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“Anything,” she said again. My heart hammered in my chest as I flicked my eyes between hers. Anything was a lot to give someone like me, someone without boundaries. Someone who abused the word, pushed it as far as the limits would allow, then a bit further, just to see what would happen.
“Then get on your knees and open your mouth.” As she lowered herself, her body shaking with anticipation, I gripped her chin and forced her to look at me. Her lips trembled into a tentative smile, but my fingers tightened. For the first time since she’d agreed, she looked wary. Smart girl. “I won’t be gentle.”
Chapter One
Present
Students knew when you cultivated their creative environment. They knew when you harbored it, cherished it. And I’d always done that. Made my space for them. It was never about what I wanted, never what I needed—always them.
Their young minds were ripe with brilliant ideas, waiting to jump onto paper and become the next great American novel, and I’d always considered myself lucky to be a small part of their journey. Witnessing their evolution from awkward, gangly young adults to well-rounded graduates with their entire lives ahead of them was something I never took lightly.
Young people, especially creative ones, had a way of seeing things I could never fully comprehend. I yearned to live in the world they did, to experience things as passionately and deeply. To love just as deeply, too. Yet, those soul-aching artists hogged all the passion for themselves, and I was left empty-handed, chasing a dream I’d never have the privilege of touching.
This room, with its juxtaposition between new and old, modern and classic, felt like a joke to creativity. Fluorescent lights bounced off rich wooden floors, reflecting off the shiny surfaces of desks in the lecture hall. High ceilings, adorned with intricate, dusty filigree, and a blackboard ready for me to fill with scribbles. Built-in bookshelves lined the back wall, overflowing with uninspirational leather-bound classics that would likely be left untouched.
I desperately wanted to cradle their precious ideas in my hands, help water them until they blossomed into something beautiful.
But not in this place.
This place would deprive them of the sunlight and rich soil they needed to thrive, and leave their seedlings as nothing more than dried-up, forgotten ideas in the recesses of their minds, coated by cobwebs and dust, never to be seen or thought of again.
Sighing, I scrubbed my hand over my freshly-shaven jaw. First impressions were important, and today I was dressed in my best, looking like the tenured professor they all believed me to be. But it was hard to pretend to be excited for a new year of fresh faces, fresh ideas, fresh girls—I shook myself.
No, not girls. I couldn’t go down that path again. Like Icarus, I’d flown too close to the sun and was now in a freefall, plummeting back to earth.
My past haunted me, lingering in my mind like a bad dream I could do nothing about; nothing but endure reliving every night as I lay in bed, staring up at the stained ceiling, wishing it were the one I’d stared at every night for the last twenty years instead. But it wasn’t. And it never would be again.
How had I allowed myself to fall victim to the same fate so many others had? I’d been reckless, careless, and infuriatingly arrogant. I should’ve realized my story would’ve ended the same as everyone else’s. No one’s skeletons stayed buried for long, and it had only been a matter of time before everything came to light. Before everything blew up in my face. But, for some idiotic reason I’ll never understand, I thought I was different.
I thought the end of my career would come when I retired, not when the Dean all but forced me to resign. I’d expected my, albeit, loveless marriage to end when we were buried six-feet under, not when she’d found the incriminating texts, photos, and videos on my laptop and threw divorce papers in my face.
And now I was here…in this too-humid, too-hot, too-uninspiring place. Groveton, Texas. Clear on the opposite end of the country, away from anyone I could’ve wronged. Away from students I’d had my dick in, away from their parents who were ready to castrate me for it. Away from my ex-wife, who looked happier than I’d ever seen her the day our divorce was finalized. And away from that stuffy and equally uninspiring university.
Why had I decided to come here? Other than the hefty paycheck, my soul knew this place was a mistake. There was nothing and no one here for me. I should’ve tucked tail and found a new career.
The door opened, and the first student sauntered in, pulling me from my thoughts. His shoulders rolled back, his chest puffed out, and an illuminated smile graced his face. He looked familiar, like someone I ought to recognize—something about his features, about the way he moved, screamed authority. Screamed wealth. Screamed arrogance.
“Welcome,” I said, rubbing my palms together. He barely gave me a second glance as he walked up the few steps and found his spot.
Deep breath.
The next bunch strolled into class—a group of pretty girls, all looking like they belonged to Greek Row. They sat close together, giggling and seemingly oblivious to everything around them. I hated putting stereotypes on people, especially young women, but it was hard not to. It was hard to ignore the way they seemed more enraptured by their phones than they did reality, like those little devices mattered more to them than sitting in one of the most expensive classrooms in one of the most prestigious schools in Texas.
One by one, group by group, the hall filled with students. It didn’t matter what state I was in or what school I was teaching at; they were all the same. The same groups of kids huddled together. The same loners sat in the back. The same jocks flirted with the pretty girls, and the same pretty girls looked at me with that gleam in their eyes. The gleam I recognized but could do nothing about. Not anymore.
Although it bothered me, I gave it another few moments, waiting for more people to file in late. Punctuality was important, especially in a collegiate setting, but I had to remember today was the first day, and they were getting into the swing of things. I could give them grace—no matter how much it grated down my bones.
When no one else came, I cleared my throat. A few people turned their attention to me, but when the main-group of students whispering to each other didn’t bother to look up, I did it again, louder. A few more people looked at me, but their bored expressions told me they were here because they didn’t have a choice, not because they wanted to be.
“Shall we begin?” I let my voice carry to every corner of the room. That drew more attention, and my chest loosened. The more eyes I had on me, the more I sunk into my role of professor. The familiar comfort of teaching fell over me like a veil, and I grabbed a fresh stick of chalk. Turning toward the board, I began writing my name.
This I could do. This was easy.
“I’m Professor Emmett Ashford, and this is Classic English Lit. If you think there’s been a mixup with your schedule, head to the registrar’s office and get it sorted now. Otherwise—” I turned, finding the same few blank faces staring back at me.
Annoyance filled me. I was used to this—the entitlement of wealthy students believing they needn’t pay attention, that they’d get notes or answers from someone else, usually a scholarship student or someone who could barely afford to attend a school as prestigious as this one. I’d always ignored it, but this was a new year, a new school. And if things went the way I hoped for them to, it was a new me as well.
I opened my mouth, ready to set the tone for the rest of the semester, when the door opened. “You’re late,” I snapped, not looking at the newcomer, already at the end of my tether. I was tired of the arrogance, of the laziness.
