Chapter 18 Gus
GUS
Fidgeting during an interview was frowned upon.
The last thing anyone wanted was to advertise a wicked case of nerves.
And why was I nervous, anyway? It wasn’t as if I were desperate.
I didn’t need this job. It was nowhere near the pay grade my parents had in mind for me postgraduation, and God knew my mom would have a fit if I used my degree to teach high school students.
But damn, I wanted this. So much that I didn’t laugh outright when the principal asked if I was prepared to brush up on Beowulf and Chaucer’s The Canterbury Tales.
“Absolutely.”
“That’s good to hear. The head of the English department has embraced a modern curriculum with some newer classics, but we can’t seem to escape some medieval favorites as well,” Ms. Callisto informed me, peering at me over the rims of her reading glasses.
She was a middle-aged woman with short brown hair, a small nose, and intense eyes that glinted with the capacity for humor.
I liked her instinctively. And according to Coach Finley, Ms. Callisto had the final say regarding new hires.
If I wanted to be the varsity assistant coach, I needed her on my side.
So far, I thought it was going pretty damn well.
“Understood. I lean more toward Steinbeck and Bradbury myself, but I also like the idea of incorporating lyrical poetry by Woody Guthrie and Bob Dylan, too. Kids connect with music, and it’s a good way to get their attention. At least…it worked for me in high school.”
Whoa, Langley. Do not bore a potential new employer with tales of teenage angst. Ms. Callisto didn’t need to know that the guitar I’d begged for in my retro Nirvana era had been collecting dust in the closet of my childhood room for a solid decade.
“I think that’s an innovative approach. The key to reaching young minds is to spark collective interest. In an Internet era, that changes on a daily basis, and not all educators are good at adapting.”
In a show of incredible self-control, I didn’t brag about my Internet savvy or tell the story of how my brother had hacked into our local junior high’s mainframe in an attempt to change his D in Physics to an A.
I doubted Ms. Callisto would appreciate the irony that Mikey was a med school resident now.
Nope, I just smiled. And when she concluded the interview, walking me to the door with her hand on my elbow as if we were old friends, I had a good feeling.
Two days later, I received a formal job offer from Smithton High.
I was thrilled. No, I was beyond thrilled.
I could stay in town, coaching and teaching. Maybe someday I’d take over as head coach at the high school…or hell, the college. I’d need to continue my master’s if I had my sights set on Smithton. No problem. It would be good for me, keep me out of trouble.
Rafe went bonkers. “I knew it, I knew it, I knew it! Congratulations.”
He jumped into my arms, clung to me like a koala, and kissed every inch of my face; then he insisted on making a congratulatory dinner.
We sat outside on the deck, enjoying the mild spring evening with grilled steaks and easy conversation about books we read in high school, memorable teachers, and teenage crushes.
“I had a crush on Mr. Mooney, my ninth grade English teacher,” I shared.
“He was kind of nerdy, wore glasses and cardigans, and he had a thing for sci-fi. I read The Martian Chronicles on his recommendation and became obsessed with stories set in space. I think I confused my folks. I was a bruiser on the ice who read until midnight…for fun.”
“They might not be as surprised that you want to teach and coach as you think,” he hedged, gaze fixed on the cows grazing in the pasture beyond the bluff.
“Hmph. Yeah, that’s not gonna go over well.”
Rafe twisted in his seat. “It’s your life, Gus. You get to choose.”
I reached for his hand, unthinking, and smiled.
Sure, it was my life, my choice, but there’d be fallout and disappointment. And telling my mom I wouldn’t be accepting any lawyerly internships or applying to law school would cause a mini ice age or a war. But I’d milked every ounce of college for all it was worth, and the time was up.
My friends were happy for me, but a little confused.
“Congrats. That’s awesome. I just…I thought you were going to be a lawyer,” Brady said, cracking open a beer and handing it to me.
“You have to go to law school first, Brade-ster.” Ty tapped his bottle to mine and pulled me in for a one-armed bro hug. “Do we have a law school here or would you have to commute?”
“What does it matter? I’m not gonna be a lawyer,” I huffed, clandestinely setting the beer next to a dying plant on a bookshelf.
“Dude, you’d have to go to like…Syracuse or Buffalo or something,” Regan chimed in. “Hey, break out the tequila. Getting a real job with benefits before graduation calls for the good stuff.”
Brady winced, sliding the half-full tequila bottle on his kitchen counter. “Sorry. We only have Jose Cuervo.”
“Plebes.” Regan sighed. “Are we using glasses or just taking swigs?”
“Use a fucking glass.” Ty riffled through a cupboard and unearthed four shot glasses. He wiped them on his T-shirt to be sure they were clean and motioned for Brady to pour.
Conversation continued around me. Regan had a feeling his girlfriend was breaking up with him, Ty thought he was overreacting, Brady made a snarky comment about Cassie leading Regan by his nuts, which pissed Regan off.
Sometimes I thought Brady had a secret crush on Regan—not that I’d tease him about it.
Fuck knew, I had enough of my own secrets. My closest friends had no idea I’d been fucking my roommate for the past two months. They thought we’d called a truce and didn’t know we slept together nearly every night and that we decided whose bed based on which sheets were cleanest.
And they had no idea I’d been sober for even longer.
I had to tell them.
According to my therapist, I was doing the right things, choosing new ways to fill my time, new ways to deal with stress and anger.
