Scot and Bothered

5. Then

5

THEN

Jack Sutherland was a fraud. With his acceptance to a master’s program came a requirement to teach a biweekly recitation—the mandatory small group classes paired with the three--hundred-person lectures taught by Professor McKinnon. As if Jack was qualified to teach students approximately twelve months his junior.

He’d been waiting—maybe his entire life—for something to click , to feel like the right path. He wanted business school to be the answer. His dad, Neil, certainly thought it was.

As Jack sat at the desk in the shared university office for teaching assistants, he pushed his glasses up, rubbing the bridge of his nose. Teaching would be a lot like guiding at his family’s tour company, he reminded himself—it simply required getting into character.

As this was his first time teaching, he hoped the comparison was accurate.

Jack tried to breathe through the nerves sweeping through him like a brush fire; all he had to do today was attend the main lecture and stand in front of the lecture hall for recitation assignments. There was no reason to be this rattled.

A flurry in the hallway pulled him from his thoughts and he looked up to find his parents standing in the door, overblown innocence written all over their flushed faces.

“Oh, hello, Jack,” his dad said with an air of surprise as if they’d bumped into each other at Tesco.

“We were just having tea with Mhairi,” his mum rushed to add, gesturing to his aunt, who had appeared behind them in a familiar burst of billowing orange-and-purple fabric as if Neil and Gemma had given her the slip and she’d chased them down.

His aunt taught in the English Department—in an entirely different building. Resting her hand on the doorframe as if she was winded, Mhairi mouthed, “Sorry.”

“We had no idea your office was so close by.” His dad glanced around at the bare walls, his mustache jumping as if trying to keep a neutral expression.

“What a coincidence,” Jack said. He loved his parents, but they were so involved , hovering so close he never felt he could trust his instincts because their opinions were so very loud.

They were not here for a casual tea with Mhairi. They were here to make sure Jack hadn’t absconded on the last train out of the city. Which he had briefly considered before reminding himself that grad school might be the missing puzzle piece he’d been searching for. If he could run the operations—the finances and marketing and anything Agnes in HR wasn’t responsible for—it could give Jack something besides tours and folklore to connect with his family over, to feel like he was truly a part of their legacy and not this hanger-on who didn’t quite fit in.

And as much as he was annoyed that they were here checking up on him, never asking if this was what he really wanted, Jack felt some deep relief at the sight of Mhairi. He’d love nothing more than for her to hold his hand while he taught his first class, or—since that would truly undermine his authority— at least sit in the front row and cast that encouraging smile on him for fifty minutes straight.

A decade younger than his mum, Mhairi had always been rebellious and brassy. In a family that constantly looked backward at history and tradition, she cared about the here and now.

She wrapped him up in a hug and Jack let himself be coddled, just for a moment. “You don’t need to check up on me, you know,” he said, more to his parents than to his aunt.

Mhairi waved a hand in front of her face as if swatting away bugs. “I only wanted to see my favorite nephew now that we’re colleagues,” she said, taking the blame he didn’t for a minute believe was hers. “We’ll be off, but I’d like a word with Jack.”

Gemma and Neil gave him hugs like they were dropping him off at his first sleepaway before saying their goodbyes and heading out.

Mhairi’s look turned serious, some mixture of affection and sorrow that made him believe she could see right through him. And maybe she’d always been able to. She was the black sheep and he was the wayward son. They’d forged an unbreakable bond on the outskirts of the family who loved them.

But the rare stillness that emanated from her echoed a summer morning on Skye when he’d been a boy. Standing on a bridge over a wide and languid river, Mhairi told him it was alright to not know what he wanted. Like she’d understood, even then, that he wasn’t suited for this path. She’d turned and looked up past the deep valley into the Cuillin Mountains and said, “But when you find what you’re looking for, don’t let it go.”

He’d finally found his path forward—grad school was the way to be what his parents wanted.

Mhairi squeezed his shoulder, her grip tight. “Live a little. Don’t close yourself off to the possibility of something unexpected.”

“I won’t.” Jack was completely open to the possibility this year presented. In fact, he was counting on it to change everything with his family.

“That being said, stick to the textbook,” she said with a mischievous wink.

With that facetious teaching advice and reminder of his present circumstance, he steered her from the office. “Goodbye, Auntie.”

Over her shoulder, Mhairi gave him an amused grin and sauntered away.

Jack sank into his rolling chair and kicked his feet up on the desk. Ten more minutes before he needed to be in the lecture hall. Standing in front of one hundred students. Deep breaths . In, one, two. Out, one, two.

His relaxation was interrupted by the sound of footsteps outside the room. “One more thing, Jackie,” Mhairi said from the doorframe. “Don’t let the little buggers smell your fear.”

“Off with you!”

Her laughter echoed down the hall.

* * *

Jack followed Rohan into the lecture hall. “You sure we don’t want to bail. Move to Bali and live out our days on the beach?” Jack asked, his nerves flickering in his stomach.

Rohan laughed as if Jack was totally, completely joking. “The environment isn’t going to save itself, Jackie. We got work to do.”

The stairs of the lecture hall were painted the red of a warning flag for troubled water, but he followed them down to the first row and off to the side. Professor McKinnon wrote on the chalkboard and Jack had forgotten the way the screechy sound grated on the inside of his skull, underscoring the doubt swirling inside him the same way the professor underlined “Business for Non-Majors” in a broad white stroke.

Professor McKinnon was well respected, sometimes feared, not one to make a joke. “Good morning,” he said, his loud voice projecting through the lecture hall without the aid of a microphone. “I am Professor McKinnon and this is one of the three classes you need to complete your Small Business Management Certificate—”

“Shite.” A guy in a black button-up, tan vest, and jeans grabbed his knapsack and dashed up the steps.

A rumble of laughter went through the room as they watched him push through the door. Jack had never felt more jealous in his life.

“If no one else needs to flee the class just now, let us begin,” Professor McKinnon said. “We’ll focus this term on the basics of marketing strategy, financial planning, and sales strategies. You’ll have one lecture per week and two recitations with your teaching assistant, who will go into more depth and conversation about the information we cover here.” He projected a list of names on the screen. “If you haven’t accessed the student portal yet, here are your recitation assignments. Will the teaching assistants please stand?”

Jack and Rohan stood and turned to face the students. Jack’s palms were sweaty as his gaze skimmed over the lecture hall. The students were mostly looking at their phones under their desks, as if no one could tell what they were on about. The first set of eyes he met were summer sky blue. Jack’s pulse tripped in recognition. Brooke .

She wore a plum-colored puffer vest over a white hoodie. Wisps of chestnut hair framed her face under a dusty blue ball cap with a buffalo patch ringing a mountain sunset. A bright smile curved her lips and then fell, the same way his heart did.

Fuck .

His eyes fluttered closed. She was a student.

Of course. Kieran’s roommate, not Rohan’s friend. Jack had clearly been too drunk and/or captivated to process that at the party.

Orientation for the teaching assistants had included very little detail on how to actually teach the students, but an extraordinary emphasis had been placed on absolutely not dating them.

Jack scanned the list of names on his class list, thankfully not finding hers, though it hardly mattered. He kept reading, finding her name under Rohan’s recitation. Brooke Sinclair. As if he needed to collect any more details about her.

He looked back to Brooke and her eyes were still on him, a look of disappointment there. He hated the flush that spread over her skin. In another situation he’d want to know the exact shade of that color pink and exactly how to bring it to the surface.

But not with a power imbalance, not with university rules. He had too much riding on this year.

But goddamn he wished he didn’t.