Play On: A Glasgow Lads Novella (2 page)

“I like it. Sleazy yet poetic.” She checked her phone again, then cursed softly. “I thought you’d got seats,” she murmured.

“Who are you talking to?”

“No one. Follow me.” She marched up to a table where half the chairs were unoccupied. “Are these seats available?” she asked the three lads sitting there.

The largest of them sat back in his chair and leered up at her. “What’s it look like?”

“It looks like you lot have spread your books and notes across the table so no one will sit in those chairs.” She set her rucksack on the edge of the table. “Classic desk-hog behavior.”

The guy to her left said, “Ooh, Stevie, that’s you pinched by the Desk-Hog police.”

Stevie laughed. “Coming soon to ITV—
Law and Order: Desk Hog Victims Unit
.”

The third lad made the
Law and Order
“
CHUNK-chunk”
sound effect.

Lorna pulled out a chair. “Okay, if you’re finished, we’ll just sit.” She started pushing papers aside.

“Hey!” Stevie slapped his arm across the notes. “Gonnae no do that, doll. These are proper organized.” He smirked. “By my mate, I mean, who’ll be back any minute to claim his seat.”

“The fuck he will, and I’m not your ‘doll.’” Lorna turned to the other pile of notes, ready to sweep the papers onto the floor.

Brodie stepped forward to stop her. “Forget it. Let’s find other seats.”

“‘Forget it. Let’s find other seats,’” Stevie repeated, mocking Brodie’s faint lisp and not-so-faint northeast accent. “Best listen to your girlfriend there,” he told Lorna.

A hot wave of humiliation swept over Brodie’s head from nape to scalp.

Lorna’s jaw dropped. “What did you call him?”

Brodie turned on his heel and walked away—but not fast enough to miss the hoots and cackles that followed.

It’s just a bit of banter.
Stevie’s ridicule was nothing next to the beatings Brodie had taken in the tiny fishing village he once called home. Staying deep in the closet had kept him alive all those years—barely—but when he came to Glasgow seven months ago, he’d vowed never to deny his true self again. Now here at university, he was out and proud.

Well, he was
out
. He was still working on the
proud
part.

Lorna caught up to him around the corner. “Brodie, I’m sorry. I was just winding them up. I didn’t know they’d turn on you.”

Bullies always sniff out the weak ones.
“Whatever. Let’s just find somewhere to sit. I don’t care where.” After the confrontation, he needed to catch what was left of his breath.

“Are you all right?” She put the back of her hand to his forehead. “Your face is red.”

“I’m fine. It’s pure meltin’ in here.” He unzipped his hoodie to cool himself off.

Lorna gaped at his chest. “You’re wearing a Passenger T-shirt. Like the lad in the
Spotted
post!”

Brodie froze for a moment, then crossed his arms self-consciously to cover the logo of the indie-rock act. “Loads of people have this shirt.”

“But you also wore it at Duncan’s party the night before vacation.” Her brown eyes lit up with glee. “What if that
Spotted
post is meant for you, from him?”

Brodie rubbed his throbbing forehead, wishing he’d never told Lorna he’d hooked up with their mutual friend. She was spot-on about the shirt. Brodie
had
worn it that night, and when he went home to his mum’s, he’d slept with it on his pillow, not washing it until the last bit of Duncan’s scent had faded from the fabric, replaced by the ever-present salt air of Brodie’s village.

“That post can’t be from him,” Brodie said. “How can Duncan spot me if he’s not even here?”

“Erm…” Lorna bit her lip, looking guilty. “Because maybe he is here? Maybe I invited him to study with us?”

“You did what?” Brodie’s heart leaped even as his stomach plummeted. “Lorna, I can’t see him just now.”

“You can’t
avoid
him either. You share a flat.”

“It’s a large flat, and we live at opposite ends of the hall. Besides, he’s probably staying with his parents during exams. They live here in Glasgow.”

“So do mine, but the moment vacation ended, I was back in Murano Street,” she said, referring to the sprawling university village that housed most Glasgow Uni freshers. “Duncan’s coming back today. He said so.”

“When did you see him? Did he mention me?”

“No, we didn’t talk much. It was the day of the cup quarterfinal match.” Her eyes turned sad. “Which was an absolute bloodbath.”

“I saw the result online.” Brodie had wanted to take the next train back to Glasgow to comfort Duncan after the 6-1 loss. “What happened? I thought Warriors were favored to win.”

