Chapter Four

“Does anyone else wanna bitch about being tired?” Jake practically screamed as the unfortunate kid in question started on the first of his five laps around the field. His tone was different today than it had been before. Jake always shouted. But shouting and angry were two different things, and Jake was rarely angry. Today he was, though, and the kids could tell. Dark was soon approaching, but no one dared hope it meant the end of practice was coming. Even Troy was frowning at the man and watching the kids closely. He seemed to want to step in, but apparently even Troy knew enough to be afraid of Jake when he was in a mood. He also knew that no matter how angry he was, Jake would never let the kids come to harm.

Brandon stood nearby, nearly wincing, though more at Jake’s language than the tone. But the angry note was a little distressing. Brandon knew Jake wouldn’t have the reputation of an excellent coach if he truly abused the kids. Still, in Brandon’s own quiet opinion, the kids needed to be running more. They needed to build up their endurance. Some of them wouldn’t last a mile before dropping.

Finally Jake dismissed the kids in disgust, waving them off the field without even a word as he turned away from them. There had been misplayed grounders, dropped balls, swings that were a mile off target, not to mention the complainers who always got on his nerves. It was days like this when he questioned whether he was in the right place. The other coaches just waited quietly, knowing not to poke the growling tiger. Even Troy kept his mouth shut, which surprised Brandon.

Jake grunted at the other men and shook his head. “Beer,” he snarled at them as he passed them by. Shrugging, Brandon led the way, following Jake. They were supposed to go to the head coach’s house tonight, and he figured that was still on despite Jake’s wretched mood. “You guys want a ride? I can drop you back here after,” he offered to Troy and Jonathan.

“I’ll take you up on that,” Jonathan grinned as Troy shook his head.

“Thanks, but I’m good,” Troy answered as he watched Jake stalk ahead of them. “Jake drove today, so... “He trailed off and cleared his throat as Jake stalked up to an old Chevy truck and chucked his equipment bag into the back, an action he usually undertook with great care. “Actually, yeah. Shotgun,” Troy said to them, and Jonathan scowled at him as they continued on to Brandon’s car.

Brandon snorted and unlocked the car doors so they could climb in. “Don’t sit on the limes,” he warned Troy, who was about to flop into the passenger’s seat. There was also a six-pack of bottled Corona in the floorboard.

“Is that legal?” Troy asked as he slid into the seat and plucked the beers off the floorboard. “Damn! Jake told me I couldn’t bring alcohol onto the campus,” he sulked, pulling the door closed.

In the back seat Jonathan laughed and reached up to pat Troy’s head. “That’s ‘cause you were trying to bring it for lunch, man.”

“Fuck you,” Troy sneered, hugging the beers to him. “Fuck you all,” he declared as Jake’s truck pulled up beside them.

“I’ll meet you boys there,” Jake said to them as he stuck his head out the window of the truck. “I’ve got to run by the store and pick up a few cases, y’all go on ahead.”

“You might pick me up another pack of Corona, Troy seems to have gotten attached to mine,” Brandon said drolly, glancing to the blond man now crooning to the clear bottles.

Jake peered past Brandon to look at Troy and then rolled his eyes. “Corona?” he asked, just to make certain.

Brandon nodded. “Yeah.” He tried reaching over to get the six-pack from Troy, but got his hand slapped. “Bastard!” he barked at Troy, though he smiled while Jonathan just cackled in the back seat.

Jake watched with a smile as Brandon asserted himself and slowly realized that the feeling from the locker room was returning. “Don’t let him into the limes, you’ll be scarred for life,” he warned, his voice slightly strained as he tried to fight back the sudden attraction. He gassed the truck before he could stare any more and drove quickly out of the parking lot.

Muttering and mock-glaring at Troy, Brandon turned on the car. “My luck. I bring beer, and you filch it,” he said under his breath.

Jonathan hung over the seat, still laughing. “Wait till you see what Troy can do with a lime.”

“That’s, yeah, that is pretty impressive,” Troy chuckled evilly. “Hey, what crawled up Jake’s ass and died, huh?”

“Shit, I thought maybe he needed some fiber or something,” Jonathan said.

Brandon choked back a laugh. “I don’t know. He was fine after last block,” he said. “I noticed tonight he sounded a little more...”

“Mad.”

“Yeah.”

“I haven’t seen him that mad since—” Troy stopped suddenly and simply stared out the window, shaking his head as if muttering to himself. “Must have had a bad day,” he finished finally without moving.

Jonathan prodded Troy’s shoulder. “Since what? Is this something we should expect to see more of?”

