Poor Chaz. I should be angry with him, too, but he was clearly miserable.
“I heard about Chaz and Erin. What happened?” Kennedy had followed my gaze.
“You should ask him.” I wondered what Kennedy would make of Buck’s behavior. They were civil with each other, but that competitive fixation had been between them from day one.
“I did, sort of. He didn’t seem to want to talk about it. Said they’d had a big fight, she was being unreasonable, blah blah—you know, the stupid stuff guys say when we fuck up something good.”
Just then, the music changed to something fast, allowing me to reinstate my bubble of personal space and fortunately axing the conversation about breakups and fuckups. I was so relieved to end that exchange that I failed to pay attention to where Erin was. I failed to pay attention to where Buck was.
In a lull between songs, he walked up behind me. “Hey, Jacqueline” he said, and I jumped for the second time that night. “Are you done dancing with this loser? Come dance with me.” The hair on my arms stood on end, every nerve in my body on full alert, and I moved closer to Kennedy, who put his arm around my shoulders. I didn’t want his arm on me, but given the choice between them, there was no choice.
Smiling, Buck held out a hand.
I stared at it, incredulous and cringing closer to Kennedy, whose body became rigid, aligned with mine. “No.”
With his usual indolent smirk, Buck gazed down at me as though my ex wasn’t there. Like we were alone. “All right then, maybe later.”
I shook my head and focused on the word I’d said over and over that morning. The word that preceded every kick. “I said no. Don’t you understand no?” From the corner of my eye, I saw Kennedy’s gaze snap to my face.
Buck’s eyes narrowed and his mask of indifference slipped for a split second. And then he recovered and the guise was back in place. I knew in that moment that he wasn’t giving up. He was merely biding his time. “Sure. I hear you. Jacqueline.” His eyes shifted to Kennedy, whose guarded expression was at odds with the piqued rigidity of his body. “Kennedy.” He nodded and Kennedy responded in kind, and then he walked away.
I slumped against my ex, and then moved out of his grasp, my eyes searching for Erin’s silver dress amongst the crush of people in the little house.
“Jacqueline, what’s going on between you and Buck?”
I ignored his question. “I need Erin. I need to find Erin.” I started in the opposite direction Buck had gone and Kennedy grabbed my upper arm to pull me back. I wrenched it away, and then realized people were staring.
He moved closer, without touching me. “Jacqueline, what’s going on? I’ll help you find Erin.” His voice was low, for my ears only. “But first, tell me. Why are you so angry at Buck?”
I looked up at him and my eyes stung. “Not here.”
He compressed his lips. “Come with me? To my room?” When I hesitated, he added, “Jacqueline, you’re freaking out. Come talk to me.”
I nodded and he led me up the stairs.
He shut the door and we sat on his bed. His room, as usual, was neat and organized, though the bed wasn’t made, and there were jeans and shirts tossed over his desk chair. I recognized the sheets and duvet cover we’d chosen before coming back to campus this fall, because he wanted something new. I recognized his bookcase and his favorite novels, his law books, his collection of Presidential biographies. The contents of this room were familiar. He was familiar.
“What’s going on?” His concern was genuine.
I cleared my throat and told him what happened the night of the Halloween party, leaving Lucas out of the story. Listening silently, he got up and paced, taking deep breaths, his fists knotted. When I was done, he stopped and sat, hard. “You said you got away. So he didn’t—?”
I shook my head. “No.”
A breath whooshed out of him. “Goddammit.” He pulled his tie loose and unbuttoned the top button of his white dress shirt. His teeth were clamped so tightly that the cords of his neck popped out under his skin like pipes running from his jaw down. He shook his head and smashed a fist on his thigh. “Motherfucker.”
Kennedy wasn’t usually much of a curser—certainly neither of these words was part of his standard vocabulary. He peered at me closely. “I will handle this.”
“It’s already been—it’s over, Kennedy. I just… I just want him to leave me alone.” I was curiously without tears, which was odd. I felt like I’d gained strength from telling him, just like I felt stronger after telling Erin.