Page 4 of Bad Man on Campus

“You stop playing martyr,” he says. “It’s not you, not the way I remember you, the way you should be. You’re beautiful inside and out and you have so much life.”

“Do I? I don’t feel that way. At least I didn’t until I walked in here today. You’re good for a girl’s soul, Kace. Just seeing you, breathing the same air as you.”

“I’ve missed you too, Glory. It’s been like I lost two people that day and it didn’t have to be like that. Doesn’t have to be like that.”

I crack, a tear leaks, and I swipe at it. He takes my chin in his hand and searches my eyes like some old-movie hero and I feel ridiculous, so I laugh.

“Don’t mind me. I … I lost two of the people I loved most in the world that day, too. Sky and … you. That’s how it’s always felt for me. Losing Sky was my fault. Losing you was my penance.”

“No.” His voice is gruff and I see the glint of unspilled tears in his eyes and I know he doesn’t want to cry. He never cried. Not that I saw. But then he didn’t share much with me after the accident, not until the funeral. And then I had to stay in the virtual shadows because his parents wanted no part of me.

“Fuck penance. I want you in my life again.” He doesn’t blink and I want to believe him.

“It’s been three years and…” And one unbreachable gulf of death and self-loathing. “You never tried.”

He closes his eyes and snorts, self-derision showing in his tense muscles. “That’s because I’m a fucking coward.” He opens his eyes again. “You’re the brave one. You came here tonight. I swear I wanted to see you, was hoping to run into you, but I was too scared of who I’d find if I knocked on your door.”

“What do you mean?” My hammering heart can’t take much more of this tension, so I put a pin in it. “Did you think I’d look like a cast member from Return of the Zombies?”

He snorts again, but this time he smiles as he looks at me.

“I should have known you’d still be you. No thanks to me.”

“Technically.” I wave a hand, not wanting to discourage him too much, after all. “Thanks to the possibility of you. What do you say, chickenshit? Want a do-over?”

His eyes flash in shock and he laughs, but he doesn’t say yes. He’s right. I’m too eager, too flippant. Too all over the place, betraying how thin the veneer of the old me is that he’s seeing.

The waitress comes by and asks if we want another round. I desperately want to say yes and I desperately want to say no, to leave with him. A burst of desperate bravery forces me to lean forward and I say, “I don’t want to let you go tonight, Kace.”

I touch his hand. He grips mine. How do I seduce him without seeming needy? I can’t, because I am needy. Even if this night is all I get, I want it. I don’t even care if it’s the wine talking. I won’t regret it tomorrow if I get to spend the night with Kace tonight. How can I? It would be so much more than I’ve had, than I’ve expected from life for so long. Only three years. Three endless, searing years.

He shakes his head and dismisses the waitress with a request for the check.

“We can go to my dad’s place. He’s on his honeymoon for the weekend. I’m staying there alone. We have a lot to talk about, a lot of time to make up for.” He threads his fingers through mine and I see the smallest of smiles tilting one side of his mouth. That famous Mona Lisa Kace smile that I used to tease him about, the mischievous combination of dark and light, bad and good that runs through him, that makes him a dream lover. Not that, pathetically, I have anyone to compare him against.

But he does. The rush of fresh understanding that he’s been with other women slaps me and I pull my hand from his, doubt chasing away my hope and excitement. He’s had lovers to compare me to, most certainly. Fear spikes, but I force myself to meet his gaze, to look into those gray-green eyes, the lake of redemption.

I find my courage. “That’d be great. You can tell me all about your time at St. Paul’s, what I have to look forward to.”

He smiles. “And you can tell me all about what you’ve been up to. I bet you have some wild toddler stories you’ve been saving up.”

My mouth opens in surprise. “How did you know?” The idea that he might have checked up on me, heard things about me these past three years hadn’t occurred to me. He’s hardly ever returned to town, spending all his time in the summers at school or who the hell knows where, but not here in Birchtown.

“I didn’t know, but it’s easy to guess. Some things about you are in your DNA, impossible to change, like the way you love children and the way they love you, your giving and caring soul. I knew that would still be in you no matter how. . .”

“No matter how damaged my soul is?” He’s half right. “I’ve been lucky to have the children at the church day care, but they’ve given more to me than I’ve given them. I don’t know why they love me, but they still do. The little tykes don’t know about my sins, don’t care as long as I play hide-and-seek and bake them cookies.”

He smiles a smile that goes all the way to his eyes. There’s still a sadness there, like a background of gray behind everything, the same as life is for me. The sun doesn’t shine as bright as it used to no matter what the weatherman says.

“I can picture you. Same as when we were in high school and I had to tear you away from the little midgets clutching at your skirt and hanging on to your legs when I’d pick you up from babysitting after their parents got home. They thought I was a villain stealing you away.”

“I remember. The Smith kids. They would try and beat you up.”

“You didn’t help matters, telling them I was kidnapping you, taking you away on my pirate ship.”

“Kids love stories, love the black and white of good guys against bad.”

“Adults too.”