Chapter Three Snap
The action in which the ball is hiked by the center to the quarterback; when the snap occurs, the ball is officially in play and action begins.
"I can't do it, 'Cedes. I really thought I could but I just can't. It's too much. I'm really not strong enough."
Kurt's voice trembled with pent-up emotion over the phone as he leaned forward on his elbows which rested on the desk in what was now officially his own office – the one adjacent to the all-too familiar choir room.
"Boo, we talked about this, remember?"
Mercedes Jones's strong, calm voice came through clearly down the phone-line and immediately sought out Kurt's shattered nerves to stroke, to soothe and to comfort.
"I know, but maybe Rachel was right. Maybe I have made the biggest mistake of my life, again."
"Ah, hell no, honey. This isn't a mistake. This is an adjustment and it's huge and you shouldn't even try to negate what you're feeling right now. This first day at school is bound to wring you out emotionally, spin you around and toss you back in your car this afternoon wondering what in heaven's name just happened."
"Cedes, you're such a good friend and I really appreciate you but -" Kurt tried again to explain.
"But, nothing, Boo. This is a great opportunity for you to be close to your dad just like you wanted and also for you still to use your God-given talent to inspire others to - "
"To what?" Kurt interrupted harshly. "To pursue their childhood dreams and then toss them away the moment they achieve them?"
Mercedes recognised the disappointed bitter tone in Kurt's interjection.
"Honey – this is exactly why I had you draw up that list on the plane when you flew back to Ohio the night after your dad's heart attack. I told you then to write down a 'Pros and Cons' list for your decision to return to Lima and to keep it close to you at all times. Where is it now, Boo?"
"It's in my wallet, 'Cedes," conceded Kurt. "But I don't think - "
"No, that's just it, Kurt - don't think now," Mercedes countered. "Just feel; but, do me a favour, would you? When we've said goodbye in a minute because I need to get to hair and make-up for this ridiculous video shoot – promise me that when we've stopped talking, you will take out that list and re-read what you wrote. Remind yourself why you are currently sitting at what was Mr Scheuster's desk in the choir room of our old high school instead of your dressing room at the Lyceum Theatre on 45th Street!"
"Okay," relented Kurt tiredly, "I promise, 'Cedes. Thank you."
"My pleasure honey, but I must run. Love you to the moon and back, boy – always!"
Kurt put down the telephone thoughtfully and, now that he'd had a chance to catch his breath and find some equilibrium to his emotions thanks to his conversation with Mercedes in Los Angeles, he looked carefully around the small space that would serve as his office for the foreseeable future.
Unbidden, an old memory of a conversation taking place in this exact room surfaced but he was sitting on the opposite side of the desk having been brought into the office by his Glee coach who had found him slumped against the lockers in the corridor outside. Kurt remembered the man offering him water and advice – such as it was. He looked now at the empty chair in front of the desk and remembered sitting there, sipping the water and chastising Will Scheuster for being like "many others at the school who are too quick to let homophobia slide."
Nothing much had changed in that small space since he'd left the school after graduation. On the wall behind the desk, an empty pin-board awaited Kurt's exciting notices and important reminders. Opposite the desk, stood a tall and grey, steel filing cabinet which Kurt knew to be crammed full of sheet music dating way back to Glee founder, Lillian Adler's time. The plant above the cabinet looked about as dead as the one that had been there when this was Will's office. Kurt wondered cynically if it was the same plant.
The tall standing lamp beside the cabinet will definitely need to be tossed or at the very least redecorated, thought Kurt idly.
Through the glass windows to his left, Kurt could see that the corridor outside was bereft of students as they had, by now, all made their way to their second period classes. Kurt didn't have lessons with his freshman class until after lunch so he was alone in his office with his thoughts and fears. In his head, he could hear Mercedes' voice. "Promise me that when we've stopped talking, you will take out that list and reread what you wrote."
"Alright 'Cedes, alright," Kurt spoke out loud into the quiet of the room and then chuckled as his voice startled himself. He dug around in his messenger bag for his wallet and pulled out a scrap of paper. In a misguided attempt, Rachel had tried to enlist Mercedes' help in dissuading Kurt from his decision to leave his show for good and return immediately to Lima to be at his father's hospital bed. Mercedes hadn't done what Rachel had asked much to the latter's frustration; instead she'd instructed Kurt to write a list of reasons for making his decision.
"Because there will come a time when you do regret it, Kurt," she promised. "And when those times come, you will need something tangible to help you through the process of remembering why it seemed like a good idea at the time. This list will help you, Boo. I promise."
