Big Man on Campus: an Enemies to Lovers College Romance (Big Men on Campus Book 1)

by Stephanie Queen

  “Dance with me.”

  Panic hits, the strength of my desire to fall back in his arms overwhelming and scary as if he’s Jack, the ripper of my heart from my chest. Because he’s capable of ending me and I know I’ll let him if I don’t run away.

  “No.”

  “Chicken,” he says. “You want to cut and run, don’t you?”

  “You’re back to the taunting bully I once knew. A scared boy I thought I’d never see again. I thought you outgrew him.”

  His laugh is harsh and though I’m aware of him moving closer, aware of the crowd quieting, I don’t move. Then I recognize the song. John Legend singing “Conversations in the Dark,” and I remember. We danced to this song at the Homecoming dance. And tears gather as he watches me.

  “No,” I sob the word and turn, run toward the door, pushing through the crowd, almost trip on my gown, but he’s there, his strong arm holding me, steadying me. “Why? Why are you doing this? Torturing me? Torturing us?”

  He drags me, but in truth, I would follow him anyway and we end up at the coat check room.

  “Take a break,” he says to the woman there. It takes her two blinks to decide to leave and he closes the door, pulls me deep into the closet among the overcoats and the muffled light.

  “Joni, I’m sorry.” We stand close, but he doesn’t touch me.

  “How sorry?”

  The pain in his eyes, the lost look, the deep dark demons that still haunt his soul stare back at me.

  “That’s what I thought.” He reaches out then. I yank myself away from him. I can’t let him kiss me, can’t put myself through that.

  “If you came for one last bang for old times’ sake, you’re out of luck.”

  “That’s not what this is about. I … don’t know why … what I want from you. I only know what I can’t have, can’t ask for. I guess I still have some growing up to do. Some things to prove—to myself.” He pauses.

  I’m holding my breath, holding everything in and hoping he’ll leave me alone, not test my resolve, my boast that he can’t have me if he wants. For old times’ sake.

  “Message delivered. Even if it is a load of crap.” I turn to leave.

  “You have to understand, Joni—”

  “No. I don’t. You’re throwing me—us—away because you’re too afraid, still. Not out of some noble selfless save-the-girl act.”

  His look turns fierce now. I’ve stepped on a soft spot and the need to stomp all over his vulnerability rushes me.

  “Go away. Go find your worthless father and trade stories, make sure you’re as bad as he is, keep the bar nice and low for yourself. You can become as worthless as you ever imagined. As worthless as your own father thought you were. I don’t know why I ever wasted a minute with you. Why I ever wanted you when your own father never did.” I throw the words at him, trying to hurt him, but I feel the pain like a stab with each word I say.

  He reaches for me and I know with all my heart that he means to punish me with a kiss. The look in his eyes tells me he’s more disappointed in me than hurt. But I have enough self-preservation in me to slip away from him, to lift my gown and run away, even knowing that it’s the worst thing I can do, the thing I always do, whether I’m being bullied—or whether I’m the asshole doing the bullying.

  I reach the door, but I don’t have a chance to open it because his words stop me.

  “At least my father had the good grace to leave, unlike yours who pretends to care, hanging around in the background, reminding you of the fact that he doesn’t really give a fuck about you. Did you know he wanted to pay me to leave you alone?”

  I open my mouth and close it again. It sounds too true. I know he’s not lying, looking into his eyes, seeing the stalwart pain there, different than the desperate pain that haunted him before.

  “I … didn’t know.” But he is leaving me alone, just like my dad wanted. “You should have taken the money if you were going to follow my dad’s orders.”

  “Who says I didn’t take his money?”

  “You don’t have to say. I know you didn’t.” I’m certain of that much in the dynamic

  world of Jack Hunter. He hates the Dowds too much to take their money. Especially now that he knows my dad chased his father away.

  He walks past me, not saying a thing, not looking at me. I guess he’s said enough. We’ve both said too much.

