Page 13

Chapter 13

“Wa-hey, Campbell! You’re alive!”

A firm arm wrapped around Brodie’s waist as he entered the student-union lounge where the LGBTQ club was hosting its “I Will Survive (Exams)” disco party.

“Barely alive,” he told his friend John, stooping to kiss his cheek. “It’s good to see you.”

“I know, I’m looking extra cute tonight.” He gave Brodie a self-mocking wink. It was true, though. The dark brown of John’s animated eyes and sleek, straight hair was accentuated by his cream-colored button-down linen shirt, the subtle white stripes of which had a nice slimming effect on his brawny frame.

Brodie surveyed the room, which had transformed into a convincing imitation of a dance club, complete with flashing lights, pounding music, and more than a hundred bouncing, laughing students. He’d considered staying home, but six days in bed had restored his strength and left him climbing the walls with restlessness.

And part of him—okay, all of him—hoped Duncan would show. Before leaving for the dance, Brodie had slid a note under his flatmate’s bedroom door, re-extending his invitation to the party, on the small chance Duncan returned from his parents’. He’d no idea how they could work things out, but he wanted to try. If nothing else, they should talk, rather than ending on a bitter note.

“How are you getting on with your nurse man?” John shouted over the music’s thumping bass. “Ever have that sponge bath?”

After a moment’s hesitation, Brodie spilled it all, everything from his and Duncan’s first kiss to their breakup after the Shettleston match. “I just couldn’t look at him without seeing the way he tried to punch that defender. And the way he laughed afterward, like it was nothing. I felt a coward for not being able to shrug it off like he does.” He added with shame, “There’s a very scary part of me that wants back in the closet.”

“If that were true, you wouldn’t be here.” John gestured with his plastic beer cup to the crowd of loons and quines. Loads of them were paired up dancing or kissing, but just as many hovered alone at the perimeter, looking awkward but hopeful. “It’d be a hard thing to give up, this freedom to be who we are. I imagine it’d feel like dying.”

Brodie thought of the asylum seekers John’s charity was helping, and felt guilty for his own fears. So he’d had a Fanta chucked at him at a football match. There were people in this world who’d been jailed or murdered for being gay.

“But what do we do about the bullies?” he asked John.

“Ah, now that’s a proper dilemma. If you ignore them, they escalate. If you complain about them, they escalate. Ultimately it’s down to us to stand up for ourselves.”

“Easy for you to say.” Brodie gestured to John’s muscular chest. “I’m so scrawny I’m practically transparent. When I walk down the street, eighty-year-old wee wifeys stop and offer body-building tips.”

John laughed. “You’re not that bad. Besides, fighting back doesnae have to be with your fists. It can be outwitting the bullies, or finding strong allies, or even turning the bullies themselves into allies.” He took a sip of beer, his expression going dark and distant for a moment. “Becoming someone they cannae afford to fuck with.”

Brodie waited, wondering if that had been John’s own solution.

Then his friend brightened again. “Anyway, the key is to show them you’re not afraid.”

“But I am afraid.”

“Right, right.” John made a backpedaling motion with his hands. “Step two is being brave. Step one is pretending to be brave.”

“But why is it down to me? Shouldn’t the bullies be the ones to change?”

“Ideally, yes, but we cannae wait for that to happen. We cannae give them that power.”

“We could just avoid them,” Brodie said.

“Where? Mind, you thought a Warriors match would be a bully-free zone. Then when it wasnae some harmonious gay paradise, you cast away the lad you fancy, instead of fighting for him.”

“Fighting who for him?”

“Yourself. Your fears. He fought for you, didn’t he?” John glanced past Brodie at the door. “Oh! Another newcomer. Sorry, mate, I’m a crap social director if I don’t welcome folk. ’Mon, let’s show him how fucking friendly we are.”

Brodie followed—not that he had much choice, with John tugging his arm—but stopped short when he saw who it was.

Duncan stood just inside the door, scanning the room with anxious eyes.

John noticed Brodie’s hesitation. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s him.”

