Page 124 of Men in Shorts

His phone vibrated inside his jacket pocket. He yanked it out, hoping to see a text from Colin, needing Andrew to fetch something from the shops. Or just needing him.

But the name above the message wasH, the contact labeled with a simple initial in case Colin ever looked at Andrew’s phone.

H

You told me to leave you alone, but here I am anyway. How are you getting on after last week’s sentencing? Let me know if you need to talk.

He lifted his phone, ready to smash it against the wall. The nerve of Evan Hollister, assuming Andrew couldn’t cope. As for thisneed to talkrubbish, Andrew had already shared his secrets with the only person who deserved to hear them, the only person who understood him.

Besides, justice had been done.Thatwas all he needed. That and Colin. Always Colin.

Andrew shoved his phone back in his pocket, picked up his bag, and stalked toward the building’s exit. Soon he’d be safe in the refuge of his home and the arms of the man who loved him.

But first he had a change to make.

* * *

Every cellin Colin’s body screamed for oxygen his lungs couldn’t deliver. His chest ached from the press of the treadmill bar and the effort to pull in air. He’d lost feeling in his legs, and the only proof that they still existed was the pounding of his feet on the unforgiving surface.

“Come on, Colin!” Evan shouted from the floor beside him. “Five more seconds. You’re killing it.”

Get to fuck, Colin thought in his former captain’s direction.It’s killingmeand you know it.The groan of the treadmill belt rotating beneath him seemed to echo his sentiments.

“Aaaaand rest.” Evan switched the machine back on, setting it at a slow pace.

Colin began to walk, one hand on the bar in front of him and the other toweling streams of sweat from his nose and chin. To his right, his fellow forward Duncan was continuing his own sprint, showing no ill effects from the leg cramps he’d suffered during their last match.

“Have I told you lately,” Duncan said to Evan between gasps, “that I hate you?”

“Yup.” Evan turned to Colin. “Let’s see your heart rate.”

Colin checked the monitor on his wrist and tried not to blanch. Two hundred beats per minute, his maximum safe rate. “It’s fine.”

“Prove it,” Evan said. “Hands on the bar.”

With a sigh, Colin grasped the silver portion of the treadmill bar in front of him. In a few seconds the machine displayed his heart rate—now down to 195 bpm—in big red numbers.

Evan’s brows rose in alarm. “I want you down to one thirty before the next sprint.”

“Aye.” With a trembling arm Colin lifted his water bottle to his lips, hoping he wouldn’t choke.

Running with the treadmill turned off—a “deadmill” sprint—was the most sadistic exercise Evan had ever inflicted upon them. But Colin would do anything to get back into the starting eleven. The previous Saturday’s league match had been postponed due to weather, making him more eager than ever for the next one. The Warriors’ weekly indoor practice sessions were sharpening his ball-handling skills and his tactical mind, but there was no substitute for a real match.

He walked on, taking a mental inventory of his body for any strange aches or twinges. Everything seemed pure solid, and within a few minutes his heart rate had slowed to 125 bpm.

Evan nodded at the number on the display, then switched off the treadmill. “Okay, run.”

Colin leaned forward against the bar for leverage, fixed his gaze on a black smudge on the wall before him, and ordered his legs to move. His feet dug into the belt, forcing the stubborn rubber bastard to slide against its will. As it relented, picking up speed, he let out a howl of defiant triumph.

Then Colin’s mind abandoned his body, traveling across the city to the Warriors’ home park. He imagined blistering dashes down the side of the pitch, beating fullbacks in footraces and sending blinding crosses in front of the goal for Duncan or Shona to score. He imagined darting inside, fighting off huge center-backs to keep the ball, then pivoting to make a deadly strike. Every step he took today—every lung-ripping, muscle-melting step—brought him closer to that destiny.

“Done!” Evan punched the buttons to return Colin’s treadmill to a walking pace. “Good work. Five-minute cool down, and that’s your day.”

After he finished, Colin stumbled off the machine, wishing he could sprawl on the floor. But it was mid-January, which meant the gym was jammed out with New Year’s Resolutionistas. So instead he headed to the changing room, his wobbly legs feeling like they were attached to someone else’s body.

He was still slouched in front of his locker, waiting for his energy drink to kick in, when Duncan entered several minutes later, draining the last of his water bottle.

“You look as dead as I feel,” Duncan said as he opened his locker.

---