Page 12 of Caught Running
“That it applies to you?” Brandon opened the locks with the fob and tossed his pack in the back seat. “You still love it. The game. You still have passion. Even though it’s a pain in the ass sometimes, and you hurt at night, you still love it.”
Jake felt himself flushing in the darkness, and he cleared his throat as he opened the back door. “Yeah, well, yeah,” he muttered in response as he tossed his bag in and closed the door again.
Brandon smiled a bit, recognizing the other man was a little embarrassed. So he just let it drop and climbed into the car. Soon they were off, headed to Jake’s house, classic rock playing quietly on the radio from where he’d left it on that morning.
Jake wasn’t quite sure what to say on the quiet drive. He felt like he needed to say something, but he was finding that he just didn’t know enough about the other man to converse comfortably. They didn’t even really have work in common. They were both teachers, technically, but not the same kind.
He wracked his brain, trying to think up something. “So, uh, did you know Jonathan before yesterday?” he finally asked, remembering the two men being chummy on the field.
“No, I didn’t know him. I don’t think he knows I went to Parkview, either,” Brandon answered, stopping the car at the same light as the night before. “He said he knew your name, looked up to you,” he ribbed a little.
Jake blushed harder and bit his lip. “Yeah,” he agreed as he looked out the window. A lot of people had looked up to him, thinking he of all people would be going on to bigger and better things. Football and baseball scholarships, scouted by Major League and NFL teams.
But here he was instead.
Smiling, Brandon let it go, not wanting to prod Jake into annoyance rather than slight amusement. He drove across the intersection and within a minute he pulled into the driveway and shifted the car into park. “I meant to ask before practice,” Brandon said quietly, “if you were feeling better today.”
“Eh,” Jake responded automatically. “All I had to do was put one of those lifts in my shoe again and it solved the ankle thing. Thanks for asking,” he added sincerely.
“Good,” Brandon answered with a nod, and then he was out of things to say. He sat there wracking his brain, trying to come up with something, anything to say, though he had no idea why. Actually, no, he knewexactlywhy. He just didn’t want to admit it.
“I would offer you food and beer, but ...” Jake turned to the man and smiled slightly. “I’m not good company after 3 p.m.”
Brandon compressed his lips to hold back a snicker. When it was safe, he said, “You were fine last night,” rather evenly. He understood, though. Last night was an aberration. Brandon could be on his way now. It wasn’t like he didn’t have plenty todo. “Have a good night,” he murmured, caught looking at the other man’s shadowed face.
Jake smiled slightly and said, “I’m always finelast night,” barely able to stop the snicker as he elbowed the man. “See you tomorrow, man. Thanks for the ride.”
Shaking his head at Jake’s banter, Brandon raised a hand to wave. “Bye,” he said quietly, reminding himself to stow these odd twitching feelings and get back to the real world. He moved to shift the car into reverse.
Jake gave a wave and stepped away from the car, then gave a little hop and banged on the roof, leaning over to open the door and stick his head back in. “Coach’s night tomorrow,” he said to the man. “We’re coming here after practice. Pizza, beer, more beer ...”
Brandon startled when Jake hit the car, but had his breath back by the time he was done talking. He had to smile, just a little. “I guess since I’m a coach, I’m invited. Should I bring anything?”
“Only if you have a certain type of beer you like or chips or something. Seriously, it’s just an excuse to drink. If you bring any Zima or shit like that, you’ll get beat up,” Jake teased with a wink.
The look on Brandon’s face was one of mute horror. “Don’t tell me Jonathan did that.”
“No. Troy did it,” Jake laughed, grinning widely at the man as he leaned over and looked through the door.
“Jesus Christ. Where did he go to school? If you were caught drinking something like that at Tech you’d have been dumped off an overpass onto I-75,” Brandon said, still cringing.
“He swears it was a joke,” Jake snickered. “I just think he’s a closet queer,” he giggled with a shake of his head as he stood back up and gave the car another slap with his hand. “See youtomorrow, man,” he said with a smile in his voice, turning to head into the house.
Stuck in place, Brandon just watched Jake walk up the stairs, intensely glad the other coach wasn’t looking at him at that moment, because he was sure all sorts of things he didn’t want seen were written all over his face. Closet queer.Fuck. Brandon ran a hand through his hair and pulled out of the driveway. He really hoped Jake had meant what he said in a somewhat affectionate, teasing manner, rather than a dirtier, more ignorant meaning.
Brandon had heard enough of that to last a lifetime.
“Morning, Mr. Bartlett,” one of the bouncy little cheerleaders greeted the next morning. “Morning, Coach,” the boy walking with her said, nodding at Brandon respectfully and smiling as they headed for their seats.
“Katie,” Brandon said distractedly, ticking her name off the list, but Jimmy’s greeting caught him off guard, and he looked up. Pushing his glasses up, he had to rally. “Ah, good morning, Jimmy.”
“Morning, Coach,” came another greeting almost immediately, followed by a smattering of other good mornings as the kids filed in. The first class of the day usually saw tired kids trudging in and flopping down with grunts. But every boy who had been at tryouts the last two days greeted Brandon that morning in a semi-cheerful manner.
Blinking, he remembered what Jake had said about the players always being in class, and looking at his grade book, he had to admit the coach was right. They all had perfect attendance. Pleasantly surprised, Brandon moved to his desk off to the side of the room to grab his teaching list for the block.“All right, break into groups of four, please, and pull some desks together for each group. We’re doing interactive exercises today.” It was one of the activities Brandon consistently received positive feedback on: Students working together on something besides book work. He personally felt they learned much more bydoingrather than seeing or hearing. Musing, he got them started on a variation of Biology Pictionary and let them go, listening in on each group.
As the first class of the day got started, the speaker near the door crackled to life for the morning reports. The voice droned on with the usual announcements, the person speaking obviously aware that no one ever listened to these things. At the end, the voice read, “And Coach Campbell would like to remind the student body that the next person caught throwing wet wads of toilet paper at the ceiling of the locker rooms will be ... Wait, can I say that over the speaker? I’m not sure I can say that.” There was a clearing of a throat and a mutter that couldn’t be understood, and then the kid said, “Just don’t do it again, trust me.”
A few of the boys in the class snickered quietly, trying not to make a lot of noise but obviously familiar with whatever threat their coach had used. Brandon’s brow shot up. He could just imagine what Jake had said he would do. Shaking his head, he chuckled, tapping Cynthia on the head and pointing to the trash can for her gum without having to say a word. Too bad Troy couldn’t find other upperclassmen to keep reading announcements along those lines. It would be amusing enough to keep him going all morning.