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He just laughed, and we kept walking.
At home half an hour later, I slipped a signed photo of Jett Davis and a puck signed by Marco Adamo into my laptop case so I could give them to my students tomorrow. The rest went in a binder or onto my bedroom wall, which was plastered with Yellow Jackets memorabilia. It was a little too much, honestly, but what could I say? I was a fan, and I only had so much space. In a small house with three housemates, this was the best I could do. Someday, I’d have a bigger place where I could put up more things, but spread them out a bit so they didn’t look so cluttered.
Sometimes I’d snap a photo of the things I’d had signed at a game or after a practice, and I’d send them to Nick. But not very often. I felt like such a dork, getting all giddy about autographs.
That, and I usually posted them under my real name on Instagram and in a group of local Yellow Jacket collectors, and if I gave them to my students, they’d usually tag me when they posted them. I was just a bit too paranoid about someone somehow connecting my real account to the burner, and stranger things had happened than people being identified by items in their collections. Especially since autographs were never completely the same; if someone matched a handful of my signed memorabilia to “Ian’s”, then they’d connect him to me.
Ugh. I hated being that paranoid. Especially with someone who’d become such a close friend over so much time. As much as anyone could through a computer screen, I knew him, and it was impossible to imagine him outing me as Ian.
But I’d seen teachers lose their jobs over far less, and teaching was my life, so… I’d save the photos of autographs for my collectors’ group, and I slid the photo of Tanner Jeffries into a binder.
Then I lay back on my bed and took out my phone to see if Nick had replied to my message from earlier.
He hadn’t.
My heart pounded as I read and reread our last few messages. I’d put it out there. The possibility of meeting. I had no idea which way this would go, only that I hoped I didn’t scare him off. Nick was someone I cared about a lot, and I was terrified I was going to fuck this up. Or that I already had. In fact, I was seriously tempted to backtrack and insist that, never mind, we should just keep things the way they were.
Instead, I scrolled up just to read through some of our older conversations. What would he think if he knew I did that a lot? That I’d even screencapped a few just in case the app ever imploded? I just loved revisiting our chats.
Ian:Did you see that game? Oh my God.
Nick:It was wild!
Ian:Right? That top power play unit is (fire emoji).
Nick:A hell of a lot better than it was last season.
Ian:JFC seriously. I can’t believe it took them this long to put Jeffries on the top unit. He’s SO GOOD with Davis and Antonov!
Nick:Adding Morrison to the mix was (chef’s kiss emoji). Now I see why more teams are using two Ds on the power play.
Ian:Makes you wonder why they didn’t do it sooner.
Nick:Glad it’s not my decision! And I’m so glad they put Aston on the PK. He’s so good.
Ian:No kidding. He’s going to break the record for shorties, I swear.
Nick:Fingers crossed!
I sighedinto the stillness of my room. I could talk about anything with this man. He knew hockey and loved going on about it. We got along politically. We could talk about our real lives (with names changed to protect the innocent) and the latest history documentary and… anything, really.
Maybe I shouldn’t push my luck.
And he hadn’t pinged me tonight, so I’d chat with him tomorrow, assuming I could sleep while I waited for his response to the bomb I’d dropped. I did have to work tomorrow, after all, and no one took advantage of sleep deprivation like a room full of middle schoolers.
But just as I was about to put my phone aside and head for bed…
Nick started typing.
Chapter 4
Tanner
I didn’t thinkI’d ever started and stopped a single message as many times as I did this one. I wasn’t sure what to say. How to word it. I didn’t want to commit to meeting Ian, but I didn’t want to scare him away from the idea either.
Finally, I went with what was probably the coward’s approach—tossing the ball back in his court.
Are you serious about meeting?
