Page 79 of Good Losers (Lochkelvin Academy)

“So am I a chief again?” he asks casually, and I almost choke on my wine.

“What? You were achief?”

Rory’s brows rise as he spoons rice onto his plate. “Only in his damn mind,” he drawls with such finality that I figure it’s the end of that particular line of inquiry.

But the thought doesn’t leave me. We eat together, talking about all manner of things: of the best spots in town, of Finlay’s cousin who can apparently get us in everywhere for free, of all the things we’re going to get up to in this wild city, of the madness of Edinburgh during festival season. But I keep thinking about it, of Rory and Danny, buddy-buddy and part of the same gang once upon a time.

There must be a reason for all that animosity, right?

Danny remains subdued, picking at his food. Luke, too. While the others laugh and joke, they say little. I don’t blame them, really: Luke’s still reeling from his world breaking apart around him, and the threat of everything yet to come.

And Danny? God knows what Danny expected when he decided to hitchhike halfway across the country, but I doubt he ever imagined ending up on a rooftop in Edinburgh, being treated to Indian takeout by his school bullies.

This… this is a little bubble of takeout and of pretending we’re normal. That we don’t perform pagan rituals in the woods, that we’re not related to anyone important enough to overshadow our lives… It’s welcomed. It’ssowelcomed. I eat. I talk. I ask questions. And I stroke my hand down Luke’s arm. It’s these soft touches instead of words that seem to make him open up to me.

By the end of the meal, when everyone’s absently shredding up naan, the sun has set and the fairy lights twinkle like fireflies. Edinburgh somehow manages to look even more picturesque, and it’s with this backdrop that Luke smiles at me gratefully. He looks breathtaking.

When I cross over to the balcony, admiring the smudged pastel-pink sunset, Danny joins me after a while. I’m trying to figure out if the sky is so smeared and strange naturally or because I’ve had two glasses of wine and my head is slightly woozy. I so rarely drink. I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve had alcohol. But tonight feels different. Rory’s right. Up here, we’re free.

Danny nudges me with the blunt tip of his elbow and I lean into the crook of his neck. He smells so good, so male and soapy.

“Are you sniffing me?” he asks, sounding bemused. “Because I’m not sure I consent to that.”

“Sorry,” I mumble, my face heating up. I want to say something grand and romantic, like his scent reminds me of heather and cloves and parchment and persimmon. Instead, what comes out of my slack, drunk mouth is, “You smell like things.”

Danny laughs. “I bet I do.” He lowers his voice. “I haven’t really been able to shower. Life on the road’s been one event after the other, with me just trying to get as far away from home as possible.” He scrubs his mousy brown hair with a nervous hand. “But thankfully it rained last night. I managed to get drenched doing some wild swimming.”

I stare at him, startled, the unexpected importance of his words enough to shake me out of my joyful tipsiness. How strange, that Danny should have been swimming outdoors the night Rory, Finlay and I had been together in the loch. When rain had poured suddenly down on us after sex, soaking us to the skin, as we staggered, wet-footed, to the manor.

But maybe it’s not strange at all. Maybe I’m thinking too much. At the same time, I get the weirdest sensation — one of connection, like perhaps Danny had been with me the whole time.

“The moon was bright last night,” I note, my tone wistful. I cast my mind back, like remembering a dream from long ago. Skin sliding against moon-gleaming skin, Finlay and Rory pleasuring me for what felt like hours, strange spiritual water imbuing our bodies and promising us better tomorrows.

Did we earn a better tomorrow? I can’t tell. The existence of Danny, the beauty of Edinburgh — it’s all life-enhancing. An eagle being killed, all of us being kicked out of the manor — all terrible, dreadful things.

Perhaps, then, the water provides balance.

Restoration in its own way.

“So you ran?” I ask him, still trying to wrap my head around it. I remember him last term, cracking jokes about the force of his father’s abuse. “You really justran?”

Danny bites his lip, staring off into the distance. “I couldn’t take it anymore. I thought about it every night until one day I just left.” He sighs. “I left a note, so he knows I haven’t, like, jumped into the North Sea or anything. Just said I’d be doing some traveling and not to worry — not that he would. Well, maybe he would, I dunno. Anyway, I had some savings, some leftover birthday money, so…”

He runs a hand over his head, his expression growing more and more determined. “I mean, the heroes I read about, the ones in the comic books… They do things. They get out there and they do it. Theyact. They fix stuff. So I knew I had to make a move, not sit around the house and be miserable. Sit at home and be… abused. You can’t understand it unless you live it, how much your life narrows down to heartbeats, waiting for the moment he snaps. I had tobebetter, not hope for better. And so I ran. Hitchhiked. Camped out in the woods for a few starry nights, trying to get to Edinburgh. It was freeing, refreshing. And the funny thing was, I wasn’t even scared anymore — not when I’d just left the biggest danger behind me.”

I listen to Danny in awe. I take his arm in mine, stroking the warm swell of his bicep. “I think it’s exceedingly brave of you. And also, the rugged outdoorsy look kinda suits you.”

He laughs slightly. “You know… I could have lied to him, at any point. Told him he was wrong, that you were my girlfriend. But it wouldn’t have been fair on you. And it wouldn’t have been fair on me, either, because it’s not the whole truth.”

“I wouldn’t have minded,” I tell him, because apparently alcohol is great at pulling out a flirty side I didn’t know I possessed. “I’d quite like to be your girlfriend.” And also a blatantly obvious side, too.

A pained look crosses Danny’s face. “Don’t say that. It just gives me hope… and I’m done with hope. I want more than hope.” He pauses, glancing back at the three chiefs. Finlay’s lounging on one of the seated benches, his head brushing Rory’s knee and an arm slung around a plump cushion. Rory talks incessantly about something, clearly on some kind of political rant from the way he gestures all over the place, the stem of a wine glass held precariously between his fingers. Luke sits listening to the two of them, his chin propped on the heel of his hand, his gaze occasionally wandering over to me and Danny.

“Besides, I’ve seen the four of you with my own eyes,” Danny mutters, turning back to the city. “What are you… what’s even happening there?”

“I don’t know,” I answer honestly. “Everything’s so new.”

“Rory’s never struck me as the sharing kind,” Danny says, a hint of a warning to it. And I know this. I know every layer of Rory shines with selfishness.

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