Page 16

Chapter 16

Duncan knew he should feel complete crap as he walked into the North Glasgow park where his team was about to play their final match of the season. After all, he could do nothing but watch as the Warriors attempted to stave off a fifth-place finish, having already lost their chance to win promotion to the top division, due in part to his own immaturity.

But as long as Brodie was at his side, Duncan could only feel happy. In the two weeks since they’d reunited, they’d spent almost every moment together. Brodie was now nearly recovered from his glandular fever, despite their nightly exertions in bed (or maybe because of them).

Duncan’s parents had hired both him and Brodie to work in the home-decor shop. The jobs weren’t relevant to their psychology degrees, and Duncan dreaded being dubbed an “adorable couple” by their customers. But at least he and Brodie would be together most days, and the wages were decent—in the current economy, beggars couldn’t be choosers.

Brodie had also begun helping the asylum-seekers’ charity John Burns was interning with; and Duncan would be serving as a “Clyde-sider” volunteer at Glasgow’s Commonwealth Games in July. Perhaps there’d be athletes needing counseling after their dreams of winning a gold medal had been dashed or fulfilled.

To top it all off, Duncan’s heroes at Sunderland AFC had pulled off a miraculous end-of-season comeback. In what had been dubbed “The Great Escape,” the once-hapless Black Cats had rocketed from twentieth place into fourteenth, avoiding relegation and ensuring another season in the Premier League. To Duncan it was proof that romantics like himself were the wisest men of all.

He squinted up at the afternoon sky, where the clouds were thinning at last. “They said it’d be pure dreich today, but look, the sun’s—” He stopped as he realized Brodie had halted several steps ago, his eyes fixed on the side of the bleachers where the opposing fans sat.

Duncan hurried back to join him. “What’s wrong?” he asked, though he had a solid guess.

“I just need a moment.” Brodie ran his thumbs between each of his fingers once, then again. “Okay.” He took a step forward.

Duncan touched his shoulder to stop him. “You sure? We don’t need to go to the match. We can do something else today.”

“If I don’t walk in there now, I’ll spend the whole summer dreading next season.” He swept his tongue, then his teeth, over his lower lip, and swallowed hard. “Is it all right if I take your hand?”

Duncan smiled. “I’d be honored.”

They walked forward between the two bleachers. On their left, their opponents’ scant crowd of supporters sat with scowls on their faces. To their right, the Rainbow Regiment’s flags were waving, their chants ringing. Duncan was touched by the way the Regiment always turned out, no matter how unimportant the match. The pain of his own suspension had been eased by sitting with these fans the last two weeks. He’d learned a lot about the game—and how much the Warriors meant to Glasgow’s LGBTQ community—by watching it through the Regiment’s eyes.

As he and Brodie went to join them, a voice in the visitors’ section rang out. “Look at those yins holding hands. Fuckin’ poofs!”

They stopped together. Adrenaline coursed through Duncan’s body, and his grip on Brodie tightened.

“I’ll take this one.” Brodie tried to release Duncan’s hand as he strode toward the man who’d spoken.

But Duncan wouldn’t let go. “What are you doing?” he whispered to Brodie, trotting to keep up. “You can’t fight them.”

“I don’t need to. Now wheesht.” As Brodie approached their taunter, an almost stony calm dropped over his face.

“What do youse want?” the burly young man snarled. He nudged his embarrassed-looking mate. “Kyle, they’re chattin’ us up. I knew we shouldnae come to this?—”

“I’m not afraid of you,” Brodie said.

The man’s head snapped back as if he’d been punched. Duncan’s pulse raced at the sight of the muscles bulging beneath the bully’s sleeveless T-shirt. He could take both of them apart in seconds.

“I’m not afraid of you,” Brodie repeated, his jaw firm and level. “But I am afraid for you. I fear you’ll stay this way your entire life, which means you’ll surround yourself with other people like you, which means you’ll never be happy.”

The man’s eyes blazed. “Look, ya wee bufty, naebody asked you?—”

“You can change, you know,” Brodie said. “You can stop being afraid. I did.”

Duncan squeezed Brodie’s hand tighter, which he hadn’t thought possible.

Then Brodie stepped forward, halving the distance between himself and the bigot. “You can hit me now if you want, if what I’m saying scares you. I’ll understand.”

“But you’ll have to hit us both.” Duncan moved beside Brodie again, close enough to feel him quake.

“Archie, man,” said Kyle. “Gonnae let’s go for a pint? ’Mon, I’ll buy first round—first two rounds, since I owe you.” He nudged his mate. “It’ll be pishing down soon.”

Archie finally broke eye contact with Brodie to examine the sky, which was still clearing. Then he nodded, using the nonexistent impending rain to make his exit.

“Bunch of pricks playing today anyway,” Archie said as he got to his feet. Brodie and Duncan moved back to let them leave. As the two men slouched past, Kyle turned and gave an apologetic shrug.

When they were gone, Brodie whooshed out a breath and slumped against the side of the home bleacher. “What was I thinking?” He swept his trembling hands up over his paling face, then clutched his hair. “He could’ve killed us.”

“You were thinking you deserved better, and you do. We all do. That was so fucking brave.” Duncan edged as close as he could without touching him. “I love you,” he said for the first time.

Brodie gasped. He lowered his hands slowly, and they came to rest on the sides of Duncan’s face, their fear-chilled skin making him shiver. “Why?”

“Because.” When Brodie just stared at him, he added, “Don’t make me elaborate. After exams, I’m pure finished with essays and explanations.” He rested his forehead against Brodie’s. “Just believe me, okay? And try to love me back, even though I’m a proper eejit sometimes?”

Brodie nodded, his eyes wide and wet. “I believe you. And I love you.” He pulled Duncan into a hug. Duncan shut his eyes and held tight, feeling the frantic-rabbit thump of his own heart against Brodie’s chest.

Out on the pitch, a whistle blew to signal the end of warmups.

Duncan let go of Brodie, sweeping a kiss over his cheek as they parted. “C’mon, let’s go watch Warriors kick some meaningless arse.”

They sat close together within the loving fold of the Rainbow Regiment, who cheered at the sight of them. One of the Regiment lads presented Brodie with the rainbow tartan kilt he’d apparently ordered a few weeks before.

Then Duncan’s parents arrived, with a warm greeting for Brodie, who still seemed overwhelmed at their unquestioning acceptance. Fergus came too, with a few mates from his architectural firm, who seemed similarly overwhelmed by the Regiment’s raucousness.

“You think your manager will agree to do the charity match?” Brodie asked Duncan as the teams lined up for the kickoff.

“I think she’ll love it. Fergus might take more convincing. He thinks we’ve had enough drama for one year.”

“Perhaps John could make the sales pitch. He’s quite the force of nature.”

“I got that impression.” He tugged the hem of the kilt in Brodie’s lap. “Gonnae put that on for me?”

“It’s not proper fitted yet. I’ll wait until next season to wear it.” Brodie gave him a wicked smile. “Publicly, at least.”

At the thought of a naked-but-for-his-kilt Brodie, every nerve in Duncan’s skin went on full, happy alert. “Shall I get one too?”

Brodie’s eyelids went heavy with desire as he gazed at Duncan’s mouth. “I think that would be…” He paused, searching for the words. “Affa fine.”

The whistle blew, and the game began. On the pitch, the Warriors took control of the ball, playing for nothing but pride. But when all was said and done, Duncan knew, pride was the only thing that mattered.