Page 42 of Men in Shorts

“It’s nice,” he managed to say before pointing at Duncan’s door. “Is he?—”

“Gone. He said he could study for exams better at his parents’. It’s quieter, and they’ve got more food, and—” Petra hesitated, chewing her bottom lip. “And you’re not there.”

* * *

Duncan spentthree miserable days sequestered in his parents’ flat, leaving only for Monday’s chemistry exam—which wasn’t a total disaster, thanks to Brodie’s tutoring on stoichiometry. His mum and dad comforted him the best they could, given that their last major heartbreaks had occurred when the Internet consisted of forty-five websites.

He now regretted sharing his pain on theSpottedpost, but let the comment stay. If he deleted it, Brodie might think he no longer cared. Assuming Brodie was still checking Facebook. Assuming Brodie was still alive.

Wednesday morning, Duncan arrived early to his Psych 1B exam, simmering with mixed emotions. He longed to see Brodie’s face but feared it would turn away from him again in disgust. The very thought brought a sour taste to the back of his throat.

Lorna and Paul entered the lecture room, looking anxious. Duncan waved, then peered past them at the doorway.

“He’s not coming,” Lorna said as she sat near Duncan, leaving a chair between them per exam rules. “He’s resitting the exam in August. Too ill.”

“How ill?” Duncan’s stomach churned harder. “Has he gone home for the summer?”

Lorna shook her head. “He says he’ll have a go at his other two exams. Next one’s not for ten days, so he might be well enough then. His statistics exam was a complete catastrophe, but he’ll get a medical waiver to resit that one, too.”

“We never should’ve taken him to that match,” Paul said, opening his review notes for one last scan. “We should’ve duct-taped him to his bed.”

“Duct-taped his mouth shut while we’re at it.” Lorna chuckled. “I’ve never met anyone who babbles in their sleep like Brodie does. I spent all yesterday in his room trying to study while he napped, wishing I’d a pair of noise-canceling headphones.”

“What’s he talking about now?” Duncan asked. “Or would I rather not know?”

“Sorry, he’s not said your name. ” Lorna pouted sympathetically. “He mentioned a Will, though, and a Robbie.”

Duncan’s chest felt suddenly tight. “They’re the gay couple onRiver City.”

“The soap opera?” Paul guffawed, then held up his hands. “Not judging.”

“Better not judge.” Lorna gave Paul’s head an affectionate smack. “What with your addiction to crap reality TV.”

As the two of them bantered over the relative merits ofEx on the BeachandI’m a Celebrity…Get Me Out of Here!, Duncan switched on his tablet. Hunching over to hide the screen, he brought up the selfie he and Brodie had taken in bed last week after watchingRiver City. He wished he could dive into the picture and once again lie beside Brodie for the first time, feel their knees touch and their breath sync.

Duncan switched off the tablet and rubbed his face hard. Then he opened his notes, forcing himself to focus on the exam ahead of him, not the memories behind him.

* * *

“This is fucking revolting,”Fergus said, shaking the grease off his fingers.

“Revolting but delicious. Anyway, the chippy was your idea.” Duncan spoke through a mouthful of fried cod as they walked up the paved trail toward the top of Ruchill Park. “I would’ve been happy with the Thai restaurant around the corner. But no, that’s too easy. ‘Let’s walk to Wee Fry,’ you said. ‘It’s just up the road a bit,’ you said, failing to mention that by ‘a bit’ you meant four miles.”

“We needed the exercise, what with Charlotte sending us away early from training session. And the taxi ride back was only ten minutes.”

Duncan sent a wistful glance in the direction of the Warriors’ practice pitch on the other side of the park. His and Fergus’s seasons were over, as they’d each been suspended three games for their conduct in Saturday’s match. At least McCurdy had been suspended eight matches for throttling Duncan.

In other favorable news, Fergus had been unanimously elected captain tonight, though he wouldn’t assume the position officially until next season. Duncan himself had stood before their teammates and made the case for Fergus’s leadership. It was the least he could do for getting the valiant midfielder suspended.

They arrived at the base of the tall white flagpole, famous for its spectacular view of Glasgow and beyond. A handful of people stood at the fence—a trio of tourists taking photos and a mother with her two young lads—but the circular bench surrounding the base of the pole was empty. Fergus and Duncan sat down and spread the remains of their meals between them.

“It’s like a box of heart attack,” Fergus muttered, then popped the top of his Irn-Bru can with a hiss. “But I suppose we all need comfort food sometimes.” He took a long gulp of the orange ginger, then belched. One of the boys climbing on the flagpole trusses giggled at him.

“What’s so special about that chippy anyway?” Duncan asked.

“It’s the sister restaurant to a place in Troon called Wee Hurrie.”

“And?”

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