Chapter 13

Chapter Thirteen

GABBY

Nathan: Come on, Gab. We should talk. I miss you.

That’s a hard pass.

Ignoring the pestering ex, I focus on what’s in front of me.

This is weird.

Really weird.

I always thought I’d be a good teacher, but having the students love me right off the bat? Now that’s new.

The first few days were a bit of an adjustment, especially with the schedule and figuring out exactly what I wanted to do and how I wanted to do it. Not to mention, how I set up my classroom, but after being in it for a couple of days, I realized I didn’t like how I set it up, so I spent all night after school rearranging again.

But I think I have it the way I want it now.

Now it’s time to make friends, especially since the one person I know won’t even look at me.

For the past three days, Ryland has avoided me. I’ve received one email from him: a list of tasks he expects me to complete this week for the baseball team. Since I have no idea where all these things are, nor do I have access to the facilities, there is a slight problem with me completing them. And since it’s Thursday and he’s refused to talk to me like a petulant child, I will have to take matters into my own hands.

I have a plan.

One that I know will piss him off.

But listen, we need to get on the same page because we start sixth-period baseball next week.

What is that precisely? Well, for all the athletes on varsity, their sixth period is their sport. Instead of having PE, they go straight to their team facilities for their workouts. My assumption is that this is when the team will weightlift and condition. At least that’s what I remember when Bennett went here.

Either way, I need to figure this all out and find a way to be more prepared than Ryland.

With my water bottle in hand, I head to the teachers’ lounge, where I plan on making some friends. Always a scary task as an adult, but if Ryland doesn’t want to be friends and work harmoniously together, then I can make friends on my own.

I push through the door and immediately find the entire lounge intimidating.

One of the things I love about Almond Bay High is that almost all the facilities are up to date. The classrooms are freshly painted, our desks are modern, the hallways are not dark and dingy, the landscaping is pristine, and unlike other high schools around the country, this is an outside high school, meaning it’s not one giant building. It’s a bunch of small buildings, so to get around, you walk outside.

You get your vitamin D, you’re not trapped inside all the time, and it doesn’t feel like a jail. I love it.

But this huge lounge has leather couches and high-top dining room tables. It also has two fridges, three coffee makers, and a snack bar.

A freaking snack bar.

Where does the budget come from?

A few teachers are milling about already, so I decide to make myself known and join a table. I walk up to the first one I see. A man’s back is toward me, so I say, “Is this seat taken?”

He turns toward me and . . . good God, is he attractive.

Gorgeous blue eyes, so dark that they almost look like a midnight blue. His blond hair styled into a faux hawk effortlessly falls right into his trimmed beard. His cheeks are rosy, his lips are full, and he looks like he stepped off a magazine cover rather than came from teaching a few classes to some high schoolers.

“Not at all. Take a seat,” he says and holds out his hand. “I’m Christian.”

I take his hand in mine. “Christian, it’s nice to meet you. I’m Gabby Brinkman, the new math teacher.”

“Oh yes, I saw Herbert’s email about you joining the staff. How do you like it so far?”

“So far, it’s been great. I’m still getting into the swing of things. This is only my second teaching job, so I’m still trying to find my voice.”

He nods. “I understand that. I remember I was so nervous when I was first starting, but now that I’m five years in, it feels like second nature.”

“That’s where I’m hoping to get. When I was student teaching, there was a level of comfort there, but now that I’m on my own . . . yikes.”

He chuckles as I take out the yogurt, granola, and berries I brought for lunch. “High schoolers can be humbling.”

“They can be, but I think I’m handling them pretty okay at the moment. They seem to like me, not to toot my own horn, and they’ve waved to me outside the classroom.”

“They have?” he asks, raising his brow. “Wow, you must be doing a really good job. I consider myself one of the cooler teachers, and even I don’t get waves.”

I smirk. “Maybe you need to reassess your approach.”

He laughs. “Maybe. I might have to observe you in your classroom and take some pointers.”

I wink at him. “Observe all you want.”

That causes him to raise a brow and turn away, slowly nodding.

Jesus, am I flirting?

I shouldn’t be flirting.

Because . . . well . . . I have a, uh . . . what do I have?

