Page 100 of Men in Shorts

“In four days, I’ll be getting my life back. This incident will finally be behind me. But all you can think about is how this affects the election.”

A wave of hot shame washed over Colin—an all-too-familiar sensation, yet one he’d never felt in the presence of this man.I’m sorry. Whatever I did, whatever I said, I’ll?—

“Don’t pretend you’re not disappointed,” Andrew snapped. “You hoped Jeremy’s trial would become a three-ring circus for the Tories so the UK would fall back into the hands of the Labour Party.”

“Hang on.” Colin’s anger rose at this ridiculous accusation. “I’ll not deny I want Tories out of power—even if Labour are merely the lesser of two evils—but I was dreading that trial as much as you were.”

“I doubt that.”

“If I’m disappointed it’s only because Jeremy’s sentence could be cut to nearly nil. Think about it.” He counted off on his fingers. “It’s his first offense. He’s married to an aristocrat. He was never the one holding the weapon. There’s still nae proof of intent to harm you, just a reckless disregard for your safety. If he makes a statement saying how fucking sorry he is—which maybe is the truth—then the judge might be lenient.” He stopped when he saw Andrew staring at him in horror.

“She wouldn’t—” Andrew swallowed hard. “That’s not fair.”

“Of course it’s not fair.” Colin struggled to keep from yelling. How could Andrew be so clueless not to know how justice worked in this country? “Last month a lass from my tower block got the jail for shoplifting baby formula to feed her son. She got nae leniency. People like Jeremy never wonder what they’re gonnae eat the next day. They never worry about being chucked into the street.” He felt his blood pressure rise as he ranted. “Is it so wrong to hope that just once, those people get something taken from them? That for once they reap what they fucking sow?”

Andrew gave a haughty sniff. “‘Those people’? People like me?”

“Not you. Jeremy.” Colin rapped the side of his fist on the table. “I want him to pay for what he did to me. For what he was willing to do to you.”

Andrew shuddered. “So do I.”

“Then let’s give the judge everything she needs to know. I’ll help with your statement if you want.”

“Yes, yes, Sunday. Right now I must sleep off this champagne.” He set the empty glass on the edge of the worktop. As he moved away, it wobbled, then tipped over.

“Andrew!”

The glass hit the floor with a snap. Andrew twisted in the air to face the noise.

Colin jumped up. “Are you all right? Did you get cut?”

“Nothing happened to me. I’m just a clumsy oaf.” His hands swept over his face. “A clumsy drunk oaf.”

“Stand back. You’re barefoot.” Colin went to the cupboard under the sink to fetch the wee dustpan and brush. “Away to bed. I’ll get this.”

Andrew backed up toward the reception room door. “I’m sorry, Colin.”

“Nae bother.” He crouched down to sweep the shards of glass into the pan. “Christ, there’s a million pieces.”

“I know,” Andrew said softly behind him. “I know there are.”

Colin paused in his sweeping. Andrew’s voice sounded foreign, as though a smaller version of him had wandered in and taken his place.

He stood quickly and turned. “Andrew, are you?—”

But he was already gone.

Chapter4

Andrew knewhe should thrill at the sight of Colin jogging down the touchline, warming up for his big second-half entrance. Today’s fifth-round Scottish Amateur Cup battle at East Fife United would be not only Colin’s first appearance since September, but also Andrew’s first time seeing him in action. Yet all he wanted was to bundle them both into the nearest car and drive full speed across the country, back to Glasgow and their warm, safe home.

Another sleepless night, combined with a vicious hangover from yesterday’s champagne binge, had left Andrew feeling simultaneously raw and numb. It didn’t help that the entire North Sea was dumping itself upon them this afternoon. At least the weather gave him an excuse for looking as miserable as he felt.

At the center of the pitch, Evan performed a devious dribble to escape an oncoming defender. Andrew reached into the pocket of his rain jacket to grasp the note the midfielder had left in his sugar bowl ten days ago. Running his finger along the note’s worn creases, he pictured Evan’s neat, penciled words.

I think I know what you’re going through.

Rubbish. Even if Evan had suffered a similar trauma—which was unlikely—he’d probably not been the cause of it. He may have torn the Warriors apart with his abrupt departure last spring, but he’d probably never fractured his own family with his arrogant words and acts, as Andrew had done. And though Evan had crushed Fergus’s heart, at least he’d never got him stabbed in the gut.

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