Banded Together E-Book

KC Burn

• Herausgeber: Dreamspinner Press
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 308

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2017

Beschreibung

Punk's not dead, but it's time to redefine life. Devlin Waters thought he'd have music forever. But the tragic death of his best friend ended the twenty-year run of his punk band, Negative Impression. Unable to process the loss, Devlin distances himself from everyone and everything that reminds him of the band. But forty-one is too young to curl up and wait for the end. In a search for a second career, he finds himself at university with a bunch of kids young enough to be… his kids. His sexy archeology professor, however, makes Devlin think about life beyond his grief…. Dr. Jack Johnson does not appreciate Devlin's lack of respect, his inability to be serious, or his chronic lateness. Worse, he hates that he's attracted to a student. When he realizes Devlin is the rock star he crushed on in his youth, he drops his guard—against his better judgment. Before they can move forward together, Jack must admit to Devlin that he's not only an admirer, but he also sings in a cover band. How will Devlin react to his ultimate fanboy when his own music has died?

Leseprobe

Table of Contents

Blurb

Dedication

Author’s Note

Chapter ONE

Chapter TWO

Chapter THREE

Chapter FOUR

Chapter FIVE

Chapter SIX

Chapter SEVEN

Chapter EIGHT

Chapter NINE

Chapter TEN

Chapter ELEVEN

Chapter TWELVE

Chapter THIRTEEN

Epilogue

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Copyright

Banded Together

By KC Burn

Punk’s not dead, but it’s time to redefine life.

Devlin Waters thought he’d have music forever. But the tragic death of his best friend ended the twenty-year run of his punk band, Negative Impression. Unable to process the loss, Devlin distances himself from everyone and everything that reminds him of the band. But forty-one is too young to curl up and wait for the end. In a search for a second career, he finds himself at university with a bunch of kids young enough to be… his kids. His sexy archaeology professor, however, makes Devlin think about life beyond his grief….

Dr. Jack Johnson does not appreciate Devlin’s lack of respect, his inability to be serious, or his chronic lateness. Worse, he hates that he’s attracted to a student. When he realizes Devlin is the rock star he crushed on in his youth, he drops his guard—against his better judgment.

Before they can move forward together, Jack must admit to Devlin that he’s not only an admirer, but he also sings in a cover band. How will Devlin react to his ultimate fanboy when his own music has died?

To the bands of my misspent youth and a few newer loves:

Skinny Puppy, Ministry, KMFDM, D.O.A., GBH, The Offspring, Agent Orange, Nitzer Ebb, The Forgotten Rebels, The Pogues, The Ramones, The Clash, Sex Pistols, Front 242, Bigod 20, Front Line Assembly, Nine Inch Nails, White Zombie, Powerman 5000, The Sisters of Mercy, Sum 41, Billy Talent, Rise Against, Dropkick Murphys, A.F.I., Blink 182, Good Charlotte, Goldfinger, Linkin Park, The Misfits, and Treble Charger.

Thank you for hours of joy and hours more to come.

Author’s Note

SPECIAL THANKS to The Offspring, Alan Cross, and the Ongoing History of New Music. When I lived in Toronto, I loved listening to Alan Cross on CFNY 102.1, and his Ongoing History of New Music made for fascinating listening. Well over ten years ago (and possibly as many as twenty), I heard an anecdote about The Offspring’s Dexter Holland and his education. The fact that he paused in his PhD program to focus on music was utterly fascinating. In September of 2016, I was driving along, listening to an Offspring song, and I started wondering if he ever went back to finish off his degree. And then the brain skipped, as it is wont to do, to a fully fledged idea, loosely inspired by that one question—did he go back to school? (I know the date, because I later jotted the idea down in my ever-increasing “ideas” folder.) I should probably emphasize… the idea and the story are not in any way supposed to represent The Offspring or any of the band members. They merely provided inspiration. Anyway, I pitched the idea to Dreamspinner in March 2017, and on June 2, 2017, as I was finishing up the manuscript, I decided to look it up. Imagine my surprise to find he’d been awarded his PhD on May 12, 2017. Go serendipity!

Chapter ONE

“WAKE UP, Devlin. It’s getting late.”

His mother’s sharp tones rocketed him out of sleep, but he wasn’t in his old bed, twenty-five years ago and late for school. Neither was he in his enormous bed in the main house. He was on his mother’s couch, which wasn’t nearly wide enough to keep him from rolling to the floor in a startled, confused tumble.