She’d strongly encouraged meetings, so I’d gone to a couple two towns away…
as a lurker. I’d literally stood against the wall, hugging the shadows like a phantom and listening to people I didn’t know bare their souls.
I couldn’t do it. I wasn’t brave enough.
“It’s called surrender, Gus. You’ll know when you’re ready,” she’d said.
Yeah, well…not today.
Ty shoved a shot glass in my hand. “To Gus! From captain to coach…”
“And teacher,” Regan added.
“All the girls…and boys are gonna draw hearts around your name in the yearbook and beg to be in Mr. Langley’s class.” Brady batted his eyelashes.
“Fuck off,” I grumbled, my fingers shaking as I tried to figure out where to dump my shot and if they’d notice.
The smell of tequila was so strong, and it evoked insta memories—not all of them bad.
This stuff was liquid courage. I’d done shots before I’d asked a popular cheerleader out in high school.
I couldn’t tell you her name or what she’d looked like, but I remembered this scent mingled with her perfume and sounds of sex in the back seat of my car.
Fast forward, many parties and bad decisions later, it was me stumbling to my dorm at three in the morning after celebrating a win or birthday or whatever the fuck.
I’d had to stop in an alley to get sick.
My balance had been off and I’d collapsed, hit my head, and sat there bleeding, vomit on my shoes, so stoned, I couldn’t find my phone.
I’d passed out. The sound of garbage trucks eventually woke me and… everything smelled like tequila.
Christ, I was sweating now.
Tell them, asshole. Just fucking tell them.
“Bottoms up, man.”
I drew the amber liquid to my lips, nearly gagging, and at the last possible second, slid the glass facedown on my palm and let the tequila trickle into the potted plant behind me. I’d had to be quick, obviously. This crew didn’t sip gut rut. They slammed it and poured another immediately.
I swiped my forearm across my mouth, mimicking a shiver of disgust at the taste when the truth was that I was disgusted with myself. It wasn’t like me to hide…anything. I felt like a fraud, but I wasn’t ready for heavy discussions, and I definitely didn’t want to ruin the celebratory vibe.
Brady poured another round. “To the Bears.”
Oh, hell no. I couldn’t fake it twice.
I pulled my cell out and stepped aside. “I have to get this. I’ll catch you guys later.”
“What? Get your ass back here, Langley. One more shot,” Regan called.
“One more shot, one more shot, one more shot,” Brady chanted, Regan joining in on the third refrain.
I flipped them off on my way to the door, then speed-walked to my truck.
“Langley! Hey, wait up.”
I muttered a curse under my breath as Ty jogged after me, grateful the beautiful weather gave me an excuse to shield my eyes with sunglasses. Ty was eerily perceptive at times, and the last thing I needed was the third degree.
“Slow your roll, man,” I drawled. “Where’s the fire?”
Yeah, if this coaching thing didn’t pan out, I might consider moving to Hollywood. I was a fucking great actor.
Or maybe not. Ty had the determined aura of someone ready to call bullshit.
“Are you okay?” The furrowed brow, copious tats, and shoulders as wide as a barge added an intimidating element, but it was the look of genuine concern in his eyes that stopped me.
“I’m fine.”
“You dumped your drink in my plant.”
“I was watering it,” I bluffed. “You’re welcome, by the way. The poor thing is fucking dead.”
He raked a hand through this hair in frustration or discomfort. “Something’s up.”
“Nothing is up.”
“Brady thinks you met someone. Did you? Or is he off base? And before you tell me I’m overreacting, I’ll remind you that you’re the one who started the tequila-shot celebration tradition. Tossing perfectly good alcohol out isn’t like you, and—”
“Relax. It was Jose Cuervo,” I huffed, hoping to defuse his angst. Ty didn’t crack a smile.
I puffed out my cheeks and slowly released air like a flat tire on its last gasp.
“Dude…I’m fine. I swear. I didn’t drink the alcohol ’cause I have things to do, and I don’t want to smell like cheap booze all day.
I have to clean up my image if I’m gonna be a serious adult, right? ”
“Uh…right.” He nodded, but didn’t break his eagle-eyed stare. “So…are you seeing someone?”
“I—um. Yeah, I am. I mean, it’s not like—we aren’t—I mean, I don’t—”
“Well, that explains a lot.” Ty laughed. “You could have just led with that, you know.”
My answering half chuckle was weak sauce. “Yeah…maybe.”
“Who? Anyone we know?”
I jiggled my keys and rolled my eyes. “Later, Ty.”
“All right. All right. Hey, did you know that Walker is interviewing your roommate?”
That stopped me. “Rafe?”
“Yeah, he mentioned it this morning. I guess Rafe is killin’ it and so is another guy on their team. I think they’re dating or something. I didn’t know Rafe had a boyfriend. Did you?”
I furrowed my brow so hard my sunglasses almost fell off my face. “Huh. Gotta go.”
My hands shook as I started the engine. I wasn’t sure if I was more upset about the fact I’d lied to my friends again or the mere mention of Rafe with Eli. Definitely the latter.
Fuck, I’d encouraged him to bend the truth, and let people believe what they wanted. They always did anyway. Truth was subjective. People manipulated it for their own gain in the name of religion and politics all the fucking time.
My truth: I had substance abuse issues and the shame came with a dose of crippling anxiety.
Also true: I liked a boy I couldn’t keep.
I thought I had a handle on both situations, but damn…I was beginning to have my doubts.