Caught Running (14 page)
Jake raised an eyebrow and smirked. “What do you expect in return?” he teased. “I barbecue pretty well,” he offered.
Brandon grinned, a bright light snapping in his eyes. “Barbecue. Sounds great,” he answered. “Sleep space works, too,” he said, thinking of tonight and the guest room Jake had mentioned, not anything else.
Jake's eyes widened slightly, and he cocked his head, wishing the man meant what it sounded like he'd meant. “Are you suggesting I'd whore myself out for some pain relief?” he asked jokingly. “You'd be right.” He laughed softly.
Although Brandon felt a strike of panic, it faded as he realized Jake was kidding. He smiled, lips twitching as he sifted through any number of responses to such a loaded comment. “I don't know if anything I have can match that offer,” he finally replied, letting his hands drop to his thighs, the liniment and his excuse to touch gone.
Jake looked up at him with unreadable dark eyes, smiling tightly. “Thanks,” he whispered, unable to make his voice work.
The tension in his gut and chest was suddenly unavoidable and unbearable and Brandon had to move or he was going to do something really, really ill-advised. So he nodded and stood up. “Good night,” he murmured, putting the liniment tube back into the drawer before turning to the door.
"Night,” Jake practically croaked as he sat with his head down, refusing to watch Brandon walk away for fear of tackling him.
Brandon padded down the hall, finding the room with the bed turned down, and he disappeared inside, the light from Jake's room giving him enough illumination to see. He sat carefully on the edge of the bed, his racing heart holding off exhaustion for now.
Oh God
. It was too late. He was hooked and it could only end badly if Jake ever got even a hint. The teasing, it had been driven by something in Jake's voice, something visceral that Brandon could almost see, could almost identify, but not quite. A deepening friendship, maybe? Trust building between two co-workers? Two men figuring out how to get along instead of butting heads? Or, as his body wanted him to think as he lay back and squirmed, two men feeling each other out for something more? Brandon rolled over and pulled a pillow over his head.
Jake sat there in his towel for another moment and finally released a long, steady stream of breath. He got up and walked over to turn off the light, then let his towel drop to the floor and crawled into bed, nude and smelling of liniment.
Brandon's eyes blinked open to sunshine and he immediately turned his face into the pillow to block the light. He was confused at first; he didn't have a window on the left side of his room, and the pillows didn't smell right. He sat up, looked around and remembered. Jake's house. In Jake's old room, there were trophies on neat shelves on the walls, with tons of ribbons and certificates all nicely framed, obviously the work of a devoted mom. Brandon shifted on the bed. The sheets tangled around his legs and it took him a moment to extricate himself. He sat on the edge of the bed and wondered what time it was. Late, for him. He was usually up and moving before sunrise. Feeling the heat of the sun, he would bet it was late morning. He'd slept hard, and he felt a little disconnected.
A loud clatter came from downstairs, followed by a muttered curse and another series of clatters. Frowning a little, Brandon stood up and walked to the door, sticking his head out into the hall. There was some more noise of pans shifting, and he chanced a trip down the hall and the stairs to stop at the door to the kitchen.
Jake looked up from where he knelt on the floor, gathering up the spilled pot lids and baking pans. He winced at the other man and smiled a little. “Sorry,” he said. “I was trying to be quiet, and I opened the Cupboard of Doom by mistake."
Brandon couldn't help but smile a little. “I've got one of those, too.” His mother had loved to cook and bake, and the cabinets were full of pots and pans and cookie sheets that he never used. “Morning,” he added.
"Morning,” Jake returned with another sheepish smile. “Did you sleep well?” he asked politely, unable to think of anything else to say as he averted his eyes.
"Out like a light,” Brandon said, leaning against the door frame. “I was really wiped. Longer week than usual for me.” He couldn't look away from Jake. Now, in the light of day, he seemed more approachable, but no less attractive.
Attractive. Right
. Brandon mentally whimpered. Jake's hair, even short, was rumpled, and he didn't have any tough guy image going on. Making him alluring, too. Brandon resisted the urge to sigh.
"I'll bet,” Jake agreed as he finally got all the pieces stacked and stood up, bending back over to lift them up and place them on the counter. He rubbed his eyes and then stretched his hands over his head, glancing at the clock on the wall. It was just after 9 a.m. “You eat breakfast?” he asked Brandon as he looked over at the man. Something about this interaction felt so right somehow, and Jake found himself panicking a little as he thought about it. Why was he torturing himself like this?
"Usually something in the car. Granola bar, Hot Pocket, piece of fruit,” Brandon answered. “Me and cooking don't get along, not that I have the time anyway.” Seeing Jake's look to the clock, his eyes followed. It wasn't as late as he thought. Still, he'd slept nearly seven hours. A new four-week record.
