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dart away, his eyes turning down at the corners in what looked like sadness.
    It ripped Fergus apart knowing he’d put that sadness there. John was right—Fergus didn’t trust men, which meant he couldn’t trust John. Not yet, at least. One day, Fergus knew, he’d find the courage to risk everything in the name of faith.
    The question was, would John find the patience to wait for that day?
    = = =
    “Need a new Rangers shirt?”
    John felt an elbow nudge his side. He looked up where Robert was pointing, to the children’s football jerseys arranged in a row above the nearest stall.
    “Looks like they only come in Small these days,” Robert added.
    “Very funny.” John was trying to be a good sport about his beloved team’s recent poor form. “One day, mate, the wheel of fortune will turn again, and it’ll be Celtic disgraced.” He picked up a pair of Rangers and Celtic troll dolls. “And on that day I shall simply smile quietly to myself, whilst you and Liam and Fergus wallow in gloom without benefit of my commentary.”
    Robert laughed, then took a selfie of the two of them pretending to bite off their rival troll’s head. Then they wandered on, finishing their last pair of doughnuts and discussing their fantasy Premier League teams, debating which overpriced striker to transfer out and which surprise young star to bring into their squads.
    Football was usually John’s favorite conversation topic, but today it gave him a bitter taste, bringing up memories of yesterday’s Warriors match. Seeing Fergus and Evan on the pitch together—helping each other off the ground, exchanging back-pats and high-fives—had nearly driven John round the bend. He’d thought he’d grown accustomed to Evan and Fergus’s continued association, but ever since the condom argument, John wanted to strangle his boyfriend’s ex more than ever.
    Yet every time he tried to shift blame onto Evan, John remembered how he himself had hurt Fergus in the past. John’s secrets and lies were long over, but surely the pain they’d caused still lingered in Fergus’s heart. John couldn’t expect to be trusted until he’d truly earned it.
    “Och!” Robert stopped in his tracks beside a toy seller’s stall. “I used to collect these,” he said as he hurried over to a tub of rubber duckies. Ignoring the ones with cute designs like pirates and devils and snowboarders, he picked up a plain yellow duck sitting beside the tub, then turned it over to show John a pair of metal nubs on the bottom. “Watch, it’s got an LED inside.”
    He placed the duck in the water, where it began to flash, first red, then blue, then going full rave, strobing through every color of the rainbow. “So cool,” Robert whispered.
    John dared not laugh at the sight of this six-foot-three, fourteen-stone footballer enthralled by a rubber ducky. “Buy it.”
    “What, for myself?”
    “Why not?” John turned to the elderly toy peddler, sitting in the corner of the stall, her lap overflowing with tangled pink yarn. “How much for the flashy ducks?”
    She appeared to consider the matter. “Two quid.”
    “Are you mad?” Robert asked her. “They’re barely worth a pound.”
    The peddler shrugged. “Cost three-fifty in the shops,” she said, returning to her knitting.
    In case Robert was planning to haggle, John stayed put and pretended to browse the jigsaw puzzles. The top puzzle featured a photo of the rolling hills of Perthshire, Fergus’s home.
    John ached at the memory of their first trip there this summer, how they’d made love in what seemed a magical glade. The thought of anything coming between them cut him to the core. He needed advice. Robert wasn’t gay, but he’d had more relationships than John, which was to say he’d had more than one.
    “How long were you and Danielle together?” John asked him.
    Robert froze, looking caught out, perhaps because he’d been admiring the tobacco products arrayed on a canvas sheet at the next stall.