Caught Running (12 page)
Troy looked at him sideways and nodded. “Night,” he said, following the other two men out to the car, leaving the head coach standing in the doorway to see them off.
"How many of those pills is he taking now?” Jonathan asked in a murmur as he walked with Troy.
"They're just Tylenol Arthritis,” Troy answered with a shrug. “Whatever's making him weird, it ain't chemical."
"Tylenol Arthritis out of a prescription bottle?” Brandon asked quietly as they climbed into the car.
Troy was silent for a moment, pondering. “I don't ask about those bottles,” he finally answered.
They all fell silent until the stoplight, when Brandon remembered something odd Jonathan had asked about. “What was that about locker room duty, Jonathan?"
"Ah,” Jonathan murmured in response, obviously glad to change the subject. “Well, we usually make the rounds before games, sort of to keep things in line when the boys are all worked up."
"Meaning?” Brandon prodded, wanting to know what to expect.
"Meaning the guys get a little riled up, both before a game and after a win, understandably. Just got to make sure they don't get out of hand with the jokes, pranks, slap and tickle,” Troy said.
"Slap and tickle?” Brandon asked, astounded.
In the high school locker room?
Troy simply shrugged and neither he nor Jonathan seemed to find it at all unusual. “Usually all you have to do is be in the locker room,” Jonathan added. “Just your presence keeps them calmer."
Brandon swallowed the questions that popped to mind as he pulled the Jetta into the parking lot and stopped at Jonathan's car. “I'll see you tomorrow, guys,” he murmured.
"Thanks for the lift,” Jonathan returned as he slid out of he back seat.
Troy sat there in the front for a moment, his hand on the door handle and his eyes watching Jonathan stroll to his car. “The prescriptions,” he finally said slowly, “are better than what he could be doing."
He looked more serious than Brandon had ever seen him. “You know him pretty well, right?” the science teacher asked.
"Yes,” Troy answered as he jerked his head a little and his jaw tightened.
Brandon nodded slowly. “Okay,” he said softly. He wouldn't pursue it. Not as long as Troy knew what was going on.
Troy waited for a moment, seeming to want to say more, but finally he tugged the handle on the door and pushed it open slowly. “Thanks for the ride,” he said softly before exiting the car and walking to the golf cart parked in the grass.
Brandon thought about that look on Troy's face a lot on the way home.
It was the second day of March and a Friday night, which meant the home team's supporters were out in full force. Jake liked to have the first game of the season be an away game. It took some of the pressure off, for the most part, but there were drawbacks. Like the loss of the home field advantage and the hourlong bus drive to Powder Springs.
The McEachern Indians weren't in Parkview's region, but they were fighting like they were. Jake supposed the embarrassing loss they'd suffered at Parkview's hands last year lit a fire under the other team, and as the 7th inning came around the Indians were ahead 4-3. The dark sky above rumbled threateningly, and Jake watched it from the dugout, wondering if they'd be able to get in the rest of the game.
He swiped his hand across the letters of his uniform, touched his nose, and then tugged at his ear. Swing away, the sign said. The kid nodded, giving his bat a few more practice swings before dropping the blue donut weight to the ground and heading up to the plate. Jake spit out a few sunflower seeds and clapped, calling out a stream of what would have been meaningless phrases that ended in the kid's name as he shouted encouragement—baseball language that everyone in the dugout clearly understood.
Brandon stood next to third base. It had been a nerve-wracking first game for him with lots of hits and running, scaring him to death in the meantime. But so far he'd done fine, apparently. Jake hadn't yelled at him anyway. Unlike the first base assistant, who'd gotten a chewing for waving a kid to second for an out. The science teacher listened to the words from the dugout, recalling what at least some of them meant and focused his attention on the batter.
It was a new pitcher on the mound, and he was throwing hard but slightly wild in the drizzling rain. Four pitches later, the cleanup hitter racked up three balls and a strike on his count. Jake called to him and touched his nose, then tugged his ear, then swiped his hand across his letters and touched his chin. Don't swing, the sign said to the kid.
One more pitch and the kid earned himself a walk. They were on their way to a rally. And then it rained. And rained. And continued to rain until the umpires called the game. Unfortunately, since they were past the 6th inning, the game was considered complete, and the Parkview Panthers were handed a frustrating loss in their first game of the season.
Brandon packed up equipment in the rain along with the college guys, knowing he was getting soaked, but better him than the kids who were gathering their heavy bags and running to the bus. They got the stuff together and stowed in the compartments and then got on board. Brandon pushed past Jake and one of the seniors, who were talking quietly, seeking the seat he'd claimed about halfway back. He flopped, wincing a little at the squish.
Note to self: Pack towels and a change of clothes, even when rain isn't in the forecast.