John grinned, then shouted at the top of his voice. “Oi, Duncan, over here!” He turned to Brodie. “You need a wingman or will you be okay on your own?”

Brodie’s throat closed up at the sight of Duncan approaching. “Erm…”

“Wingman it is.” He stepped forward to shake Duncan’s hand. “Hiya! John Burns. Brodie’s told me about the magnificent work you’ve been doing with the Warriors.”

Duncan cast a bewildered look between them. “Sorry?” he asked John.

“He cannae stop blethering about your courage, and how you bring hope to so many LGBTQ folk.”

Duncan turned to Brodie. “You really said that?”

“Erm…” Those bright blue eyes, full of shock and wonder, were making Brodie’s face tingle.

“He did,” John continued, “and his admiration’s contagious. I’m a huge football fan myself, so I’d love to talk to your manager about a joint venture between the Warriors and our group here.”

“That’d be brilliant,” Duncan said. “There’s other Glasgow Uni students in the team, and we practice up the road at Ruchill Park.”

As he and John chatted about football, Brodie felt a spark of jealousy at the instant rapport between these two bold, beautiful lads. He scoured the room—past the DJ nodding his head and shimmying his shoulders behind his mixing board, past the nearly empty bowls of crisps and pretzels—searching for a way into the conversation so he wouldn’t fade into the woodwork.

He spotted a sign at the bar: Beer ￡2 .

“Money!” he blurted. John and Duncan looked at him over their phones, where they were exchanging information. “A fundraiser,” Brodie continued, “for your charity with the LGBTQ asylum seekers. The Warriors could help you with that.”

John’s dark, sparkling eyes slowly widened. “A charity match,” he said in a loud, wondrous whisper. “It’ll be massive.”

“A charity match,” Duncan repeated pensively. “I don’t know if we’ve ever done one, but I can’t see why we couldn’t.”

“Yaldy!” John punched the air, then pulled Brodie into a quick, tight hug. “You’re a genius and I adore you. I adore you both. Och, this is amazing!” He turned away, pivoting in one direction, then the other. “Need to plan. But first, need to mingle. Aye. That’s my job just now. Later, my lovely lads!”

With a wave and a wink, John was gone.

Alone with Duncan, Brodie found it impossible to meet his eyes. “Sorry about John. He’s…excitable.”

“He’s right. A fundraiser’s a genius idea. Well done, you.”

“Thanks.” Brodie stared at the floor, shifting a fallen crisp back and forth with his toe. “I wasn’t sure you’d be here tonight.”

“You invited me, and I said I’d come. If you invite me to leave, I’ll do that, too.”

Brodie remembered John’s advice, to fight the fears holding him back from true happiness. Fight them for Duncan.

“I don’t want you to leave,” he said toward the carpet. “I want to be with you.”

“Sorry?”

Brodie looked up to see Duncan with a finger behind his ear, and realized he’d spoken too softly to be heard over the music. Probably on purpose.

“Don’t leave!” Brodie shouted, exactly half a beat after the song’s abrupt end. His voice echoed in the brief silence, making every head in the room turn their way. The other partygoers hooted and applauded. Standing near the bar, John flashed Brodie a thumbs-up and a cheesy grin.

A new song began then, a slow one. With all his remaining courage, Brodie took Duncan’s hand. “This is the only sort of dancing I’ve the energy for, so?—”

“So let’s use it.” Duncan led him to a clear space amid the couples. There the two of them raised and lowered their arms in an awkward pre-dance dance, trying to work out who was to lead. Their antsy maneuvers mirrored Brodie’s uncertainty. Getting back together couldn’t be this simple, not after all the hurt and fear between them.

Finally Duncan linked his hands behind Brodie’s neck. “You lead. You’re taller.”

“Only a wee bit, but okay.” Brodie felt his own breath stutter as he wrapped his arms about Duncan’s waist. He reminded himself to leave space between their bodies so he could keep his wits.

“You’re feeling better?” Duncan asked.

“Better than I was. Got bags of sleep this week.” He looked around at the other couples. “I’ve been to a dozen of these parties, and it still feels odd to do this.”

