Caught Running (28 page)
Brandon's eyes tracked Jake as he walked by and he hurt just looking at how upset and tense he was. And not ten minutes ago.... He sighed and walked back into the room after Misty dashed by, red-faced. He snatched up his room key and walked back out to join Troy, pulling the door shut behind him. “C'mon,” he murmured as the other man fell in beside him. “We better follow him."
They caught up to Jake at the first door on the list. He was stood there fuming, waiting for the boys to answer his knock.
As Brandon walked up to Jake's side, Troy stayed well back, familiar with Jake's temper. “She's gone,” Brandon murmured evenly. “Will you let me deal with this?"
"I'm fine,” Jake answered through clenched teeth.
Brandon stepped back, slid a hand into his pocket, and forced a half smile, deciding on a calculated risk. “If you say so, Coach,” he said, injecting a note into his voice that clearly said he was humoring the bigger man. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Troy take another step back.
Jake turned slowly to stare at Brandon for a moment. Hoping his face looked as innocent as possible, Brandon just raised one brow and waited. Jake turned back to the door, jaw tight and eyes flashing as one of the tired kids opened it. Jake stared at him for a moment, trying to regain his temper.
The player's eyes got big as he saw the look on the Coach's face, and he looked to the other coaches, wondering what was wrong. “Yeah, Coach?” he asked in a small voice.
"We need to do some shuffling, guys,” Jake finally forced himself to say. “Gather up your things. Just for tonight."
The kid nodded immediately and headed back into the room, leaving the door halfway open. While Jake spoke, Brandon backed up to stand next to Troy, who nudged his arm.
"What the hell, Bartlett? You trying to be six inches shorter? Cause that's what you'll be when he takes your damn head off,” Troy muttered.
Brandon's face got pinched and he turned a glare on Troy. “You were doing so well helping, I saw,” he muttered.
"I learned some time back
not to help
. He must like you,” Troy said under his breath. “Otherwise you'd be out cold on the floor."
Brandon's eyes shifted back to Jake, who was now talking quietly with the two players who had packed up fast and vacated the room.
As the kids dragged their things down the hall to the next room, Jake turned and looked at his other coaches, meeting Brandon's eyes for a long, tense moment before turning and following to knock on the next door. Brandon couldn't decide if he'd done the right thing or not. He'd just reacted, really. So he stood there with Troy and kept his mouth shut as Jake cleared up the situation with the rooms.
When he had the boys double-bunked and had taken their keys from them, Jake continued down the hallway to the lobby, fuming still and unable to look back at the other two men for fear of growling at them. He found the girls, who were now hunched together and chattering nervously, and he walked up to them and handed two of them keys and told them the room number. “Where's your coach?” he asked flatly, and the girls all just pointed toward the bar area and skittered away to their rooms.
Troy took that opportunity to mutter a ‘good luck, road kill’ and take off. Brandon spared a very violent thought for him before glancing back at Jake, who was staring at the bar, anger still clear on his face. Brandon decided he wasn't helping—probably hadn't since he first left Jake alone with Misty—and started walking back toward their room without a word. His burst of energy was gone and then some. If he was going to get howled at, he'd rather it be after he'd gotten some sleep. A moment later and Jake materialized at his side, walking down the hall silently without ever having approached the cheerleading coach at the bar. Brandon wasn't tempted to say anything, even when Jake pulled out his key card, opened the door, and gestured for Brandon to walk inside.
Jake followed and stood at the door, staring into the dark room morosely. “Bitch,” he finally grunted before beginning to take off his shirt.
Brandon pulled off his glasses and tossed them haphazardly on the table, where they slid across the messy papers. He pulled off his own shirt and worked on unfastening his jeans. Once Jake spoke the tension he'd felt had melted, and now it was all he could do to remain upright.
"She's going to follow me around for the rest of my fucking life,” Jake muttered as if he was just now realizing this. Brandon couldn't help but snort as he shoved his jeans over his hips and kicked them off. “It's not funny,” Jake insisted seriously. “What are we gonna do if she ever shows up on my doorstep?” he asked.
Brandon's head snapped around to look at Jake in disbelief.
Holy shit
. “Uh.” All he could think of was that if she touched Jake again, he might slap the hell out of her. But that probably wouldn't go over real well.
Jake licked his lips and stared back at Brandon. “What if she finally gets the hint and turns her energy toward revenge?” he posed quietly, his body going cold at the thought.
"What if? Jake, we can go on about what ifs until we're both blue in the face,” Brandon said, upset and resigned in equal measures. “Can you tell me it's going to make a difference? Because if it does, I'd rather know now.” There was no strength behind his question, because for him, it didn't matter. Despite how much he bottled it up, he loved Jake desperately. He wasn't sure how he'd react if something happened to tear them apart so fast.
"A difference?” Jake asked in confusion.
Brandon sat down hard on the edge of the bed. He rubbed both hands over his face. “If Misty figured us out and did something about it, is that going to change what's between us for you?"
"No,” Jake answered in surprise. “No,” he repeated as he walked closer, sitting on the end of the bed beside Brandon. “I just ... She scares me."