"Well ... that's disgusting,” Jake responded with a small laugh. “How about bacon and eggs?” he offered.
Brandon laughed at the expression on Jake's face. “Bacon and eggs is good,” he agreed. “I'm going to clean up a little,” he said. “Unless you need some help?
"Nah,” Jake responded with a wave of his hand as he turned to the fridge and fished out the breakfast foods. “Go ahead, this should be ready in a few minutes."
Brandon nodded, though Jake wouldn't see, and backed away, watching the other man until he was a bit down the hall and had to turn to avoid falling over. He chastised himself for his behavior and got to the bathroom. Done after a few minutes, he pulled the T-shirt back on and remembered he needed to wash his uniform. Once back in the kitchen he stopped where the pile of clothes sat on the counter. “Mind if I throw these in the washer?” he asked.
"Yeah, it's just around the corner there,” Jake answered as he poked at the eggs scrambling in the frying pan and nodded at a door just off the kitchen. “Would you ... would you mind grabbing mine, too? I sorta left it all in a pile at the end of my bed,” he said with a jerk of his head.
"No problem,” Brandon answered. He retrieved the clothes and started the laundry, using the supplies on the shelf above the washer. Then he stood there, thinking about how odd all this was. And how odd that it didn't
feel
odd. He closed his eyes. When did he get so comfortable around Jake? It seemed sudden. He thought about how much time they'd been spending together, usually talking after last block in the health classroom, baseball practice, team meetings, games, coaches’ nights out. Brandon realized Jake had dangerously and silently become a part of his life. He opened his eyes and rolled them at the thoughts, knowing they would come to nothing. He'd had no indication whatsoever that Jake might be attracted to men. Just two little photographs upon which to pin his hopes.
Jake shook his head as he cooked, muttering to himself. He wouldn't do this again. He'd let Brandon go home on his own. Or hell, drive him home. Something. Anything else. He growled softly as he stood there and jabbed at the eggs. And they had roughly two more hours left to deal with each other.
Finally sighing, Brandon peered out the window. It looked really nice outside. Maybe he'd borrow some shorts, go for a run after breakfast. As soon as he thought of the idea, he discarded it. He was sure Jake wouldn't be running, not with that knee, certainly not the distance Brandon usually ran. And it would be rude to literally run out of the house. He stepped back into the kitchen, quietly moving to pull plates out of the cabinet.
Jake glanced over at him as Brandon came back into the kitchen. “Thanks for ... uh, last night,” he said haltingly as he waved his hand through the air nervously. “It helped."
"I was happy to help,” Brandon answered. “I'm surprised it didn't heal better if they scoped it."
"Yeah, well, it might have if I hadn't kept playing after,” Jake admitted as he scooped the eggs into a large bowl.
Brandon hitched himself onto a stool at the end of the center island. “What happened? If you don't mind my asking?"
Jake shrugged as he dished out two helpings of scrambled eggs and a load of bacon that he had cooked in the microwave—it made it floppy, just like he liked it. “I had a scholarship,” he answered. “Full ride, football, wrestling, and baseball. When I started having trouble with my shoulder I bailed out of wrestling. Then it got worse, and the docs told me I had to pick one sport or the other. I would lose half the scholarship,” he explained in clipped tones. “I couldn't afford to do that. My grades alone wouldn't have kept me at Clemson. So they did the surgery and I kept playing. Finally my arm got too bad to pitch and my knee got too bad to keep playing football. And that was it,” he finished with a shrug. “I was just lucky to get through the four years."
The rigidity had returned to Jake's shoulders and neck, and he jerked his limbs. He was still in pain over it, after all these years.
He destroyed his knee and shoulder to keep his scholarship.
It was enough to make Brandon feel ill. “Nasty business,” he murmured, thinking of the scholastic measures he'd had to meet to keep his scholarships and fellowships. It was nothing compared to what Jake had gone through. It put Brandon's struggles at Tech into sharp perspective.
"Well,” Jake responded as he jabbed at the eggs on his plate. “We can't all be Major Leaguers or NFL quarterbacks,” he joked lightly.
"You're a great coach, you know,” Brandon said seriously, offsetting the injected humor.
Jake looked up at the man, dark eyes serious for once and slightly melancholy. He smiled a bit and looked away. “Those who can't do, teach,” he recited with a little nod.
The rest of Brandon's good mood melted away. “Yeah, I guess,” he murmured, thinking back to eleven years ago. Unaware of the change in his expression, he hunched his shoulders and frowned.
"You look like you have a story, too,” Jake prodded as he could practically see the dark cloud forming over the other man's head.
Brandon glanced up, jaw set. “My undergrad degree is in biology. My first Master's was biology and human systems. The second's anatomy and physiology. I was getting ready to go to med school,” he said. His voice was as flat as Jake's had been, a big change from his normal buoyant self.