“Honestly, kid.” His mother’s tone became softer. “You okay there?”

Hardly a kid, but he didn’t expect he’d break her of the habit at this late date.

Devlin flipped a tangle of sandy brown hair out of his eyes and gazed up at his mom, perfectly dressed and coiffed and ready for some luncheon or fund-raiser or something. “Fine, Mom.” Except for an extreme case of embarrassment. Over his forty-one years, his mother had witnessed much worse, but it was still somewhat pathetic to have fallen off the damn couch, especially when he didn’t have inebriation or a hangover to blame.

“You realize you have a perfectly good bed at your own house, right?” Her upper lip twitched as she suppressed a laugh.

He nodded. Plenty of time to untangle his limbs and get sorted once his mom left. “I know.” But everything he did in that drafty mausoleum of a house echoed, the reverberations of solitude almost painful.

“It’s not even that far to walk. Even if you drank too much.”

Over the past few years he’d gotten drunk more than he used to, even for a guy who’d spent more than twenty years fronting a band, but he didn’t think he’d ever been so blind, stinking drunk that he couldn’t find his way from his mom’s place to his house. That was the whole point of having her live in the guesthouse.

“Didn’t drink. Just… fell asleep watching Galaxy Quest.”

A discreet sniff from his mother might have been annoying, but she was still his mom, and she’d never liked him lying. When her nose wrinkled anyway, his cheeks burned in further humiliation. How long had it been since he’d showered last? If he never went anywhere besides his mom’s place and his house, showering seemed an unnecessary expenditure of effort.

His mother’s temporary amusement faded into worry, and that jabbed him with guilt. “Sorry, I forgot to shower, but I’ll get on that right away.”

She sucked in a breath, like she was going to say something, but let it out slowly. She didn’t really need to say it, because he knew damn well what she was going to say. And he knew she was right. He also hated to worry her.

“I’m going to start going through those boxes in the basement today.”

The worried look fled. “Finally. I swear that stuff is attracting vermin.”

Dev rolled his eyes. If nothing else, he paid a groundskeeper and housekeeper plenty to ensure there weren’t any unsanctioned vermin in either of their houses, but she thought it would be “good for him” to sort through all his old stuff. Cathartic or some such shit. But if it would ease the pinched lines of concern around her lips, then it was the least he could do. He’d pretty much binged all the television shows he was interested in anyway and had started working his way through some pure dreck.

“I’m not sure when I’ll be back. I’ve got a full day of committee planning meetings, and Gail mentioned she might like to go out for dinner after the meeting. Will you be able to manage?”

Two years ago he would have huffed in exasperation. He was a grown man, middle-aged even, and could look after himself. But over the past six months, he hadn’t given anyone the impression that he could, in fact, look after himself. Not well, at any rate, so he could hardly blame his mother for the question.

“I’ll be fine, Mom. Pizza delivery is the number-one app on my phone.” At least she wasn’t aware—yet—of his doctor telling him he needed to start eating better or he’d be facing cholesterol meds.

“Tomorrow I’ll cook. Something healthier than pizza.”

“Sure, Mom. Sounds good.” But his mom had a brand-new social life he’d never known about until they started living in close proximity to each other. More than likely she’d be canceling or rescheduling some dinner or other to baby her son. Her forty-one-year-old son. She deserved the opportunity to be happy. Dev just wished he knew how she’d moved on when he couldn’t bring himself to do the same.

“Be good. I’ll see you later, kid, although you might want to give your own bed a whirl tonight. Sleeping on the couch can’t be good for your back. And you need your sleep.” The expression on her face was nothing less than mischievous. “Tonight’s a school night, after all.”

In a swirl of Chanel, she was gone, leaving Dev as stunned as if she’d punched him in the face.

School night. Surely she couldn’t mean what he thought she meant.

Dev waited until he heard the garage door close—her little hybrid was too quiet for him to hear its engine—before he tried to get up.

“Oh fuck.” He ached, and it felt like he’d hyperextended his knee. It was either the couch or the fall. He stumbled into the kitchen, muscles tense all over.

After emptying the grounds from the coffee maker, left over from his mother’s morning brew, he prepared another pot for himself.

