Page 1 of Thrown

ONE

There wasnothing more settling to Robert Hawthorne than the rich softness of a fresh lump of clay. The way it smelled of the earth and creativity, the way its moisture leeched into his hands as he wedged it, the way it shifted and moved, solid and liquid at once, waiting to be formed and whispering of its potential, soothed Robbie in a way nothing else could.

He needed the soothing. The past winter had been unsettling in too many ways, and the spring was starting out with more question marks than answers. It was early in the year, early in the morning as well, but the family’s situation was so filled with uncertainty that he’d brought himself down to the pottery studio long before classes began for the day so he could work out some of the tension that had bunched his back muscles and tightened his jaw as he’d tried to sleep.

Trying not to think, he gathered up his wedged balls of clay and moved to his favorite wheel along the line that the students used for the classes he taught. He arranged everything the way he liked it, then sat, turned the wheel on, and fitted a bat in place. With his eyes closed, he took a deep, clearing breath.

Nothing else mattered in that moment. Not the family’s financial worries, not the still-sore wound of his sister Raina’s tragic death the year before, and not Keith breaking up with him because vanilla just wasn’t what he wanted anymore. Robbie put those things mentally to the side, took one last breath, then opened his eyes.

He reached for one of his balls of clay, slammed it onto the center of the bat, wet his hands and the clay, and started the wheel turning. Once he had the clay centered, everything would fall into place.

Nothing in the world gave Robbie the thrill that creating beauty out of the most basic materials of the earth gave him. As the electric hum of the potting wheel buzzed in his ears and his muscles worked and flexed to form the lump in front of him, his thoughts seemed to fall into place as well.

The family could get through their financial rough patch. He’d gained enough fame for his ceramics in the last few years that galleries and private collectors were beginning to notice him. He’d been combating his relative lack of ambition, compared to the rest of his family, by talking with the big ceramics competition television show that wanted him as a guest judge.

He could do something, even if it wasn’t as splashy as what everyone else expected of him. He didn’t want to stop teaching classes that community members could attend and afford, but he could offer a special master class at a higher price. He could teach fewer classes and spend more time making items to sell. He could dosomething.

The problem was that he wasn’t the only one in the family gaining attention. Rhys had sold a painting for over five thousand pounds before Christmas. Ryan’s glassblowing had caught the attention of some very important people of late. And thanks to Raina’s husband, Nate, the old blacksmith’s shopon the estate was gaining attention for its authenticity, and Nate had been approached by everyone from industrialists to historians to demonstrate his forging techniques. Nate wasn’t technically a Hawthorne, but even with Raina gone, the family still considered him and the kids part of the fold.

The clay on Robbie’s wheel was starting to actually look like something. He’d pulled it up twice, and now he worked on shaping the simple cylinder into one of his signature vases. He knew the movements necessary to make the shape like he knew his own heartbeat. His hands were connected straight to his heart, and the clay curved and bowed like it was dancing for him. They were connected through the miracle of creation, and with just a few?—

“Oy! Robbie. Dad wants us all in the meeting room in five minutes.”

Robbie flinched just enough to throw the soft clay off, and within seconds, the potential vase spun out and collapsed.

Robbie sighed as he pulled his foot off the pedal powering the wheel and stared at the once-again formless clay. Sometimes the ceramics gods were on your side and sometimes they definitely weren’t.

“What does Dad want this early in the day?” he asked as he reached for a tool to scrape the mess of clay off the bat.

He turned to glance questioningly at his brother Nally, short for Ronald. Nally was the youngest of their large brood, but at twenty, he was just as much an expert in his field of musical composition as the rest of them were at their chosen arts.

Nally had been a child genius. One or two articles had even touted him as the next Mozart. But like Robbie, instead of flying off to attend some royal institute and reach for fame, he’d stayed home at Hawthorne House and taught classes at the arts center. The difference was that Nally was young and could considerworking for the family as some sort of gap year. Robbie didn’t have that excuse.

Nally shrugged, like only someone fresh out of their teens could, and said, “I don’t know, but he told me to get your arse up there sooner rather than later.”

Robbie smiled. He loved his brother. He loved his entire family. They were close, which was a blessing and a miracle in this day and age. It was the reason why they’d all set up house in the various apartments in the other wing of the grand estate house from the school instead of flying the nest to make their fortunes somewhere else.

“Help me clean up?” Robbie asked as he stood, working the clay from his failed vase back into a ball.

Nally rushed to help Robbie wrap his clay so it wouldn’t dry out and to quickly clean the studio. Well, as much as it could be cleaned in five minutes so that it wouldn’t look like there had been a clay explosion when students arrived for the first class of the day in about an hour.

Once that was done and Robbie had cleaned himself up enough to be presentable for his family, which didn’t require much more than removing his apron and washing his hands, they were his family, after all, he and Nally headed out of the studio.

“Do you know if it’s good news or bad news?” Robbie asked as they walked through the hallowed halls of Hawthorne House. Those halls had once been the home of twelve previous Earls of Felcourt and their families, not to mention serving time as a hospital after one war and a boarding school after another. Now, the halls were part of a humble community arts center, albeit a popular and beloved one in the area.

“You never can tell with Dad,” Nally said. “He doesn’t like to upset us.”

Robbie hummed. “And he does like to meddle.”

Nally laughed. “Tell me about it. Hopefully this isn’t another one of those meetings where he rants at us because he wants more grandchildren.”

Robbie laughed and shook his head. “He does realize most of us are gay, doesn’t he?”

Nally blushed and snorted. “He says that’s not an excuse these days.”

Robbie grunted and shrugged one shoulder. That was true. In fact, he and Keith had been talking about getting married and either adopting or searching for a surrogate just a few months before it all blew up.

The beginnings of a smile that being around Nally always gave Robbie vanished. Everything had looked like it was finally falling into place in his life, and then Keith had yanked the carpet out from under him. He’d gone from feeling settled and having a clearly defined future to being alone, not good enough, not ambitious enough.

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