Page 129 of Men in Shorts

Andrew’s neck muscles tightened, sending a dull throb to his temples. The worst of what was inside him—the dark, grimy, sticky-as-tar feelings—he couldn’t imagine sharing with a stranger.

To collect himself, he took a sip of cappuccino, which was far foamier than any human should have to endure. “Perhaps if you shared your story, I might be convinced to try this therapy thing.” He attempted a coy wink, but it felt more like a twitch.

“I can’t provide details,” Evan said. “But like you, I was taken against my will. Like you, I thought I might die. And like you, I wasn’t physically hurt, but someone else was. Someone I—” He looked away, scraping his thumbnail over the dimple in his chin. “Someone I never got the chance to make it up to.”

Andrew wondered whether thatsomeonehad been killed. He felt bad for prying, especially since it had been more a cowardly diversion than genuine bonding. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Then let me help you.” Evan leaned in. “I want to be able to do someone a bit of good.”

“You have done. Talking to you has worked a treat.” He glanced away.Too much. He’ll never buy that.

“I’m glad, but you also need to?—”

“I don’t need a doctor. Nothing happened to me.”

“Drew, you were held at knifepoint by your own bodyguard. You could have died.”

“But Ididn’tdie. I wasn’t even hurt, not a scratch.”

“That doesn’t matter.”

“It’s all that matters!”

“Not in here.” Evan pointed to his temple, his voice rising above the frenetic organ tones. “In that moment, you didn’t know if you’d live or die. You probably played a film in your head of what might happen in the car. And now, whenever something reminds you of that evening, the film plays again—except this time it’s a double feature, not just whatmighthave happened to you, but whatdidhappen to Colin.” Evan sat back in his seat. “And that, mate, is a titanic amount of shit to cope with.”

Andrew stared hard at the table, wanting to cover his ears like a stubborn child.

The organ blasted a series of long, loud chords that seemed to shake the marrow from his bones. Then silence fell at last. Andrew joined Evan and the rest of the hall in applauding the organist as she stood and bowed, then exited the balcony. The ensuing murmur of café conversation formed a shield around their table.

Andrew shifted his chair to sit across from Evan again. “I hear what you’re saying, and yes, it’s hard. But I’ll get over it.”

“Maybe.” Evan leaned in, his ice-blue gaze holding Andrew fast. “For some people it’s as simple as letting that one terrible moment fade with time. But for you, there’s also the moments before it, like your disownment, and the moments after, like watching your sister’s family disintegrate. For you it’s not simple at?—”

A sharp crack came from Andrew’s right, making him jump. Evan leaped from his chair, one arm sweeping up to protect his face and the other poised to strike. He froze like that, eyes darting, their dilated pupils nearly obscuring the irises.

“Sorry!” The reception-desk attendant walked around her table to pick up a large ring binder from where it had tumbled onto the marble floor.

Evan dropped his arms and slid back into his seat. “Well.” He gave Andrew a tight smile. “Told you I’m a work in progress.”

Andrew’s innards went cold as the puzzle pieces began to assemble themselves: Evan’s secretiveness, his keen observations, his instinctive fighting stance. “You’re no architect, are you?”

“Of course I am.” Evan retrieved his fallen napkin, fluffed it, then returned it to his lap. “I got my degree at Glasgow School of Art, same year as Fergus.”

“Which firm do you work for?”

“None, currently.” He sipped his coffee. “I’m a civil servant.”

Andrew knew what that was code for. “So you’re a…government architect.”

Evan’s eyes were steady but still bright with adrenaline. “Whatever conclusions you’re drawing about me, it’s got nothing to do with you and your situation. I’m here as a friend.”

Andrew looked away, gripping the edge of the table. What had he done? How could he be so stupid as to open up to this man? Did people like Evan evenhavefriends?

“You can trust me,” Evan said. “You know why? Because you’re the first person on the outside who’s heard my story. You’re the first person I’ve let in. Why would I take that risk, if not to help you?”

“I don’t know.” Andrew’s heart was pounding like that of a hounded hare. He’d heard tales of government agents collecting information on prominent Brits to keep them in line. “I need to go.”

“Drew—”

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