Page 96 of Isaac

"I’d go to Thailand," Isaac whispers, his voice distant and wistful. "I've always wanted to see the beaches there, to taste the food and explore the forests. To leave this life behind and start anew."

It feels as if the air has been sucked out of the room, leaving only his words echoing around us. I can see it so clearly–Isaac, free from the weight of his past, walking barefoot on a pristine beach, the sun setting behind him. It's a cruelly beautiful image.

"What’s stopping you?"

"There are too many people counting on me. Jessica, Shonda... I can't abandon them. You too."

His confession tugs at my heartstrings, pulling me deeper into his orbit. The lines between my mission and my emotions blur further, leaving me to wonder which side of myself will ultimately win out. But in this instant, with Isaac's arms wrapped around me and his heart laid bare before me, there's no question which way I'm leaning.

"Maybe one day," I tell him, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

"Maybe," he replies.

And I choose to believe this, knowing it’s a lie.

CHAPTER 26

ISAAC

He strides through the high school corridor, his fingers dancing over the phone's screen like a pianist lost in a private concerto of texts. The words from Alex flicker on the display, a digital whisper of intrigue instructing him to meet up by the Equipment Room. A rare smile threatens to break the stern mold of Isaac's face, but he quells it, burying the giddiness beneath layers of stoicism.

He’s not sure if he’s ready. He and Alex have been dancing this dance for the past two years—covert glances when no one is looking, touches thaat seem all too-intimate. There’s this feeling in Isaac’s stomach whenever Alex is near, this feeling of excitement mixed with dread. He knows what’s supposed to happen between two people who like each other. He knows but he never tried and he’s scared that it’s going to be just as bad as what Jacob does to him under the cover of the night.

Still, he responds to the text. His curiosity wins.

The corridor is filled with shouting students and the chaos only intensifies when the football players begin to gain from behind and barrel past him, their post-practice laughter a discordant symphony that grates against Isaac's nerves.

They move with arrogance, shoulders thrown back and chests puffed out, clad jerseys reeking of sweat and bravado. In their wake, they leave a nasty scent of entitlement that permeates the air, thick and suffocating.

They think they are the kings of this school. They think being on the team gives them all the rights in the world to be assholes.

Isaac’s eyes follow them with silent contempt. Why does this school worship these gridiron gladiators while the basketball court literally lies neglected?

Their coach won't even let the two teams breathe the same air. Their practice has completely different schedules. Still, the football team must have their own locker. Assholes refuse to share. Football lords over all, and those who dare dribble instead of tackle are deemed unworthy of sharing sacred ground.

These are the thoughts that swirl through Isaac’s head as his footsteps carry him closer to the promised rendezvous spot. He does his best to ignore the occasional stares of some football players as they pass. A shoulder knocks him. He knows it’s on purpose. He ignores that too. He even ignores the laughter and some crude joke that follows the unsuccessful attempt at ruffling his feathers.

He reaches the corner and that’s where Marcus Russo catches up to him. The star quarterback. The cliche of a high school jock. Marcus struts with the swagger that comes from being worshiped for merely existing. Isaac doesn’t know why, but he has given up trying to understand why the world is the way it is a long time ago.

He avoids direct eye contact when Marcus passes Isaac and glances back at him over his pad-clad shoulder. Marcus hates everyone on the basketball team. Even Alex. And Alex is as sweet as they come.

Isaac believes that’s the end of his brief encounter with the school’s biggest douchebag when Marcus turns away.

And then it comes.

"Faggot," Marcus’s slur cuts through the hallway chatter as he continues to strut like he owns this school. And maybe he lowkey does—his father donates quite a lot.

Isaac’s mind freezes, the word hooking into his flesh, yanking at the stitches that hold together the remnants of his dignity. Several boys titter. Isaac knows better to keep on quietly walking. Instead, he watches Marcus’s back while the insult echoes off the walls.

The shame blossoms, its roots entangled with the secret that festers in the hidden parts of Isaac’s soul. To retaliate is to affirm the loathsome title, to wear it openly rather than beneath the layers where he hides his torment.

If he fights back, he validates their scorn. If he stays silent, he swallows the poison, letting it corrode him from within.

But the thing is Isaac’s already damaged in the worst way possible. What’s a slur from some guy at school?

So Isaac chooses silence while his feet carry him mechanically toward the Equipment Room.

There, he lingers in an alcove and away from the sparse foot traffic, waiting, watching the rest of the football team flow toward the locker room. Seconds tick by. Isaac is nervous. He doesn’t want to be here alone for too long. Someone may get suspicious. The text from Alex arrives a little later, informing Isaac Alex is running late because he’s been trying to talk to one of his teachers about making up some tests for a better grade. And the teacher is being an ass. Isaac understands. He sends a thumbs-up emoji in response.

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