Page 126 of Men in Shorts

“I am, I swear!” Colin did a wee dance on the pavement to prove it. “Tell her I’m ready.”

“I told her you were ready to play a full half before East Fife, and look what happened.”

Colin clenched his fist on his kit bag strap. “You saw how I took on those defenders.”

“It’s not just about how fast you run. It’s about how fast you recoverafterthat run. These deadmill sprints will help.” Evan’s phone rang. “Sorry.” He pulled it out, keeping the screen close to his chest. After a quick glance at Colin, he answered the call.

Colin wondered if he should divert his route to give his teammate a bit of privacy, but any detour would sap the stamina he needed to climb the stairs in Andrew’s building. Besides, he loved the evening hubbub of these Merchant City streets.

“What’s wrong?” Evan said into the phone. “Wait, slow down. I can’t—” He stopped suddenly. “You just quit—are you joking?”

Colin paused as well, worried Evan might be talking to one of their teammates.

“When did this happen?” Evan let out a sigh. “So I’m the first to know.”

Colin rubbed away the prickling sensation at the back of his neck. Warriors couldn’t afford to lose a single player. Sooner or later they’d need to make up all those weather-postponed league matches by playing at least twice a week. Without a deep squad to rotate, they were more likely to lose someone to injury.

“Why don’t we meet up at lunchtime tomorrow?” Evan told his caller as they dodged a delivery van turning into a narrow brick-pavement lane. “Good. I’ll text you with a place and time.” He lowered his voice. “I’m glad you phoned. I hope I can help.” Then he chuckled. “Don’t worry. I can keep a secret.”

“That sounded grim,” Colin said when Evan hung up.

“Just a mate in a bit of a crisis. So let’s review your training plan for the week. What are you doing tomorrow?”

“I’m doing fuck all. Complete rest.”

The midfielder made ading-dingnoise. “Got it in one. Then what?”

“Wednesday more deadmill sprints with the Marquis de Sade, aka you.” He stopped. “Wait, no, I’m away to London with Andrew in the afternoon.”

“Then we’ll do deadmills at six a.m. before I go to work.” Evan cut off Colin’s groan of protest. “What’s in London?”

“Book launch party for one of his foodie mates. The lass fromFelicity in the Raw?”

“Ah yeah, I’ve seen her show. Sounds fun.” Evan’s pace slowed slightly. “Will it be very crowded?”

“Dunno. What difference does it make?”

Evan shook his head. “Just make it an early night, okay?”

“Gladly.” This party would be Colin’s introduction to “society,” his first time amongst the posh set. He’d tried to talk Andrew out of going, worried it would be too much in his current state of anxiety. But Andrew had an obligation to his friend, and Colin sure as fuck wasn’t letting him go alone.

Shifting his kit bag, he tried to roll the tension from his shoulders as they reached Ingram Street.

“That’s me this way.” Evan tilted his head to the left.

Colin looked past him, toward the junction for Frederick Street, the literal scene of the crime.

Evan followed his gaze, then looked back at him. “Sorry. It can’t be easy seeing that place.”

“I cannae avoid it, unless I never go to George Square again. If I could travel back in time and do it over, I’d get myself stabbed in a more obscure part of the city.”

Evan laughed. “Spoken like a true Glaswegian.”

They said goodbye, and Colin turned right to continue toward Andrew’s flat, thinking again of Wednesday night’s book launch. Perhaps it would be just what Andrew needed. Perhaps hobnobbing with his glitterati pals would remind him who he was.

And perhaps, Colin realized, that was the real reason he was dreading it: because it might also remind Andrew who Colin was—and who he wasn’t.

Chapter11

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