Devin Isamoyer

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“Tell me you’re happy.” He goes stock still in my arms, not moving a muscle except for the gentle rise and fall of his chest. He’s quiet for so long that I think he’s fallen asleep. When he speaks, his voice is so soft and far away that I almost think I’m imagining things. “I’m happy, Robbie.”
Poetry On Ice (Totally Pucked, #1)
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