  Regret seizes me the instant Jack disappears outside the door. I shouldn’t have made that horrible comment about his father. It was so nasty and so not like me. A measure of how much I’m hurting. I run after him, the need to apologize, to beg his forgiveness burning me in a raging unforgiving fire.

  “Jack, wait.” I catch up to him as he reaches his truck. He stops and turns. My heart palpitates with remorse and nerves and the sense of everything meaningful in my life being at stake. It’s my heart on the block, laid bare and waiting for him to embrace or crush.

  “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said those things about—”

  “It doesn’t matter, Joni. You didn’t say anything I haven’t told myself.” He pauses, gives me a sad wry smile. “You were defending yourself from a bully as you should, dishing out better than you were getting. I said some things you don’t deserve. Your only sin is falling for the wrong guy. Bad decision, Joni. You can do better.” He turns and gets in his truck before I can respond, making his words seem so final.

  But they can’t be. There’s too much love inside him, inside both of us. It’s bound to win out. He won’t be able to avoid it, out run it, outlast it. Not for long.

  I hope. At last it’s all I have. Snow falls and the cold strikes me, sending my body into convulsive shivers. I go back inside only to get my coat and to find Dooley. This night is over for me. The semester is over.

  I stop short of admitting I feel like my life is over, my love life, anyway. My heart beats dully as I walk inside and find Dooley waiting there for me.

  We go back to my dorm room and I beg him to spend the night with me though I know it’s the last thing Dooley wants to do. He’s a good friend, but he has no patience for physical affection or cuddling.

  “Of course I’ll stay. You’ll owe me your first and second children, but I’ll do it.”

  I laugh through my tears. My bags are all packed to leave in the morning, to go back home to Moreland. The last place I want to go. Except maybe Jack will be there. Maybe I’ll see him.

  We dress in sweats and sit on the bed among the pillows with the TV playing a Hallmark move in the background and a bowl of popcorn because it’s the only snack I have left in the room. Even my chocolates are gone, consumed by my heartbreak all week.

  “So Jack is a bastard and he’s off the table,” Dooley says.

  I nod, not really believing it. Not knowing what to think or do. I shouldn’t give up on him, quit, run away. But I don’t know how to reach him.

  “I heard it from Izzy who heard it from George that your father threatened him.”

  “Yeah. He did. I guess that’s his thing. We’ve come full circle.” Dad threatened Dashell all those years ago but Dashell wasn’t man enough to stand up to him. He didn’t want to risk jail time. But Jack is risking jail time. He wouldn’t let me save him from that.

  I look at Dooley. He has no idea what I mean by full circle. I didn’t tell him the story about Jack’s messed-up family history, but I do now.

  He’s speechless, gripping my hands until they hurt.

  “Joni, you can’t let him go. He’s worth a hundred of any of the other guys. He’s lived a life time of hurts in his twenty-two years and he’s still walking around. He’s risking jail to make good, to overcome his mistake.”

  “I know Dooley. But he rejected me, so what makes you think I can get him back now?”

  “He thinks he’s saving you from being chained to a jail bird. Disabuse him of that notion.”

  I nod. I don’t know how I’m going to do it, but I know I’m going to try.

  “What are you thinking?�
��

  “I’m thinking I need to do something illegal.”

  “What the fuck?” He bounces with an excited gleam. “Nothing too terrible—just naughty enough to get you in trouble, maybe to get fined, but not jail time. Promise me that.”

  “I was kidding, Dooley, you crazy person. Jack would never forgive me if I did that.”

  “You had me going there.” He presses a finger to his temple, the gleam returning to his eyes. “I know—you can tell him you’re pregnant. Then work like mad to get yourself with child to carry off the ruse.”

  I laugh myself silly at the craziness. “Life isn’t like an episode of I Love Lucy, Dooley. I can’t trick Jack into a relationship with me.”

  “How about if you beg him?”

  “I have. But it’s him, not me. He has to have some kind of epiphany and forgive himself before he’ll let me forgive him.” I sigh, not sure what else I can do besides be available and patient, without being a doormat. I wonder if it’s possible. It has to be possible.

