Page 42 of Best Man on Campus

Who am I kidding? The first thing I think of is Jazzy and her mixed promises about letting me inside her. She’s the reason I’m distracted this semester, not hockey. I’ve let her under my skin, seduced by her wild passion, her brokenness, and the possibility of making her whole.

Chapter 10

Ben

Boston, two days later, Hockey East semifinals

The crowd at the Garden is insane. I can barely hear the bang of our sticks as we stand ready to take the ice. Kace flies out of the gate as his name’s called, then it’s my turn. As my blades hit the ice the feeling of home settles over me, calming my nerves just enough to make the adrenaline rush manageable. The idea that this could be my last game if we don’t win spikes a fierce determination. That’s not happening. We’re not finished until the Frozen Four Championship is ours.

Without thinking, as we line up across the ice for the national anthem, I look into the stands behind our bench and find my mom. But the seat next to her is empty. Shit. Jazzy’s not here. The music starts up and I close my eyes against the storm of emotions, disappointment. Here and now, Ben. Keep your mind in the game.

Easier said than done. It’s not my best game, but I manage an assist for the winning goal and we pull the game out in the third period, winning 3-2. I’m as relieved as I am thrilled to step off the ice with a win and advance to the Hockey East finals. Coach is with the press. The kind with a microphone and a camera and I move fast toward the locker room, but he calls me over. Fuck.

“And here’s the leader of the hottest team in college hockey. How does it feel to know your team is assured a spot in the Frozen Four tournament whether you win Hockey East or not?”

“It doesn’t feel bad.” I grin. “But our goal is to win every game we play until we run out of games.” A spike of awareness that I’m coming to the end of my hockey career shoots through me.

“And when you finish your career with St. Paul U, you’ll start your hockey career in the NHL. Word is you’ll be drafted high. Any preference on which team you want to play with?”

This is the moment, the exact crucible of the decision that I didn’t want to face, the one truth I didn’t want to say out loud because once I do, I can’t look back. If I tell him now my intention is to go to med school, no team will bother drafting me. I’ll seal my fate. Coach begs me with a grimace and a shake of his head not to do it.

“No preference, though my home team favorite growing up was the New York Rangers.” Fuck. I have to be the world’s biggest coward, a world class prevaricator, afraid to pull the trigger on my decision.

The worst part is, I don’t know if I’m pretending I want to play hockey, or pretending I don’t want to. Maybe I’m not lying to the world. Maybe I’m lying to myself.

“You heard it, Rangers. He’s all yours. Good luck with the Hockey East finals and the Frozen Four Championship. I’m sure we’ll be talking to you again.”

Coach grins at me and follows me to the locker room. I feel like a fucking fool. I’ve given him the wrong impression, that I’ve decided to play pro hockey. It would be a big deal for him and SPU to have another pro player graduate from their roster. It would give the program an edge in recruiting new players. He slaps me on the back as we join the guys mid-celebration. Stone and Voz and a couple others are ready with a bucket of Gatorade and they heave it at us, soaking me and Coach in the shitty, sticky, and fucking cold liquid.

“Fuck.” I rip my shirt off, half laughing. Coach is soaked and doesn’t care. He laughs. A rare thing for him. He’s laughing at me and not just because I’m drenched in fucking Gatorade. He’s been trying to convince me in subtle and not so subtle ways for the last year and a half to push aside med school and play pro. Ever since he found out. Doctor Walt has talked to him about me.

On the bus ride back to campus, I text Jazzy, asking where she is, keeping accusation out of my words. I tell her I want to see her. I hit send and keep the phone in my hand as I put my head back and close my eyes. It’s only a little over an hour ride, but long enough for a nap. When we arrive, I wake and check my texts. She’s responded. She says she wouldn’t throw me out if I came over.

That’s like an open-armed invitation coming from her and I smile, stifling a yawn. As soon as we get off the bus at the Wildbeast arena, I tell the guys good night and head for my car. Kace calls after me and trots to catch up.

“Aren’t you coming back to BMOC House for a couple of beers with the guys?” he asks.

I stop and give him my attention. “I’m going over to see Jazzy.” I wait for his response as he studies me, wanting to know what he thinks.

“You serious about her?”

“What makes you say that? I’m seeing her, but it’s only been a few weeks.”

“Fuck, Ben, you’re obsessed with her. I’ve seen you date other girls before, but I’ve never seen you like this.”

“Like what?” I’m not disagreeing, because I’m no judge of my behavior right now. He’s right about me being obsessed. But I wonder how the fuck he knows.

“The way you defend her, talk about her, worry when she’s not at a game. Talked to Majik about her and have Majik watching over you like a hen instead of her usual marine.”

“Shit. You’re an observant fucker,” I say. But I smile to soften my words because I don’t really mind.

“That’s what friends do. You used to know about that.”

“You saying I’m neglecting our friendship?” My voice goes up an octave in surprise. This is not where I thought this conversation would go, like we’re a couple of girls in a sorority.

“No. Not exactly. I don’t give a fuck. This is what happens when a guy takes on a serious relationship. That’s why I’m asking. Are you serious about Jazzy?”

I want to answer him that it doesn’t matter because she’s incapable of being serious, because she’s so damaged and filled with demons she won’t let go of, I don’t have a shot. But the sad thing I want to tell him is that I want her, want badly to have a real, potentially serious relationship with her. Want to spend time with her every chance I get, want to listen to her sing, hear the hope and see the sadness dispelled, want to see all that passion she uses up on anger and fighting her demons put into the rest of her life, into relationships with friends and with me.