"I understand,” Brandon said softly, head in his hands with his eyes closed. “If it happens, we'll deal with it. Somehow."
"
We
will?” Jake asked, looking over at Brandon sideways and smiling a little.
Brandon looked up and blinked at him. “Yeah?” he drew out, wondering why Jake would question that. “You think I'm going leave you alone if she tries to get her claws into you?"
"You'd better not,” Jake growled.
"Not gonna happen,” Brandon said as he looked up, face softened. Jake leaned over and kissed him on impulse, turning and crawling onto him to pin him against the mattress and kiss him some more. Brandon wrapped his arms around Jake's neck and held on tight. “Please tell me you locked the door,” he murmured.
"Hotel door,” Jake growled, “It locks on its own."
"Right,” Brandon moaned. “Get on with it then. We don't have to be anywhere until after lunch tomorrow, and I intend to sleep late in your arms."
"Get on with it?” Jake asked in a mockingly offended voice. “
Get on with it
?” he teased as he gathered Brandon up and pushed him across the bed slightly and kissed him again.
Brandon snickered against Jake's lips, sliding his legs apart and then hooking his feet over Jake's calves. “Mmmm hmmm. Don't you want me to soothe the savage beast?” he teased between kisses.
Jake actually ruined the kiss by snorting. “Oh Christ, now I can't do it,” he groaned as he pushed himself up onto all fours.
Chuckling, Brandon just looked up at him. “I could have called you Thunder—” Jake cut the word off with another growling kiss. Brandon grinned somehow under the pressure of Jake's lips and pulled his body back down, lifting his legs to curl them over Jake's hips.
"Get on with it, he says,” Jake muttered against Brandon's lips as his hands began to pull at Brandon's briefs.
"Uh huh,” Brandon breathed, dropping his legs to help and pushing at Jake's shorts and boxers.
Jake huffed and yanked at Brandon's briefs roughly enough to rip the seam and kissed him harder, trying to instill a little more excitement in him than ‘get on with it.'
Brandon's muffled laughter turned to a deeper moan, and his hands tightened on Jake as his cock twitched and his gut clenched. Pulling back from the kiss to gulp for air, he choked on a whimper. “Want you,” he said, helplessly arching up against Jake's body. “Need you."
"That's more like it,” Jake rumbled as he moved back just far enough to remove Brandon's briefs. “Tell me you packed optimistically,” he murmured.
"I packed optimistically,” Brandon said, already breathless, pushing himself up onto his elbows. “I figured I'd have to drag you off somewhere out of the hotel to even have a chance at this,” he said, pointing at the duffle bag to the side of the bed.
"Lucky me,” Jake moaned as he kissed him. He pushed up and quickly rifled through the duffel bag until he found the tube, then shed the remainder of his clothing before climbing back on top of Brandon. “Just no screaming,” he growled in a low voice.
"Screaming? Me?” Brandon objected, ruining it by yelping sharply as cool, slick fingers slipped between his legs.
"Hush,” Jake hissed, pressing his lips to Brandon's to muffle his words. He twisted his fingers evilly and growled.
Brandon drew in a sharp breath through his nose and dug his fingers into Jake's shoulders hard. “Please,” he said against Jake's lips. “Please please please please,” he chanted raggedly, tilting his hips up with each push of Jake's hand.
"Shhhhh,” Jake soothed as he removed his fingers and guided himself quickly inside with an impatient growl. Brandon whimpered and wrapped his arms and legs around him, and Jake groaned softly, one hand wrapping over Brandon's head to tangle his fingers in his hair as he quickened his pace.
"Oh yessssss,” Brandon hissed, hitching his knees up further and burying his face in Jake's neck to muffle a long moan. This man was his—
his
—and Misty would never, ever have him. Possessiveness like he never expected swamped him, and he slid one hand up over the back of Jake's neck.
Jake pressed his face into Brandon's throat and moaned his name brokenly, his hips rocking into him, but nothing else moving. Brandon wrapped his hand about Jake's nape, fingers digging in as he rolled his shoulders forward to press his lips to Jake's ear and growled.
"Mine."
"Yes,” Jake gasped almost desperately as he sped up his rhythm, jarring Brandon's body with his thrusts.
Gasping harshly, Brandon's head fell back and he bit his bottom lip to hold in the cries he wanted to loose as Jake set him afire. Jake moaned brokenly and pressed his open mouth to Brandon's neck, tightening his grip as his muscles clenched. He gasped and groaned as his orgasm tore through him. The feel of heat and Jake's body shuddering made Brandon snap inside, and with a stuttered gasp he came, the pleasure crashing through him in heavy waves.
Jake whimpered as the aftershocks rippled inside him. He pressed his lips to Brandon's sweaty skin and sucked in air noisily, holding him tight. “Mine,” he murmured, the word barely audible.
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.
Brandon
really
looked 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 for the 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 Jake certainly 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 at the 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 down the 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 even
asked
about 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.