“I don’t know,” Troy answered reluctantly. “I mean, I dunno what set him off, is all. Last time I saw an extended pissy fit like today was when he found out that his shoulder couldn’t be operated on.”

Brandon’s hands tightened on the steering wheel as Jonathan launched into a rant on how ten years ago players got pushed too hard and how many careers had been ruined because of it. Jake’s shoulder? Along with his ankle and a blown out knee? What the hell had he gone through to compete? Brandon realized he just had no concept of how much Jake must love to play. He drove, deep in thought, while the other two men ranted.

When he pulled into Jake’s driveway, Troy was still clutching the Corona. “I’m not getting those back, am I?” Brandon said flatly.

“Nope,” Troy answered with a big grin as he got out of the car.

“You’re not getting all the limes,” Brandon retorted.

“You won’t want ‘em when I’m done with them anyway,” Troy twittered as he strutted up the walk to the front door like he lived in the place. He fished out the spare key from a hidden spot over the door and unlocked the door, inviting them in with a cheeky grin.

Jonathan laughed and bounded up the steps. “C’mon, Brandon. If you want one of those limes you need to get it as soon as possible,” he said, making Brandon grab his pack and run up the stairs and into the house.

Jake pulled into the drive not long after and sat there glaring at his front door. “Get a hold of yourself, you fuck,” he muttered as he sat with his wrists resting on the steering wheel. He had dealt with this before, an attraction to someone he shouldn’t be attracted to. He could do it again. With a grumpy snort he got out of the truck, slamming the door loudly so Troy would know to get out of his stuff, and grabbed the several cases of beers he had bought and lugged them up to the front door.

Having heard the car door slam, Brandon loped to the front door and opened the screen for Jake. “Watch out for Troy, he’s on a tear,” Brandon warned just as the blond came sliding into the hardwood hallway in his sock feet, singing into his stolen Corona bottle like it was a microphone.

“Oh Jesus,” Jake groaned as Troy turned, shook his ass at them, and strutted off. “You let him into the limes, didn’t you?” he muttered at Brandon, smiling slightly and heading into the kitchen with his load. “Sit down!” he shouted at Troy in his loudest, most authoritative voice. Troy plopped down on the couch obediently and sulked at him. “Before we get too trashed, we do need to divvy up the teams,” Jake reminded him.

Troy huffed, and Jonathan chuckled as he flopped down next to the man with a bag of Doritos. Brandon just shook his head and watched in fascination. Jake growled softly and went to the sunroom to retrieve the rolling whiteboard he kept out there. He pushed it back into the living room, settling it in front of the television, and then he stalked to the kitchen to dig out the markers. On his way he grabbed a cold beer and opened the cabinet where he kept his many little bottles of pills.

Brandon had come around the other door into the kitchen, planning to get a second Corona and lime, and he paused in the doorway when he nearly ran into Jake standing at the cabinet. “Sorry,” he murmured, moving past the other man to the fridge.

“No problem,” Jake muttered as he poured out a handful of pills and then picked out two of them. “Small kitchens make for close families,” he said without thinking, the words his mother had loved to say, even though the house was sizable and the kitchen wasn’t that small.

Straightening, Brandon looked curiously at Jake as he moved to the cutting board for a slice of lime. It was an interesting aphorism. He could see that applying at the house where he’d grown up, the house he still lived in. It sounded loving. He twisted the top off the bottle and shoved the lime down the neck, watching Jake chase the pills with beer. Were it anyone else, Brandon knew he would have said something.

Jake glanced over his shoulder at the man as he realized what he’d said, and that Brandon was silently watching him. “Hmm?” he asked in what he hoped was an innocent tone as he flushed slowly.

The attraction Brandon had been trying really hard to bury reared its gorgeous head again, and all he could do was blink and look at Jake—at what must be the real man. Not puffed up, not coaching, not yelling, not joking. Just him with a tired sag to his shoulders, bobbing Adam’s apple, mussed hair, and warmed skin. The science teacher had to close his eyes fully to break the tableau. “Ready?” he asked, voice rough, tipping his bottle toward the other room where he could hear Troy and Jonathan squabbling good-naturedly over American Idol .

Jake took the opportunity to think seriously about slamming his fingers in a drawer. That would distract him easily enough, right? Right. “Yep,” he muttered as he grabbed the three markers and his beer and headed back out into the other room.

Brandon followed him, trying really hard not to look at Jake’s ass in the white baseball pants. Really hard. Oh, man . Not the thought to have. He sat on the couch, pushing Troy over and away from the Doritos as Jake went to stand at the whiteboard.

“C’mon, Bartlett, be a pal,” Troy whined, practically climbing on top of Brandon trying to reach the bag of chips while Jonathan convulsed with laughter, rolling off the couch onto the floor.

