Chapter 1

Ian

 

 

Balancing the stack of files and a large textbook in one hand, I fumbled with the lock on the classroom door with the other. My palms were sweaty, making the task that much harder. Nerves were wreaking havoc on my body as I anticipated the first day back. I was kicking myself for not using a briefcase like every other person, but not me—I always had to do things the hard way.

“Come on, dammit, give me a break,” I groaned, willing the key to slide into the lock. “Finally!” I breathed in relief when the key slid home, and I managed to turn the doorknob. I looked up and down the hall, hoping no one saw me talking to the door. All clear. 

My victory was short-lived, however. The heavy marine science textbook that had been precariously balanced on top of the files slid off, hitting the ground with a thud.

“Dammit!” I cursed again.

I bent down to pick up the book, being careful not to drop the stack of files I was balancing in my free hand. Using my foot to open the door and my elbow to slide up the wall to flip the light switch, I took a moment to survey where I would be working. It looked stark and bleak—much like I felt.

A sudden feeling of hesitation and fear washed over me as I stared at the empty seats. My eyes moved to the desk at the front of the room that would be mine. It all felt foreign—as if the whole scene was a dream. I never thought I would be back in a classroom again. I almost didn’t make it back here.

Shaking off the feeling of dread, I plopped my heavy load on the desk. As I stared at the book with a picture of pink coral on the front, I asked myself the same question I had considered at least a thousand times. Why was I here? I could continue to live on the life insurance and savings I had stored away. I didn’t have to do this.

Teaching was a passion. The ocean and the life that filled it was another passion. That’s why I was standing here in an empty classroom, filled with trepidation. My friends and family told me it was time. I had to pick up the pieces. Grief had stolen nearly everything from me. If I didn’t break away from the reclusive lifestyle I had adopted after the death of my wife and daughter, I would die a lonely, bitter man.

Taking a deep breath, I shook my head, blocking out all thoughts of death—mine and my family’s.

“No. You’re not going down that road again,” I said aloud. “You are alive and grateful for it.”

It was a self-talk therapy that my grief counselor had taught me to use. At first, I had been reluctant, feeling a little ridiculous, but it worked. Misery and despair were not fun. They were a sucking abyss that had left me begging for my own death, and I just didn’t want to feel like that anymore. I had made the decision to live again, and picking up my teaching career was the first step.

Stepping behind the desk, I ran a hand nervously through my graying black hair and took another deep breath. I was a young by professor standards at the age of thirty-four, but I felt much older. Before my life had been torn apart, I had been a successful man with a bit of a cult following. I was young and handsome, and the young people who flocked to my class hung on every word I said. My fellow teachers called it a combination of natural charm and my youthful good looks. The students could relate to me.

Fast forward to today, and I wasn’t so sure I still had that same appeal. Grief had changed me physically and emotionally. I wasn’t in great physical shape. Not like I used to be. I hadn’t dived in who knows how long. The lack of physical exercise had made my body soft in places it used to be hard and sculpted. The grief diet had prevented me from packing on the pounds, but I didn’t feel strong, or physically confident like I used to.

There were lines around my eyes, and my black hair had more of a salt and pepper look now. I didn’t care enough about what people thought about the gray now peppering my hair to dye it. I preferred people take me at face value or not take me at all.

I took a deep breath and started to organize the files into stacks. I checked the watch on my wrist and then the empty seat in the corner of the room, across from my desk. I had been assured I would have an assistant. The dean insisted, even though I’d said I didn’t need one. Now, I was counting on it. It made me feel like I had someone in my corner, and I chuckled at the fact the assistant would literally be in the same corner of the room as me. It was us against them—the students.

My phone rang, reminding me I needed to shut it off before class started, “Hello,” I answered, already knowing who it was.

“How’s it going?” Jake, my younger brother, asked.

“I’ve been here exactly three minutes. There’s nothing going yet,” I grumbled, not appreciating my brother checking up on me.

“Is your assistant there?” he asked.

“No, and like I said before, I don’t need one.”

“Yes, you do. Admit it, already.”

I heaved a long sigh. The dean had insisted, and when I had run it by Jake, he agreed. “We’ll see. If it’s some cocky kid looking for a quick credit, I’m going to be pissed,” I muttered.

“Think about all the free time you’ll have. We can go diving, hang out on the weekends and have fun. You remember what that’s like, right?” Jake joked.

“Yeah, yeah, I know. You’re right, and it will be nice to have someone to fall back on, in case I can’t make it in or something,” I replied.

“Don’t even start making excuses already,” my brother warned.

“I’m not, but you never kn—”

“I do know. I know you will have your ass there every single day, like it or not. Gotta go, I have a client coming in.”

“Talk to you later,” I said, ending the call without another word.