“Do what?”

“Dance with another loon. In front of…everyone.”

Duncan’s eyes turned sad, but they didn’t leave Brodie’s face. “I’m sorry for being a bastard.”

“You weren’t.”

“I was—during the match, and afterward, and even before. I was so off my nut about Evan and then that stupid defender, I couldn’t put myself in your place for two seconds.”

Brodie’s throat began to thicken with tears, blocking all the words that needed saying. I’m sorry too. Sorry I crumble at the first sign of danger. Sorry I’m not man enough to live in your world.

He let go of Duncan. “I can’t do this.” He turned and bolted for the door. Duncan shouted his name, but it only made him run faster. He couldn’t let Duncan see him fall to pieces again.

Brodie had barely crossed the threshold when his dash slowed to a stagger, the lingering virus sucking his stamina. Halfway down the hall Duncan skidded in front of him to block his path.

“Brodie, don’t you dare tell me you can’t do anything. I know you better than that. How can you not see how amazing you are?”

“Maybe because most of my life, I’ve heard that people like me are pieces of shite who’ll burn in hell. After the first ten or fifteen years, it starts to sink in.”

“I know it does.” Duncan rubbed the side of his finger over his own lips. “No, I take that back. I don’t know what it’s like. I’ve had it easy. I can never really understand what you’ve been through. I look in your eyes and I see so much pain that I can’t take away. All these months we’ve known each other, you hid it so well. Or maybe I was just oblivious. Then last week, I saw it, but I didn’t get it. I didn’t know the power it had over you, until it came between us.”

Brodie put a hand to the wall to steady himself. He’d wanted Duncan to understand, but now that he did, it felt like his skin was peeling back, exposing every weakness. “I never meant to hurt you.”

“I know.” Duncan’s voice softened. “I know you need to feel safe. And I know as long as those bullies are in your head, I can’t make you feel safe. Not by bringing you soup and tea, and not by punching out bad guys.” He took a step closer. “But maybe I can make you feel strong, and then you can make yourself feel safe.”

It seemed impossible. “How will you do that?”

“Just listen, okay?” Duncan squeezed his eyes shut. “I’ve worked out how to tell you something important, and I don’t want to screw this up.”

“Okay.” Brodie glanced at a group of girls passing by on their way to the party. “Go on,” he said when they were alone again.

Duncan bit his lip. “Look, I’m not one for holding back. It’s not in my nature. But with you, I held back. Every step of the way I let you lead.” His words tumbled out faster. “You pushed me away after vacation, so I waited. Then you kissed me. Then you pushed me away after our date, and I waited again. Then you came to my room. Then you pushed me away after the match, and I—I couldn’t wait anymore. I couldn’t stand to see you at the flat and not be with you. Knowing this time you weren’t coming for me.”

I did. I did come for you, but you were gone.

Duncan paused, tracing his finger over the wall tile. “You want to know why I waited, why I let you take the lead? Because I thought you were weak. But I was wrong.”

“I am weak,” Brodie whispered. “You deserve better.”

“I deserve you . Now in ten seconds, I’m going to take you in my arms and tell you you’re wrong too, because I know you’re strong enough to hear it.” He touched Brodie’s shoulder with a trembling hand and met his eyes. “Then in ten minutes, I’m going to take you back to my room and ask you to fuck me, because I know you’re strong enough to do it.”

Brodie gasped, his face flaming with shock, excitement, and finally confusion. “Wait, you mean?—”

“Aye, I want you inside me,” he whispered, sliding his arms around Brodie’s waist. “You may not know your strength yet, but I do. And I’ll be happy to show it to you. Because I’m done holding back.”

Then Duncan kissed him, slow and deep, until Brodie’s entire spine turned to molten lava. His back softened into the perfect arch that melded their bodies. Yet other parts of him felt suddenly hard, even invincible.

He wanted this. He needed this. He feared this.

Finally Brodie drew away, long and far enough for one question. “Do we have to wait ten minutes?”