Brandon ran until he thought he might collapse, but he at least made it back to the porch before flopping on the steps and lying back on the wood. He'd managed to zone out for a little while, but it was a testament to how wrapped up he was in Jake that he just couldn't shake the scare. Groaning, he rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. He'd have to ask about it. It would drive him crazy until he knew. Sighing, he dragged himself up and went back to the car for the duffle, then headed inside.
The more time that passed, the angrier Jake found himself. It didn't help that he had an infamous temper. It didn't help that he was terrified their carefully hewn relationship might be falling apart out there on a trail somewhere with no way for him to fix it. That was just adding to the anger. When the phone began to ring, Jake rounded on it and grabbed it, yanked it out of the wall and tossed it across the kitchen. He snorted at it and then walked out of the house into the back yard and disappeared into the grove of trees.
Brandon stopped still and stood looking at the phone. Calmer now, he felt not a little ashamed of himself. He'd never backed down from Jake, even when the other man was mad as hell. He'd never lied to him, either. And he didn't think Jake had ever kept anything from him. Taking a breath, he set his hand on the phone for a long moment, then picked it up and dialed. The more the phone rang, the more resigned he felt. Finally he hung up and laid his forehead against the wall. He hoped Jake was in the shower or something. He glanced at the clock. Four hours to the banquet. More than enough time to head back to the house and talk to Jake. He headed to the shower and cleaned up, thoughts buzzing the whole time and on the drive back as well. When he pulled into the driveway, he knew what he was going to say.
Heading into the house, he called Jake's name. No response came. The remains of the shattered phone met him in the foyer, and one of the little gold trophies sat on the corner of the bar, the bat pointing toward the cupboard of pills with the little pony-tailed head ripped off and hanging on the end of it.
Brandon stared at the mess for a long moment, then turned his chin to look at the desk. The score book lay open, the e-mail exposed.
Christ. I really fucked this one up
. Taking a deep breath, he started cleaning up the mess, figuring Jake had to come back sometime, if only to get the scorebooks and tallies for the banquet.
Jake spent an hour roaming the little clearing out back where he had grown up hitting rocks as a kid. He walked in circles, picking up bits of loose gravel and sticks. He would take a rock, toss it up, and swing. Over and over, for hours on end. He still had the ruined nub of the bat he'd used as a kid mounted on a plaque in his old bedroom.
He stood there, thinking about the last twenty years and where they had gone different from what he had wanted. Not wrong. Just different. Slowly his breathing calmed, his temper ebbed, and he was left standing in the middle of the clearing with a tight throat and chest, thinking about where he had left to go and what he would have were he to leave.
Lowering his head, Jake turned and walked slowly back to the house.
Brandon leaned against the wall facing the door, just waiting. The time dragged and dragged, until he heard footsteps. Jake walked slowly to the door, opened it, and once inside looked up at him. The look on his face about broke Brandon's heart. “Jake,” he started, voice thick.
"I need a shower,” Jake responded as he headed for the hall.
Brandon set his jaw and stepped in front of him, hands touching each wall, blocking the way. “I want to go with you,” he said steadily.
Jake stopped and blinked at him. “What?” he asked flatly.
Tilting his head with a stern look, Brandon's expression showed that
he
knew that
Jake
knew what he was talking about. “If you leave, I want to go with you,” he said.
"Why would you think I'm going anywhere?” Jake asked in a tired voice. He'd walked the anger out, and now he just felt flat and exhausted. “Why would you think I would even consider leaving and never mention it to you?"
"It scared the hell out of me, Jake,” Brandon said starkly. “I know I overreacted. Except for that vacation, when have we ever talked about the future beyond this weekend or the next game?” He dropped both arms, looking truly upset. “It just made me realize that I wouldn't have anything if you left,” he said miserably.
Jake gave a pained wince and looked down at the floor. “
I
wouldn't have anything if I left, either,” he murmured.
Brandon's throat ached as he slowly stepped forward, closer to his lover, reaching out to lightly touch his cheek. “I'm sorry I scared you,” he said. “I scared the hell out of myself, too."
"You just fucking left,” Jake whispered roughly.
Brandon let his hand fall back to his side. He deserved that. “Yeah,” he said, voice full of self-recrimination. “I'm too good at running, I guess. But I am sorry. Please believe me. I know I fucked up royally."
"Yeah, you did,” Jake answered with a nod of his head. “So did I."
Nodding, Brandon's shoulders slumped a little. “Are we—are we going to be okay?” he asked weakly.
Jake met Brandon's eyes and his lips twitched. “You're willing to move to California with me,” he murmured.
"Jake, I'd move to Antarctica with you,” Brandon replied honestly. Jake replied by stepping closer and pulling Brandon to him for a passionate kiss. He wrapped his arms around him and turned them both, pushing Brandon against the wall as he kissed him harder.
Brandon's arms flew around Jake's neck, and he held on tight, joining the kiss desperately, inside chanting
Thank you God, thank you God, thank you God, thank you God...
"Don't ever run from me again,” Jake pleaded.
Brandon nodded his head earnestly. “I promise,” he said. “Fuck, Jake. I love you so much it hurts."
