38. Nick
NICK
I t’s impossible to focus in class. All I can think about is Zinnia, and that reckless moment we stole together in the library this morning.
I’ve never done something so risky in my life, and while part of me is terrified by what could have happened, another part is exhilarated.
Already wanting her again. Wanting her in places that would only cause certain destruction.
Instead, I have to button my jacket and stand in front of the class, all while knowing she sits in the front row, full of my seed.
As hot as it is to have that dirty secret between us, it only makes the reality of what we’re doing hit harder.
Today’s lecture is about risk and power imbalance in Renaissance patronage, and the irony is not lost on me.
“When it comes to the relationship between patrons and artists,” I say, avoiding Zinnia’s gaze, “breaking rules could make—or ruin—careers.”
I pace in front of the lectern, restless and uneasy. Do people know I’m thinking about Zinnia as I speak? Is my not looking at her only making things more obvious?
“An artist who pushed the boundaries risked many things,” I continue carefully. “Reputation, income, church approval, political fallout.”
I bring up the next slide, gesturing to Botticelli’s The Birth of Venus . “Botticelli was a famous example, producing many mythological figures—nudes, no less—that suffered a great deal of religious scrutiny.”
A knot forms in my gut as I gaze at the projected image, thinking about the risk I’m taking with Zinnia. About all the risks I want to take with her. About what would happen to my career if anyone discovered us.
I glance back at the class. When my gaze finally meets hers, soft and warm in the low light of the lecture hall, the knot eases.
She’s worth it, a thousand times over. This woman brought me home to myself.
Reminded me of what it means to feel alive.
Being with her feels like… like the world is brand new and ours for the taking.
“But imagine if Botticelli hadn’t pushed those boundaries,” I say. “We wouldn’t have the beautiful works we have today.”
I motion to the image behind me, and this time, I keep my gaze locked on Zinnia. I might be speaking to the class, but my words are for her alone.
“When the work is this significant—this meaningful —we can all agree it was worth the risk.”
Her eyes glow, and she bites her bottom lip. My heart thunders as I stare at her. And while I don’t know how, I do know I have to fight for her. She’s so much more than my dirty little secret.
She’s everything .
I swallow hard, realization slowly sinking into my bones. It’s not only the fear of running into someone I know at Marcus’s wedding that’s holding me back. It’s the fear of what my brother would think if he knew the truth.
That I’m falling in love with a student.
I stare at my brother’s house, mind spinning. I don’t know why I’m here. Maybe I’ve come to tell Marcus that Zinnia won’t be able to make it to the wedding. That he shouldn’t have bothered to invite her.
Or maybe I’m hoping he’ll be able to offer some advice.
But as I stand on Cranberry Street in the warm afternoon sun, I can’t get my feet to move. Marcus and I don’t have that kind of relationship. We don’t give each other advice. We haven’t been close since we were kids.
Shaking my head, I glance along the street. He’s probably not home, anyway. Not at this time of day.
I turn to leave when Marcus’s voice stops me in my tracks.
“Nick?”
Stiffening, I glance back. “Hey.” I frown. “How did you know I was out here?”
His forehead wrinkles with amusement. “I saw you through the window, dumbass.”
My frown deepens. Yet another brotherly nickname.
“Well?” Marcus motions over his shoulder. “Are you going to come in, or what?”
I waver, then, heaving a sigh, climb his stoop. He claps me jovially on the back as I pass, and it sends a flicker of irritation through my chest. Marcus finds it so easy to put the past behind him, but I can’t forget. I can’t shake the sting of humiliation every time I see him.
I pad behind him into his glossy, gleaming kitchen. He checks the time—4 p.m.—then goes to the fridge.
“Beer?”
I nod without hesitation, resisting the urge to ask for something stronger. He pops the tops off two bottles of Miller High Life, and we slide onto the stools at his kitchen counter.
“So what brings you by?” he asks. “Your class isn’t until later, right?”
“Yeah,” I say, picking at the label on my bottle. What was I thinking, showing up here? It’s not like I can tell him the truth. He already thinks my job is a joke. Why give him another reason to laugh at me?
Marcus gazes at me curiously over his beer. “So, you got the new invitation.”
“Yep.”
“You didn’t say if she could come.”
I study the pattern in Marcus’s marble countertop. “I can’t… It’s complicated.”
Marcus snorts into a sip of beer. “No, dickweed, it’s not. Just ask her.”