“Troy!” Jake shouted, fed up and tired and hot and dirty after a long day. “Get back on the fucking Ritalin or something!” he barked in annoyance as he uncapped a marker.

Troy flipped him the bird but moved back to his end of the couch. Brandon grabbed the bag of chips and tossed it against the other teacher’s chest. “Now behave,” he said quietly as Troy stifled a cackle and sat back, a look of childish glee on his face.

“God,” Jake groaned, the tip of the marker just touching the whiteboard before he withdrew his hand again. “You get your cheese rush, I’m going to change,” he muttered dejectedly as he put the marker down and headed up the stairs, stripping off his shirt as he went and using it to wipe at his chest.

Annoyed on Jake’s behalf, Brandon reached and bapped Troy on the back of the head. “I thought you were his friend. Can’t you tell how tired he is? Button it up, Troy.”

“Fuck. If I button it up whenever he’s tired I’d be perpetually buttoned,” Troy muttered, glaring at the biology teacher.

“Cut him some slack, man,” Jonathan said from his spot on the floor. “Or never mind the kids, he’ll be making our lives hell, too.”

Troy and Jonathan continued to murmur, and Brandon just watched the stairs, remembering the bared chest and back he’d seen, muscles shifting. He pressed his lips together and took another long drink, despite the fact this was supposed to be his last beer for the night.

Jake didn’t shower, but just putting on fresh clothes made him feel better as he thumped back down the stairs. He was wearing loose sweats and a worn fraternity T-shirt that fit him like a soft, thin, second skin. Comfort clothes. He brought a T-shirt for each of the others and tossed them in the general direction of the couch as he grabbed up his beer again.

“Okay,” he huffed, picking up the marker. “Have we settled down?” he asked them in a tired voice as Troy stripped off his Under Armour and slid comfortably into Jake’s T-shirt. Jonathan took the shirt, but merely folded it back up and laid it aside. Apparently the slighter man was either comfortable in his Under Armour or he knew he’d look like a five year old in his dad’s clothes if he wore Jake’s shirt.

Brandon held up the shirt Jake had thrown at him. ‘Co-ed Naked Wrestling: The Mat Is Where It’s At’. Quaint. He half-smiled and pulled off the jersey as Troy murmured an apology to Jake. Next went the Under Armour, and Brandon was surprised at the cool air that hit his skin. He hadn’t realized he’d been so warm in the uniform. Just cooling off, he sat there holding the T-shirt, listening with half an ear as Troy promised to sit back and try to act at least half his age.

Jake turned around to say something and stopped short, his eyes catching Brandon’s bare chest. He blinked and looked away quickly, staring at the whiteboard for a minute as he tried not to flush. God, this was just getting worse and worse. Without a word he began to write the last names of boys who had tried out for baseball. All sixty of them, from memory. In alphabetical order. By grade.

The science teacher took a moment to yawn and stretch the kinks out of his back before he pulled on the T-shirt, surprised to find it actually fit well over his frame. It had that well-worn feel of a favorite. He smoothed his hand over the lurid words and stifled a chuckle.

“We’ve got twenty-two freshmen,” Jonathan said to Jake as he settled on the floor with his back against the couch. “At least five need to go.”

“Fifteen seniors,” Jake replied with a nod. “God, the juniors are going to be murdered,” he murmured with a wince as he began the next line of names. He stood for a moment, tallying the count. They could take twenty on varsity, no more. And that was really pushing the limit. “Somebody get the book, we’re going to have to look at their birth dates and not their grade levels. And the stats from last year. Christ,” he murmured to himself as he rubbed his neck.

“This is going to slaughter my team. And yours next year,” Troy said, his voice finally sobering. “Juniors will be ticked if they’re left out this year, and some might bail. Maybe even transfer to Berkmar to get playing time to prep for college.”

Brandon shifted and nabbed Jake’s bag, dragging it over to his feet and fishing out the book the other coach asked for. He opened it up to the bio pages and glanced up to the head coach. “Want me to just read them off?”

“Hold on, hold on,” Jake murmured as he shook his head. He rubbed the back of his neck and frowned at the names on the board. “God, this is gonna be okay. We do it purely by skill first run. Narrow it down to twenty each. Then we go from there, okay? I don’t care what grade they are, they deserve varsity if they get it first run. Then we tinker,” he said, turning to look at the other three for confirmation.

The science teacher shrugged, glancing to Troy and Jonathan as they both nodded. Brandon sat back, putting his feet up on the coffee table and crossing them at the ankles. It was going to be a long night.