Carefully, Kurt unfolded the paper and smoothed the wrinkled edges as he looked down at his handwritten scrawl:
I'm going back to Lima because:
1. My dad has had a second heart attack and might not survive. I want to be there beside him, holding his hand if I have to say Goodbye.
2. If my dad survives this and I get more time with him, I don't want to be living in a different state. I want to be close enough to see him every day.
3. When the time comes, I could always return to the stage and if Broadway doesn't want me back, there are plenty of other theatres around the country that might have me. And even if they don't, at least I'll be able to say I once had a lead on a Broadway Show – I've realised my dream.
4. Dreams change and right now I want to be with my dad for as long as he has left with Carole and me.
"Funny, I always thought one day it would be Finn sitting in that chair behind that desk; never you, Lady Hummel. Almost didn't believe Trouty Mouth when he told me the news."
Startled at the sudden voice, Kurt dropped his piece of paper onto the desk and looked up at the impressive, dominating presence of Santana Lopez standing with her body wrapped half in and half out of the doorway leading into his office.
"Santana!" he squeaked in surprised delight and stood up to meet her midway as she entered the room with her arms wide open to take him into a hug. "I couldn't believe it when I heard your name mentioned this morning."
"Yep – it's me in the flesh! Here I am at good old McKinley High School, Lima, Ohio and have been for several years now too!" Santana slapped at Kurt's chest in reprimand, "which you would have known if you'd bothered to keep in touch with any of us on FaceBook."
"I'm sorry 'Tana. I truly am but it's just been … well, it's been…"
"No, no, I get it," interjected Santana. "You and Berry made New York your home in a way that Sam and I couldn't. You had absolutely no need for Lima or its inhabitants again. In fact, I don't think either one of you has been back since the week we all returned for Finn's memorial."
"It wasn't that we didn't want to see you guys, Santana," feebly, Kurt tried to explain. "NYADA kept us both very busy and after we graduated it was even harder to get away from the theatres that employed us."
"Yeah, and I could understand your dad and Carole would prefer to spend Thanksgiving and Christmas holidays with you in New York or in Washington rather than here – I totally get it." Santana sounded almost forgiving but Kurt's face fell at the mention of his dad.
"I was sorry to hear of his second heart attack, Kurt. How's he doing?" Santana's voice was soft and compassionate and Kurt was having a hard time reconciling the Santana of his high school memories with the woman standing in front of him now.
"Much better now, thanks," he replied. "This time round he was only in a coma for a week but the doctors kept him in hospital much longer to recuperate before sending him home. He's on strict bed rest orders still. So I've spent the last two weeks hiring and training a manager for the garage and outsourcing the administration to a freelance company that specialises in all that."
"Are you staying at home or have you found a place of your own?" she wanted to know.
"I'm at home, in my old bedroom. I just want to be there for him as much as possible, you know."
"Yeah, I get that and I heard that you sacrificed a huge Broadway role to do that but how the hell did you land this gig, then?"
"Ha! Um … funny story that, actually." Kurt gestured for Santana to take a seat as he leaned against the desk beside her. "Principal Williams' ten-year old son was brought into Carole's ER with a ruptured appendix and, after all the trauma of the emergency operation, she got chatting to him and his wife. My name came up and Peter Williams put me and Broadway together and came up with a "New Deal" for McKinley's flagging Glee Club and Musical Drama Department. And, well, here I am."
Kurt held up his hands shoulder height. "And I don't have the faintest idea what I'm doing," he confessed. "How about you?"
Santana laughed, "Me? Hell if I know what I'm doing either! But, after New York was a total bust and Dani broke up with me, I bummed around the country for a bit, catching up with Britney every now and again when I followed her, like an idiot, from one dance concert to the next until, eventually, I decided it was all bullshit anyway and came back here to regroup. I watched a couple of cheer competitions and decided McKinley's cheer squad needed me and I've been here ever since. Have five national championship titles under my belt already," she declared proudly.
"Wow! I am impressed. That's fantastic. Do you still live at home, then as well?"
Santana grimaced and screwed her nose up. "No, no way. I couldn't go back to living with my abuela in the house." Kurt vaguely remembered Santana's abuela couldn't (or wouldn't) accept her granddaughter's sexuality. "No, I share an apartment in town with Blaine."
"Blaine?"
"Yeah – the head football coach. Surely you noticed him this morning? It would've been hard to miss him, Kurt." Santana winked at him and her lips curled up in a smirk.