My jaw tightens. “Why do you do that?”
“Do what?”
“Call me names like that. Jackass. Dipshit. Why?”
He chuffs a surprised laugh. “I’m just joking around, Nick. You’re my brother. You should know that.”
Who do you think you are, da Vinci?
My neck heats as I think of that night. How hilarious he found it, how hard he howled with laughter, at my expense.
“Yeah, well, maybe I don’t find your sense of humor funny,” I mutter.
Marcus rolls his eyes. “Come on, man. Learn to take a joke.”
“Or maybe you should learn not to humiliate the people you claim to care about,” I bite back.
His smile vanishes. “What?”
Fuck. I didn’t mean to say that.
“Never mind,” I backtrack, face hot as I take a long pull from my beer.
He twists to face me squarely on the stool. “What are you talking about?”
My breath trickles out, and I gaze at him evenly. He seems truly puzzled by my words, and I shake my head.
“You really don’t remember?”
“Remember what?”
I could brush it off. Say it’s nothing, and let sleeping dogs lie. Only this has been eating away at me for a long time. It took meeting Zinnia for me to realize how much it affected me. How the resentment burned a hole in my gut.
But as resentful as I am, as angry as I feel toward Marcus for what he took from me, I also feel something else.
Something unfamiliar. I realize I want my brother in my life.
I want to let him in. And I can’t do that if I don’t confront the hurt he caused me.
The hurt he still causes me, to this day.
“I know you don’t respect my work.”
Marcus’s brows slash together, and he opens his mouth to speak, but I continue, needing to get this off my chest.
“You’ve never respected my love of art. The night you found my sketchbook…
” My throat thickens, and it’s an effort to push the words out.
“I cared about your opinion, did you know that? I’d always looked up to you.
And you just… you laughed .” I take a deep breath, forcing my gaze to my brother’s shocked face.
“I’ve never felt as humiliated as I did at that moment.
I didn’t pick up a sketchbook again for… ” I swallow. “For a very long time.”
Marcus stares at me in disbelief. “I didn’t… Fuck, Nick, I don’t…”
“Do you remember?” I ask, realizing for the first time that he might not even recall the incident. The moment that shifted the trajectory of my life probably didn’t even register for him, that’s how insignificant it was.
But he nods, dragging a hand down his face with a heavy exhale.
“I do, but… Shit, man, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize…
” He shakes his head. “I was exhausted from months of not sleeping. Residency was so fucking intense, and I felt like I was crumbling under the pressure. I thought about quitting every day.”
I stare at my brother in shock. Marcus—calm, composed, capable Marcus—wanted to quit?
“It was so great to see you that night,” he adds hoarsely, grip tightening on his beer.
“I’d missed you since moving out, and… honestly, I was stunned by your sketches.
” He laughs, but it’s an uncomfortable sound.
“Maybe even a little threatened. You could do things I’d never be able to do.
You saw the body in ways I never had. It was…
it was confronting to see your talent, while I felt like I was drowning. ”
Emotion clogs my throat as I process my brother’s words. He didn’t think my drawings were stupid. He thought they were good. This entire time I thought he considered me a joke, but really… he admired me.
“I’m an asshole,” Marcus says, hanging his head.
“I should have dealt with my own shit instead of projecting it onto you. I didn’t know that was the reason you stopped drawing.
Fuck, if I had…” His eyes are ringed with misery as he brings them to mine.
“You should know, I do respect your work. You’re a fucking tenured professor, Nick.
I might not understand why you love art so much, but I respect that you love it. I respect your success in your field.”
Something eases in my chest as I gaze at him.
Years of bitterness I’d kept tucked away in there, without even realizing.
All those moments I looked at my sketchbooks and couldn’t pick them up.
Every time I hesitated to share about my work.
The nonexistent relationship with my brother, the one I needed more than I realized.
“It’s okay.”
“It’s not, man. I’m sorry.” His eyes swim with regret. “I wish you’d told me this sooner. I would have apologized years ago.”
“I didn’t realize it myself,” I reply, thinking of that conversation with Zinnia during the blackout. The one where I told her it didn’t bother me, and she said she didn’t believe me. I don’t even think you believe it , she’d said. “Zinnia made me see it.”
Marcus arches an amused brow. “Is that why she looked as though she wanted to punch me in Joe’s?”
I send him a dry smile. “Yes.”