Brad flipped listlessly through his textbook. Didn’t absorb anything, just saw lines and lines of black text on white. It had been three months since semester began, and despite Ian McMillan’s name printed all over the course schedules, he hadn’t conducted a single class. Instead, it had been the assistant professor, June Kindling, showing up.
In a couple weeks, maybe I won’t be working on a Master’s anymore, anyway.
Brad leaned back in his chair, glancing at the empty whiteboard. What he was doing with his life, coming to class? He could’ve been back home, sleeping off the exhaustion from a twenty-four-hour shift at the station.
Instead, he’d been making his way to the college twice a week, hoping to catch Ian McMillan around.
Kind of a stupid idea, taking up a course so he could see his professor again. And yet here Brad was, the entire textbook memorized in case he had the chance to impress McMillan. Someone he hadn’t seen since seven years ago.
Which idiot does this? Aside from me?
A few weeks back, Brad had given up all pretense that he’d been attending these classes for self-improvement.
He’d gone up to June Kindling and said, I thought Ian McMillan was supposed to teach this class.
Kindling had given him an odd look, and answered, He’s busy.
Brad had shut up after that. No point protesting, anyway.
With the way he’d graduated with a Chemistry degree, he’d figured he might as well put it to some use. His job at the station didn’t really need it; Brad wanted to give his brain a workout, see if he couldn’t get a Master’s just because he could.
He had the background knowledge. He was paying for tuition with his own wages.
It wasn’t just that, though. Some months back, there had been a huge blaze in town, a three-story apartment building that had burned in the summer heat.
Brad had been on driving duty that day. There had been a jam on the road, and he’d taken what he’d thought was a shortcut. He’d ended up getting the fire truck stuck behind yet more traffic, and the embarrassment had burned.
But that hadn’t been all—by the time they’d arrived at the scene, half the apartments in the building had been razed. They’d hauled out the few survivals they could.
When the flames had been doused, Brad had gone into the building and found the charred remains, small bones that should never have been left to burn. Outside the building, the parents had been distraught. A mother had grabbed Brad and screamed, Why couldn’t you save my daughter?
Brad hadn’t an answer for her. The guilt sat on his shoulders, so heavy it felt as though it would crush his heart.
Despite the therapy, despite the subsequent people he’d saved, Brad couldn’t help the sense that he was drifting. He needed to prove to himself he could do something right. Needed to know he wouldn’t fuck up again.
What was the use of being a firefighter if people died because of you?
So here he was, taking up a chemistry class because he’d gotten tired of dating, of omegas his age who didn’t understand the horror of what he’d done.
Twenty-nine wasn’t young anymore, but sometimes, Brad still felt as though he didn’t know enough, didn’t have enough.
Breath in, Brad told himself. Make your life count.
He sighed, and the beta student next to him looked over. Brad stared at his textbook, regretting even showing up for class. Wasn’t any point staying, anyway. Maybe he should leave.
Except the possibility that Ian McMillan might appear, no matter how slim it was… It kept Brad in his seat.
If he really thought about it, he could still remember the way McMillan had smiled, that first day of class seven years ago. McMillan’s shirt had been wrinkled, his gaze skittering away when Brad had met his eyes.
Through his undergrad years, Brad had seen McMillan around on campus, but it was only during his last semester that he’d taken one of McMillan’s classes. And then he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about that omega—the way McMillan had bitten his lip when he was nervous, the way he’d sneaked glances at Brad, like he was curious, interested. Like he needed an alpha.
Over the course of that semester, Brad had written McMillan little notes. McMillan’s writing on his assignments had faltered, leaving messy splotches of red ink on paper. He’d given Brad more chances to ask questions during class, and Brad had gone up to him, asking if McMillan was free to help with his homework.
Those consultations had stayed mostly on schoolwork, too, until the weeks before Brad’s finals.
Then Brad had locked the office door, and McMillan had opened for him. His moan had sounded so sweet in Brad’s mouth.
McMillan had dropped out of contact the next day—no replies to Brad’s emails, no answers to his phone calls. The chemistry department had told Brad that the professor was unavailable, and Brad had figured he’d gone too far. He’d left an apology under McMillan’s door, and received no reply.
That had been okay. At that point, Brad had had nothing to his name—no job, hardly any status in the college town they lived in. There had been no point in him pursuing an omega so far out of his league.
Now… Brad had a job. He had a house, he had a car. He’d risen up a couple ranks at the station, and maybe he was in a better place.
Still wasn’t sure he was good enough for an omega, though. At the very least, he wanted to apologize to McMillan for that day, for not staying in contact after that.
You have to give yourself chances to explore, McMillan had once said with a wistful look in his eyes. It’s okay to make mistakes. You’re still young.
Something had felt right about Ian McMillan, in a way Brad hadn’t been able to explain.
He leaned back in his seat, stretching his arms behind his head. Thought about giving up and leaving—maybe he wasn’t fated to meet McMillan, anyway. The professor had probably moved
