Page 43 of Unbound
I recoiled so fast I elbowed my water bottle. It toppled with a hollowclunk, liquid arcing across the table, soaking into case notes and dripping onto Adrian’s jeans. Cold water splashed my wrists. A fitting punishment.
"Shit." I lunged for my bag, knocking my chair sideways in my haste. Napkins. I needed— "I’m sorry, I didn’t—" My voice cracked. My entire body burned with mortification.Idiot. Hypocrite. Fraud.
"Jesse." Adrian’s voice was a low rasp, steady but thick with something that made my stomach flip. When I finally forced myself to meet his eyes, twin spots of colour bloomed high on his cheekbones. He reached out, not for the sodden papers, but to still my frantic hands with his own damp one. "It’s okay." His thumb brushed my wrist-bone, deliberate this time. "It’s just water."
Liar. The air between us was nuclear. There was a new tension between us now, an awareness that made every casual touch feel electric. When he handed me a book, our fingers would brush and linger a heartbeat too long. When he leaned over to point out something in my notes, I could feel the heat radiating from his skin.
"You're good at this," he said during a brief break, looking up from the legal database. "The questions you're asking—they're not the ones someone just memorizing material would ask. You're actually thinking about the constitutional principles."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean most people in our class are focused on learning the right answers for the exam. You're trying to understand how the reasoning works, why the Court decided what it decided. That's how you think like a lawyer."
The praise should have felt dangerous. It should have reminded me that this was Adrian, the same person who'd been methodically undermining everything I'd been taught to believe. Instead, it felt... good. Like recognition. Like someone seeing something in me that I'd never been allowed to acknowledge.
"Your parents chose pre-law for you, didn't they?" Adrian asked suddenly.
The question came out of nowhere, cutting through my moment of satisfaction like a blade. I looked up from my notes to find him watching me with an expression I couldn't quite read.
"Why would you ask that?"
"Because you're passionate about the law, but you seem surprised by your own passion. Like you never expected to enjoy this." He leaned back in his chair, still watching me. "And because everything about you screams 'following someone else's plan.'"
I should have denied it. Should have given him some story about always wanting to be a lawyer, about choosing my own path. But sitting across from him in the quiet library, surrounded by legal texts and constitutional arguments that were starting to make dangerous sense, I found I didn't have the energy for another lie.
I didn't answer, but apparently my silence was answer enough.
"What did you want to be?" Adrian asked quietly. "Before they decided for you."
The question hit something I'd buried so deep I'd almost forgotten it was there. A memory of being twelve years old in the public library—back when my mother still took me there for "educational enrichment"—discovering a book about ancient civilizations. Egyptian pyramids, Mayan temples, Roman amphitheatres. I'd been transfixed by the photographs, the stories of archaeologists uncovering lost worlds, piece by careful piece.
I'd checked out every archaeology book they had. Read about Heinrich Schliemann discovering Troy, about Howard Carter opening Tutankhamun's tomb, about the mystery of the Antikythera mechanism. For months, I'd dreamed of traveling to dig sites around the world, of brushing sand away from pottery shards and temple foundations, of being the one to uncover secrets that had been buried for millennia.
The fantasy had died in my father's study on a Tuesday evening in October. I'd made the mistake of telling him about my career aspirations during one of our weekly "guidance sessions."
"Archaeology glorifies pagan civilizations," he'd said without looking up from his sermon notes. "Cultures that worshipped false gods, practiced idolatry, lived in open rebellion against the Lord's commandments. Why would a Christian boy want to spend his life celebrating sin?"
I'd tried to explain—it wasn't about celebrating anything, it was about understanding history, about learning how people lived, about discovery and knowledge. But my father had that look on his face, the one that meant the conversation was over before it had really begun.
"Those civilizations fell because they turned away from God," he'd continued. "Egypt enslaved the Israelites. Rome persecuted Christians. The Maya practiced human sacrifice. Is that really what you want to dedicate your life to studying?"
The library visits stopped the next week. "Too much secular influence," my mother explained apologetically, as if she hadn't been the one to encourage my reading in the first place. My archaeology books disappeared from my room. When I asked about them, I was told they'd been "donated to more appropriate homes."
By Christmas, I was enrolled in additional Bible study classes and my father was talking about the importance of "practical career paths that serve God's purpose." Law was respectable, stable, useful for defending Christian values in an increasingly secular world.
I'd convinced myself I'd forgotten about dusty dig sites and ancient mysteries. But sitting here with Adrian, surrounded by constitutional law texts and legal precedents, I realized something: this was the first time since I was twelve that learning felt like discovery instead of memorization.
"Archaeology," I said finally, the word feeling strange after so many years of not saying it out loud.
Adrian's expression softened, and I saw understanding flicker in his dark eyes. "Because it would have meant studying cultures that didn't follow your father's version of Christianity."
It wasn't a question. Somehow, he'd understood exactly what I couldn't bring myself to say.
I nodded, not trusting my voice.
"Jesse." Adrian's hand moved across the table, stopping just short of covering mine. Not quite touching, but close enough that I could feel the warmth radiating from his skin. "That's not a small dream to give up."
"It doesn't matter now."