The ringing of the school bell interrupted whatever reply Kurt was trying to formulate in response to the fact that he had most definitely noticed a certain Blaine Anderson this morning but would never admit that fact to Santana.
"I gotta go," Santana announced, getting up from the chair. "It was great to touch base with you, Kurt. We should get together and have a proper catch up soon, maybe with Sam as well. You can spill the dirt on Berry's bullshit and I can introduce you to Blaine."
"Yeah, yeah, thanks 'Tana. That would be great, yeah," Kurt nodded, his head still reeling from Santana's revelations.
"Later, Lady Hummel," Santana began to head out of the door.
"Santana!" Kurt's urgent call stopped her in her tracks and she turned back, her eyebrows raised in question.
"How … Can I ask this…?" Kurt swallowed the knot in his throat and tried again. "How do you…? How long does it take before...?"
"It doesn't," Santana replied quietly, seeming to know exactly where Kurt's fumbling questioning was headed. "The ghosts are always here. In time, you get used to their presence and eventually it's actually quite comforting." She smiled warmly at him and walked away.
Kurt sat down at his desk pulled out his phone and sent a message to Mercedes.
[Kurt] Okay 'Cedes, I got this!
Blaine found Sam in the locker room pumping footballs to maximum weight.
"Hey, Boss," grinned the blonde-haired assistant coach as Blaine approached the bench he was straddling. "That was some kickass assembly launch, huh? Loved your speech about walking with giants. That was pretty cool but who's Hector and Achilles? You forget your quarterback and running back's names already?"
Blaine laughed in appreciation of Sam's warped sense of humour. In the three years that they'd worked together, they had managed to develop a close professional relationship on the field and a strong bond of relaxed friendship united them off the field.
When he first arrived at McKinley, Blaine had been concerned that Sam would think he had been unfairly overlooked as head coach for his alma mater but, fortunately for Blaine, Sam held no such grudge and deferred to the more experienced player immediately. He was happy to assist Blaine in whatever way he could and Blaine could not have asked for a more efficient and effective assistant coach.
Because they functioned as a well-oiled team, their athletes knew never to try to blindside either one or to manipulate the one against the other. It simply wouldn't work. Sam was fully ensconced in Blaine's corner and would come out fighting, whenever and if ever, the bell rang.
"I've always loved that speech of Odysseus and I thought it was fitting for today," replied Blaine.
Sam nodded. "And the kids seemed to eat it up too. I'm not sure I've ever heard the gym that noisy."
"Not even when you were the quarterback, Sam Evans?" teased Blaine. Sam laughed and threw a ball at Blaine who caught it deftly in his sure hands and moved to place it in the ball net beneath the whiteboard. He turned around to Sam thoughtfully.
"Hey, Sam?"
"Yeah?"
"Did you by any chance manage to catch a glimpse of any of the new faculty members this morning before the team entered? Peter said something to me yesterday about there being three new teachers to introduce – two ladies and a guy."
"Oh, yeah. No, I didn't get to meet any of the chicks yet and I already know who the guy is."
"Oh, you do?" Blaine asked surprised, "How so?"
"Yeah, it's Kurt. He graduated from here a year ahead of me."
"Is he …um …" Blaine tripped over his question. "He a tall, brunette with ..um … quite sharp facial features by any chance? "
"Yeah, that sounds like him," confirmed Sam. "Kurt Hummel. Dresses impeccably. He and Santana graduated the same year."
"Hummel?" Blaine queried. "As in Congressman Hummel's son?"
"Yeah, that's him. You ever heard of him? Was a big name on Broadway but we actually haven't spoken in years. He kinda …"
The outer door flew open and, because the hinge was broken, it slammed against the wall with a frightful noise jolting both men from their conversation.
"Blaine! Sam! You two in here?" Santana yelled as she came striding confidently into the locker room.
"Santana!" bellowed Sam in annoyance more at the fright she'd given him than her actual presence. "It's the men's locker room!" He picked up the ball he'd dropped.
"Really?" smirked Santana looking around obviously searching for something, "so where are the men then, Trouty Mouth?"
"What can we do for you, Santana?" Blaine intervened effortlessly before there could be an escalation of hostilities. The three of them had been doing this particular dance for several years now and Blaine was well-versed in his role as peace-keeper. "Hey, well done on this morning's routine. The squad looked fantastic."
Santana glared at him unbelievingly. "Just don't tell them that whatever you do!" she implored.
"What's up, Sandbags?" asked Sam looking up at her from his seated position on the bench. Santana walked towards him and sat down next to him, patting his thigh as she got comfortable.