With some caffeine in his system, he sat at his mother’s kitchen table and grabbed her calendar. Some of her clients provided free calendars as a promotional service, and she’d been using them faithfully for as long as he could remember. Birthdays, anniversaries, appointments—more doctors now than the Little League games that had filled his youth—appeared in her strong hand. Sure enough, she’d clearly marked tomorrow as “School Starts” in exactly the same way she’d done every year from kindergarten to grade twelve.

How was it September already? He wasn’t drinking steadily and yet somehow managed to lose the past few months to… television and video games. He huffed out a bitter laugh. Income from the band and his savings meant he wouldn’t have to worry about money, but right at this moment? He was an unemployed middle-aged man who slept most nights on his mother’s sofa.

But he was no longer Blade, the gritty singer and bassist for the punk-industrial-goth band Negative Impression. Negative Impression died six months ago with their guitarist Trent, more commonly known as Reaver. The part of Dev that made up Blade had died alongside him. Now he was just Devlin Waters, unemployed and about to go back to university.

These days he had enough money to blow it off and not worry about the loss, but he’d disappointed his dad those many years ago when he’d dropped out after only a year. Not that his dad hadn’t ultimately been proud of what Dev made of himself, but his father passing a few years ago made him want to erase that disappointment. Hitting his forties had been the impetus to reapply to finish his degree, although he’d intended to attend part-time while he continued recording and touring with the band.

When Trent died and Dev realized there was no way he could face music without his best friend, he’d changed his application to full-time, paid the required additional tuition, and then zoned the fuck out, more or less forgetting about the whole thing.

He was too old for this shit, but what else did he have to do with his life?

JACK JOHNSON strode into the lecture hall at a brisk clip. He was a few minutes late, and he didn’t want the wretched frosh in their first year at university to buy into the fifteen-minute myth/urban legend and take off before he had a chance to hand out the syllabi for the year. Then again, it wasn’t like attendance was mandatory at any class, so if the whole class decided to fuck off, it just meant Jack had more time, and the students were more likely to fail.

Sanji, one of the teaching assistants for this course, gave him a hard look from his place in the front row. He rolled his eyes.

“Good morning. This is Intro to Archaeology. I’m Dr. Jack Johnson. Normally this class is taught by Professor Nadine Redmond, but as she is on parental leave for the next several weeks, I’ll be teaching you lot of miscreants.”

His grouchy words got a few titters from the students, but he hadn’t been trying for humor. He was happy for Nadine, he really was, but he was annoyed that he’d been assigned to cover the class, in addition to his normal workload. Intro to Archaeology sucked donkey eggs, and he didn’t have Nadine’s love of “nurturing the next crop of budding archaeologists, getting them excited about prehistory.” Absolute garbage. If they managed to make it to university and not realize archaeology was one of the most interesting academic disciplines, then it wasn’t up to him to correct that oversight. There were already too many students in this class, and this might be the worst year possible for him to have an overloaded schedule.

“Sanji, here, will be handing out the syllabus for this year.” Jack handed Sanji the stack of papers—and the reason he was late. Sanji waved at the students as he stood. “Sanji is one of your teaching assistants, as is Meredith.” She also stood and waved before Jack continued.

“In case you weren’t paying attention when you registered, classes will be here, Monday and Wednesday at 9:00 a.m. sharp, unless there are holidays or other breaks, according to the official university schedule. Each of you should also have signed up for one hour of practical lab work each week, which may be guided by either myself, Meredith, or Sanji. There are several sessions—”

He broke off as the door opened, and in strode a man who was clearly not a brand-new first-year university student.

“Sorry I’m late.” The man gave him a rueful grin but didn’t sound terribly apologetic.

“Do try to be on time in the future.” Jack’s scolding didn’t faze the man a bit. He merely wiggled fingers in Jack’s direction as he slid into an open seat in the second row. Meredith leaped up and hand-delivered a syllabus. Undeserved attention for a student who was late.

With a barely smothered grimace, Jack turned his attention back to his notes. He did not like being interrupted.

“Where was I? Oh yes. Lab sessions will take place on Thursday or Friday starting next week.”

God willing, he’d only be doing the labs for a couple of weeks.

“How many of you have seen the Indiana Jones movies?” Pretty much the whole class put their hands up. Hell, he hadn’t even been alive when the first one came out. The students seemed to get younger every year, but that didn’t diminish the almost timeless appeal of those movies. Or the timeless appeal of their star. Jack suspected his preference for older men might have germinated in his youthful crush on the ruggedly handsome Harrison Ford.

