Page 106 of Men in Shorts

Andrew nodded as he rubbed his damp hands together, still feeling Colin’s blood coating them, still smelling its metallic tang. It had taken forever to wash it away that night, stowed as it was beneath his fingernails and in the grooves of his knuckles, dried to a dull maroon.

Out on the pitch, Colin rose to his feet, finally accepting help from the two physios. His gaze downcast, he offered a faint wave to the cheering Rainbow Regiment on his way to the bench.

Near the touchline, Evan watched Colin’s unsteady progress, then turned and met Andrew’s eyes. He gave a grim nod and an understated thumbs-up before heading out for the kickoff.

“Did Colin take a hit to the head earlier?” John asked Andrew as play resumed.

“No. I’m sure of it. He’s simply not up to match fitness.”

“Didnae stop him scoring, though. Kinda inspiring.”

Andrew felt his chest constrict as he watched Colin dry his pallid face and sip from a green squeeze bottle. “I shouldn’t have let him run yesterday.”

John gaped at him. “Colin went running the day before a match? No wonder he’s shattered. You should tell Fergus.”

“Are you mad? Colin would be livid if I grassed him up like that.”

“It might be better if Fergus and Charlotte knew he collapsed cos he was stupid yesterday, not cos he isnae fit today. They’ll be raging, but at least they’ll not cut his playing time.”

I wish they would cut his time,Andrew thought.I wish they’d cut him altogether.

He rubbed his throbbing temples, desperate to smother these traitorous thoughts. What sort of monster would want to rob his boyfriend of the thing he loved most in the world?

“I know you want to keep him safe all by your wee self,” John said, “but Colin’s got a whole team on his side, plus the physios and the fans. So there’s nae need for a one-man support system.”

Andrew bristled at John’s patronizing talk—and at the weak part of himself that wanted to heed it. “This one-man support system has done a bang-up job, thanks very much.”

John just rolled his eyes. “You’ve been a pure legend, mate, but you’ve got your own life too. Mind, our new teaching period starts Monday. I’ve heard Level 2B is pretty much the ninth circle of hell.”

Andrew groaned inside at the thought of another term of Economic and Social History lectures. University of Glasgow now felt like a foreign land to him. Politics and law—things that used to spark his neurons and quicken his blood—didn’t seem to matter anymore.

Nothing matters.

For a few minutes, staring down at the sodden pitch, Andrew lingered in this place of not caring. It felt like he was nearing a point of no return, like the event horizon of a black hole. It would be so easy to just…drift.

Stop it!Andrew shook his head hard, sending rain cascading off his hood.How dare you want to donothing, you sniveling, pathetic creature, when doing nothing is exactly what got us here?

As the weak, cowering part of him faded into the background, he remembered who he was: Lord Andrew Sunderland, lifelong striver for excellence, a bucker-up of despondent mates. A man of action.

And he’d be damned if he’d ever freeze again.

Andrew bolted for the aisle, pushing past John.

“Drew, wait!” his friend shouted, but Andrew was already hurrying down the stand, his wellies skidding on the slick wood. As he stepped onto solid ground, the final whistle blew.

Colin strode onto the pitch to join the post-match handshakes with the East Fife players. Andrew called his name as he ran to catch up with him.

Colin turned with a wide smile and opened his arms. “Oi! Did you see my goal?”

“Of course I saw it, you silly beast.” Andrew hugged him tight, clutching the back of Colin’s warm, dry jacket. “I’ll never forget it as long as I live.”

“Couldn’t have done it without you.” With some effort, Colin extricated himself from Andrew’s embrace to take his hands. “Hearing you up there chanting my name—it was pure adrenaline. Felt like I’d drunk a six-pack of Irn-Bru.” He gave Andrew’s knuckles a quick kiss. “See you at home? I gotta go and be a good sport now.”

“Wait.” Andrew seized Colin’s wrist. “Ride back with me in the Regiment bus.”

Colin’s face twisted with concern. “Are you all right? Are you ill?”

“Of course I’m all right,” Andrew said as he wiped a leftover streak of mud from Colin’s forehead. “I’m not the one who collapsed on the pitch.”

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