"What happened?” Jake asked with a frown as Brandon morphed into someone Jake had never seen before.
Sighing, Brandon shifted. “My parents died,” he said quietly.
Jake was silent for a moment, watching Brandon closely. He wanted to ask why Brandon had ended his schooling because of that, but he knew better. “I'm sorry,” he offered finally.
Brandon nodded. “I had to come home to handle things, and I ran into Tom Berry. He came to the visitation. He talked me into trying a year teaching, just to get my head on straight. I never went back to school."
"But you enjoy it, right?” Jake asked softly.
"Oh yeah,” Brandon answered, brightening a little and meeting Jake's eyes. “I found out that my rapport with patients translated really well into teaching students. I really do like it.” He tilted his head, wistful. “Just a missed opportunity, you know?"
"Just a different road,” Jake offered, something he had told himself many times before.
Brandon's smile grew. “You say that like a man who knows."
"Pfft,” Jake responded with a small smile. “I enjoy what I do. I just hurt while doing it,” he joked.
Chuckling, Brandon thought about the equipment he'd packed away in his closet. “I really can help with that, you know. If you're not already seeing someone for regular ultrasound and therapy."
"Therapy,” Jake huffed with a small smile. “I haven't been seeing anyone, no,” he laughed softly with a shake of his head. “They frown on alcohol therapy."
"Yeah, well, I understand where they're coming from,” Brandon poked a little. Then he hesitantly added, “If you're not doing anything tomorrow, I could bring some stuff over. See if it makes a difference.” The urge to help was undeniable.
Jake hesitated a moment as he looked up. “Stuff?” he echoed dubiously.
Brandon snorted at the uncertain look on Jake's face as he pushed away his empty plate. “Ultrasound machine, Biofreeze, heat wraps,” he said, brows raised like Jake should know what he was talking about.
"Ah,” Jake responded with distaste. “Ultrasound machine. With the clear gunk that freezes your balls off when they put it on you,” he clarified with a nod. “Great,” he laughed wryly.
Brandon's answer was a sharp bark of laughter. “Funny guy. You want to try a pain-free Sunday afternoon or not?"
"Why, you bringing weed with your ultrasound machine?” Jake asked teasingly. He had little to no faith in the abilities of therapy to ease pain. He never had. That was probably why it had never worked for him.
The tone of Jake's voice made Brandon think. “You don't think it'll work. It didn't work in the past, did it?"
"Nope,” Jake answered with a smirk. “I'm what they call a ‘difficult’ patient."
Brandon rolled his eyes obviously. “That's
not
a news flash. Will you let me try?"
"If that'll make you happy, darlin',” Jake drawled without thinking.
"My heart's set on it, babe,” Brandon retorted right back, inwardly amazed at how easy it was to talk to Jake. Brandon hadn't spoken about his parents in years, but when Jake asked, it had just come out.
Jake chuckled and glanced up at Brandon with a smirk before going back to finishing his breakfast. A comfortable silence was beginning to settle but Jake didn't want silence. He searched for something else to say, but came up empty.
Brandon fidgeted a little on the stool. He thought of several things he could be doing—grading papers, reading the doctoral guidelines—hmmm, hadn't mentioned that to Jake—planning for next week, but none of those things would involve his host. Again, rude. “Do you have plans? I could take you back to your truck at the school and get out of your hair,” he offered hesitantly. He didn't want to leave, even though he knew he should.
Jake took the last bite of his eggs and placed his fork down, his chest twisting a little at the proposal. It became more and more apparent as they spent more time together that Brandon didn't enjoy it quite as much as Jake did. He shrugged as he chewed. “I mean, all I have to do is go over the stats from last night, decide on today's starting lineup,” he answered finally. “I just have to be at the field about noon to get it ready, so I was going to do that as the boys warmed up. Actually I was just gonna sit and stare at the wall for a few hours this morning,” he admitted with a flush.
Screwing up his courage, Brandon asked, “So you don't mind if I stick around? I thought if you had something going on I would go do some grading in my classroom, but frankly, I'm sick to death of seeing those four walls,” he muttered. “Not to mention, you're a hell of a lot better company than James."
"James?” Jake asked curiously, keeping his mind as blank as possible so as not to have to deal with the novel emotions assaulting him this morning.
Brandon smiled, amusement shining in his eyes. “The anatomy skeleton. The kids named him James after Boney James, the jazz musician."
Jake stared at the man for a moment and then laughed softly. “I don't even know who Boney James is, but okay,” he snickered as he leaned on his elbows and grinned. For some reason the fact that Brandon wanted to stick around, or didn't mind doing so, anyway, put Jake in an incredibly good mood.
