Page 172 of The Lineman

“Sorry, but . . . shit . . . sorry . . . seriously, fuck! Sorry.”

I laughed and gave up on playing teacher for the moment.

“We did it.”

“No way,” he said, eyes wider than I believed was possible—or likely medically advisable.

I nodded. “Way.”

Jamie inhaled sharply, his hands clenching the edge of the desk. “Holy shit.”

I laughed. “Yeah.”

“Dude. Oh, my God.” I watched as his brain caught up, as the reality of it sank in, and something in his expression shifted.

His throat bobbed.

His eyes shimmered.

“Mr. A,” he murmured, voice barely above a whisper. “This is . . . this ishuge.”

I swallowed hard, nodding. “Yeah, it is.”

His breath hitched.

Damn it, my breath hitched.

I reached out, gripping his shoulder. “Youdid this, Jamie.”

He shook his head, his voice trembling. “No, I—”

“You did,” I insisted. “This started because of you, because you were brave enough to talk to me, because you were brave enough to want more.”

Jamie bit his lip, trying to hold it together.

I was far too close to losing it myself.

I gave his shoulder a squeeze. “We’re gonna have an opening night, a meet-and-greet, for both kids and parents. Mateo and I are working on the details, but I wanted to ask—do you want to help us plan it?”

Jamie blinked at me.

“Mateo?” he echoed, his whole face morphing into a human question mark. “Coach Mateo Ricci? The basketball coach?”

I smiled and nodded. “Mateo is one of my closest friends. He’s agreed to be a co-sponsor of the group.”

“Holy fucking shit.”

“Jamie, language,” I said, reaching my cool teacher limit.

Then, without warning, he laughed, bobbing his head. “I—God, yes. Of course. I’ll do whatever. Help, organize, make flyers. What do we need? What should we do?”

I grinned. “Good. We have a lot to get done and a very short time to do it all.”

He exhaled shakily, rubbing at his eyes.

And then—when I thought he was about to say something else—

He bolted for the door.

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