Jake nodded and turned back to the whiteboard, going down the list of names and checking the kids who were definite varsity material. He crossed out the definite freshman cuts, a few kids who just weren’t meant to be playing for one reason or another, and then he stepped back.

He had fourteen varsity marked, five of whom were juniors. He sighed and glanced back for guidance. Troy shrugged and nodded. “Cutting seniors?” he asked dubiously.

“Some of them got outplayed,” Jake murmured with a slight frown. “And that little Garner bastard needs to be stuck in a tree until he ripens somewhere,” he added as he crossed out the kid’s name with a vengeance.

“You might consider cutting Garrett,” Brandon suggested quietly, naming a senior who’d been on varsity last year. Not a stellar player, not a star, but usually solid.

“Cutting?” Jake asked seriously, not even blinking at the fact that he was asking advice from the science teacher.

“Yes. He’s at practice everyday, and he plays, but his heart’s not in it. He daydreams when you’re looking the other way. I also heard...” Brandon stopped talking, not sure if they’d want to know information that didn’t have to do with baseball.

“Go on,” Jake invited with a nod.

“I heard he asked Rachel Richards to marry him over Christmas break. Rumor is she’s pregnant and he’s over the moon about it.”

Jake stared at the man for a moment and then groaned, rolling his eyes as he cracked his neck and went back to the whiteboard. “Good luck with that one, kiddo,” he murmured, crossing off the name.

Brandon shrugged. “Clark might be a problem, too. Not with a girl. With grades. Marty told me in the lounge today he’s looking to drop out and join the Army.”

“He does like to kill things,” Troy muttered with a little snicker.

“Yeah, we had to warn him last year not to hold his bat like a gun in batting practice,” Jake muttered as he crossed the name off the list.

Jonathan had been quiet to this point, and he piped up with a question totally off-topic. “Who gets locker room duty this year? Are we splitting it up?”

“Just like last year,” Jake answered with a nod. “Troy, who do you want?” he asked suddenly as he examined the lists. Troy shuffled over to the board, and for about five minutes the two men stood side by side, shoulders touching comfortably as they played a morbid sort of tic-tac-toe with the names.

Jonathan craned his neck and grinned at Brandon. “Want another beer?” he offered quietly.

Brandon shook his head. “Two’s my limit when driving. And really, I should eat something since I skipped dinner,” he added. “Anything to eat besides Troy’s Doritos?”

“Hey Coach, how about some pizza?” Jonathan asked with a pat to Brandon’s knee.

Jake turned around to look at them and blinked stupidly at the two of them as he stared. He nodded as he forced himself to get over the fact that he was actually jealous of Jonathan. God! Jonathan was as straight as they came, he knew that for a fact, and so was Brandon as far as he knew. What the hell was wrong with him? “Money’s in the drawer,” he muttered distractedly with a wave of his hand.

Jonathan clambered to his feet and took a moment to lean over Brandon and whisper, “He lets you stay the night if you drink too much. It’s gonna be a long one,” he murmured in the other teacher’s ear before standing up and adding, “Any toppings requests?”

“ Meat !” was the demand from Troy, who then went right back to the whiteboard. Brandon shook his head. He’d eat about anything and pick off what he didn’t want. When Jonathan lurched, about to lose his balance, Brandon reached out and shoved his ass up. “If you’re calling Morelli’s, just tell them to get it here fast if they want to see Parkview go to State,” he said. “The owner’s an alum.”

“Yeah yeah yeah,” Jonathan huffed with wave of his hand as he went to the kitchen for the phone. “No free grabs,” he added with a smirk. Brandon waved him off with a roll of his eyes.

Jake growled a little and leaned back to watch Jonathan with a frown. “Put green peppers on that,” he added, trying to tell himself that Brandon grabbing Jonathan’s ass had nothing to do with him. “And mushrooms!” he added as Troy tried not to laugh beside him. “Ooh! And onions!” he added as Troy began to shake uncontrollably. “Shut up.”

“What put that look on your face?” Troy asked between insane giggles, chancing a swipe from the head coach.

“What look?” Jake asked defensively.

“That somebody-kicked-my-puppy-and-I’m-pissed-off-about-it look,” Troy tried to describe. “Christ. I don’t think I’ve seen that on you before. C’mon, what’s the problem?”

Brandon listened from the couch, looking from man to man before settling on Jake, trying to see what Troy was describing. Jake looked fine to him.

“Shut up,” Jake grumbled as he crossed another name off the list. Troy just fell over onto the couch, laughing.

“How many Coronas have you had, man?” Brandon asked, nearly agog.