A Ryland.

Uh, pretty sure that’s nothing.

So why shouldn’t I be flirting?

The first thing that comes to mind is Ryland. But that’s stupid because it’s not like we’re dating or anything. The man hasn’t even spoken to me in a few days. When I go to take a shower, he’s nowhere in sight. So why would I even think about him?

No, this is not about Ryland. I shouldn’t be flirting because, well, this is my first week. I can’t be making the moves on a co-worker in the first week.

“Where are you from?” Christian asks, thankfully cutting through the awkwardness that my wink brought upon us both.

I mix my granola and berries into my yogurt and say, “A small town north of here.”

“Still in California or in Oregon?”

“California,” I answer. “About an hour south of Oregon.”

“Nice.”

“What about you?” I ask.

“San Diego,” he answers. “Born and raised.”

“San Diego is gorgeous. How could you leave?”

“Still wondering that myself.” He takes a drink of what seems to be a protein drink. It makes sense, given how shapely his shoulders look under his T-shirt. “But I like Almond Bay. It’s kind of fun living in a town that feels like Stars Hollow.”

“Did you just make a Gilmore Girls reference?”

“Yup, you okay with that?”

I turn toward him just as the door to the lounge opens, and in pops Ryland, looking broody. From the corner of my eye, I catch him pause in his path and do a double take at me, but I ignore him and continue my conversation with Christian.

“I’m more than okay with that. Before I nerd out, have you watched the show?”

“Would I have made a reference if I hadn’t?”

“True.” I take a deep breath and look him in the eyes and ask, “Okay, Team Jess, Team Logan, or Team Dean?”

“How did I know you were going to ask?” He turns toward me as well, and as I look him in the eyes, I can feel Ryland’s gaze on us both, but I ignore him.

“Am I predictable already?”

“Maybe,” he answers and then leans against the table. “Hmm, well, Dean is an obvious out. Does anyone even like him?”

I shake my head. “I don’t think so.”

“So the real question is Jess or Logan. Jess seems to know her better, but Logan, he’s . . . he’s the Christopher.”

“Oh my God, did you read that article about Amy Sherman-Palladino saying that?”

He nods. “Of course, but only because my sister sent me the article, not because I searched it out or anything.”

I chuckle. “Sure, of course. So you’re Team Logan.”

“I think I am.”

I lean forward and whisper, “So am I.”

“Why are you whispering that?”

“Because I think we’re supposed to say we’re Team Jess.”

“Ah, yes, I know what you’re talking about. I was just about to?—”

“Can I join you?” Ryland asks as he takes a seat, not even waiting for us to answer.

“Of course,” Christian says. “How’s it going, man? Good start to the school year?”

He glances at me but then brings his attention to Christian. “Doing okay. Working out some kinks, but so far, so good. What about you?”

“Same,” he says. “Oh shit, where are my manners? Have you met Gabby?”

Ryland glances at me. “Yup, she’s my new assistant coach. Isn’t that right, Gabby?”

So now he’s going to speak to me . . . when I’m speaking to another man. How convenient.

“Oh, that’s right,” Christian says. “I think I heard that there was a female hire for the baseball team. Pretty cool, man.”

“Oh, he had nothing to do with it,” I say, unable to stop myself. “He wasn’t even in the interview.”

I can feel Ryland’s eyes like lasers, trying to blow me up.

“I wasn’t invited to participate in the interviews,” he says. “But I think they made a great choice.”

Sure, like he really believes that.

“Not invited to the interviews . . . let me guess, David?” Christian raises a brow.

“The one and only,” Ryland says as he opens up a sandwich loaded with steak. Sheesh, that’s a lot of protein.

“At least he didn’t mess up the hire.”

“I lucked out,” Ryland says with all the charm of a . . . uh, of a bracelet.

Where has this guy been?

Because I don’t think I’ve seen him before. Looks like he’s a pretty good actor.

“Which reminds me, I’d like to chat after school,” he says. “Meet me in my office?”

Oh, he wants to chat now? Hmm, wonder why.

“Sure,” I say. “Sounds great.”

“Great,” he says with a smile and then takes a bite of his sandwich.

I’m hustling.