After a brief discussion, Jake sent the kid to his seat and slid into the driver's seat. Being given an okay that everyone was on board and seated, Jake closed the door and shook most of the water off as he started the bus. He didn't say anything to the kids about the loss. They knew they'd been coming back, and they knew they'd played well. That was all that needed to be said, really. Thirty minutes later Jake pulled the cumbersome bus into a Wendy's parking lot and stood to turn around and peer at the tired, damp kids. “Seniors first,” was all he said in a loud voice before nodding at Brandon to come on up.
Brandon picked up his pack and followed the head coach off the bus, walking into the restaurant where they quietly ordered and took a table toward the back of the room. They kept an eye on the kids filing in, and the two college assistants brought up the rear.
Jake hunched over his tray of fast food and poked a fry into a puddle of ketchup disconsolately. “You did well,” he murmured to Brandon finally. “Were you nervous?"
Tearing open the package of almonds to top his salad, Brandon muttered, “Nervous, he asks. Yeah. Scared to fucking death,” he said under his breath without even looking up from his meal.
Jake smiled and looked down at his food, fighting back the warmth and familiarity that had been building ever since the first day of practice. “Me too,” he admitted simply.
Brandon glanced up, surprise in his eyes that turned to gratitude for Jake putting him at ease. He went back to his salad, topping it with half the dressing before starting to mix it all up, still thinking about how they seemed to get along pretty well after about a month of almost-daily contact. Jake still caught him off guard a lot, though. “Guys did okay, huh?” he said between bites.
"They did really well,” Jake agreed as he looked the kids over. They were still mostly in uniform, still damp and dirty and tired, but they crowded around the tables that were lined together and sat in a big group, talking, joking, laughing. Jake smiled at them fondly and went back to his food.
Sitting back with his salad, Brandon watched the team with interest, seeing them interact and get along, reminiscing about good plays and ranting about missed opportunities. He shivered from being more than damp and set down the mostly empty bowl. Looking down at his pack, he remembered something. “Be back,” he murmured, heading for the bathroom with the bag.
Jake watched the man go with a look of open longing for a brief moment before lowering his head again and poking at his fries. He'd have to do something about this little infatuation he'd developed. Take a trip into the city, maybe, get it out of his system.
Once in the single bathroom, Brandon dropped the bag and pulled off his jersey, then the wet and clammy Under Armour. He turned up the spout on the hot air blower and stood over it with a groan, leaning against the wall for a long moment. When it shut off, he dug into the back pack and pulled out that T-shirt—'Co-Ed Naked Wrestling'. He snorted, looking at it again. If it weren't for Jake, Brandon would never have worn this thing. He pulled it over his head, happy to be dry. Shrugging back into the damp jersey, he left it unbuttoned and headed back out to the table.
Jake glanced up when Brandon returned, taking a second look as he caught sight of his own T-shirt. A dry one at that. “Ah, you cheater,” Jake grumbled with a small smile. “Just don't let the kids see you dry, we'll never get out of here."
Brandon cracked a grin. “Why do you think I put the jersey back on?” he asked, sitting back down and looking over the guys eating. “How long, you think?"
"Are you kidding?” Jake laughed softly. “They're not eating. They're inhaling. Five minutes,” he wagered. “Eh, ten for the Frosties."
Brandon decided he'd pass on grading papers. He couldn't believe he was already so wiped out and figured on catching a nap on the bus. That way he'd be good for the drive home and a couple hours of work after. “Mmmm. Frosty,” he murmured, considering.
"If you're gonna do it, do it now,” Jake warned as he gathered his trash up. “No second trips through the line!"
Sighing, Brandon passed. He'd have to skip his run tonight, no point in taking in the empty calories. He packed his trash and headed out to the bus, not far behind Jake.
The head coach slid back into the driver's seat, telling himself he should at least look busy as he sat there waiting for his team to stagger back out. Whenever Brandon was near him, he found himself feeling guilty for not having work to do. That was definitely a new feeling for him. He watched Brandon mount the steps to the bus out of the corner of his eye and followed his progress discreetly in the large rearview mirror.
Rubbing his eyes, Brandon sat back down, dropping his pack in the seat next to him. He managed to keep his eyes open until Jake had the bus back on the road, but the relative quiet and regular motion soon had him drowsing, head leaning against the cool window. Jake found himself glancing into the rearview more often than he should have in the dark and rain, and finally he forced himself to keep his eyes forward and off Brandon. A half hour later he was pulling the lumbering bus into the school parking lot and honking the horn at the group of parents waiting there.