“Just the one,” Troy snickered as he pointed at Jake. “But I know that look. I remember that look now,” he crooned as Jake turned around to glare at him. “You’ve found a girl,” Troy accused in a sing-song voice. “Oh oh! Did she turn you down? Is that why you’ve been spitting nails all day?” he asked with glee.

Brandon’s brows shot up. Christ. It was like they were back in high school, and once again, he was relegated to the silent watcher. Jake’s face darkened like a thundercloud, and Brandon started to wonder if he might ought to go join Jonathan in the kitchen, so there’d be no witnesses.

“Your mom always turns me down,” Jake finally answered with a flicker of amusement in his eyes as he turned back to the whiteboard. He easily caught the empty beer bottle that was tossed at him and snickered when Jonathan came back into the room with his arms spread wide, asking what the hell he’d missed. As Troy collapsed back on the couch, Brandon wondered what Jake hadn’t said. There’d been a little too long of a pause before his snappy comeback, not that Troy noticed. Apparently the blond was quite the lightweight; a few beers and he was gone. Brandon scooted to make room for Jonathan on the couch between himself and Troy, not even noticing when Jonathan put a hand on his shoulder to balance himself as he threaded between the couch and coffee table.

After seeing Jonathan touch Brandon again, Jake’s shoulders tensed further, and he began to wonder if he wasn’t just imagining it all. “All right,” he practically growled, sighing and rolling his neck to ease the tension. “We have thirteen cuts to make,” he announced as he counted. “Who has the book?” he asked, flopping down on the coffee table. Brandon lifted the binder and waved it in the air. “Look through there and see if any of those kids were born after September,” Jake ordered, pointing at the names he had circled.

Brandon started looking through the pages. “Ellis. Walker.” Several more pages. “That Stithton kid. That’s it.”

“JV, all three of ‘em,” Jake declared immediately, leaning back to snag his beer. “The rest... Shit, this is the part that just sucks,” he groaned as he curled back into a sitting position and pinched the bridge of his nose.

Troy sighed, once again muted by the tough choices they had to make. Ten more kids had to go. “I nominate Miller and Rodriguez to go,” he said quietly.

“Reasons?” Jake requested hopefully. Reasons meant easy decisions.

“They’re single position players, with only one strong point. All the others have multiple skills,” Troy answered. “Increases varsity flexibility.”

Jake mused over that point for a moment before nodding regretfully. “We’ll have to make sure they know to come back next year and try again,” he noted as he got up slowly and headed back to the whiteboard to cross them off. “Any problems with grades on any of these kids?” he asked.

Brandon checked the names still up there. Eight more had to go. “Gregory was just referred to tutoring because he’s dropped below a C average in Chemistry,” he offered.

“Actually, cut Manero and Slodamesh. If I catch those sons of bitches smoking in the bathroom again I’m gonna whip their asses,” Troy said. “They know well enough it’s against team rules.”

“Ooh,” Jake responded excitedly. “Fulk and Gilliam were busted for drinking over the winter,” he told them, knowing he’d meant to write that down. He crossed off the five names they’d mentioned and then cocked his head at the last two. “What do you think, Troy, can you take a crew of nineteen?” he asked.

“What the hell. If they get tired of riding the bench, they can be the JV cheerleaders,” the blond-haired coach drawled, earning a chorus of groans.

“Oh Jesus,” Jake murmured as he remembered the other cheerleaders they’d have to deal with. Sometimes he thought his life would be so much simpler if he’d just married that woman and made her miserable. “Okay,” he said after a moment of staring. “We have our teams,” he announced in a slightly surprised voice. It had happened so quickly. As if in celebration, the doorbell rang.

“Ooh, I got it,” Jonathan cried excitedly, practically climbing over Brandon to get off the couch.

Brandon grunted and gasped as he was for all intents and purposes kneed. “Goddamn, Jonathan, be careful!” he hissed, smacking the back of the younger man’s thigh as Jonathan trotted to the hall that led to the front door. He rolled his eyes and shifted, glaring at Troy, who was snickering. “Watch it, limey boy,” Brandon growled.

“What?” Troy asked in confusion, and the look on his face was enough to have Jake smirking as he walked out of the room back toward the kitchen for plates.

Sighing, Brandon leaned his head back onto the edge of the couch, pretty much sprawling out. He was tired enough to not care much for propriety at this point. And since it was certain that Troy wouldn’t even know propriety if it walked up and bit him on the ass, why should Brandon care? If it pissed Jake off, he wouldn’t hesitate to say something. “Blech,” he finally muttered, looking at the ceiling, thinking about the next day.

