Page 93 of Men in Shorts

Colin nodded, knowing he should sayYou’re a good man too.He’d once thought so, before Evan had shocked the team and broken Fergus’s heart by running off to Belgium with a secret lover.

Instead Colin steered the conversation back to the safe path of football. He and Evan compared predictions for tomorrow’s New Year’s Day matches in the Scottish Premier League, then discussed Colin’s own return to the pitch with their all-LGBTQ football team. Evan seemed reluctant to pressure him into coming back, but he couldn’t hide how much the Warriors had missed Colin’s offensive creativity.

“Without you, we’re too predictable,” Evan concluded as they climbed the stairs together after finishing their tea. “Defenders have worked out how to shut us down, and Duncan’s fantastic pace does us no good if we never get the ball to him.”

“I cannae wait to get back out there.” Colin turned at the top of the stairs toward their rooms, lowering his voice so as not to wake anyone. “It’s all I can think about.”

“Right. But I need you to promise me something.” Evan paused beside Colin and Andrew’s door. “That you’ll be honest about whether you’re ready to return.”

Scowling, Colin rubbed his abdomen where his scars lay. He was dead sick of being treated like a precious artifact that might crumble any moment. Of course he was ready. He had to be. The Warriors needed him.

“Promise me,” Evan said again. “And you’d better mean it.”

Taking a deep breath, Colin searched for a diplomatic way to sayFuck off.

But just as Colin opened his mouth to reply, Andrew screamed.

Chapter2

Andrew tried to form words,but his dream-dazed tongue could only curl around another strangled moan. If he could speak, perhaps he could negotiate his own release or at least beg for mercy.

Now it was too late. Hands held him down while the knife found his neck, its blade cold at first, then warm with the flood of blood. Andrew tried to scream again, but the coppery fluid blocked his windpipe and filled his mouth.

Even now they were shaking him, those hands. They couldn’t let him bleed to death in peace; they had to rattle the blood from his veins.

“Andrew!”

Colin was shouting his name, but Andrew couldn’t help him. Not this time. Not ever.

“I’m sorry,” he mouthed as the hands shook him harder. “I can’t do this.”

“Let me try,” said another man’s voice, calmer than Colin’s.

As he was released, Andrew went limp, sinking back into the soft, yielding darkness. “Thank you,” he murmured.

There came a new hand on his arm, but this one didn’t grasp. Instead it merely rested, a ghost of a touch. “Andrew, wake up.”

He pulled in a breath so harsh it scraped his throat. His eyes opened to a familiar gabled ceiling bathed in soft, warm lamplight.

Colin spoke Andrew’s name again as he leaned into view, his tousled hair forming a black corona around his head. “What happened? What’s wrong?”

“Seems he had a nightmare,” said the other man.

Andrew turned his head, wondering if he was still dreaming. Why was Fergus’s ex-boyfriend in their bedroom?

It didn’t matter. Only keeping up appearances mattered. “Yes. Just a silly nightmare.” Andrew wiped the cold sweat from his forehead as he sat up. “Did I wake everyone?”

“I don’t think so,” Evan said. “We were outside your room when we heard you.”

“You never screamed like that before.” Colin loomed over him. “What were you dreaming about? Was it the stabbing again?” He took Andrew’s hand. “It’s okay. I’m here. I’m fine, remember?”

Andrew nodded, though his death dreams had never been about Colin.

Evan moved toward the door. “You need anything? Some tea?”

“That would be lovely.” Andrew rubbed his face, trying to think. “Colin, love, give him a bag of that medicinal calming stuff. It’s in that little box on the desk in the other room.”

“I’ll find it.” Evan went through the door of the suite, then returned in a moment holding up the lavender teabag wrapper. “Be right back.”

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