Page 58 of Caught Running

If Jake hadn’t been so close, Brandon would have missed it, and the single word thrilled him almost as much as Jake telling him that he loved him. He turned his chin just enough to press his lips to Jake’s throat. “Yours,” he whispered.

After scribbling a few more notes, Brandon tossed down his pen and sat back from the writing desk. Thank God that was done—end of the year grades. Summer break was a breath away and he could hardly wait. Graduation was the day after tomorrow, he’d have one administrative day left, and then he could pack James into the closet and escape. The state tournament was next week and after that things would really calm down.

Brandonreallylooked forward to some uninterrupted time with Jake. They’d even talked about a week’s vacation, the farther away the better. Brandon had suggested Denver, where they could watch the Braves against the Rockies in a three-game stretch. Jake had countered with San Francisco and a four-game stretch, plus San Diego not so far away. They were still undecided on anything except that baseball would be involved.

Remembering he’d promised Jake he would tally the JV and freshman end-of-the-year stats for the spring sports banquet, Brandon started digging under the piles of papers, looking forthe two different score books. With a quiet “Ah-ha,” he pulled them out from under his planner and shuffled them, deciding to start with JV and work his way down. The varsity stats were already figured and trophies ordered; Jake was out picking them up now in Atlanta proper.

He pulled out a memo pad and started tallying, shifting some haphazardly folded papers out of the way, his curiosity caught when he saw one page with a dark circle around some text. He unfolded it, gave it a glance, and abruptly straightened in the chair. It was an e-mail to Jake at his school address. What was circled was a long-distance phone number.

Hello Coach Campbell,

On the reference of Coach Chester at Fresno State, I wanted to send you this job listing. We’re really looking for someone to turn our Varsity Football program around, and after some research, I can see that you’re highly qualified. You’d definitely top out the salary range. Congratulations on your run at the Georgia state title in baseball, by the way.

I hope you’ll give this position due consideration. Give me a call anytime if you have questions.

Thanks,

Sam Weatherby

Athletic Director

Theodore Roosevelt High School

559-555-0134

What followed was what looked to be a job listing clipped from a paper, detailing a call for a head football coach at a school in Fresno, California. The school, the clipping said, had not won in over 40 years and was desperate for a football coach with a proven record of winning and running a program. The salary was generous if the applicant had a degree, and Jakecertainly did, and the classes he would have to teach consisted of weightlifting and football. No P.E., just two whole planning blocks for what was apparently a major football program; a mere step down from a college program. The job was marketed as a challenge, something that would certainly pique the interest of a competitor like Jake.

Brandon sat there staring at the letter for two extra-long minutes, floored. It was dated two weeks ago. Jake hadn’t said a thing.

Slowly, mechanically, he refolded the e-mail and dropped it back with the other papers into the opened book. Telling himself sharply not to overreact, he decided a long, hard run was in order so he could think his way out of this sudden upset. Shifting the chair back and leaving the mess strewn across the desk, he went to change clothes. He’d drive home to run in the park. Peace and quiet would help him settle down.

Surely it was nothing. His jaw clenched as he packed a duffel bag.

The front door slammed and banged and Jake thumped into the house, loaded down with a heavy box of trophies. “Look at this shit!” he shouted irately, “They fucking have women on the goddamned trophies!”

In the bedroom, Brandon stood up from tying his running shoes. He’d half-hoped he’d get out of the house before Jake got back so he’d have some time to remind himself that Jake wouldn’t do anything rash. Right? He grabbed a tank top and pulled it over his head with one hand, the duffle in the other as he walked down the hall to stop and look at his lover questioningly. “Women?” he asked mildly, proud that his voice was normal.

Jake yanked the trophy out of the box he had opened on the way home and thrust it at Brandon petulantly. “Ponytails and everything,” he grumbled with another disgusted look atthe little statue. He looked back up at Brandon and blinked in surprise when he noticed the bag. “You going somewhere?” he asked.

“A run,” Brandon said, setting the duffel on the counter as he went to the fridge for a Gatorade. “Thought I’d drive over to Mountain Park and get some stuff at the house, run around the lake.” It was easier to stay casual not looking at him.

“All righty,” Jake responded in slight confusion. Something was off, but he couldn’t quite figure out what. “You okay?”

Brandon couldn’t help but smile. Jake seemed to worry about him a lot, especially since the burnout episode over spring break. “Yeah, just got grades on the brain, you know?” He turned around and grabbed the duffle and then stopped in front of Jake for a slow, sweet kiss that belied the elephants stampeding in his stomach.

Jake stood blinking as Brandon moved away. “’Kay,” he muttered, still confused and completely unashamed of showing it.

Milking the distracted daze for all it was worth, Brandon tossed a “See you at the banquet” over his shoulder before fleeing the house with some dignity intact. Once in the car, he got to the stoplight and had to wait. He noticed his hands were shaking. In a moment of unusual pique, he slammed his fist against the steering wheel.

Jake stood rooted to the spot, head cocked and upper lip curled in confusion, the box of trophies still tucked under his arm as he stared at the door. Finally he looked around the house as if there were some clue as to what had upset Brandon, because he was definitely upset about something, but Jake could see nothing unusual. He sighed heavily and walked to the kitchen, set down the box, and went to his cupboard of pills.

Even as he drove, Brandon couldn’t stop thinking about the damn e-mail. He turned on the radio, loud. He rolled downthe windows. He tried to focus on happy plans for vacation, which just got him to thinking. How far was Fresno from San Francisco or San Diego? He felt faintly ill and wished he could shut his brain off. A near miss rear-ending a car at the next stoplight forced him to concentrate on driving.

It wasn’t until roughly an hour after Brandon left that Jake sat down at the desk and the scorebooks to see if Brandon had managed to finish the tallying. The first thing he saw when he opened the book was that damn e-mail staring at him. He hopped up with a curse and headed for the phone, hoping to catch Brandon at the house.

But he hadn’t even gone inside. Brandon just tossed his keys onto the back porch and set out for the lake. Although he’d calmed down quite a bit, he needed the mind wipe a long run would give him. He’d even almost managed to convince himself the e-mail didn’t mean anything. Jake loved him. He wouldn’t leave him. But as he picked up speed around the lake, that one little niggle of fear continued to eat at him.

The phone rang and rang in Jake’s ear and finally he hung it up with a clank, cursing inventively. What the fuck was Brandon thinking, running away like this? He hadn’t evenaskedabout it. Jake prowled around his house, kicking at inanimate objects and muttering to himself. The fuck. He’d just run away. Jake had thought Brandon a lot of things, but a coward had never been one of them.