“We’ll post the teams on the main boards,” Jake responded to Brandon’s expression of distaste, taking it as a declaration of his thoughts on the cuts. “They’ll announce that they’re up in the morning report and we don’t have to watch the kids be crushed. Coward’s way out,” he admitted as Jonathan came back in with two large pizzas. Jake laid out a stack of plates and handed everyone a fresh beer.

Brandon eyed the beer, really tempted. But if he stayed here tonight—not that it was really that much longer, it was pushing 9 p.m. now—he’d have to get up that much earlier to drive home, change clothes, and drive back into town for tutoring before school. He sighed and set the bottle on the coffee table and pulled a few pieces of pizza onto his plate, sitting back and munching, listening to Troy and Jonathan chatter about plans for their teams.

Jake flopped onto the ground in front of the coffee table, grabbing a piece of pizza out of the box and eating without bothering with the plates. “You done drinking, man?” he asked Brandon with a glance at the untouched beer. “I’ve got four bedrooms and couches to spare,” he joked, half serious. Sometimes Troy slept on the floor just to feel like he was roughing it.

“I really need to drive home tonight,” Brandon said through a mouthful of sausage and pepperoni. “I’d have to get up a hell of a lot earlier if I stayed here, had to go home, and then turn around and come back into town.”

“Man, there’s no early that’s early enough to keep me from crashing here instead of home,” Troy declared with a sort of childish glee. “How long’s your drive?” he asked with a frown.

“It’s a little under 40 minutes to Mountain Park. Longer if it’s after dark, lots of deer,” Brandon answered, leaning forward to snag a piece of supreme. “If I stayed, I’d have to leave here about 3 a.m. to make school on time.”

“What?” Jonathan asked in horror.

“What time do you get to school every morning?” Jake asked, telling himself even as he questioned it that he didn’t want to know, it was none of his business, and stop staring at Brandon’s throat!

“Little before six,” the science teacher murmured. His eyes sliding from side to side, he saw the other three men looking at him with varying degrees of horror. He was not going to say it, he wasn’t ... “What?” he blurted.

“Why?” Troy demanded in a slightly higher voice than usual. He sounded outraged for humanity.

Brandon swallowed his pizza. “I tutor,” he said shortly, shifting to pull a leg up under himself.

“On purpose?” Troy asked in the same disbelieving tone.

“Yes, on purpose,” Brandon said defensively, withdrawing a little at what he perceived to be an attack.

Jonathan was frowning. “Didn’t I read in the district memo that they hired somebody to do that full time?” Brandon shrugged awkwardly. He wasn’t about to tell them it was an unpaid position.

Jake watched the man closely and saw him begin to pull back into his shell a little. There was no reason for him to, and Jake wondered what he must think of all of them to be embarrassed over the fact that he helped kids study in the mornings. For some reason it irked him a little, but it worried him more that Brandon was uncomfortable. “Not much different than the weekends we were taking with the team last fall,” he pointed out to Troy softly.

“Well, yeah, but 6 a.m.?” Troy said. “That’s torture! At least we worked after high noon.”

Jonathan looked between Brandon and Troy, seeing the discomfort there. “Shut up, Troy. Brandon, are you still going to do this tutoring now that you’re coaching? That’s going to make for twelve, fourteen hour days, just on practice days. For games—away games, fuck—we don’t get home until 1 a.m. sometimes.”

Brandon looked up again to see them waiting for his answer. “The kids need me. For the tutoring, for the coaching, doesn’t matter. I’ll be there,” he said quietly. But his voice was firm.

Jake watched the man for a moment longer. He was still wavering between trying to decide whether he liked the guy. He liked him when they were alone, but the awkward way he clammed up when someone else was around—or hell, he’d even done it to Jake—Jake didn’t know how to take that. He was used to people being at ease with him when he wanted them to be. “If you start burning out, let us know. You can skip the away games,” Jake offered quietly as he opened a third beer and gave it a long pull. The pills and beer were hitting him now, just not quickly enough.

Although the thought of shirking his commitment like that really bothered him, Brandon was already concerned enough about it that he wasn’t going to argue. At least not right now. “I’ll keep it in mind,” he said. “Thanks.”

Troy and Jonathan looked at each other significantly. Then the freshman coach piped up. “I can help grade papers,” he offered. Brandon glanced to him, a brow raised. Troy grumbled a little under his breath and wrinkled his nose. “I’ll help, too,” he muttered. Then he brightened. “I can show you the best way to sleep on a school bus seat.”

Brandon was so surprised that he didn’t know what to say. He hardly knew these guys, but here they were, extending offers of assistance. It was damn humbling, is what it was. Was this what that camaraderie among team members was like? How the team always said they would stick together? Brandon had never experienced it before.

