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Oh, fuck you. Your just a beta male who wants women running everything. Go fuck yourself.
And there was the reply that had made Isaiah snicker:I’m sorry. I can’t continue this discussion while you’re this emotional.
I snorted and held up my fist. He bumped his against it as we both chuckled.
Then, “Aww.” He sounded melodramatically crestfallen. “He blocked me!”
“You poor thing,” I said through my laughter. “How will you ever cope?”
“I’ll take it out on a random troll.”
“That’s the spirit.” I checked the time. We still had about forty-five minutes before the pregame show started. Sometimes we skipped those, because oh my God, some of the commentators wereobnoxious. The ones out of Seattle were pretty decent, though. Knowledgeable about the game, actually funny instead of sounding like they were trying too hard, andveryopinionated about officiating.
I’d put them on later. For now, there were trolls to fuck with.
It was still kind of surreal to be doing this in person with “Ian.” We were exactly who we’d been online all along, and it kind of blew my mind sometimes when he read a post out loud before he posted it, or when he commented on something verbally instead of via DM. He was the same guy, but he was… right here. In my condo. On my couch. Letting me rest my head in his lap.
I wondered when that novelty would wear off.
I’d actually admired him for a long time because he was so articulate and self-assured. Not ten feet tall and bulletproof like so many of the jackwagons we argued with, but confident in his assertions and throwing down proof whenever someone questioned him. He’d gracefully back down if someone proved him wrong, and he’d admit when he was wrong, but that honestly didn’t happen very much. He knew his shit, or he didn’t post it.
Thinking back, it made sense now to realize he was a teacher. He was smarter than I was, that was for sure, and he knew how to explain subjects in such a way that he was clear without belittling people (well, unless they were asking for it). Plus he was passionate as hell about issues relating to education. Passionate in that way that had made me wonder now and then if he had kids himself who he didn’t mention. In fact, I’d guessed a few times he might be a teacher; I just hadn’t asked because we were both trying to respect each other’s anonymity.
When I considered the sum total of everything I’d known about him and really looked at the subjects that could get him heated, it made perfect sense that he was a teacher in real life.
In fact…
Something clicked in my head, and I tensed.
Isaiah trailed his fingers up my arm. “What?”
I sat up and turned to him, suppressing a wince when my back protested. “Remember when we were both ripping on that one politician who doesn’t give a shit about school shootings?”
Isaiah’s expression went slack and he avoided my gaze. “Which time?”
“Any of them.” I slid my hand over his and clasped it gently. “I always thought you were just passionate about the subject. I didn’t realize…” I swallowed. “I had no idea it was so close to home.”
As put his phone aside, he shifted a little, and I thought he might’ve been masking a shudder. “It’s terrifying, honestly.”
“I bet. No wonder you were so vehement about it.”
He nodded slowly. “It’s, uh… It’s closer to home than I like to think about. And like, it’s so frustrating to argue with these people who think it starts and ends with their Second Amendment rights.” When he met my gaze, I didn’t think I’d ever seen anyone so haunted. “They’re not the ones who have to sit through active shooter drills with these kids.”
“Shit,” I whispered. “Those were terrifying for me as a kid. I can’t imagine what it’s like as a teacher.”
“I got lucky and only had them in high school.” He wiped a hand over his face, and he sounded absolutely exhausted. “As a teacher, though, I’m responsible for these kids. But I’m in danger too, you know? I’ll do whatever I can to protect them, but it isn’t like I’m not scared shitless of something happening to me, too.”
I slid closer to him, ignoring the pain in my back because that wasn’t nearly as important as comforting him. Running my hand up his arm, I said, “I don’t know how you do it.”
“Do I have a choice?”
“No. But…” I trailed off, not sure what to say.
Isaiah wrapped his arm around me, pulling me against him. “We’ve got entire generations coming up with PTSD. It fucks with me, so I can only imagine what it’s doing to them.”
“Not good things,” I said hollowly. “It’s been like ten years since I went to an American school, and Istillhave nightmares about it.” Leaning into him, I sighed. “I swear, half the reason I was so glad I got picked up by a major junior team in Canada was that it got me out of US schools.”
Isaiah stroked my hair. “Really?”
