Page 1 of Caught Running
These men bat for the other team . . .
Brandon Bartlett’s plate isn’t full, it’s overflowing. Between the classes he teaches, the students he tutors, and the doctorate he’s trying to study for, he doesn’t have time for the coaching position he’s just gotten saddled with. The coach didn’t get along with him when they were students. As co-faculty, things can only get worse.
Jake Campbell has always lived for the game. Baseball got him a full ride to university, and all it cost was a career-ending injury. Now he’s stuck teaching PE at the same school he graduated from. Jake’s going nowhere fast—unlike his new assistant coach, who’s got a runner’s speed and a body to match.
The two men quickly grow close, but neither wants to make the first move. In small-town Georgia, striking out could cost far more than their friendship. But the connection between them can’t be denied, and secrets can only be kept for so long. With the end of the season fast approaching, they’re running out of chances to knock it out of the park.
This is a re-release of the original, without changes.
To my darling husband, who married me even after he knew I was crazy.
“Hey, Coach! Where are the basketballs?”
Jake Campbell looked up from his clipboard and narrowed his eyes at Jeremy: junior, running back. He took a moment to find it amusing that he categorized the kids he knew on sight by first name, class, and position if they played one of the sports that he coached.
“We’re not playing basketball today,” he answered as he checked Jeremy off his attendance sheet.
“Aww, man! We’re running?”
“You betcha,” Jake drawled with a pleased grin. “Outside,” he added with relish. “In the cooold.”
The kid’s shoulders slumped, and he turned to head for the gym exits that led out to the football field and the track that circled it. Jake chuckled and shook his head, checking off more kids as they straggled out of the locker rooms.
Jake enjoyed his job at Parkview High. The kids liked him, and he liked them, for the most part. He coached year-round:football, wrestling, and baseball. And he won. Here in Georgia, winning was a big deal.
P.E. classes were just the five or so hours of warm up before he got to do his real job. That hadn’t changed at all since he’d walked these very halls as a student himself years ago, and no one cared enough about high school phys ed to try and change it. Jake huffed and ticked off the last name on his list. Baseball tryouts started today. Just two more hours of this mind-numbing repetition, and he’d be able to get to the good stuff.
“No, Carolyn, you can’t petition PETA to get a waiver from dissecting the frog. The frog’s already dead. It donated itself to science. Don’t let its sacrifice be in vain,” Brandon Bartlett said, shaking his head as he walked toward the front of the lab, watching the students pull on their latex gloves and cloth masks.
“Jimmy, no fire today. Off with the Bunsen,” he said distractedly, hearing a huff from his side, and the slight whoosh of gas-fed flame shut off. He pointed out the correct instrument for Callie to use and moved to the whiteboard.
Brandon pulled his glasses from his shirt pocket and slid them on as he looked at the teaching materials. “You all have the directions for the dissection, and trust me, they haven’t changed from yesterday when we went over them. Yes, Kelly?”
“Mr. Bartlett? What if I get guts on my uniform?” the cheerleader asked.
“There are aprons in the closet. That would be an intelligent security measure,” Brandon answered. “Drake?”
“Can I cut off its head first?”
“Is cutting its head off first in the directions?”
“No, Mr. Bartlett.”
“Are we going to tempt fate by not following the directions?”
“What fate?”
“Scrubbing out the dissection pans every afternoon for a week.”
“Sir! No cutting off the head, sir!”
Brandon rolled his eyes. Sophomores. No longer wide-eyed and scared, not yet mature enough to be trusted to their own good sense. “Good choice.”
As the students got to work, Brandon notated their presence in his attendance book and also marked who had been given what equipment on the two-person teams. He glanced up, a half-smile on his face. This was his lab. After almost ten years of teaching, twenty-five grant applications and a good wrangling with the principal and the school board, they’d agreed to build the large facility.
He was proud of his work at Parkview High. Even more so because it washishigh school—he’d walked these same halls for four years—and he felt quite at home, although the students looked younger and younger each year. He frowned, glancing over at the gaggle of cheerleaders. He didn’t feel that old, but...
Checking his schedule, Brandon remembered he had planning period during his next block, before the last class. He’d skipped lunch and left his meal in the fridge in the lounge, so he’d escape there to stop the drain of his mental faculties. He glanced up to see Drake and Aaron flinging frog guts at each other and sighed. Some days he could just feel his brain dribbling out of his ears.