Putting the phone on silent, I slid it into my pocket. Like it or not, this was my problem. The fire that made me passionate about teaching had been squelched. I wasn’t excited about putting in twelve-hour days. I was here to do my time and then go home. There would not be a lot of extra effort involved.

Thankfully, I was teaching at a small university. My job at one of the best universities in the country had been lost weeks after the accident. I had been very fortunate to have landed the job in the first place. I only managed to get it because I had impressed my professors and the stars aligned just right. That was the only way to explain—and I lost it.

It had all been too much, and I was forced to resign. There was no way I could talk to hundreds of students every day when I couldn’t summon the energy to get out of bed, let alone shower or leave the house.

“Good morning.” I greeted the first student to arrive with what I hoped was a welcoming smile.

Another pang of anxiety stabbed at my stomach as more students started to filter through the open door. My heart started to race, and I began to second guess my choice to return to teaching.

One young woman stopped at my desk, extended her hand and introduced herself, “I’m Jennie,” she said with a smile. “I’ll probably be your favorite student.”

Despite my trepidation, I had to laugh at her declaration. “Oh, really. Why’s that?”

“Because I’m smart, punctual, and very serious about my education. Teachers love me,” she said, with a confident smile.

I nodded my head. “Good to know, Jennie. I’ll expect some great work from you.”

She turned on her heel and took a seat in the front row. I didn’t even have to ask. This was her first year. She had probably been one of the smartest in her high school class, but like so many bright young people, finances made it difficult for her to attend a four-year school. I knew the drill; get your pre-reqs out of the way at a cheap university, and then go for the bachelor’s degree they were all eager for. It was a smart move.

In my traditional position, I sat on the edge of my desk, my legs extended in front of me, crossed at the ankles. My arms were folded across my chest as I studied each of the students in the class. I was an excellent judge of character. I was already deciding who was serious and willing to absorb what I taught, and who was just here for the credit. Most people signed up for the class assuming it would be a fun, easy credit. They were in Florida, next to the ocean. Most of the students in the class had grown up around the sea and thought they knew everything there was. They were thinking ‘easy A.’ I smiled, knowing they were very wrong.

“Good morning,” I said, as another female student filed in, pausing for a brief second to check me out.

It was an odd feeling. One I had once been comfortable with, but now, it made me feel weird. I know I had been an attractive man, but that was before. Before grief, pain, and despair had left me an empty shell of a man. Now, the attention made me feel uneasy. I had been out of the game for so long, I didn’t even know how to flirt properly.

Checking my watch again, I shook my head. Class was due to start, and the seat near my desk was still empty. Either the assistant was late, which was a huge pet peeve for me, or wasn’t going to show up at all. When the steady stream of students slowed and ultimately ceased, I walked to the door, closed it and turned back to face the class.

“Good morning, I’m Professor Dunlap. Who’s excited to learn all about the bottom of the ocean?”

There were a few grunts and the occasional ‘me,’ but overall, the excitement level hovered just above getting teeth pulled. Great. The seats were all filled, which was a good sign, but if I couldn’t hold their interest and they started dropping out, I knew my job could be in danger. Did I care?

Not wasting any more time trying to be the cool, nice professor, I ordered the students to open their books. My style was no-nonsense. I wanted to get the boring stuff out of the way so I could get to what I considered the good stuff. Life under the sea was intriguing. I had always loved the water. I had longed to find a way to marry my two interests; teaching and the water. A career as a marine science professor had been a dream come true when I graduated early at the age of twenty-seven and landed a job almost immediately. I had been living a good life, up until four years ago, when in an instant, everything changed.

“Is this the syllabus?” Jennie asked, holding up the paper I had handed out moments ago.

“Yes. Do you have questions?”

She wrinkled her nose. “I thought we would get more hands-on time.”

I shrugged. “This is your first class of your first year in college. Don’t you think you need to learn about the ocean before you jump in with both feet—literally?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.

Snarky perhaps, but I didn’t care. It was kids like her who had this dream of scuba diving and playing in the ocean that changed majors within a year. I pegged her for an early dropout. She would end up graduating with a business degree. Fine with me.

Drawing in a breath, and mentally preparing myself to go over what I expected from the students and what they could expect to learn, I was interrupted by a loud bang. I looked towards the door, as did the rest of the class. A young woman rushed in, looking as if she were rushing across the finish line of a marathon. 

She pushed a stray blonde curl of hair out of her face, scanned the classroom before her eyes landed on me. I had suddenly lost the ability to speak. Her blue eyes locked with mine and I made a motion for her to sit, but I was sure it looked like I was swatting a bee.

“I’m sorry,” she muttered.

But I could only stare in return.

“Really sorry, uh, sir.” She smiled before walking around me and taking a seat at the assistant’s desk.

This was my assistant? I blinked before turning to look at the students who were all staring at me. Her late—and loud—arrival had left my mind blank.