Page 82 of Best Man on Campus

I didn’t exactly live up to my own mom’s standards. We reach the table and everyone there greets us, friendly and smiling treating me like I might fall apart. I wish they were wrong. Ben pulls out my chair and helps me sit. It’s the hardest thing to do, not because of the pain, but because I don’t want to make the injury worse. I need to fully recover from this fucking thing so Ben will stop treating me like a glass doll.

I shrug. Then I squelch a sigh because I know I’ll go to his fucking game in spite of my stupid chicken shit anxiety. I have to do it for him. One more step in the right direction, past my past.

Chapter 21

Ben

She shrugs, but I know she’ll come to my game. I squeeze her shoulder, going gentle on her, though I’d rather haul her in for a real embrace. It’s impossible with her ribs and I’m as fucking careful as I can be with her, treating her like fucking fragile crystal, afraid of hurting her. But I lean in and nibble on her ear because I know she loves the shiver it gives her. “You’ll be there because I need you to be there.”

She looks at me, and I see the kind of smile I never thought I’d see on her face. I’ve seen them all, from sly to sexy to mean. But this one, this one nearly buckles my knees. There’s adoration in her eyes and the way her mouth tilts shyly, almost hopeful. Hope is the one thing Jazzy tries not to show.

“Do I need to tell you to get a room?” Voz says, loud and obnoxious, but funny.

Jazzy gives him her middle finger, but smiles. It’s not a friendly smile, but it’s a start. Everyone from my hockey world is here, Stone, Kace, Voz, Coach, Dr. Walt, even Dooley and the team. Everyone except my parents. Mom stays home with Dad because he doesn’t have the endurance yet and needs to limit going out in public. His medication is working so far, they’re seeing some small improvements in his blood work. He’s saving his energy so he can come to tomorrow night’s game with mom.

* * *

On the way back to Jazzy’s studio she looks more tired than I like to see.

“You passed your test, babe, I’m proud of you.” I squeeze her hand. “Not that I ever had any doubt.”

“Sure, I passed your damn test. It was pathetically easy. But it was excruciating and not something I want to repeat with any regularity so don’t go getting it in your head—”

“I get it, you’re not a social butterfly. Don’t worry.”

“I’m social. I just don’t fucking like people.”

I laugh because I don’t get the distinction and I know she’s talking to get to me. Trash talk. I don’t mention to her that hockey players excel in trash talking and she’s toying with a seasoned expert in giving and especially taking. No one is better than keeping annoyingly cool in the face of trash talk than I am.

But then, I think she knows that by now.

“Besides, your test wasn’t a real test.” She stops, though I know she has something on her mind.

“Okay, I’ll bite. What’s the real test, Jazzy?” I’m quiet because I know this is serious, that she has something to prove to herself, needs to build up trust in herself, confidence that she’s worthy.

I pull into the parking lot at her studio and have every intention of staying with her all night, but we need to finish this conversation first.

“Tell me what you need to do, Jazzy, to feel better about yourself.”

She gives me a sharp look.

“Don’t patronize—”

“I’m not. I know it’s important. Tell me.”

“I need to talk to Sarah Galiskar. To face the murdering bitch and not spit in her face. To thank her.” She heaves a sigh as if it’s a chore like digging to the center of the earth with a spoon.

When I lean in to kiss her, reassure her, she puts up her hands.

“Then, more importantly, I need to go to where Killian’s buried and not spit on the bastard’s grave.”

“You know you don’t really need to do either of those things, that you have a right to be angry, to take some time to let your anger fade.” Maybe I’m talking for myself, for my own anger at Killian even though he’s a man who I never knew, maybe all the more because I’ll never have a chance to take out my anger on the fucker.

“You know if I give it time the anger will take hold and be harder to let go. It’s how I’m made. I thrive on anger and the mean sentiments.” She pushes me away, proving her point and I heave a breath, but my chest wells up with pride.

“You’re strong and when you’re determined, I know nothing will stop you,” I smile and add, “Even if you are a lot like a wrecking ball.”

“I can’t wreck this, Bennie. I need to do this. I need to truly be past even the anger. Maybe especially the anger.”