Play On: A Glasgow Lads Novella (12 page)

“Aye, I saw youse kissing,” he added. “Everyone saw. Fuckin’ disgusting, so it is.”

Duncan’s hands clenched, but before he could smash McCurdy’s face, he saw Shona intercept the ball.

Showtime.

“There ought to be a law against—”

McCurdy’s voice faded as Duncan pivoted, sprang into a full sprint, and left him in the dust. Shona sent a beautiful pass straight to Duncan’s strong foot, then shot ahead in an overlapping run to receive Duncan’s pass near the edge of the Shettleston penalty area. The rest of the Warriors midfielders joined them, and with Colin on the far side, the six of them spread the Star defense with a series of rapid, precise passes.

When Colin sailed in a high, clear cross, Duncan surged forward, muscling aside both center-backs—including McCurdy—and headed the shot past the near post. His foot slipped on the wet grass, but before he hit the ground, he saw the ball bounce off the back of the net.

Roaring in triumph, Duncan rolled to his knees and raised his arms. Before he could take another breath, Colin was upon him.

“YAAAAAAAASSSS!” Colin dragged Duncan to his feet. “Our first goal in three weeks. Ya beauty!”

Shona crashed into them, shouting Duncan’s name. The other Warriors joined the jostling group hug. When they finally dispersed, he stumbled away in a daze, only to see Fergus standing to the side, hands on his hips, looking tired and alone. He met Duncan’s eyes, then offered a faint grimace and a brief thumbs-up. Duncan looked away without acknowledging the feeble gesture.

Trotting back to the center of the pitch for the kickoff, Duncan saw Brodie leaping up and down with Lorna and Paul. Behind them, rainbow flags waved, providing the perfect background of joy and pride. Duncan waved at them, then on impulse, blew Brodie a kiss. The Rainbow Regiment cheered louder.

As well they should, he thought. Warriors had their mojo back.

= = =

“This is dead brilliant!” Brodie sat beside Lorna again after they’d hugged and high-fived the entire Rainbow Regiment. “Why’d you never tell me how amazing this feels?”

“You’d never have believed us,” she said. “Also, it’s not usually this good. Football tends to be long stretches of misery dotted with moments of ecstasy.”

“Kinda like life,” Paul added.

Brodie laughed, his cheeks sore from smiling. From where he’d stood, it seemed Duncan had been in complete control as that scoring play evolved, like he’d anticipated every pass and every run. He’d slithered between those huge defenders—who must have each had five inches and fifty pounds on him—and left them looking small and powerless.

After all these years of hating football, Brodie finally
got it
.

He watched as Duncan streaked down the pitch to receive another long pass. “He’s so quick, it’s blinding.”

“Aye, he’s got great pace,” Paul said. “Fantastic ball-handling skills too.”

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 tied. 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.

“L
ISTEN
.” I
N
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.

“You like it rough, ya wee perv?” he growled as he squeezed. “You won’t like it when I put you on your knees and—OOFT!”

His hand slipped off Duncan’s neck as he tumbled to the grass beneath someone in a pale blue shirt. Duncan coughed and sputtered, his throat burning. With watering eyes he saw his savior stand up and loom over McCurdy.

“If you ever touch one of my players again,” he said in a steely voice unsoftened by his cultured Highland lilt, “I will cut off your balls and wear them for earrings. Do you understand?”

Duncan wiped his disbelieving eyes.
Fergus,
of all people, had come to his rescue.

= = =

Brodie leaped to his feet with the rest of the crowd, then rushed to press himself against the rope fence. It took every ounce of self-control not to duck under it, run onto the pitch, and hurl himself in front of the Shettleston players swarming toward Duncan.

Both teams were converging, turning the row into an all-out brawl. Brodie could barely hear the referee’s whistle over the shouts of the crowd behind him.

“This is immense!” Paul kicked the fence post in glee as Lorna raised her phone to take video. “First Duncan scores a header, now we’ve got a right punch-up. Brodie, you picked a belter of a first match.”

Brodie watched Duncan take a few halting steps away from the melee, rubbing his neck with both hands.

“I hope he broke your throat,” shouted a man to their left, in the home fans’ section. “Fuckin’ faggot!”

