Page 191 of Men in Shorts

The Buchanan Street shopping district was crammed with pedestrians soaking up the spring sunshine. Unlike folk in some other cities, Glaswegians embraced buskers as an essential part of the urban ambience.

He should have been happy. The weather was well fine, the session was lucrative, and he’d met the man of his dreams.

But the darkness sweeping back into his life swamped these transitory joys, the way harsh chords could drown a delicate melody.

He drew his phone from the rucksack at his feet, dreading another update from Belinda. Not that things could get much worse on that front, unless their father’s twisted brain had spawned another tumor in the last twelve hours.

A staccato shiver skipped between his shoulders. Perry had sent him four texts.

As Jamie read the messages, a fifth one popped up, then a sixth.

Perry

Anyway I’ve got a game Tuesday night at the Woodside Football Complex at 8

I think you mentioned wanting to see a blind football match?

Jamie’s hands began to shake. Hehadsaid that. Hedidwant that. More than anything he wanted to see Perry again, bury himself in the delusion that his life hadn’t capsized and that he, Jamie Guthrie, could finally be real with someone. That he could be Jamie Guthrie the man, full stop, not the boy—never again the boy—who’d paused on the threshold of his father’s house, afraid to venture into the world with nothing but a guitar, a bin bag, and the certainty that if he stayed he would die.

But that decade of peace was over. He was returning to the lion’s den, and he’d be damned if he dragged Perry along with him.

Jamie’s thumbs took charge, ending his swithering with a single word.

Jamie

Can’t

He slipped the phone into his inside jacket pocket, missing on the first and second try. That terse reply probably wasn’t enough to end it—Perry was too determined and confident to be scared off that easily—but it was the best Jamie could manage in the middle of a busy workday.

As he scooped up the coins and notes, his phone vibrated against his ribs. He pulled it out just far enough to peek at the screen.

Perry

Totally understand

Thank God. Jamie had bought himself time to figure out how to end their affair gently. The last thing he wanted was to hurt?—

Perry

Is there something I can do?

“Fuck,” Jamie whispered. It took everything in him not to answer with a list of things Perry could do, starting withhold meand ending withtell me it’ll all be okay.

Perry

I don’t know anything about your family situation but if you want to talk…

Or whatever

His throat thickening, Jamie put away the phone and returned to the task in hand. When his loot was safely pocketed, he laid his purple acoustic guitar, Lisa, carefully in her case.

Now, to find a new place to play. He still had a job, after all, a job that was and always would be his salvation.

Jamie eased through the crowd down Buchanan Street, scanning for an open space at least fifty meters away from any other street performer, per the Glasgow Busker’s Code.

At the junction with Nelson Mandela Place, he stopped short as a memory stole his breath. This very spot was where he’d caught up to Perry on Friday, after chasing him through a downpour to thank him for the kind note he’d dropped into the guitar case.

More than thank him.Meethim.Knowhim.

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