“How many of you think Indiana Jones is an accurate portrayal of an archaeologist… the most recent movie aside.” Because there was an official term for an archaeologist who went around unearthing alien artifacts, and that name was “crackpot.” Or perhaps “whackadoo” in more casual circles.

Far too many hands remained in the air, and he scowled at them. Honestly. Critical thinking was a lost fucking art.

“Well, I’ve got some bad news for you. There may have been a time when people barely above grave robbers called themselves archaeologists. And they behaved alarmingly like our charming Dr. Jones. Archaeology uses science, gold and gems are as rare as getting struck by lightning, and treasure doesn’t tell us nearly as much about prehistoric societies as do garbage dumps.”

Which was precisely the reason this class filled up every goddamn year, and the attrition rate was so high. Halfway through the semester, they’d be lucky to have half this many students. It meant a shit-ton of work in those first few weeks and months, though, until the exacting nature and the lack of glamor bored the idiots who thought they’d be slapping on a pith helmet, rifling through a grave or twenty, dodging spear-wielding natives, and scoring a solid gold idol, all in the first week. Indiana Jones might have been hot, but he was a grave-robbing maverick, at best.

At least the labs were scheduled in pairs so that as soon as attendance dropped, any of Jack’s labs could merge into Sanji’s or Meredith’s equivalent, freeing up a few hours of his time. Unfortunately, depending on how determined this lot of frosh were, he might well be teaching labs until Nadine returned. Couldn’t she be more traditional and take the full year’s mat leave? But nooo, she had to split the parental leave with her husband, and that meant he was temporarily covering, rather than shuffling the entire schedule or course offerings for a full year.

“Now that you know what not to expect… the required text is listed on your syllabus. I expect everyone to have a copy before your first lab session, although if you wait until next week, you will be hopelessly behind.” Jack continued on with the first day’s lecture. Not much of a lecture, merely going over expectations, required reading for the next class, and an incredibly abbreviated history of the discipline.

Most of the first lecture he could deliver in his sleep, and a good thing too. Several times over the rest of the hour, Jack found his eyes wandering to the latecomer in the second row. By rights, in a class this full, he should never have found a seat so close to the front, but the rest of the “fresh out of high school” crowd seemed to have an ingrained terror of sitting too close to the front, and the damn lecture hall filled from back to front.

Mature students weren’t uncommon, but usually it meant a couple of people his father’s age interspersed in the sea of kids in their late teens. It had been a gift, because as yet, he’d had not one man who attracted him show up in any of his classes. Not any of his undergraduates. Some of his graduate students had held some appeal, but it hadn’t been hard to avoid any impropriety.

This man, though, was going to be a distraction of the first order. A few years older than him, maybe as many as ten, sandy blond hair, freckles, laugh lines at the corners of hazel-colored eyes. Lean, fit, wearing jeans that lovingly cupped an ass made for sin, and a package that could tempt a saint. Something about his jawline and the sharp line of his nose gave Jack a frisson of déjà vu, but that had to be his mind playing tricks on him. No way could he have met and forgotten a man like that.

Jack Johnson might be a nerd, but he was no goddamn saint, and the sheer temptation of this man—this student—was going to make this class a million times more hideous. Last thing he needed was to battle a fucking hard-on in front of four-hundred-plus students. Nadine and her adorable cherub of a baby owed him large, and as soon as she got back, he’d collect.

Forty-seven excruciating minutes later, Jack excused the class and dashed out before anyone could tuck notebooks and laptops into bags.

Chapter TWO

HOLY FUCKING shit. Dev flopped back onto his bed and stared up at the ceiling. He had some totally interesting classes—even drunk and depressed he’d managed to find an assortment of classes that would not only exercise his brain but hopefully help him decide on a second career that didn’t involve marathon Netflix sessions.

But he was going to have to work, and he hadn’t truly worked in a long fucking time. Music was hard, touring was exhausting, and social media was like death to his soul, but fronting a successful band hadn’t been a job. It hadn’t been work. It had lived up to the adage “if you do something you love, you’ll never work a day in your life.”

Without Trent, though, music lost all its color, and he needed to find another occupation to love if he wasn’t going to fritter away the second half of his life like a socially awkward hermit.

Showing up late for his very first class had been a little frustrating. Until that prickly, starched hottie of a professor had scolded him. Fuck, his cock had plumped right up, even as he ignored the admonition.

