s been my litmus test to see where I am on the emotional healing scale. Last time, a few weeks ago, didn’t prompt tears or the urge to down a bottle of beer or a pound of chocolate and stay up all night buying random jewelry on HSN. So, I figure I’m as good as half the women my age, based on the women I see reality TV shows like The Bachelor.