“They were, but get this.” Lorna tugged him close and spoke so low, Brodie had to bend over to hear her. “Their captain, see, he disappeared directly before the game. He was cheating on his boyfriend—one of the other midfielders—and decided to leave the country with his lover. The team completely fell to pieces.”

“That’s horrible.” Though the mere thought of football made Brodie ill, he couldn’t help feeling sorry for the players. “Is Duncan okay?”

“I’ve been better.”

Brodie nearly jumped out of his skin at the voice behind him.

“Duncan!” Lorna spread her arms for a hug, giving Brodie a moment to collect himself.

Duncan greeted Lorna with an “All right, doll?” as he leaned down to embrace her. “All right, mate?”

Brodie nodded to the span of carpet separating their feet. “Good. You?” There. He’d managed two words without his voice cracking.

“Not so good, as you’ve just heard.”

The raw emotion in Duncan’s voice captured Brodie’s attention. He raised his gaze to meet…

Och, those eyes.
A blue so electric it almost hurt to look at them, their color accentuated by Duncan’s rain-speckled denim jacket.

Those eyes widened at the sight of Brodie now. “Are you okay?” Duncan asked. “You look all peely-wally.”

“Brodie had glandular fever!” Lorna announced, loudly enough that the two girls at the closest table overheard. One of them whispered “kissing disease” with a giggle.

“I’m better now,” he told them.

“Already? But—wait, how’s that possible?” Duncan twisted the strap of his rucksack as he stammered. “I mean, when did you have it? Because you were fine when we—erm, before you left for home.” He looked away, which told Brodie that Duncan found this moment as excruciating as he did.

“It started about two weeks ago. I spent most of vacation in bed.”
Don’t say ‘bed,’
he thought, his face warming at the memory of the two of them writhing shirtless atop a red-and-white-striped duvet, mouths locked, hands grasping. The fact their encounter had been so passionate only made its devastating conclusion more painful.

All he wanted was to get out of here, away from the sound of Duncan’s questions, the sight of Duncan’s discomfort, and especially the scent of Duncan’s hair, amplified by the rain that matted the short brown spikes.

“Anyway,” Brodie continued, “my sore throat, swollen glands, fever—they’re all gone, as of yesterday.” Though he was certainly feeling feverish now.

“Headaches?” Duncan asked. “Feel so knackered you can’t move or even think?”

“No.”

“Just wait.” Duncan nodded sagely. “You’re in the eye of the glandular-fever hurricane. I had it during my gap year in the States. They call it ‘mononucleosis’ there, you know.”

Lorna groaned. “Yeah yeah, and ‘football’ is ‘soccer’ and ‘trousers’ are ‘pants,’ and you’re the only yin who’s ever spent time in America.”

Brodie relaxed a wee bit. If Duncan was “enlightening” them on American words, and Lorna was having a go at him for it, then things were back to normal.

“Hold on.” Lorna slid a wily glance between the two of them. “Duncan, you had glandular fever—or mono, whatever—only last year? I heard the virus can stay active in your saliva for up to eighteen months.”

Brodie froze, eyes locked with Duncan’s.

“Isn’t that scary?” Lorna continued. “I mean, you really have to be careful who you kiss.”

Duncan looked at her, then at Brodie. “You told her?”

“I—well—” Brodie swallowed, trying to wet his parched throat. Duncan’s reaction confirmed that their hookup was something to be ashamed of, to be forgotten as soon as possible. “You know, I do feel a headache coming on. Think I’ll work at home today.”

He hurried to the exit without another word, shoving open the door to the stairwell so hard he nearly clouted a fellow student.

She jumped back just in time to avoid a flattened face. “Watch it, ya knob!”

“Sorry, sorry.” He ran to the top of the staircase.

Behind him, the girl yelped again. “What, you too? Savages in this place today.”

“Sorry,” said a familiar voice. “Brodie, wait!”

= = =

Duncan saw Brodie stop short, teetering on the edge of the stairs. Then he turned and spoke to the floor at Duncan’s feet.

“Fit’s a dee?” Brodie shook his head and repeated himself, replacing his native Doric with English. “What’s wrong?” His voice sounded pained, and his dark brows pinched together so hard, they nearly met in the deep crease above his nose.

Duncan hated the thought he could’ve given this virus to Brodie. And yet…he didn’t regret kissing him. That night had ended awkwardly—and somewhat amusingly—but he was eager to try again. This time they’d be sober. This time they’d be happy.

