Page 7 of Caught Running
“You all have Marshall and Tyler to thank for your sorry asses not having to run any more!” Jake boomed as he walked over and gave Brandon’s hip an absent-minded pat, just like Jonathan had. He began to separate the boys by grade, sending an assistant or coach to go with each of them. When they had all dispersed, Jake turned to Brandon and grinned widely. “Nice run,” he said to the man with a smack to the arm, the compliment a rare and sincere one. “Stick with me today, you’ll get a feel for it,” he went on.
The pat, the compliment and the smack all gave Brandon’s ego a boost, and he nodded, flushed with warmth, pleased tohave done well on the first day. At least there was something he could do—there wasn’t much of a way to mess up running. He was sure there’d be plenty of yelling in his direction going forward, but running he could do. Brandon started watching Jake as he put the kids through practice, coming to appreciate that the man was not just a good teacher. He was agreatteacher. It was an eye-opener.
As the sun began to set on their first practice, Jake sent one of the kids over to the control box to switch on the lights. They flickered on in the growing darkness, bathing the field with light once more. “If you’re thinking about what momma has on the table for dinner,” Jake bellowed as he walked over the grid of kids now doing push-ups like they were in a boot camp, “then you can get your ass off my field and go home!Iam your momma now! AndIsay when you eat!Iam your daddy now!Isay when you sleep! The only time I amnotyour momma or your daddy is when you want money for new shoes!” he shouted, his voice booming over up and out into the darkness. He walked the rows of panting, sweating, whimpering kids. They were the best, and this was how they got that way.
Brandon stood off to one side, next to Jonathan, just watching. The kids were tough, he had to give them that. But, he supposed, you didn’t get to be a team that went to State if you weren’t tough. He hadn’t become a cross country runner over night. It had taken months and months of grueling, exhausting, mind-numbing running to condition himself properly, and even then it didn’t stop. So yeah, he felt for the kids, but more in the way of having been there. He wondered how many would quit. Jonathan had told him earlier in the afternoon that these were supposed to be tryouts.
“The juniors have everything to lose,” Jonathan murmured. “They can’t be on JV, too old. The seniors have the leg up just‘cause they were all on varsity last year. The juniors are the ones digging in this week.”
Jake let them go for another full minute before calling a stop to it. “Now!” he boomed. “Get your lazy hind ends up and into the showers! Go home!” he ordered amidst an array of thankful groans and moans. “And if there is one stitch of equipment left on this field, tomorrow you will all wish you hadn’t been born!” he threatened, and kids scurried to put up the stuff they’d been using.
The science teacher watched them react to Jake and had to smile just a bit. It was obvious the coach didn’t have discipline problems. Jake handled it in a totally different way than he would have, but it was extremely successful.
Hands on his hips and watching the kids like a hawk, Jake kept his presence big and hulking and threatening until the kids were all gone. Then he seemed to deflate a little, becoming less large, becoming more approachable. He looked over at his coaches and smiled slightly. “What do we think?” he asked no one in particular.
Brandon glanced among the other guys. He knew it certainly wasn’t his place to say anything right now. He had a few opinions about some of the kids, but they were only based on what he’d seen tonight, so it wasn’t a reliable sample. He needed more data to generate viable conclusions.
“Yeah, me too,” Jake agreed with the silence. “Go home, guys. See you tomorrow,” he told the men staring at him, heading for the gate a little stiffly.
Raising a brow, Brandon nodded a goodbye to Jonathan and made to follow Jake back to the gym. He had to get his clothes and head back to his classroom. He had two blocks of papers to grade and more planning. He was trying to decide if he wanted to stay here at the school to do the work or pack up and head home when his stomach growled.
Jake turned to see Brandon pacing him, and he stopped for a beat to let him catch up and walk beside him. “That you growling at me?” he teased lightly. “What, the grapes at lunch weren’t enough to go to six o’clock?”
“The grapes were dessert, actually,” Brandon said with a chuckle. “I’d eaten a sandwich in my office before that.” He wouldn’t mention what type of sandwich, it would probably get him laughed at. Peanut butter and jelly was still his favorite. “But yeah, growling. 11 a.m. was a ways back.”
“Tell me about it,” Jake grumbled. “Might want to start stealing snacks from the cafeteria for just before practice. Stay away from the gray stuff,” he warned absently. “How long’s your ride home?” he asked suddenly.
The sound of “gray stuff” made Brandon cringe. “About 40 minutes, depending,” he answered. “I live out in Mountain Park.”