The word was a punch in the gut. As the Rainbow Regiment hurled back their own indignant insults, Brodie began to sweat, despite the rapidly chilling air. He shut his eyes and tried to slow his breath, but it only accentuated the thumping of his heart. Beneath the rising shouts and the whistle of a passing train, he heard the laughter of gulls and the roar of the relentless, pitiless sea.

He would never not be hunted. They would always find him, always punish him. Such was the way of the world.

Lorna patted his back. “Aww, Brodie, sorry this got so mental. Look, it’s over now. The refs have already broken it up.”

Brodie opened his eyes to see the players dispersing. One of the officials held up a square red card toward Duncan, then his attacker, then Fergus.

“Why is Duncan being sent off?” Paul asked. “He’s the one got throttled.”

“Because he started it.” Brodie’s voice shook. “He swung at number five, then shoved him.”

“Never known him to lose the rag like that. He’s usually so calm.” Lorna stopped recording and lowered her phone. “That defender must have said something awful.”

Something about me,
Brodie thought, remembering the malicious grin the man had aimed at him.

Despite the presence of his mates and the Rainbow Regiment, Brodie had never felt so vulnerable. Here were more than a few school bullies who
suspected
he was gay. Here was an entire crowd who
knew
it. The thrill of pride he’d felt at Duncan’s pre-match kiss had morphed into the chill of fear.

Brodie searched for Duncan amongst the Warriors. The whistle had just blown to end the first half, so both teams were headed toward their respective benches. Duncan and Fergus approached their manager with their heads hung. Barely five and a half feet tall, she looked as intimidating as a giant as she stood, fists on her hips, trembling with fury. She signaled for the two players to stand aside away from the others.

“A red card means you’ve got to leave the field of play for the rest of the match,” Lorna told Brodie. “That includes the bench.”

“Technically they should go home now,” Paul added, “but apparently Charlotte thinks they need screamed at first.”

“Harris, you all right?” Lorna called out, hands cupped around her mouth. Duncan gave them a grim thumbs-up before turning to talk to Fergus. “See, Brodie, he’s fine,” she said. “And even though it’s nine against ten, we could still win.”

Paul snorted. “Are you daft, doll? We’ve lost a striker and our attacking midfielder.”

“So Charlotte will adjust the formation. She can sub out one of the defenders for a winger.”

Another Warrior, a lad with black spiky hair and tattooed arms, sneaked away from the manager’s meeting at the bench. He sidled up to Duncan, whispered something behind his hand, then darted back to his teammates.

To Brodie’s disbelief, Duncan started laughing. Five minutes after he’d tried to punch a fellow player, after he’d been throttled, then expelled from the game, he was
smiling
. Like the whole incident was but a lark.

Duncan had laughed at
him
last night at dinner. He’d made Brodie feel a fool, sitting in that restaurant, surrounded by hipsters who’d no idea the rest of the world didn’t share their enlightened views. He’d said words that cut, referring to LGBT activists’ “whingeing” and Brodie’s wallowing in the tragedy of homophobia, a tragedy Duncan claimed was over.

But clearly it was far from over, given that the home fans—including some children—were now chanting, “Do you take it up the arse?”

It didn’t matter that the Regiment were chanting back, “Don’t knock it till you try it!” People like them couldn’t be everywhere. They couldn’t change the world.

We’ll always be outnumbered.

Paul, Lorna, and the two rainbow-kilted fans continued to argue tactics, bandying about terms like
high line
and
sweeper-keeper
. To Brodie, they might as well have been speaking a foreign language, one he no longer cared to understand.

The sky opened up then, fulfilling its hours-long promise of rain. The spectators at the fence, including Lorna and Paul, returned to their seats, where umbrellas and jackets waited to shield them from the storm.

But Brodie didn’t join them. Instead he pulled up his hood, feeling colder and more alone than ever, and turned for the exit.

= = =

Duncan regretted nothing. Defending Brodie had made him feel more a man than anything he’d ever done. The only thing he rued was missing the satisfaction of McCurdy’s nose giving way beneath his fist.

But he had to apologize for his behavior if he wanted to remain a Warrior. Any moment now, his manager would finish her half-time conference with his teammates, then come over and give him hell for starting that brawl.

“What did Colin say that was so funny?” Fergus asked him as they stood waiting by the corner flag, heads bent against the downpour.