The boys filed off the bus, saying goodnight to Jake as he stood to the side and gave them each a pat on the head. They had a game the next afternoon, which was a Saturday, and he knew each one of them would be ready for it. Not many teenage boys would have given up their Saturdays. Only the dedicated ones. Once the guys were moving, Brandon sat up, bleary and blinking hard, trying to get his bearings. When the kids were off he stood up, making it a couple steps before turning around and snagging his bag. He rubbed at his eyes as he got to the front of the bus. “Equipment?” he asked quietly.
"I got it,” Jake answered with a shake of his head. “They're all tired, need to get home,” he declared as he watched the kids scatter to their various rides. He turned to look at Brandon and frowned. “You look wrecked,” he told the man bluntly. “You sure you're okay to drive all that way home?"
"Yeah,” Brandon answered automatically, though he stopped in place at the bottom of the steps, so out of it he could barely stay on his feet. “Maybe not,” he corrected.
Jake smiled a little and then flushed with cold as he realized what he was going to do. He knew he shouldn't, but it was rather like watching a 300-pound man hurtling toward you and knowing that if you ditch the ball, he won't hit you. Jake had never been able to let go of that ball, even though he knew it was going to hurt. “Gimme your keys, you can crash at my place,” the coach ordered with a demanding waggle of his fingers.
Brandon turned exhausted eyes to look at Jake and knew he was in serious trouble when he couldn't even string together a semi-serious disagreement. Instead of digging out the keys, he just held out the pack. Jake took it and began to go through the smaller pockets carefully until he found the keys. He used the remote to unlock Brandon's car, which wasn't far away, and pointed the man to it. “Go get comfy, I'll just be a minute,” he ordered in his coach's voice, giving Brandon's shoulder a little push.
The science teacher didn't even think about objecting. He had no idea how far gone he was. He just wished he'd stayed asleep on the bus. He collapsed into the passenger's seat and closed the door, immediately leaning against it. It was almost as if his body knew he'd gotten to Friday night and was crashing regardless of what he wanted.
Jake watched Brandon get into the car and then turned back to the pile of equipment the kids had left by the side of the bus. He took his time lugging everything to the dugout, not wanting to irritate any of the various aches and pains he knew would show up when he got home. He locked the door when he was done, moved the bus into its parking space, and walked slowly to Brandon's car. His stomach flipped nervously, but he told himself to stay calm. He was being childish and idiotic, and this had to stop soon. He couldn't keep crushing on the man like he was without something giving. Probably his sanity.
He got into the car quietly. Brandon appeared to be asleep already, breathing silently, face looking hollow under dim lights that exaggerated the dark shadows under his eyes. He didn't move when the car door shut. Jake sat looking at him for a moment, taking in his features. He wished he had some way to relate to the man, but he could never think of anything that would do more than embarrass him. With a soft sigh Jake started the car and drove out of the parking lot, heading for his house and leaving his own truck behind.
When the car stopped and the engine shut off, the sudden lack of soothing movement made Brandon stir, who dragged his eyes open to look out the rain-glazed window. “Wha'?” he mumbled, trying to sit up.
"We're home,” Jake told him as he dragged himself out of the car and reached back in to snag Brandon's bag for him. “You need any of this stuff?"
Brandon climbed out of the car into the light rain and looked up at Jake's house, just now wondering if this was such a great idea. “No,” he answered, shutting the door and thinking about sagging against it.
"Inside then,” Jake ordered as he came around the back of the car and gently took Brandon's elbow. “Shower, dry clothes, and bed,” he coaxed with a small smile.
Unwilling to move for a minute, Brandon watched the moment freeze in a snapshot ... Jake standing next to him in the broken moonlight, the rain falling around them both, a soft expression on Jake's face, an even softer look in his eyes. Then the moment broke, time started moving again, and Brandon let Jake guide him into the house.
"Go up the stairs, down the hall and to the door at the end, that's my room. You can use the shower in there; there's shampoo, towels,” Jake instructed, setting the bag down by the door, wishing for his own sake that the other bathroom was ready for guests. “And, uh, I'll get you some clothes while you're in there."
Brandon was already moving when he realized he hadn't said anything. He turned, opening his mouth to speak, and was surprised by Jake right behind him. Jake stumbled against him, grabbing him by the arms to keep his balance. “Oh, sorry. I mean, thank you. Yeah. You know, for...” Brandon waved his hand a little.
"Don't mention it,” Jake murmured in reply to the stuttered ramble. His fingers dug into Brandon's arms slowly as his body tensed at the unexpected contact.
Brandon lifted his eyes to look at Jake, trying to tell himself he didn't feel a tingle where they touched. They just stood there for several heartbeats when Brandon realized Jake must be waiting for him to move. He dropped his eyes quickly. “Ah. I'll hit the shower.” He started to shuffle forward again.
Jake let him go as if he had been burnt, standing there holding his hands out with his fingers splayed as Brandon moved away from him. “I'll get your clothes."