“Damn,” Jake exclaimed in his usual ‘act first, think after’ method of communicating. “That’s one hell of a commute. Hey man, I hate to ask you this, but would you maybe mind giving me a ride home?” he asked with little to no shame. “I live on a side road just up the way and on nice days I walk in. But my damn ankle is giving me fits tonight,” he explained with a slow blush that crept up under his high blue collar and into his cheeks. The truth was, no one would ever know just how much Jake hurt all the time. To let them know would be to admit that all his years of playing the sports he had loved, balls to the wall the entire time, had done him more harm than good.
If Jake was man enough to admit his ankle was bothering him and ask, then Brandon was adult enough to help him out. “Don’t mind at all. I need to change and stop at my classroom, but then I’m good to go,” Brandon said as they walked back into the gym. “The commute’s not bad, actually. It’s only about 25miles. It’s just on curvy country roads,” he added as he pulled open the locker room door. “Want me to meet you here?”
“I’ll meet you up at your room,” Jake offered automatically as he bypassed the locker room door and kept on going. “Err ... actually, I don’t know where your room is,” he corrected as he stopped and turned back around to face Brandon. “I’ll just be wandering around looking lost near the parking lot,” he told the man with a careless wave of his hand that was typical of Jake’s easy attitude. “Can’t miss me,” he laughed, turning back toward his office door.
“That’s fine. For future reference, I’m in old man Rayburn’s room,” Brandon said before disappearing to change clothes.
Heading on to his office and stepping inside, Jake tugged off his Under Armour cage jacket and tossed it onto his desk. For a first day of practice, things hadn’t gone so badly. The real shocker today had been Brandon Bartlett, and Jake’s thoughts couldn’t help but linger on the man as he dropped his baseball pants and slid back into his khaki shorts. Jake knew the terrifying feeling of being dropped into something you knew little about. He knew the freefall effect it had on your stomach and your nerves. Brandon had handled the day in a way Jake respected: silent, observing without interfering, but willing to step into it without even knowing what to do. A sudden overpowering guilt swept him as Jake thought about the man as someone he could respect, maybe even like. No matter how much he thought he’d learned since high school, he was still discovering things about himself that he didn’t really like all that much.
After changing clothes, Brandon gathered up the uniform, figuring he could wear it again tomorrow before washing it. Christ; he was a coach now. Shaking his head, he walked out of the locker room and headed back into the school proper, navigating the darkened halls to his office. He shoved severalstacks of papers and his planner and calendar into his backpack—he refused to carry a briefcase even now—and laid the uniform in on top. He grabbed the cleats, figuring they’d do well to air out, and was on his way.
Jake stood at the large circle in back of the school where parents dropped off and picked up their kids, his heavy equipment bag over his shoulder and his face turned up to the cold night sky. His entire body hurt. It wasn’t the pleasant ache of muscles being used hard after a long break. It was pain, pure and simple. He stood stock still, waiting for his ride.
Brandon pushed out of the side door, and he saw Jake at the circle, so he went ahead and got the car rather than making the guy walk. He slung his backpack and the cleats into the back seat of the Jetta and climbed in. Because of his long legs, both seats were pushed all the way back, and he found the car roomy enough for him, so Jake shouldn’t be too uncomfortable, he thought. A few seconds later he pulled up in front of the coach and rolled down his window with a spur of the moment smile. “Need a lift?”
Jake huffed, not sure how to respond as he stepped forward and opened the back door. If it had been someone he knew well he likely would shown some leg and faked thumbing a ride. But he just didn’t know Brandon well enough to know where the joke line was drawn. He laid his bag carefully in the back and then climbed into the front seat. “I never hurt this much when I played,” he complained with a groan as he stretched his long body out.
The science teacher shrugged a little. “Sucks getting older,” he muttered. Sometimes he felt it in his knees when he ran, but his college sporting career hadn’t really lasted long enough to do serious damage, and now he ran for simple exercise and enjoyment instead of seriously training. “Where to?” he asked politely.
“Ah, take a right at the exit,” Jake answered with a frown. “I’m not old.Youmight be old, but I’m not,” he said with a small smile and a sideways glance at the man driving.
Turning as directed, Brandon glanced over at his passenger. Now obviously worn out, Jake did look a little older. But it wouldn’t be polite to mention it. “I didn’t say we’re old. Just that we’regettingold,” he said. “We’re only 32 or so. We got at least 30 years to start approaching old.”
“Pfft,” Jake offered as he watched the school pass by. “I was getting old when I was seventeen,” he muttered as his ankle and knees screamed at him.
Hearing the edge in Jake’s voice, Brandon looked at him again. “You okay?” he asked quietly, not wanting to pry, but the other man looked like he was hurting. Pretty bad.
“Nothing some ice won’t fix,” Jake answered with an attempt at a smile.