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Max’s heart thump-bumped inside his chest. The feeling was mutual. Scott kept Max centered. Kept him grounded. Gave him purpose. The kind that truly mattered. Max would fix Scott, then he’d never let anyone hurt him again. He’d be there for him to lean on. He’d watch over him, indefinitely. Because he knew better than to say forever.
Max frowned. Yes, Scott was all he needed. A confidant. A friend. He didn’t need more. He’d been there, done that. More was deceiving. More was a knife in the chest.
EIGHT
— ELEVEN YEARS LATER —
“Alright, people. As you know, we’ve got a model coming in today for your representational statue project. Last semester’s abstract sculptures were awesome, but you had tons of wiggle room where details were concerned. Now it’s time to refine your approach. To flex your perfectionist muscles. I want this next piece to be realistic to the absolute extreme. Proportions spot on. I want this guy to look alive. Like you’d expect to see him breathing or something. And not just at a glance. At a stare.”
A student to Max’s right let out a snort. “With our eyes squinted, though, right?”
“Yeah,” another laughed. “Squinted with the lights turned off.”
Max’s lips quirked. “Just do the best you can do. No rushing it. Take your time. This piece is going to represent you at the art show.” He motioned to a table in the back of the classroom. “Now go grab your clay and start prepping the stuff. Our model’s going to be here any minute.”
All sixteen students ambled over and gathered up their supplies. Aprons, sculpting tools, support brackets, several blocks of oil-based clay. In a matter of minutes, they were back at their places, kneading the plasteline into pliancy.
Max eyed the center of his large open classroom, where their model would soon be perched. Nothing fancy. Just a platform raised up a couple of feet with the students’ stations situated around it. Max crossed his arms and leaned against his desk, remembering when he used to come to this class as a student. And then he’d graduated, nearly eight years ago, with his bachelor’s in both Fine Arts and Education. Ultimately, he’d decided to concentrate on just those, forgoing his aspirations in Celtic Lang. It was just too much, so he’d trimmed the fat, promising himself he’d continue studying on his own. Which he had, to his mom’s delight. She still missed his dad so much and loved when Max spoke to her in Irish.
A few years later, and to Max’s astounding luck, he managed to score a position as an entry-level instructor right at the college he’d graduated from. Granted, he was teaching vocational classes and wasn’t some prestigious professor, but prestigious wouldn’t have fit him anyway. And besides, he was doing something he really enjoyed, working every day with his hands. He loved to create. Had ever since he was young, when he’d carve little animals with his pocket knife.
Max frowned, realizing that the last animal he’d ever whittled was the one he’d made for Kevin. The hawk to give Kevin hope. The same one Kevin’s mom threw at Max the night Kevin died. Max wondered if that was part of why he’d taken so strongly to sculpting. It was a lot like wood carving, and yet, not the same. Gave him the same pleasure and satisfaction, but without all the painful reminders.
Not that it really mattered. Max was doing what he’d gone to college for. Hell, he was even taking on commissioned pieces on the side. Maybe one day he’d do it full time. Be a bona fide, professional sculptor. But even if he didn’t, that was fine, too. He enjoyed teaching kids. His students amused him. And teaching at a college at thirty-one years old was nothing to fucking scoff at. He was doing pretty well. No qualms. No complaints.
Across the room, the door pushed opened, stealing Max away from his musings. Looked like the model had finally arrived. Max eyed him for a second before heading over. Handsome guy. Tight, lean body. Not too thick, not too thin. Maybe five foot ten. Golden blond hair in a low, loose man bun. Casual jeans and a tee. Other than that, just a typical college kid wearing a typical college-kid expression. Laid-back indifference. A disposition Max appreciated. Probably why he liked their age group so much.
Pushing off his desk, Max made his way over. “Hey, there,” he greeted. “I take it you’re Sean.”
The young man nodded, offering a smile. “Yup. That’s me. At your service.”
Max highly doubted that. Because if that was the case, he’d be on his knees blowing Max right fucking now. Max cleared his throat, loving the visual regardless, and gestured to the center of the room. “Great. Thanks for coming. You’ll be setting up camp there. And since we’re just getting started, you’ll only need to dress down to your underwear. You wore the bikini brief kind, though, right? That we discussed in our email?”