“And the boys would probably do some work if you gave them a little extra credit or something,” Jake added as he reached for another piece of pizza, oblivious to Brandon’s shell-shock.

“Uh.” Brandon was at a loss for something to say. “I appreciate it,” he settled on.

Jonathan leaned over and butted shoulders with him. “You’re part of the team now, Brandon. We look out for each other.”

“Or we hang your underwear from the flag pole,” Troy added with a grin.

Jake rolled his eyes, remembering the day years ago when his own boxers had been strung up in celebration of a win over their rival. “We don’t do that anymore,” he assured the man. “Any sort of hazing these days gets you kicked off the team,” he added pointedly as Troy beamed at him.

“Does committing evil and unnatural acts upon my limes count as hazing?” Brandon asked mock-seriously, glaring at Troy. Jonathan snickered.

“Just toss ‘em out,” Jake said quickly, shaking his head as if to ward off the images. “You know, man, doing that often enough will get you a pretty seedy reputation,” he added to Troy.

“I’m secure in my manhood, Curly,” Troy chuckled in return, gulping down the last of his Corona with a grin.

Brandon had to laugh. “Curly?” He looked at Jake’s close-cropped hair.

Jake blushed mightily and lowered his eyes, practically waffling as he sat there. “If my hair gets any longer it starts curling,” he explained. “You remember school. Curly was the best of the names,” he shrugged with a glance up at Brandon as Troy and Jonathan laughed.

The science teacher tilted his head, a mischievous glint lighting his eyes, and he warbled lightly, “Thunder, thunder, thunder, Thundercat!”

Jake’s eyes shot up to stare at the man incredulously, surprised at the complete about-face in his demeanor, and Troy barked a laugh and pointed at him, giggling like a little boy. Brandon started laughing hard, almost falling over on the couch. “What?” he asked between snorts. “You don’t remember that one?”

“I thought I threatened anyone who remembered that one into amnesia,” Jake blurted as Troy held his side and wallowed on the couch, snorting and laughing uncontrollably.

Brandon tried to shrug, but he just laughed harder. “I guess you missed me, then. Lord. It was all over the school. Even on the walls in the bathrooms.” Jonathan and Troy started up with fresh peals of laughter.

Jake shifted uncomfortably. “Why?” he practically whined. That had been the one call at the football games that he had never understood. The cheerleaders had even taken it up for a few games.

Eyes widening in shock, Brandon just stared at him. “You don’t know why? Hell, I even know why. Remember the cartoon? ‘Thundercats’? The leader was this young guy who bellowed and led the rest of the team in the fights for victory. It was a compliment, man, when you were on the football field. Even if it is funny as hell, now.”

“Cartoon?” Jake echoed dubiously. He huffed and blushed even harder as he finished his beer.

“Geez. I’ll get it from Netflix for you,” Brandon said, shaking his head. “Just believe me, it was a compliment.” He smirked again before nudging Jake’s knee with one foot, stage whispering “Speedball.”

“Okay, enough reminiscing!” Jake cried as he waved his hands through the air and closed his eyes. “God,” he groaned. “It was embarrassing enough back then; the years just add to it.”

Jonathan and Troy were reduced to nearly crying snickers, and Brandon pressed his lips together, trying to put on a straight face and failing miserably. “Those are a hell of a lot better than anything I was ever called,” the science teacher pointed out reasonably.

“You can only compete if you had a bleacher load of people shouting it,” Jake challenged, reddening further at the memories of some of the games. It hadn’t been all that bad until the other team started laughing. Of course, usually they had only laughed until they were being beaten. “Man, even opposing players called me that.”

Troy snorted. “It just made you madder and then we beat the hell out of them.” Brandon remembered that Troy’d been Jake’s wide receiver. Jonathan, who’d been laughing the whole time, stood up, climbed over Brandon yet again, and sang ‘Thundercats’ on his way to the kitchen for more beer.

Jake growled dangerously and hunched his shoulders, still blushing heavily and glaring at them all. Brandon couldn’t help but titter again, then he took pity on Jake. “Sorry, man,” he murmured. But he was still smiling widely.

“Bastards,” Jake responded sulkily. God, it was embarrassing, having those memories dredged up. And he wasn’t quite sure why. He wondered if perhaps the fact that he’d been lusting over Brandon all fucking afternoon, that all the man remembered of him was these stupidass nicknames, and that he yelled had anything to do with it.

Jonathan came back with another three bottles and a Coke for Brandon, handing them around. “Now,” the freshman coach said. “Any other juicy gossip we need to know about?” he asked.