"I just came from the choir room," she answered. "It's so freaking weird to see Kurt sitting behind Mr Schue's old desk. Like really weird. Anyway, I told him we'd try to get together sometime and play catch up and maybe introduce him to the hobbit over here."
"Santana this week's a - " Sam started to protest not noticing Blaine's eyes which widened in definite interest.
"Yeah, I get it," she interrupted. "This week's a total bitch; don't I know it? But I thought that maybe I could persuade him to come to the game on Friday night and then afterwards we could get a bite to eat together somewhere – the four of us?"
"You're going to try to get Kurt Hummel to come to a football game?" Sam scoffed. "Yeah, good luck with that one." Blaine was intrigued with Sam's incredulous tone.
"Why would he not come to the game?" he asked curiously but Sam ignored his question; instead he addressed Santana again.
"Santana, do you even remember Kurt Hummel at all?"
"Why would he not come to the game?" Blaine was puzzled that there was anyone on the planet who would not consider coming to a football game. "It's the first game of the season," he pointed out, somewhat unnecessarily.
"Trust me, Blaine," replied Sam. "When you meet him, you'll understand. Football's just not his thing."
Ah, thought Blaine. Not his thing. That might actually explain his strange and peculiar reaction to this morning's football launch in assembly.
Blaine couldn't forget the stone-cold glare he had received from the man he now knew to be Kurt Hummel. The pained expression on his face and the manner in which he had held his hand around his waist, as if he were in physical pain, were indelibly imprinted on Blaine's memory.
"Rubbish, he'll be there," declared Santana confidently. "I'll make sure of it."
"And just how do you propose to do that?" challenged Sam with a glint in his eye.
"Well, Kurt might not love football," Santana said with a wink, "but he loves scarves!"
"No Kurt, I absolutely insist," Carole's tone was firmly adamant with her stepson. "Leave the supper preparation to me and go get ready. I think it's lovely that Santana invited you to tonight's game. The first one of the season … " Carole closed her eyes briefly and smiled warmly, obviously with a happy memory in mind.
"There's always such a great atmosphere at the first match. It'll be good for you to get out and mix with others your own age for a change instead of being cooped up here with your father and me," she continued.
"But it's Friday night, Carole – that's sacred family dinner night," Kurt tried protesting.
"Kurt, Sweetie – every night since you've been home has been a family night dinner. No, go on, scoot! Get out of here. I'll take a tray up to your dad and we'll have a picnic on the bed. Out! Out!" Carole flicked the dish cloth at him and laughingly shooed Kurt out of the kitchen.
An hour later, freshly showered and dressed, he knocked quietly on the open door to his dad's bedroom and popped his head in.
"Hey, kiddo," his dad greeted him softly. "Carole says you're heading out to the game."
Burt was sitting up in bed, his reading glasses on and a newspaper resting in his lap. He smiled cheerfully as Kurt came into the room, dressed in a tight pair of green camo jeans and warm sweater.
"Yeah, well, apparently Santana is still the tour de force she was in high school," replied Kurt as he wrapped a burgundy scarf around his neck.
"Nice scarf," commented Carole as she entered the room with a tray. "Is it new?"
"Yeah, and apparently I'm not immune to bribes either," Kurt replied guiltily.
"Hey, it's good that you're getting out this evening. You've had a busy week with all those Glee auditions," Burt offered from the bed.
"Oh, did you finally make some decisions about that, Kurt," asked Carole as she fussed over Burt, moving the newspaper and setting the tray more comfortably on his lap.
"Yeah, they're not the strongest voices but at least it's something for me to work with and hopefully in a week's time we'll have something to present at assembly which might encourage others to join too."
"You're going to do great work there, Kiddo. I'm proud of you. Now go and have a great time tonight." Burt's praise meant the world to Kurt and he leaned over to kiss his dad on the top of his bald head.
"Thanks, Dad," he whispered fondly. "I won't be home too late and my phone will be on all the time if you need me."
"Go Kurt, have fun and come home really late!" smiled Carole.
Half an hour later, Kurt pulled into a free parking space, grateful that the teachers' parking apparently was reserved just for them on nights such as these when parents and students alike poured like homing honey bees onto the school grounds. Kurt couldn't remember such crowds at a McKinley game when he had attended school there. Clearly the team had become quite popular over the past few years.
As Kurt approached the field, Santana broke away from the huddle of cheerleaders and came over to greet him.
"Lady Hummel! You came!"
