Second Time Around

Chapter Forty-Five

Over the next week, Tony became increasingly grouchier. The bruise began to fade, his need for the Vicodin diminished, and all he wanted was to get back to work. But, the school remained closed until the Friday after the shooting, when the doors finally opened and the crime scene tape was ripped down from his office doorway. The last football game of the season had been cancelled due to the shooting at Brunswick, so Tony gave in and listened to both his doctor and Kelly when they insisted he take the week after the shooting to rest a little more. But by the Monday before Thanksgiving, he was ready to get back to work, itching to get back into his office.

He stood there, on the threshold, just staring at his office's interior. The window overlooking the second gym had been replaced. The blood that spattered across the desk, the floor, as far as the wall, were gone now, bleached and disinfected into memory. Everything was exactly as it was supposed to be. But, as he stood there, he still saw the flash of white light that he assumed was Chisholm slamming the Glock's butt into his jaw.

But maybe that wasn't what that flash was at all. Tony didn't know where the cop who shot Chisholm had been, but the longer he stood there, the clearer the memory became. The bullet had come from the second gym, had gone clean through the glass without shattering the entire pane, and struck Chisholm in the side as he stretched with the gun.

Now, Tony felt the warm spatter of Chisholm's blood against his hand. He looked down, half-expected to see the droplets like Lady Macbeth. But of course, there as nothing. Just his hand. He flexed it, stretched his fingers, clenched his fist.

Chisholm was going to live. He'd been hit only once, and was now in the jail ward at Robert Wood. Tony toyed with the idea of going to see him. Of calmly letting him know that not only were he and Kelly back together, but that she said she'd marry him.

That made him smile.

"You okay?"

Cassel's voice was soft, but Tony jumped just the same, whirling about with a sharp, "Jesus!"

"Sorry, Tony. You've been standing there for ten minutes. You okay?"

"What? Yeah, yeah... I'm fine," he said, rubbing the back of his neck.

"You sure? Bingham will probably be okay with letting you take today. I can coach tonight."

Tony shook his head. "Not necessary, Steve. I'm fine. Just a little out of sorts."

"You had to be scared."

"I wasn't for me." He glanced over at Steve. "I didn't want to see anyone get hurt."

"And no one else did."

"Thank God."

"How is Kelly coping?"

"She's amazing," Tony said softly. "I asked her to marry me."

"What?"

He nodded. "A brush with death helps you prioritize things, Steve. She and I had talked about it, but I didn't want to talk about it any longer, so I proposed."

"And?"

He grinned. "She said yes."

"Congratulations, Tony. You tell anyone else?"

"Thanks." He glanced back at his desk. "No, only her kids and mine. It's not a secret or anything, I just haven't had much contact with the outside world."

"No one blames you for that." Steve gestured to the office. "What happened in here? How did he even get in here?"

"He was still on staff and his key card worked." Tony winced, remembering how it was the sound of Chisholm's shoes on the tile that got his attention. He'd been going over the finalized wrestling roster, heard the squeak, and looked up to find Chisholm towering over him. The gun must've been in a pocket or a holster, because Tony was sure he didn't see it in Chisholm's hand at first.