Title: We Still Live
Author: Sara Dobie Bauer
Publisher: NineStar Press
Release Date: December 9, 2019
Heat Level: 3 - Some Sex
Pairing: Male/Male
Length: 62500
Genre: Contemporary, LGBT, college, teaching, in the closet, coming out, past trauma, depression, anxiety, PTSD/post-traumatic stress, friends to lovers, hurt/comfort, mental illness
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Synopsis
Running from a scandal that ruined his
life, Isaac Twain accepts a teaching position at Hambden University where,
three months prior, Professor John Conlon stopped a campus nightmare by
stepping in front of an active shooter.
When John and Isaac become faculty
advisors for the school’s literary magazine, their professional relationship
evolves. Despite the strict code of conduct forbidding faculty fraternization,
they delve into a secret affair—until Simon arrives.
Isaac’s violent ex threatens not only
their careers, but also John’s life. His PTSD triggered, John must come to
terms with that bloody day on College Green while Isaac must accept the
heartbreak his secrets have wrought.
Excerpt
Dr. Isaac Twain stood in a cozy house
surrounded by strangers, where a forced jubilation floated like stale smoke. The
house was something out of the Shire, a hobbit home for humans, on a hilltop in
Lothos, Ohio, overlooking Hambden University’s campus.
Isaac had been dragged around the party
earlier and introduced. The head of the English Department called him an “emergency
hire.” Emergency because two of their professors had resigned a week before the
semester started when they realized they couldn’t come back, not after what
happened.
The unfamiliar faces of his new
coworkers floated in and out of Isaac’s attention. In the overwarm, crowded
kitchen, two older ladies smiled up at him and tried asking about his work, his
life—did he have a wife?—but he ducked their questions like a soldier ducks
bullets. For a time, he hovered among them with his glass of wine until a
delightfully disorganized bookshelf in a room off the main foyer caught his
eye, and he took solace.
Stepping inside, he cast a glance over
what had to be someone’s office. An antique oak desk anchored the space, though
its surface was bare and dusty from nonuse. A couple of framed band posters
decorated the walls, but the only name Isaac recognized was Freddie Mercury.
Trying not to snoop, he turned his attention back to the initial object of
interest.
Books of all shapes and sizes crammed
into the shelves at odd angles. Half were alphabetized, as if their owner had
once considered organization and admitted defeat. In the top right corner sat a
bobblehead, some kind of rodent with a red W on its chest. Isaac bopped the
critter on the head, and it nodded in response.
An author named John Conlon dominated an
entire half shelf. Isaac grabbed a book with bright binding—young adult, if the
cover was anything to go by. He set his glass of wine on the nearby table,
empty but for a photograph of a smiling couple with dark hair (whoever lived
here was apparently not a fan of clutter) and flipped pages. He read the first
line—It wasn’t meant to happen that summer, but by then, Declan understood the
things he meant and the things he did were often at odds—until a stranger
arrived at his side.
“Hey, newbie. You hiding?”
Isaac looked up to find an overgrown
frat boy with spiked blond hair and a square-shaped head staring back at him.
“Maybe,” Isaac said. He lifted his chin toward the kitchen. “It’s
claustrophobic in there.”
The man shrugged. “What can I say? We’re
overbearing, given the right amount of alcohol.” He extended his hand. “I’m
Tommy Dewars.”
Isaac slid the Conlon book back where it
belonged and accepted Tommy’s greeting. “Isaac Twain.”
“We’re playing the name game later. See
if you remember everybody. If you mess up, you’re fired.”
“Yeah, sure.”
He squinted up at Isaac. “Not to be
weird, but English professors aren’t usually seven feet of solid muscle.”
Isaac almost choked on his drink.
Granted, people often commented on his height and physique, but Tommy’s remark
still caught him off guard. “I used to run marathons,” he said. “But I’m a geek
on the inside. Promise.” When Tommy smiled, Isaac tipped his head toward the
dusty desk. “This your place?”
“Mine? No, God, no. I live in a shithole
closer to campus. This is John’s place. He’s driving back from Wisconsin today,
but he should be here soon. How long have you been in town? Heard you moved up
from North Carolina?”
“South Carolina. Charleston.” He
finished half the glass of wine in one go. “I’ve only been here a couple days.”
Tommy’s wrinkled plaid button-down
untucked from his jeans when he scratched his belly, and he sipped what
appeared to be whiskey. “Why the hell would you move to Ohio from Charleston?”
Isaac shrugged as the boisterous kitchen
conversation spilled down the hall. “Change of scenery.”
Somewhere, a glass dropped and shattered.
Disinterested, Isaac paid the disturbance no mind so was ill prepared for a
sudden assault. He huffed out a breath when Tommy suddenly tackled him to the
floor, both their glasses flying. Isaac held his hands up, bracing for a
punch…until he realized he wasn’t being attacked.
Tommy, eyes wide, scrambled off Isaac
and sat back on his heels. “Shit, I am so sorry.”
Isaac leaned up on his elbows. “You
okay?”
Jaw clenched, Tommy sputtered a chuckle.
“Apparently not.” He stood and helped Isaac to his feet. He laughed some more
and brushed at the front of Isaac’s blazer. “I, uh…” He pressed his lips
together and glanced behind him. “New habits, I guess. Jesus.” He smacked Isaac
on the shoulder. “Seriously, are you okay?”
Isaac’s heart thudded in his chest, but
he still said, “Fine.”
“I need to get you another drink.”
Isaac picked up their dropped glasses,
spilled but not broken. “It’s all right.”
“You came at a really bad time, man.”
“I know.” He did know. Well, he knew
enough. School shootings were practically a weekly occurrence. Six people had
died in a campus shooting at Hambden the spring before, although that was his
only detail. Details seemed too heavy, the number of lives lost countrywide
like rocks tied to the necks of those drowning in despair.
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