  Dooley nods and puts an arm around me. “You’re a wise woman. Jack’s a very lucky fucker.”

  Chapter 25

  Jack

  Finals are over. The semester break officially begins today. And I’m without a girlfriend as usual, so all must be right with the world. Not. This time, not as usual, not even close to usual, breaking up with my girl hurts like a motherfucker.

  It’s five days until Christmas but it may as well be Halloween because I feel haunted by the ghost of Joni. I throw my things into a team duffel because they haven’t confiscated it and I wonder if I should pack up my whole room, whether I’ll be able to come back next semester, either because I’m kicked out or out of shame because I should be kicked out. Or maybe I’ll be in jail in spite of what my lawyer tells me.

  Fuck it. I’m not a quitter. I’m a lot of fucking asshole things, but not that. Try telling Joni I’m no quitter, my conscience pipes up.

  “Fuck.” I zip my bag.

  George appears at my door wearing a North Face ski jacket and a crazy wool hat with ear flaps he probably ordered online for a thousand bucks for no good reason.

  “You ready? I can’t wait to see your house, to be in your town. It’ll be like a magical mystery tour.”

  “Dude, what are you dressed for?”

  “Ski country.”

  I shake my head. “I’m only forty-five minutes north of here.”

  Tristan appears behind him. “Let’s go.”

  “You sure I can’t talk you out of this?” I know it’s futile to ask again. They think they’re on some kind of suicide watch, refusing to let me out of their sight ever since they sprang me from possible jail time by posting bail.

  Ever since I ditched Joni.

  On the drive to Moreland, Tristan insists we stop and buy a Christmas tree for my mother’s house. My next stop is the local state liquor store.

  “You drinking for Christmas?” Tristan asks and I can hear the alarm through his casual voice.

  “I promise I’ll stop on New Year’s Day.” Probably.

  We barge in unannounced and I introduce my friends and tell her they’re staying for a visit. If I thought the surprise was going to rattle her, I’m wrong. She’s happy as shit and my idiot friends flatter her and give her more attention than she deserves. She gets busy decorating the tree while we get busy drinking while we watch whatever sports we can find without the NFL network on the small TV in the tiny living room.

  Mom, acting more mom-like than I can remember her being, feeds us hot dogs and beans and whatever else she can find in her cabinets including peanut butter sandwiches and Cheerios.

  She watches us, without drinking because she doesn’t any more. Maybe I’m mean for testing her, but I need to. I’ve been disappointed before and I want to get it out of the way up front if I’m going to be disappointed again. She smiles and stays in the background, reminding me of Joni a little. George makes a comment about his dad being an asshole for not being home and I have a sufficient amount of whiskey in me to set him straight.

  “Your dad’s a saint compared to the fucking no-show asshole my father is.” They all agree and we start dissing Dashell, the dastardly bastard, in the most colorful terms we can come up with.

  “We should find him and tell him to his face,” George says.

  “So I can punch him in the face,” I say. Mom turns to us and her face is pale.

  “He’s not really a bad man.”

  “Can’t prove it by me.” I’m back to the belligerent challenging teenager like I never left, as if that person never left me, as if all the progress I made in the past four years at SPU to be respectable is an illusion.

  “Let’s find him and see if he’s good or bad,” Tristan says.

  “Let’s find him—yeah. We can do it. I’ll hire a detective.” George flips his phone from his pocket and starts scrolling and tapping. I laugh and take a swig straight from the bottle of JD.

  “Let’s do it.” The real possibility of punching his face, obliterating the man I thought was my uncle, excites me, even as I now realize we have the same large frame, the same cool blue-green eyes and apparently the same dark soul.

  Mom throws her hands over her mouth and I don’t know if she’s horrified or excited at the prospect of finding the man she once cried over, the man she once left me for. I don’t know why I care what she thinks.