He wasn’t a sub, or into the whole BDSM thing, but the occasional role-play with a stern teacher figure? Especially one that looked like Dr. Jack? Yes fucking please.

For all that the man dressed like a weedy librarian, he had the exact look Dev had determinedly aped as the lead of a punk-industrial band. Dev had to constantly keep up with his roots to keep his hair the glossy raven black Dr. Jack sported naturally, and no matter how many brands he tried, Dev could never find contacts that gave him Dr. Jack’s clear blue irises. His skin was clear and pale, and he probably got fucking carded most places, even though he wasn’t that much younger than Dev. Hell, even his lashes were thick, dark, and gave the illusion of faint guyliner.

Dev practically lived in mascara, thick black liner, and makeup to hide the freckles and the golden tan that appeared the moment he went outdoors. Freckles and sandy blond hair didn’t suit the band, not at all. If Dr. Jack shaved the sides of his head and styled the rest of his wavy hair into a stubby Mohawk, he’d probably get mistaken for Dev during Negative Impression days. With his natural hair color and no makeup, it was the exceptionally discerning fan who’d recognize Dev, which was a blessing he’d never quite appreciated until now.

If only the class weren’t at nine in the morning. Dev had never been much of a morning person, and while the whole registration process was a bit fuzzy, he couldn’t believe he’d managed to sign up for interesting classes but hadn’t managed to cram them all into the afternoon or evening.

But if he had, he might have missed the enigma that was Dr. Jack Johnson, and that would have been a crime. Sure, the professor might have been annoyed with him, but there was a reason he’d been a good front man for the band. He had charm, and he was bullheaded. He could probably get Dr. Jack to like him. If he couldn’t, well, tweaking his nose, figuratively, would be an amusement in itself.

There were things he’d rather tweak, though. He’d have to keep an eye out for indications Dr. Jack played for his team. A number of times, his gaze had roved over Dev, but his “sucking on limes” sour expression made it hard to tell if Dr. Jack was attracted or held a grudge due to Dev’s tardy arrival.

The hotness of his professor didn’t distract him quite enough, though. Intro to Archaeology had only been the beginning, and by the end of the day, he wasn’t sure how he was going to survive four years. Everyone else was so damned young. If he’d had any youthful indiscretions with a woman, he could have fathered just about any of his classmates. He’d pretended the assessing looks he’d gotten had been simple admiration of his appearance, but a good number of them had probably been wondering about his “mature student” status.

It was also a stark reminder that friends were in short supply, and the odds of finding any in this sea of Axe body spray and Proactiv acne treatment were—like Dr. Jack had said—less likely than getting struck by lightning.

He had a ton of homework, which was also fucking surreal. He’d taken a few basic courses when he and Trent were trying to get the band together, keeping his father partially mollified, but none of them twigged his interest. He was hoping the wide array of choices this time around would give him some guidance.

Which he should get started on, but he was crazy tired after figuring out where everything was on campus and hitting all his Monday classes. Stupidly, he’d set it up so Monday was his busiest day, and he suspected Mondays would shortly be on his shit list, even with the prospect of the delicious Dr. Jack first thing.

His phone buzzed, and as he reached to grab it, his stomach growled like an angry dog. Maybe he’d order in some food before he worried about homework.

Come over for dinner. I want to hear about your first day at school.

Dev huffed out a laugh. His mom might be committed to a paper calendar, but she’d grasped the fundamentals of smartphones just fine.

Be there in ten.

He set up his books and notes on his desk. If it weren’t for his staff, he’d have had to dust the top off. It had been months if not years since he’d last used the thing.

With a fingertip he stroked the archaeology text. If he thought he could rile up the sexy Dr. Jack by not doing his homework, he’d probably skip it, but he suspected he couldn’t gain anything but a shitty grade. Even if Intro to Archaeology took place at a simply unholy hour, Dr. Jack and his lecture had intrigued him enough that he was going to give it a real shot.

DEV SLID into his customary place at the kitchen table while his mom puttered at the stove. A giant bowl of tossed salad already sat in the middle of the table. He really needed to get a handle on his self-absorption, since he should be taking care of his mom and not the other way around, but when he moved back to Oakville, it didn’t seem as though she needed taking care of. And he had to admit, there was the definite appeal—at any age—of letting a mom do all the worrying. His mom had been super young when she’d married his dad, and Dev had been born five months after their wedding, so at least he didn’t have the added guilt of her age on top of everything.