"I said I would, didn't I?" retorted Kurt tartly.
"Well, you missed the first two quarters so I thought you'd changed your mind. But, fortunately, you're just in time to see my squad perform at halftime. Here, sit here."
Kurt started to chuckle when Santana gestured to a seat beside one that was an exact replica of a director- style chair, complete with the name "Santana Lopez" emblazoned in gold letters across the back rest. Gingerly, he took the seat she offered and watched as her squad took to the field and executed a daring and complicated routine while managing at the same time to make it look simply effortless.
He applauded enthusiastically along with the hundreds in the stands as her squad came off the field and the opposing football teams took up their positions once more. Laughing in satisfied pleasure, Santana came to sit down next to him. As they watched the ball fly through the air in play for the third quarter, Santana reached over and took Kurt's hand in hers.
"I miss him so much but on nights like this, I feel him the closest and it's sorta comforting, you know?" she spoke quietly, without looking at him at all.
Kurt stared at their hands in surprise and then flicked his attention to the game. It was only when Santana yanked him to his feet and pulled him into a squealing celebratory hug that Kurt realised he hadn't actually been watching the game at all; instead he had been lost in his own memories of Finn and high school football. Out on the field, the victory was evident - the McKinley Titans had won the first game of the season and the spectators on the bleachers were thrilled.
"Come on," Santana said eventually, having dismissed her squad with quick instructions for practice over the weekend. "Let's go find Sam and Blaine."
They walked across the field to where the Titans were huddled in a group. Kurt could see Sam's tall, lanky frame and shock of blonde hair among the dirty, weary players but he couldn't see the head coach anywhere. It was only as the huddle broke and the victorious players began to disperse that Kurt saw the man of the hour emerge, triumphant, from the centre.
"Blaine!" called Santana, "Sam!"
Both men looked up in the direction of Santana's voice and Sam's face broke into a wide smile as he recognised Kurt standing beside her. Blaine blinked in the light of the stadium's lights as he watched Kurt, hands buried firmly in his pockets, walk slowly alongside Santana towards them.
Wow, he's gorgeous, Blaine shook his head at the reckless and possibly inappropriate thought.
"Kurt! Dude, what's up?" called Sam, stepping forward to grab Kurt's hand to shake it. "It's so good to see you again."
"Blaine!" Santana called for the coach's attention again as Sam relinquished his grasp on Kurt's hand who fussed with his shirt which had pulled loose, but Blaine was transfixed on the newcomer and didn't appear to hear her.
"Blaine!" Santana called again, only this time a little louder. "This is Kurt Hummel."
Blaine reached out his hand and would have also stepped forward to shake Kurt's hand had he not, at that very moment, been grabbed from behind by someone bellowing his name.
"Blaine! Blainers, my boy!"
Kurt watched aghast as some tall stranger spun Blaine around to face him.
"Bloody hell, Killer! I've missed you!" He grabbed Blaine's face between his hands and pulled him into a kiss.
Not a light-friendly–I've-missed-you quick peck on the cheek; no, it was a deep, passionate Hot-Damn-I've-really-missed-you kind of kiss and Kurt could see Blaine's body melting under the man's obviously familiar touch.
Eventually, Blaine seemed to recollect himself and tried desperately to disentangle himself from the man's clutches, pushing with his hands against the chest crushing his.
"Bas," he mumbled against the man's lips. "Seb, Come on!"
"Wanky!" teased Santana drily.
"Sebastian, let up, will you?"
Embarrassed, Blaine twisted in the man's arms to turn to face his friends again and with Sebastian's arms still hugging his chest tightly, he held up his hands in weak defeat and said, "Santana, Sam - This is Sebastian."
"Right, the high school boyfriend," commented Santana sarcastically.
"Ex-boyfriend," qualified Blaine quickly, still trapped by Sebastian's arms.
"Hey Dude!" greeted Sam, cheerfully oblivious to Blaine's discomfort.
"Shit!" Santana exploded, looking around. "Where'd Kurt go?"
Stupid Kurt! Stupid! Stupid!
Kurt shoved the key into the ignition and hit his hand on the steering wheel in frustration.
Not so straight, then.
The gorgeously handsome and talented head coach of the McKinley Titans was not as straight as he had assumed. Not straight at all.
Gay, in fact - a wonderfully, gloriously gay football coach in notoriously homophobic Lima. Shit!
But, he was obviously taken, by some stupidly tall, impossibly handsome, passionate, face-sucking, kissing meerkat.
Stupid Kurt! Stupid! Stupid!