I’m hustling so fast that if a teacher saw me right now, they’d yell at me to slow down and tell me no running in the hallway, but I have a point to prove. If Ryland’s going to play games, so am I.

My bag clutched to my chest, my legs burn with exertion as I make my way to the athletics department and straight to the baseball office, an office I have a key to.

Please don’t let him be in here. Please don’t let him be in here.

I walk up to the door, test the handle, and when it’s locked, I inwardly shout a huzzah because this plan is going to work.

I quickly unlock the door and let myself in.

I flick on the lights, and I’m immediately met with a view of all the school’s athletic fields. God, that’s a great view. No wonder he’s butt hurt over losing this office.

I don’t have time to examine the surroundings, though. I quickly make work of setting my things up. Lucky for me, he has nothing personal in here. A blank desk and a shelf full of baseball books, but that’s about it. Not even a fake plant or a picture of Mac.

I reach into my bag and start . . . decorating.

A lamp, two fake plants, pen holder, yellow clipboard, a few pictures of me and Bennett, a Rebels pennant, along with a picture of Jason Orson next to it, because . . . well, I might as well dig the hole deeper while I’m at it. And then a few other memorabilia items. I don’t have much time to think about where to place everything. I scatter them around on the available surface and then sit in his chair and prop my feet up on his desk just as I hear the sound of keys attempting to unlock a door that’s already unlocked.

This is it.

Be strong.

The door opens, and a confused Ryland is on the other side, but he’s only confused for a few seconds before he spots me.

“Took you long enough,” I say as I lower my legs and place my hands on the mahogany wood of the desk.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” he asks as he shuts the door to the office . . . and locks it.

“Well, I assumed when you said meet you in your office, you meant mine. Mistakes will happen. You’ll get used to it, though. Next time, we can meet in yours if you want. That would be the broom closet, right?” I shrug. “Eh, this one is bigger. Maybe we should just conduct all business here.”

“This is not your office,” he says.

I hold up my keys and jingle them. “These tell me differently.”

He puffs out an irritated steam through his nostrils. “I’m not going to fuck around with you about this. They’re finding you a new office. This is mine, so gather up your shit and get the hell out of my chair.”

“Hmm, well, I never heard anything, and until I hear from David, I’m just going to remain put. So”—I gesture to the seat in front of me—“what did you want to talk about?”

He crosses his arms over his barrel of a chest and says, “Is this really what you want to do? Piss me off?”

“Oh please, you’ve been pissed since we fucked the other night. Hence the list of crap you gave me to do. Or the fact that you haven’t introduced me to the team yet. Or how you haven’t talked to me in a few days.”

“You miss me?” he asks, a smug look on his face.

“Did it look like I missed you when I was talking to Christian?”

Okay, low blow, but fighting fire with fire here.

That makes his eyes narrow as he moves in close and takes a seat on the edge of the desk. “Don’t even think about it.”

“Think about what?” I ask.

“Think about anything with him.”

“Oh.” I lean back in my chair, letting the squeak of the hinges filter through the room. “So when did you become the authority over my body?”

“I’m not the authority, but I know what you’re doing with him.”

“Uh-huh, and what is that exactly?”

“You’re trying to irritate me by talking to him.”

“You’re very full of yourself. That was not my intention at all. I was actually trying to make a new friend since, you know, the one person I do know at the school has been ignoring me.”

“Please, Gabby, you were flirting.”

“I wasn’t, but even if I was, what does it matter to you? We’re not dating. You have no claim to me.”

His jaw tightens as he leans forward and says, “You’re right, I have no claim over you.” My breath catches in my chest as he reaches out and tucks a piece of my hair behind my ear. “You’re not mine. What we had was fleeting.” His finger drags along my cheek, and my eyes close for a moment, causing me to hate myself.

Because I shouldn’t have this kind of reaction. I shouldn’t want him to lower his hand, to drag his fingers along my collarbone, across my chest, over my breasts, and then farther down . . .

I push my chair away, making eye contact with him. “Don’t,” I say.

The corner of his lips turns up as he stands from the desk. “You’re right, I don’t need to worry about Christian when you clearly still want me.”

My nostrils flare from the audacity.

