Page 35 of Men in Shorts

Lorna tittered. “I’m sure Brodie’s well aware of that by now.”

“Wheesht!” Brodie bumped his shoulder against hers, his face flaming. “We’re in public.”

“A friendly public. Okay, Paul, if you can explain ‘ball-handling skills’ with a straight face, I’ll buy two rounds after the match.”

Somehow Paul managed to discuss such topics as “dribbling,” “receiving,” and “trapping” without joining Lorna and Brodie’s cackles.

“Could you explain ‘first touch’ again?” Brodie said. “I didn’t quite follow?—”

His laughter died on his lips as he saw Duncan spin to face one of his opponents, fists clenched. Then Duncan stopped himself and focused on the flow of the game again. But his posture was stiffer than before, and he’d lost the easy grace that had marked his first twenty minutes of play.

“Something’s wrong,” Brodie said. “That player, number five, with the mad hair? He said something to Duncan.”

“Winding him up,” Paul said, “because he knows Duncan got booked in his last two matches.” He turned back to the pitch and shouted, “C’mon, Harris, keep the head!”

The ball shot across Brodie’s field of view, straight toward Duncan. It took an awkward ricochet off his torso, and by the time he got it under control, number five was bearing down on him. Duncan flubbed the pass to Fergus, his foot scuffing the ground before it struck the ball, which bounced weakly to the side. One of the Shettleston players seized it, and before the Warriors could recover to defend, the ball was in the net.

The score was even. Duncan had fallen from hero to bungler in a matter of minutes. Brodie’s chest felt suddenly full of lead.

“Took his eye off the ball,” Paul said with a sigh. “Shame, because he was in wide-open space. If he’d held onto it, Warriors might’ve scored again.”

“Brodie, I think you’re right.” Lorna pointed her undeployed purple umbrella at number five. “That yin’s got inside our Duncan’s head.”

As if he’d heard her, the Shettleston player in question turned in their direction, setting his eyes on Brodie. Then he grinned, wide and slow.

Brodie’s skin crawled. He knew that look all too well. It was the look of a predator who smelled weakness. And right now, Duncan’s weakness was Brodie himself.

Chapter10

“Listen.”In the brief lull before the next kickoff, Fergus took Duncan aside. “I know that idiot’s getting to you. But you’ve got to stay calm.”

Duncan’s blood pounded hot in his ears. “He can say whatever he wants about me, but he’s talking about Brodie.” He slammed his fist into his palm, which did nothing to dispel his fury.

“I know it’s hard. Remember the things they used to say about me and—” Fergus’s voice caught. “About me and?—”

“That’s different. Evan was here on the pitch where he could stand up for himself. Brodie is—” Duncan fought to keep from looking over at the lad he’d come to care about so deeply this last week. One glance could alert Brodie that something was wrong. “He’s not like us. He’s not tough. And he’s all the way over there where I can’t help him.”

“I’m sure he’s tougher than he looks. But you’re right about one thing. He’s over there.” Fergus took Duncan’s shoulders and turned him toward their opponents. “Meanwhile, you’re here, doing your job, which is to keep cool and score goals. Don’t give that bastard what he wants.” He offered a reassuring squeeze. “All right?”

Duncan could only nod as he moved into place for the kickoff.Easy for you to say. You’ve lost the ability to feel.

McCurdy was ready with another comment. “Your boyfriend’s got a bonnie wee mouth, so he does. I bet he gives good head.”

Duncan’s shoulders twitched. “Not nearly as good as your dad.”

Laughter erupted from everyone within earshot, including the other Shettleston players. McCurdy took a step back, then flashed an uneasy smirk. “Aye, nice one.”

Duncan looked over at Fergus, who gave him an approving nod.

For the next ten minutes, McCurdy was all business. His and Duncan’s struggles for the ball became silent battles of will, speed, and strength, the way they should be. Twice each of them ended up on the ground, and each time they helped the other to his feet.

Then, directly before the end of the first half, as Duncan hovered inside the Star’s penalty area, watching for another cross to strike home, McCurdy spoke again. “Your pretty wee boyfriend, me and my mates are gonnae hunt him down later and give him a night to remem?—”

Duncan spun, slashing the air with his fist. It missed McCurdy’s face by the barest of inches.

The defender sidestepped, raising his arms and looking for the official. “Oi! Fuckin’ poof tried to skelp me.”

Duncan roared and shoved him with all his might. McCurdy backpedaled, nearly falling. His face twisted into pure rage. In a flash, he grabbed Duncan by the throat.

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