“How’s the charity committee going?”

His mother turned to him and stuck out her tongue, making Dev laugh. “Hallie Marsden is going to drive me to violence one day, I swear. Nitpicking on every idea, when everything she comes up with will cause twice as much work and cost three times more.”

“They do say committees are the work of the devil.”

His mom slid two plates of macaroni and cheese from scratch on the table and sat down across from Dev. Although they were both aware of the empty space where his dad would have sat, it didn’t cause the same searing pain it used to.

“They do, do they? Whoever ‘they’ are, they’ve got some brains.”

Dev scooped a forkful of pasta into his mouth and hummed in pleasure. When he was a kid and his parents were both labored with the effort of continuing their education while parenting an excitable, energetic kid, a lot of their macaroni and cheese came out of a blue box. His mom had been so proud the day she’d had the time to make mac and cheese from scratch, and it had quickly become one of the family’s comfort foods.

The first day at university for a forty-one-year-old shouldn’t require comfort food, but somehow it was exactly perfect.

“How’d it go?” His mother carefully looked down at her plate, like she was afraid Dev was close to having a meltdown and she didn’t want to trigger him by being too solicitous.

“Mooommm. The other kids don’t like me, and I don’t have any friends.” He intentionally made his voice super high and extra whiny.

That brought her head up, and she glared at him, which only made him laugh. “You little punk.”

Dev only laughed harder. Since he’d spent decades fronting an actual punk band, that particular epithet didn’t really hold up, and she knew it.

“Seriously, though, it is weird. Those kids are… kids. There are other mature students around, but how much would I have in common with them?” His lifestyle had certainly been atypical since Negative Impression had started touring in earnest, and he sort of had the feeling most people his own age were… not stick-in-the-muds, precisely, but had more in common with his parents than him. Besides, the majority of the people in his age group at university were faculty, not students.

“Well, I bet those mature students are also developing a second career. You might find more in common than you think.”

A second career. The words sent white-hot pain searing through him, leaving him breathless. His mother made it sound so prosaic, when it was merely a desperate attempt to figure out who he was without the band or Trent to keep him grounded.

His mother grabbed his hand and squeezed. “I’m serious, Devlin. Your outside interests or career paths might not be the same as most people, but some of those people might also be embarking on a second career because of something catastrophic. Like we both are.”

Dev took a deep breath and pulled his hand away. His mother had been adamant that he see a grief counselor, and he didn’t want to hear her reasons again.

“Fine. I’ll try to talk to someone. Labs and such start next week. It should be easier to strike up conversations then.” He wouldn’t mind chatting up the sexy Dr. Jack, but that probably wasn’t what his mother had in mind.

His mother let out an aggrieved sigh, but Dev had every intention of procrastinating. For at least a week.

“Are there groups you could join?”

Dev rolled his eyes. “Even if I were still a pimply-faced teen, can you honestly see me doing that?”

She shrugged. “People change, Dev. Don’t discount it out of hand. I’d be willing to bet there are a lot more social awareness groups than the last time you attended university. There might be something that aligns with the charities you support. And I can tell you with some authority that having something to do is a big help.”

“And you don’t think studying is enough?”

“Dev, honey, I love you to pieces, but you need people in your life, and studying is not social enough. What about Luke and Mo? I’m sure they’d love to see you.”

Panic closed his throat. He hadn’t seen either of them since Trent’s funeral. Instead, he’d dodged their calls and put off answering any emails that didn’t pertain to business. Even business emails he forwarded to his manager. He was not ready to see them, to commiserate with them, or even share stories about Trent. Just, no. Luke Baldwin, their keyboardist, known as Dragon, was too emotional, and Mo Khan, aka Snake the drummer, always had eyes filled with pity.

In the silence of his own heart, he could admit he was still too fucking fragile to face the hole in his life, but he could also admit he was arrogant enough to want to avoid confirming that fact for anyone else.

“I’ll think about it.” But socializing with strangers who were young enough to be his kids would be infinitely easier than being forced to confront Mo and Luke.

Like they’d had his mother’s kitchen bugged, a message from Mo lit up his phone.

You can’t ignore us forever.

Dev cleared the message. He could try; he could be a stubborn asshole when he wanted to be.

“Who was that?” There wasn’t any sharpness in his mother’s tone; she must not have seen who the message was from.