  I don’t even know why I’m here except to pacify Tristan’s noble sensibilities and to satisfy George’s morbid curiosity. Coming here doesn’t hold the same kind of monstrous specter, like going into a dark basement, as it used to, not since Thanksgiving. I checked out the dark basement of my home and found no boogie men. Because those demons live in my soul.

  In reality, I may as well admit to myself I came back to Moreland because Joni’s here. Because I feel connected to her still. And I will for fucking forever.

  The next morning, I wake up on the couch. Tristan’s sleeping on the floor on some blankets Mom dredged up from somewhere. George must be sleeping in my bedroom. I hear him on the phone and force my eyes open to blinding sunlight and the headache throbbing in my head. We forgot to eat cake and drink milk before passing out.

  Straining to listen to what he’s saying, I realize George is talking to a fucking detective. Jumping up from the couch, I crash into my bedroom and stand in front of him while he grins at me, finishing his conversation.

  “What the fuck are you doing?” I’m not angry. I don’t know what the fuck I am besides astounded when I shouldn’t be. George’s balls and penchant for doing outrageous things is infamous and I’ve seen it before. Like the time he hired a guy to dismantle a professor’s car and put it back together in the middle of his classroom. He never got in trouble for it because they couldn’t prove anything. No one ever knew how and where he found a team of fucking crazy mechanics to pull it off.

  “I called in a detective. He’s on the case. On his way to Alaska now. We’ll track down that bastard fucking excuse for a father—”

  “You called a detective?” I shake my head. It’s a waste of time to wonder where he found a detective. He has connections through his dad’s business and he’s a smart dude underneath his brazenly goofy persona.

  “Let’s have breakfast,” he says.

  After we eat, George insists on taking Mom on a trip to the grocery store as if she’d won an all-expenses paid vacation to heaven. We all go along. Even me. I get stares, a few autograph requests, some disdain. I don’t give a fuck. Down to my soul I don’t give a fuck. I put my arm around Mom’s shoulder in the checkout line and watch George grinning like a silly fool as he hands over his credit card. I don’t give a fuck that it’s charity because he’s happy, having a fucking blast making my Mom smile and blush—actually fucking blush. He’s a fucking generous friend and I don’t know why I shouldn’t appreciate generosity except my own fucking pride stopping me.

  We spend two days of nerves and torture, laughing and drinking and eating my mom’s
not too bad cooking. By the third day, I’m done with drinking. So is Tristan.

  We’re sitting at the kitchen table playing fucking cards as the sun goes down when Tristan decides to get serious, unprovoked by alcohol.

  “What are you going to do about football, Jack? You giving it up as a career option?”

  “Fuck no.” There’s no thought, only my knee-jerk stubborn-ass response to not let go of something I’ve held onto for so long, the fight in me not completely dead. Maybe I’m restored by this bubble of friendship I’ve been existing in for four days now, but getting distance from the scene of my latest crime.

  “Whether I go to jail or not, I’ll walk-on somewhere and work my ass off until I earn a spot.” I know how to work hard. I know how to push the rock up that hill. Maybe it’s my destiny to forever struggle against the boulder. So be it.

  My friends nod in acknowledgment and approval and more confidence in me than I deserve.

  “Dude, you’ll make it.” George lifts his glass of beer and downs it. We all know he’ll be drafted. He’s an all-star running back, picked on the second team. I figure he’ll go in the third or fourth round.

  “What about you, Tristan?” I ask. He’s always been quiet about his career aspirations.

  “Family business.” He smiles.

  “You’re a fucking theology major. What are you going to do in the auto parts business?”

  “Sell tires and advice.” He laughs. “I’ll probably help out at the local church too, but I’m not exactly priest material.”

  “Wait—you’re Catholic?” George says.

  Tristan reaches out and slaps his head in answer, making George spit his beer. We’re all laughing hard and so loud that we almost miss George’s phone ringing. When he sees it vibrating on the table next to him he snatches it up as if he’s waiting for a call from his lover.

  “Hey. What do you have for me?”

  We wait and watch him listen, knowing it’s the detective on the other end of the call. A slow grin forms on his face, chilling me, as he ends the call.