Page 132 of Men in Shorts

“So there’ll be a divorce?”

“That’s the plan.” Andrew heard the ice rattling in his cocktail as his hand began to tremble. He raised his voice to cover the sound. “Why, you fancy becoming my new brother-in-law?”

“Your sister could do worse.” Marcus smoothed back his hair in a mock-preen. “Say, isn’t your birthday soon? Don’t tell me you’ve left me off the guest list.”

“Of course you’ll be invited.” Andrew’s head spun at the thought of hosting—or even attending—his annual bash. “I thought this year I might do something a bit more intimate.”

“So only two hundred people, then?” Marcus asked with a chortle. His eyes suddenly popped wide. “Oh my God, is that your new boyfriend?”

Andrew turned, then froze when he saw Colin lifting the front of his shirt, displaying his bare abdomen to Derek Lawson. Illuminated by the nearby bar light, Colin’s scars seemed to flare a deep, oozing red.

No…Andrew couldn’t just stand by and watch. Not this time.

He reached over and yanked down Colin’s top. “What are you doing?”

Colin gaped at him. “I was just?—”

“Flashing yourself at strangers in public? Have you lost your mind?”

“But you told me to?—”

“It’s my fault, Lord Andrew,” Derek said in a light, steady voice. “I asked about his scars. You see, I had my gall bladder removed about twenty years ago. I was curious whether the procedure was as invasive as it used to be.” The producer smiled but gave Andrew a pointed look. “Colin’s been through a lot.”

“What he’s been through is a private matter.” Andrew glared at Colin, who was now staring at the floor. “And he should keep it that way.”

Derek shifted uncomfortably. “Then I suppose you wouldn’t be keen on a reality show featuring the Warriors?”

Andrew nearly dropped his glass. “A what?! Why?”

“Their story is fascinating, between the struggles they face on the pitch and the drama in their private lives.”

A sharp pain shot up the back of Andrew’s neck at the thought of a camera and microphone in his own home.

“It wouldn’t be sensationalistic,” Derek continued. “Its aim would be to promote acceptance and awareness. LGBTQ issues are very big right now, so I think the public would go absolutely bonkers over it.”

Andrew put a hand to his head, blinking away a sudden dizziness. How long had he been hyperventilating?

“Of course I’d have to pitch it to the networks,” Derek said, “and obviously Colin needs to discuss it with the team. Right, Col—wait, where’d he go?”

Andrew turned to see his boyfriend had vanished. He scanned the crowd, hoping Colin was merely retrieving a passed appetizer from one of the servers to feed his footballer’s endless hunger. But he was gone.

The room tilted, and there came the crash of broken glass. Cold liquid splashed Andrew’s shin, so whoever had dropped their drink must be close. He should be careful. If he fell now—which seemed likely, given the state of his head—he might cut himself on the shards.

“Mate, what’s wrong?” asked Marcus. “You look about to pass out.”

“Let’s get him some fresh air,” Derek said. “Come, my friend. We’ll take you outside and you’ll be right as rain.”

Strong hands grasped Andrew’s arms, pulling him toward the door.

“Stop!” He jerked free and covered his face. “I’m fine. Nothing happened—” His words cut off as the pain hit his chest. His next breath seemed full of tiny razor blades.

This is what dying feels like.

Shouts rose around him, calling for a doctor or water—or perhaps a doctor with water. He closed his eyes and saw lights flash through his lids, as if the book launch had transformed into a rave.

“Andrew,” came a soft voice, the only one he needed to hear. “It’s me. It’s Colin. Can I touch you?”

Andrew nodded, reaching out to clutch Colin’s soft silk shirt. He wanted to flee, but his muscles had turned to bone.

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