Page 44 of Men in Shorts

“Seriously, though, you should follow your dream. It’s your life. Why not?”

“Because Mum and Dad are the world’s best gay parents and I should feel lucky for their support?”

“No.” Fergus set an intense gaze on him. “You’re not ‘lucky,’ Duncan. Fortunate, aye. But luck is for people who don’t deserve what they get. You deserve your parents’ support. We all do.”

“You’re right.” Duncan had forgotten how calm and wise Fergus could be. “I wish I could convince Brodie. Of course, for that to happen, he’d have to actually speak to me again.”

“The lad you threw that punch for? You broke up?”

“He left me.” Duncan told Fergus everything Brodie had said to him Saturday, including his parting shot about their “meaningless hormonal caper.”

“You know that’s rubbish, right?” Fergus said, tucking into the rest of his chips. “Everyone lies about feelings. They say they love you when they don’t, and they say they don’t love you when they do.”

“That’s rather a jaded way of looking at it.”

“It just means you should pay no mind to people’s words, only their actions. When you were together, did it seem he couldn’t care less whether you were in the room? Or did his eyes light up whenever he saw you?”

Duncan considered it as he licked the grease from his fingers. “The second one.”

“And if he were truly indifferent to you, then why was he so devastated by what happened at the match? At the end of a meaningless hormonal caper, he could say, ‘Eh, good riddance to that wanker.’ He wouldn’t have been greeting his eyes out.” Fergus swirled his chip through his tartare sauce. “Speaking as an expert on crying binges.”

Duncan winced at the memory of Fergus’s public breakdown before the quarterfinal match, when he’d discovered Evan’s betrayal at the same time as the rest of the team. As frustrated as Duncan had been with Fergus’s histrionics and subsequent gloom, he now understood some fraction of his heartbreak.

“I wish I could go back in time.” Duncan tore a chip in half and tossed the pieces to a pair of loitering pigeons. “I’d smash the faces of Brodie’s school bullies.”

“That’s essentially what you tried to do Saturday, and you saw how it worked out.”

“Then I’d erase his memories so he’s not toting around this trauma and letting it come between us.”

Fergus squinted at him. “Getting less realistic every moment.”

Fuck reality.Duncan had a sudden urge to pelt the closest pigeon with the chip in his hand. Instead he lofted it carefully onto the pavement beside the eager bird. “I know I’ve faced less bigotry than most gay men, and Brodie’s faced more than most. But I don’t see why that should matter now.”

“That’s your problem right there. You don’t see why it matters. But clearly it does matter to him. It makes you look an insensitive thug.”

Duncan groaned. “That’s not who I am.”

“Tell that to the referee at our next match. Oh wait, you can’t, because you’ve been suspended for losing your temper.”

“But that’s got nothing to do with—” He stopped himself, remembering Brodie’s words,“There’s violence in you.”He’d dismissed the accusation, made excuses.

He was still making excuses.

Duncan thought back to their date the night before the match, how he’d made light of Brodie’s past in an effort to bring him into the allegedly tolerant present. But the here and now had turned out to be just as harsh as Brodie’s antiquated village. To top it off, Duncan had told him not to take the Shettleston fans’ bullying personally. Like it was nothing.

How could he be so thick, so oblivious?

“You’re right, I should be a salesman,” he said, “because I’m a crap psychologist.”

Fergus rolled his eyes. “Please. You’re eighteen years old?—”

“Almost nineteen.”

“Whatever. My point is, you’ve a lot to learn about life, so try to forgive yourself for not being perfect. You didn’t cheat on him, you didn’t lie to him, you didn’t—” Fergus’s face twisted a bit before his control returned. “This can be fixed, you and Brodie.” He turned away, feeding his own chips to the pigeons.

Duncan waited before speaking again. He might be clueless when it came to Brodie, but he at least knew when his captain needed a moment to collect himself.

After a minute he asked Fergus, “So what do I do, now that I understand? I can’t change the world or make Brodie less afraid of it.”

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