Page 77 of Best Man on Campus

“Killian was a fucking creep. I hope he rots in hell for what he did to you, Jasm--Jazzy.”

Hearing her voice, hearing her say the words herself like she means it, cursing the freak Killian to hell, I believe her. But hate for her rises in me alongside the longing need all the same.

“Don’t be so self-righteous about Killian, Mother dear, he played my uncle well and convincingly, far better than you played the role of my mother. He was there when Grams died. He cared in his own fucking warped way, didn’t he?”

It’s satisfying to my dark nasty soul to hear her sob and beg my forgiveness, but something in me breaks as Bennie puts a hand on my shoulder, then gathers me in his arms. I can’t be evil while in the embrace of a unicorn. Must be some kind of spell he has.

“Whatever,” I say.

“We should talk more, Jazzy, I--”

“Someday.” It’s the best I can do, all I have in me right now. I’m empty, so I end the call.

I cry, then sob like the big baby that I am with Ben holding me. I should be jumping for joy, Killian, the incestuous pervert, was reviled by my mother. His demonic size shrinks inside me.

But I still need to grapple with Sarah, my savior and his murdering bitch. And my mother.

“You saved my soul this time, Benny,” I say, only half sarcastic, hiccupping, my tears stopped. “Finding my fucking mother, making me talk to her.” I shake my head. The dark shadow of my past fades along the edges, recedes without the usual struggle and anger to push it away. “I don’t even feel like puking right now.” Like I expect I would, like I always have in the past when I’ve been forced to think of Killian, of that night.

“You’re an amazing survivor. What you’ve been through would make some people suicidal.”

“I’m a fighter more than a survivor, too mean to let the world and fate and bad genes win.”

Majik comes in without a knock and says, “Not all your genes are bad. Your father was a good man.”

Ben gives me a nod and she tells me.

“Your mother was is in jail, but she’s finally straight. So she told us about your father, Connor O’Leary and how she lost him. Blamed that loss for her going off the deep end. It’s true she’s weak, but not your father. He was a war hero. Died in the line of duty saving platoon members. She could never talk about it before, but she told us because she knew you had a right to know. She said he warned her and she warned your Grams that Killian was a sick bastard.”

“But he’s a dead sick bastard,” Ben says with convincing finality. The kind that gives me an instant shot of strength.

“Do you think she really wants to see me?” I can’t believe I have the balls to ask. Because what if the answer is no?

“She told me she does,” Ben says. “She’s afraid.”

“She ought to be.” I’m not past my anger yet. I still need it to keep me upright and functional. What’s a little prickliness compared to major depression and suicidal ideation?

Ben is holding me, keeping me together as I feel the tremors start.

“Keep fighting Jaz,” he whispers, kissing my temple. The touch calms me.

“I swear if we weren’t in a fucking hospital, I’d pull you in bed with me right now and—” He shuts me up with a kiss, a deep, shut-your-mouth-and-take-this kiss that forces back all the anger, channeling my passion to him, to the second-best thing in my life besides Majik and music. Okay, so maybe he’s third place.

A spike of protest shoots through my nerve endings as he bites my lip. I swear he can read my mind and is calling me out on his priority in my life. But I can’t put him first. I can’t give what I don’t have. There’s so much turmoil in me, I feel like I’m floating on top of a whirlpool and could bet sucked into the vortex any second. It’s all I can do to tread water and deal with the fucking truth Ben is so hot for me to know.

But he has faith in me and I let that settle on me as he breathes into me, kissing the corners of my mouth as if he can make me smile. And damn him, it works.

Chapter 19

Ben

The argument between Majik and Jazzy is brief and amusing. I knew Majik would win. Jazzy’s staying at Majik’s house on her release today. Skipping my afternoon classes, I pick her up at the hospital to take her home. Helping her walk to my Jeep, I hold her elbow as she takes small steps. The hard part is getting her inside without too much pain.

“Let me do it,” she says. “I don’t even know why I have to stay with Majik. I don’t need your help with every little thing.”

“Indulge me,” I say. She’s stubborn and wrong if she thinks she doesn’t need help. She can’t stay on her own. If I didn’t have the hockey game in Boston in two nights, I might have argued that I could stay with her and take care of her at her place, but it’s just as well she’s going to Majik’s to sleep in a real bed.

“Imagine trying to pull out that horrible mattress you have from your couch.”