Page 94 of Men in Shorts

As Evan walked out, Colin crawled over Andrew to lie on his other side, still wearing his dress shirt and trousers from the reception. They said nothing as he nestled against Andrew’s shoulder and curled into him. But when he rested his hand on Andrew’s chest, he gasped. “Fuck’s sake, your heart’s racing.”

“Of course it is.”I thought I was dying.“I thought you were dying.”

“It’s been ages since you had that nightmare. Why now?”

“I don’t know.” Andrew put his arm around Colin’s shoulders. “Perhaps they stopped last month because of the wedding and exams and Christmas. My mind was too busy to torture itself.”

“And here I thought they’d stopped cos—” Colin ran the edge of the sheet between his fingers. “Because I got better. I thought you’d stopped being afraid for me.”

“Me too.” Andrew was glad Colin couldn’t see his face. They’d always been honest with each other. Before.

Before Andrew had seen Colin nearly bleed to death at his feet.

Before he’d sat awake for three straight days watching Colin lie in hospital on the edge of life.

Before the infection set in and Colin needed a second surgery.

Before the second infection set in and Colin needed a third surgery.

Before Colin had lost two organs, thirty percent of his intestines, half a football season, and an entire university trimester.

All because of Andrew.

Colin spoke again. “Maybe it’s cos of what we did on the tower? Like, maybe you worried I’d overexert myself. Or maybe…I dunno, maybe you don’t like being held down since…since the incident.”

Andrew recalled how he’d surrendered all control—let his face be pressed to unyielding stone, his wrists bound by punishing hands. But this wasn’t the memory thickening his throat and twisting his guts.

“Life’s getting back to normal,”Colin had said.

Was there even such a thing as a normal life? If the two of them let their guard down, turned their backs on the next menace, whatever that might be…

Andrew wiped his forehead again, this time to banish the morbid fantasies. “Nonsense. As you should have noticed, I enjoyed myself immensely up there. The more likely culprit is my scandalous lack of yoga and meditation these last few weeks.” He drew his fingers through Colin’s hair, still stiff from the snow and styling products. “It helps keep me calm, and yet whenever life grows hectic I let my routine slide.”

“Isn’t that when you need it most?”

“Of course, you cheeky hooligan.” He twirled his fingertip inside Colin’s ear.

“Oi!” Colin sat up quickly to dislodge him. “You must be all right if you’re annoying me.”

Andrew forced a smile, relieved his act was convincing. “I’ll feel better once Jeremy’s trial is over.”

“That’s three months from now.”

“Two months, three weeks and six days.”

Colin laced his fingers with Andrew’s. “Still dreading it as much as I am?”

Maybe more.“The thought of standing in the witness box, having to say out loud what happened…” Andrew shut his eyes, wishing he could forget how it felt to have that knife poised at his side while his own bodyguard, Reggie—a man he’d trusted with his life—marched him down a Glasgow street toward a waiting car, on orders from Andrew’s brother-in-law, Jeremy. How he’d spent that walk picturing what awaited him: pain, restraint, maybe even death.

“I’ll be there for you at the trial.” Colin sat back against the headboard again. “We’ll be there for each other. And after your prick brother-in-law gets sent down, we’ll celebrate. Champagne for two—mostly you, of course, as the bubbly stuff makes me boak.”

“Sounds lovely,” Andrew said, though he couldn’t imagine celebrating the imprisonment of someone who’d been not only family but also a friend and mentor. As a high-level Conservative Party operative, Jeremy Colback had introduced him to all the right people, in the shared hope that Andrew would one day ascend to political power. Most of all, Jeremy had granted the one thing Andrew’s real brother and sister had always withheld: respect.

Snuggling closer, Andrew placed a hand upon Colin’s right forearm. He couldn’t feel the scars through the white Oxford shirt, but he knew the angle and length of each one. Colin had carved them himself years ago, when the pain he couldn’t speak grew too great. For the first time, Andrew could imagine himself doing the same thing.

But there’d be no way to conceal those scars from this man who explored his body on a regular basis. Andrew had to handle his distress the old-fashioned way—with a stiff upper lip.

A soft knock came on the door, then Evan entered holding a small tray.

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