Duncan certainly needed a bit of happiness just now. “Can we talk?”

Brodie shrugged. “If we can walk at the same time.”

“I was hoping to catch you at our flat,” Duncan said as they made their way down the stairs, “but you’d already left.”

“You know how this place is during revision period. Anyone not here fifteen minutes after the library opens is fucked for a table.”

On the landing, Brodie’s feet started to drag on the thin carpet. Duncan knew his friend would soon be in the debilitating grip of mono’s second phase. He also knew they should wait to have this conversation until Brodie was well.

But Duncan had never been good at waiting. “About before. The last time we saw each other?”

Brodie stopped and leaned against the banister, still avoiding Duncan’s eyes. “You don’t need to do this.”

“Do what?”

“Tell me it was a mistake, that we should pretend it never happened. I know it was, and I know we should.”

Duncan’s mouth fell open. That wasn’t at all what he was going to say. He was going to say
I can’t stop thinking about you. Every day these last three weeks I thought to phone you, wondering if hearing your voice would help, wondering if you were wondering the same thing two hundred miles away.

“Okay,” he said, though it was the opposite to what he meant. “No harm, no foul. As we were.”

“Right.” Brodie continued down the stairs toward the ground floor, his rucksack strap about to slide off his shoulder.

“Stop.”

Brodie halted, turning his head but not looking back. His tongue flashed out to give his lower lip a nervous lick, making Duncan want to kiss him more than ever.

“Let me have that before you break your laptop.” He caught up to Brodie and took his bag.

Brodie frowned as he reluctantly released it. “Thanks. How’d you know I’ve a laptop in there?”

“Lucky guess.” He slung the rucksack over his other shoulder. “C’mon, we’ll get a taxi. You’ll never survive the walk home in this weather. It’s pishin’ down out there.”

“Taxi’s expensive. We should wait for the minibus.”

“Which could come in five minutes, or in fifty minutes. Do you feel lucky?” He elbowed Brodie as they descended. “Do ya, punk?”

“Punk?”

“It’s a line from an old Clint Eastwood film. Have you not got televisions up north?”

“Just the one over at the meeting hall,” Brodie deadpanned. “We villagers take turns hiding in the box and making the voices.”

“Ooh, maximum interactivity.”

“Aye, it’s a right 3-D entertainment experience.” Brodie angled a sly gaze toward Duncan, who had to steady himself with the other banister. The look on Brodie’s face, smiling with only his eyes, matched the look seared into Duncan’s memory, the look directly before Brodie had kissed him.

At the bottom of the stairs, Brodie suddenly stopped and put a hand to his pallid cheek. “On second thought, a taxi would be—” His balance wavered, and his next step was a stumble.

“I’ve got you, mate.” Duncan slipped a supporting arm around his waist. Brodie flinched as if he wanted to shrink away, but he seemed to lack the strength.

Which was fortunate, because at the moment, Duncan lacked the strength to let go.

“S
ORRY
ABOUT
YOUR
match. That cup thing, I mean.”

Duncan winced at the mention of the Warriors’ crushing quarterfinal defeat, then continued opening the tin of chicken soup.

“Nae bother,” he told Brodie, who was sitting behind him at their flat’s kitchen table, head resting on his crossed arms. “Life goes on.”

“It’s not fair.” Brodie’s voice slurred with exhaustion. “You worked so hard.”

“Who ever said football was fair?”

“Still, it must’ve been difficult to lose your captain.”

Duncan froze at the sound of the final word.
That wasn’t all we lost.
By ditching the Warriors to run off with his lover, Evan Hollister had fulfilled the worst gay stereotype—that of a shallow, fickle man following his prick. He’d made the team a laughingstock. He’d made being gay an embarrassment again. Ultimately, he’d robbed the Warriors of not only a captain and an attacking midfielder, but their pride in themselves.

“Aye, it pure sucked.” Duncan chucked the tin opener back in the drawer with a bang. “But what do you care? You don’t even like football.”

“I’m only expressing sympathy.”

“I don’t need it,” he snapped. Duncan hated hearing the hostility in his own voice. It wasn’t like him to lash out at those who didn’t deserve it, or even those who
did
deserve it. But lately, he couldn’t help it.

Anyway, he was lying. He did need sympathy. After Evan’s departure, Duncan had seriously considered borrowing his parents’ car to drive up to Brodie’s wee village.