“Gossip? I’ve got some on Parkview, but do you know the staff?” Troy asked the middle school teacher. Jonathan just beamed. “Fine,” Troy said. He glanced around at the other guys. “I heard Renata caught Jason Beals and Tammy Parker in the art studio closet.”

“Hell, I’ve run them out of the locker rooms before,” Jake laughed with a shake of his head. “Ugh,” he added as he realized what he’d said. “I think I need to go duct tape my mouth closed now,” he groaned, standing up and grabbed his three empty beer bottles. “Pills have kicked in, boys.”

“I need to get going,” Brandon said regretfully. “You guys crashing here?” he asked Troy and Jonathan.

“I’ll take a ride back to the school, if you’re offering,” Troy nodded as he stood with an uncharacteristically worried frown, watching Jake walk into the kitchen.

“Me too,” Jonathan answered, beginning to gather up the pizza.

Brandon followed Troy’s eyes. He figured those two were pretty good friends, despite the blond’s constant ribbing. And if he looked worried... Brandon shook his head and shoved the book back into Jake’s duffle, gathering up empty bottles to take to the kitchen. Troy and Jonathan followed him, each carrying a pizza box and a few bottles. Jake was seated on his kitchen counter, legs swinging free and beer in his hand, and Troy chuckled as he placed the pizza on the counter.

“Man, how many nights did we do this after games?” the blond mused, suddenly serious again. He turned to Jonathan and Brandon and smiled. “After every Friday night game we’d come here. Nearly half the team. Everyone in school thought we all went out drinking and partying and shit. But we’d come to Campbell’s house, his mom would make us fried chicken, and we’d hang out in the back yard all night with a bonfire. I don’t even remember there being beer, man,” he said to Jake fondly.

“Hell no,” Jake huffed. “My dad would have skinned us all.” He laughed with a shake of his head. “Doritos and Gatorade, man. Food of the gods.”

Troy snorted and pointed at Jake, grinning widely. “You remember that night we were driving home from that tournament in Atlanta?” he asked with a laugh. Jake smiled and shook his head at the memory, glancing at Brandon and Jonathan apologetically for the reminiscing that was leaving them out. “We had driven there for this Saturday tournament,” Troy went on, telling them the story, “and on the way back it was us and two other guys in Jake’s car. We stopped at a gas station somewhere and got some snacks to hold us over, and when we got back in the car Jake just drank his drink from the bag as he drove.”

“We had Doritos and Dr. Pepper,” Jake interjected.

“So this cop sees him driving and drinking from this brown paper bag, right? And he pulls us over,” Troy went on, laughing as he spoke. “And he must have had something against sports, man, ‘cause he was all over us. We were all still in uniform and everything, and he makes Jake get out of the car to walk a line, right? Like he’s drunk! And he gets all up in Jake’s face and says, ‘Let me smell your breath, boy.’ So by this time the rest of us are just dying in the car, because Jake was like a foot taller than this cop anyway, and the guy’s all puffed up, and Jake’s been eating Doritos for like the entire day. And Jake goes, ‘I really don’t think you want me to do that.’” Troy was laughing so hard now he could barely keep up the story, pointing at Jake, who was grinning in amusement. “And the cop gets even more puffy,” Troy went on, snickering, “and Jake just shrugs and gives him a big ol’ whiff of Dorito breath,” Troy cackled. “God, it was funny,” he chuckled fondly.

Brandon’s eyes were wide. “So is that where the rumor that you got arrested came from?” he asked Jake.

“Maybe,” Jake drawled with a small smile. “No matter what I said, no one believed it had never happened.”

Brandon just shook his head, looked at the clock, and winced. 9:15. “I gotta go. C’mon, guys. Bus is leaving.” He headed back to the living room for his pack.

Jake was silent, pondering the sinking feeling in his chest. He could not be doing this. He could not be lusting after this guy, not Brandon Bartlett, not right now, not ever. He kept admiring the man, then reminding himself who Brandon was, and then either beating himself up for doing it or beating himself up for admiring Brandon in the first place. It was frustrating, to say the least.

Troy clapped Jake on the shoulder before following Brandon as Jonathan called out a pit stop on the way. Brandon leaned over to dig in his pack for his keys and slung his jersey over his arm. “Hey, Jake, you want me to wash this T-shirt and bring it back?” he called out as he stuffed the Under Armour in the back pack.

“Nah, just whatever works,” Jake murmured with a slight shiver.

Brandon nodded slowly, looking over to the man standing in the door. “See you tomorrow,” he said.

“Have a good night,” Jake offered, watching Brandon oddly. He started violently when Troy cleared his throat, ducked his head, and flushed slightly. “I’m going to bed,” he added in an embarrassed tone.

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 the 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.