Page 107 of Men in Shorts

“Och, I knew you’d freak out about that. I was just dehydrated, okay? Ask Fergus if you don’t believe me. Then ask the physios if you don’t believe Fergus.”

“But what caused that dehydration? The fact you’d no business playing so many minutes today. Clearly I’m the only one thinking of your best interests.” He tugged on Colin’s arm. “Come with me.”

“Are you off your nut?” Colin twisted free of Andrew’s grip. “How would that look, me going off crying to Mummy cos I took a wee tumble?”

“It was more than a ‘wee tumble.’ And I’m not your mother—I look after you far better than she ever did.”

Colin stared at him, his upper lip forming a slow curl. “That’s cruel, even if it is true.”

Andrew’s stomach felt like it would crawl up his throat.I’m sorry. Please come with me. I need you.

“I’m staying with my team today. End of.” Colin started to move away.

Andrew’s panic spiked. “Why must you stay with the team at all?”

Colin stopped, and the look in his eyes chilled Andrew’s blood. “You want me to quit football?”

“Not necessarily. You could return to your old team in the gay league, where the matches would be easier. I’m sure they’d be thrilled to?—”

“No!” Colin advanced on him until they were nose to nose. “If you think I’d be happy playing for anyone but Warriors, then you don’t know me at all.”

Andrew felt himself wilt under Colin’s gaze, like an orchid in hot sunlight. “I-I just want?—”

“Don’t. Don’t make it worse.” Colin stepped back, shaking his head. “I’ll see you at home.”

As Colin stalked away, Andrew’s gut contorted into a double knot. He’d gone too far, suggesting Colin leave his beloved team. He had to make it up to him, had to make him understand. Now.

But just as he took a step to follow, someone caught his elbow. He froze, then winced as that odd phantom pang struck his side again, right in the place Reggie had held the knife.

It was only John. “Good news, Drew. Fergus said Colin was only dehydrated, according to the physios. He passed their concussion tests and all.”

Andrew gave him a distracted nod, watching Colin exchange back-slaps and handshakes with his opponents.

John stepped into his view. “Wee bit of advice? Your man’s probably embarrassed after passing out, maybe worried he looks weak.” He laid a warm, firm hand on Andrew’s arm. “If you can, find a way to make him feel strong.”

Chapter6

Thankyou for taking the time to read my revised victim statement. Since the date of my original statement (25 September), the crime has affected my life in several additional ways.

Sipping his third coffee of the morning, Colin frowned at the words he’d just scrawled on the form in front of him. They sounded stilted, like a primary school pupil’s first essay, nothing like the profanity-laced rant he’d started drafting two days ago. But he knew the judge would, well,judgehim by his language, and that Jeremy’s statement would be eloquent and refined. Colin had to convey what those bastards had stolen from him without sounding a pure nutter.

He continued copying text from his open laptop on the dining table beside him.After the initial laparotomy, I had two abdominal laparoscopic surgeries. Each operation had a longer recovery than its predecessor. My spleen and gallbladder are gone. Without a spleen I am vulnerable to infection for the remainder of my life.

Colin winced as he stretched his fingers, which were cramping fiercely. It was ridiculous that victims had to fill in these forms by hand instead of electronically. But perhaps this method was meant to stop them banging on endlessly about their crime-induced woes.

As mentioned in my original statement, I missed an entire trimester at Glasgow Caledonian University. What I failed to mention in September was that I used to be a starting forward for a prominent amateur football club, the Woodstoun Warriors. Not until December did I resume cardio fitness training, and not until yesterday (10 January) did I play in a match again. My lack of stamina resulted in an early departure (I fainted), leaving my team vulnerable.

Colin paused again, thinking of Andrew’s suggestion that he go back to his old team in the gay league. He’d rejected it yesterday, but lying awake last night—alone, after Andrew had passed out on the couch in another alcohol-fueled stupor—he’d found himself lost in nostalgia.

Those days with Glasgow Greens FC had been pure fun. Opponents and their fans never called the Greens names or looked at them with disgust for who they were and who they loved. If he returned, Colin would never have to fight for his place in the starting eleven—in fact, he’d probably once again lead the league in goals scored and assisted. He’d be safe there.

His laptop’s swirling-light screensaver came on, indicating he’d been lost in thought for at least five minutes. Returning to the victim statement form, he scribbled over the wordsI fainteduntil they were illegible.

Lest you think it’s but a game, I must state that football brings great meaning to my life. Nothing makes me feel more strong and competent. So my loss of fitness has had profound negative emotional and psychological consequences.

Colin’s hand was cramping again, but he kept writing, no longer copying from the screen.

It’s like I can’t depend on my own body anymore. It was the one wee thing in life I thought I could control, and now that control has been stolen. I used to get angry when people acted like I might shatter any moment. But maybe they’re right.

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