“Once again, so full of yourself.”

“It’s not being full of myself if it’s facts,” he says. He nods at me. “Tell me right now, if I were to put you on this desk and bury my head between your legs, would you stop me?”

I bite on the inside of my cheek, preventing me from asking him to follow through with such a claim.

But my silence proves him right.

“That’s what I thought.”

Huffing, I say, “Is this why you wanted to talk to me? Because you’re jealous of Christian?”

“Not jealous,” he says.

“You’re such a liar. The moment you saw us talking, you needed to be involved.”

“Maybe I just wanted to have lunch with my assistant coach.”

“We both know that’s a lie.” I sit taller and pull up a piece of paper. “Now, why don’t we try to figure out this co-coaching thing because right now, I have no idea what’s going on. You gave me a list of things to do, yet I don’t know anything about the facilities.”

“You haven’t done anything on the list?”

“Uh, no. How could I when you haven’t shown me around?” I look him in the eyes. “I know you might not be happy about all this, but we need to be on the same page, Ryland. I know you care about this team, so let me be a part of it.”

“You are a part of it.”

“Am I? Or are you trying to make my life difficult so I’m no longer a part of it?”

“You’re the one making life difficult.” He gestures to the office. “Taking my office like this.”

“Because you were being a jerk! Treat people the way you want to be treated, Ryland.”

He drags his hand over his face. “This is a fucking nightmare.” He blows out a heavy breath. “And this is never going to work. You and me coaching together. Never.”

“Well, I’m not leaving,” I say, keeping my stance on the matter. “I need this job.”

“You can find another one,” he says. “I’ll even give you a recommendation.”

“You’re really so against me working with you that you want to ship me on my way without even giving me a chance?”

“Gabby,” he says, sounding exasperated. “We can’t even have a normal conversation without getting irritated with each other. We are never going to make this work. It’s too complicated, and the last thing I need is complicated.”

“You know, your life isn’t the only one that’s been upended, Ryland. You’re not the only one having a hard time. You’re not the only one who doesn’t need complicated.”

I stand now and look him in the eyes. “Complicated has been my entire life. And I caught a break for the first time in my life.”

In some senses, complicated is the least applicable word for how much I’ve fought for things in my life. Taking on a younger brother when I was only eighteen meant I had to work long hours to keep a roof over our heads and allow time with Bennett. To support his schooling. Build his baseball skills. Get him into the best school so he had the best advantage. As soon as I saw his talent in baseball, I made it my life’s goal to work with him. So I studied the game, studied players, and learned all the stats, the positions, and the requirements to be one of the best.

But my personal goal? To work in a sports-focused school. And now I am there, something Ryland can’t fully fathom. And mainly because he was kept in the dark. Which is not his fault I now know. Perhaps we need more of a truce than anything else. Honesty.

“You might not like David, but he saved me, Ryland. He gave me a teaching opportunity I’ve been dreaming of and helped me find an affordable place to live. I’m finally in a profession that doesn’t require me to ask people if they’re ready to order. This job, this position I’m in, it means everything to me, and I’m not about to give it up because of you.”

He looks away as he sighs and moves his hand over his mouth. After a few seconds of silence, he says, “Fine.”

“Fine, what?”

“Fine, I’ll show you around.”

He moves toward the door, opens it, and motions for me to follow him.

“Really?” I ask, feeling slightly shocked.

“Really, now come on,” he says in a brisk tone.

Not wanting to scare him away . . . or bring him back to a state of irritation, I follow him, and together, we walk down the hallway.

He points at a door and says, “That’s the locker room. You’re not allowed in it for obvious reasons. That’s where the assistant coach’s office is, so . . .”

“I don’t need an office,” I say, throwing him a concession. “The boys are going to talk to you more, and if they want to chat with me, I’ll let them know that I’m available in my classroom or down at the field.”

He pauses and glances at me. “Thanks,” he says.

And just like that, it’s almost as if all the built-up anger and irritation has fizzled. Maybe . . . maybe my speech was something he needed to hear. Maybe he could relate. Who knows, but I appreciate him easing up, at least just enough for us both to breathe. Who knows what will happen later on, but for now . . . we have some breathing room. Is this a truce?