Page 101 of Men in Shorts

“Looks like our Colin’ll be subbed in today,” said John, sitting with Andrew beneath their shared golf umbrella. “You must be pure chuffed to finally see him play.”

“If by ‘chuffed’ you mean ‘worried he’ll end up with a compound fracture of the spine,’ then yes. Thoroughly chuffed.”

John chuckled, well accustomed to Andrew’s melodramatic talk. In the six months of their friendship, they’d seen each other through crisis after crisis—including last-minute changes to John and Fergus’s wedding, in which Andrew had had the honor of being John’s best man.

“Colin’ll be fine,” John said. “Charlotte would never put him in if she didnae think him fit.”

“It’s not his fitness that concerns me. I worry he’ll get injured.”

“I get it.” John rubbed the side of his neck, which was still sunburned from his honeymoon in Spain. “Sometimes when Fergus goes in for a hard tackle, I feel like my own knees might shatter from the impact.”

“Is it worse now that you’re married? This is your first time seeing him play since the wedding.”

“Aye, it’s harder now. I’d not expected that.” John twisted Fergus’s dark titanium wedding ring, which he was wearing beside his own yellow-gold ring during the match, as jewelry was forbidden on the pitch for safety reasons. “But it’s still easier than it was at the start. I’ll never not worry, but knowing how happy it makes Fergus, seeing the look on his face after he’s played hard, I know it’s worth it to him. Which makes it worth it to m—oh, ya dancer!” John pumped his fist. “Did you see that hit?” he shouted over the whoops of the Rainbow Regiment, the Warriors’ rabid fan club.

Andrew returned his attention to the pitch, hoping for a distraction from his thumping headache. The Warriors defense seemed to be holding firm. He marveled at Fergus’s ability to read his opponents’ attacks seemingly before they knew it themselves. Warriors center-backs—best-mates-turned-lovers Robert and Liam—had returned to form, setting up their usual two-man wall. As a result, East Fife had managed only one shot on goal, a long-range strike easily snatched by goalkeeper Heather.

On the attacking end, however, the Warriors had been ambushed by atrocious luck. Strikes by Evan and Duncan had hit the crossbar, and Shona’s peach of a goal had been disallowed. Andrew had no idea how the linesman could have seen through the heavy rain that Shona was offside. Perhaps it was her bright pink hair.

A sudden gust yanked at Andrew’s umbrella, nearly tearing it out of his grasp. “Bloody fucking wind,” he muttered, as if condemning the weather ever improved it.

“It’s blowing against the Warriors,” John said as he helped secure the umbrella. “They should’ve scored in the first half when they were playing with the wind. Now they’ll need a miracle.”

“Or a gift mistake from East Fife.” Andrew could tell the home side were getting nervy, committing one sloppy, desperate foul after another. Surely the stalemate would break soon.

He felt as agitated as the players, if not more. With few seats available, the away fans were practically sitting atop one another—good for keeping warm(ish) but bad for Andrew’s nerves. More than once he’d jerked his left arm into his chest, convinced someone was grabbing it. Was he going mad?

What he needed most was a drink. Unfortunately, alcohol consumption had been banned at Scottish football matches long before he was born. But there were ways around every rule.

He reached into his pocket and opened the zipped plastic bag of Colin’s gummy vitamins within. Andrew had once been annoyed that his boyfriend wouldn’t take supplements in tablet form, saying“they gie’s the dry boak,”but now he was glad for it, as one vodka-infused gummy was just enough to take the edge off.

Closing his eyes, he savored the cherry-flavored burst of booze, feeling his forehead turn smooth and warm.Aye, that’s the stuff, as Colin would say.

A cry of rage arose around him. Andrew opened his eyes to find the Rainbow Regiment on their feet. He quickly stood, shuddering at the oppressive wall of bodies.

Out on the pitch, a player in a pale-blue Warriors shirt was down. “What happened?” Andrew asked John.

“Duncan got fouled, but it didnae look hard enough to injure him.” John pointed to the spot where Duncan lay in the waterlogged grass ten yards outside the East Fife penalty area. Evan bent over to speak to the fallen forward, then picked up Duncan’s right foot and carefully flexed it to stretch his calf.

Andrew let out a sigh of relief. “Seems just a cramp.”

“It’s pure Baltic today,” John said as the fans sat down again, the edges of their umbrellas bumping one another. “A wonder they’re not all in knots.”

Duncan got to his feet and began a slow, circular walk with Fergus at his side. Then he stopped and shook his head. Fergus signaled to their manager, Charlotte, for a substitute.

Andrew checked the game clock to discover nearly half an hour remaining. “It’s too soon to bring in Colin,” he told John. “He was only meant to have a few minutes at the end.”

“Aye, but needs must. Here he comes.”

Colin was tearing off his yellow warmup pinny as Charlotte gave him instructions, his face pure ferocious focus.

Andrew felt a surprising tingle of anticipation spread outward from the small of his back. At last he would see his favorite person play his favorite game. The body he’d nursed back to wholeness, the body that lay beside him at night, the body that held him with such passion—soon it would be muscling past weary defenders on the way to glory. Colin’s skin would soon be coated in mud and sweat, would soon glow with exertion and exhilaration.

Andrew put a pair of freezing fingertips to his mouth and whistled, then shouted Colin’s name at the top of his voice. Colin didn’t look up, as he was still intent on his manager’s words. But when she finished, he nodded, then turned and gave Andrew a grin that scorched away the wind and rain.

The Rainbow Regiment erupted in cheers, none louder than Andrew’s own. Watching Colin bounce in place on the touchline, he felt it all melt away—the crippling anxiety, the smothering numbness, even the bone-soaking, soul-chilling weather.

Well, hello there, will to live. I’ve missed you so.

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