“No one.”

Another message came through seconds later, from Luke.

Please call us. Email. Something.

Variations of the same messages he’d been receiving for the past six months. He turned off his phone. Talking about this with his mother was painful enough. The paper bag holding his shit together was practically translucent, and the knives of grief were only temporarily at bay. If he so much as saw his bandmates, the knives would go to work, spewing his emotional trauma everywhere and destroying his precarious state of mind. Avoidance was the only solution, and he’d do so for as long as it took.

For the rest of the meal, his mother took pity on him and spoke only about the fund-raisers she was working on, letting him eat in peace. But he’d never been so happy to escape his mother’s company to go home and study.

JACK MADE it to Intro to Archaeology before the teaching assistants, for which he gave himself a mental pat on the back. He was well aware that his dislike of having to teach the class would have him dragging his feet most days, so arriving on time was a bit of a success.

It had nothing to do with the fluttery feeling in his stomach whenever he brought to mind that one student. Smug asshole.

Jack scrubbed his face with his hands. The last thing he needed was to develop any sort of infatuation with a student, but the guy’s insolent arrogance infuriated Jack as much as it appealed to him, in a very visceral manner.

The first few students filtered into the room, and Jack smoothed his hair down before pulling out his notes for the second class, spreading them across the lectern.

Best-case scenario—Jack’s little speech to discourage wannabe grave robbers meant that the cocky shit had dropped out already. The niggle of disappointment would not be acknowledged. It wasn’t as if Jack hadn’t ever tangled with men like that. He’d slept with the most arrogant man he’d ever met, and it had been awful. Not the sex. The sex had been world-class. But everything else about that encounter made it one of his most disappointing memories.

Jack gritted his teeth. He did not need to be thinking about sex minutes before a lecture.

Sanji arrived with a wave and approached him. “Meredith and I have a bet. She says your lecture last week scared off 5 percent of the students, I said 10.”

That surprised a laugh out of Jack. “That boring, was it?” Good. His intention was to flush out everyone who wasn’t serious, although he hadn’t expected the attrition to be quite that significant. It usually took the first few practical sessions to “encourage” dropouts.

“Like you didn’t do that on purpose.” This wasn’t the first time he’d worked with Sanji, but he definitely had more patience for the intro courses than Jack did; no surprise Nadine snapped him up for this course.

Jack shrugged. “Some secrets aren’t meant to be shared.”

Sanji chuckled and sat in the front row; Meredith joined him a moment later and smiled at Jack.

It took all of another thirty seconds to decide showing up late made more sense. Watching the students file in made him jittery as he eagerly searched each face for that one man who’d pissed him off and intrigued him in equal measure.

Someone like that wouldn’t have what it took to stick it out in Jack’s class. Searching for him was futile and pathetic. Resolutely he stared down at his notes, although he didn’t really need them. From the sounds of chatter, feet stomping, and the shuffling sounds of asses hitting chairs, he hadn’t scared away nearly as many students as he’d hoped. Certainly not the 10 percent his TA was gambling on.

Today’s stratigraphy lecture would go a long way to help. Absolutely necessary and duller than dirt without potsherds.

Glancing up, he waited another minute as the last stragglers made their way to seats. Running his gaze quickly over the audience, he confirmed his suspicions. That guy from Monday hadn’t shown. And no one had to know about the disappointment he swiftly and ruthlessly smothered.

“Good morning. Please settle down. We’re going to get started.”

“Good morning.” That guy… here he was again. Sauntering in like he owned the place, self-satisfied smirk on his face. Then he had the absolute gall to sit in the front row but remained near the door as though ready for a quick escape at the end of the hour—or sooner. Jack glared, hoping to convey his irritation with such a lackadaisical attitude.

Then the guy winked at Jack, and every thought in Jack’s head fled like rabbits chased by wolves. He cleared his throat and shuffled his papers. Someone had clearly swapped his notes for ones written in ancient Sumerian. What the fuck was wrong with him?

He coughed, nerves making it hard to swallow. Jack might not be the most confident when it came to picking up men in bars, but he hadn’t been nervous in front of a class of students since his first day as a teaching assistant, back during his own graduate studies. One man shouldn’t have this sort of effect, no matter how irritating or attractive he might be.

“Right. Let’s get started.” He bit back a groan. He’d already said that. Staring hard at his notes, they finally resolved into English.