Page 31

Chapter 7

To Andrew, the safe word rang like a death sentence.

“I’m fine,” he tried to reply, but the words stuck in his throat.

“God, I’m so sorry.” Colin undid the straps on Andrew’s wrists, then leapt to the foot of the bed to release his ankles. “I’m so fucking sorry.”

Andrew needed to reassure him. His one job was to make Colin whole and happy, and here he was weeping like a child, useless and mute.

“What happened?” Colin asked as he untied his feet. “Are you hurt?”

Andrew could only shake his head. He felt like a hermit crab without a shell, exposed and defenseless. Colin’s urgent voice was making it worse, battering him as much as any blow.

“Talk to me, Andrew.” Colin knelt beside the bed, his face looming close. “Please. Tell me what’s wrong. What did I do?”

Andrew clamped his eyes shut and turned his mouth to the pillow to muffle the sobs. He just wanted to disappear.

“Christ, I’m such an idiot.” Colin groaned, and Andrew could picture him clutching his hair the way he did after missing a goal. “I’m so sorry. Please let me help you. Let me fix whatever it is I’ve done.”

Without opening his eyes, Andrew reached toward Colin to still him. His palm found the ridge of a collarbone, and he slid his hand until it closed over a shaking shoulder.

“Right.” Colin took a long inhalation, then let it out. “It’d probably help if I calmed down first.”

Andrew nodded, then pulled his arms tight to his chest, hoping the pressure would slow his racing heart.

After another breath, Colin’s tone was steady and smooth. “For starters, shall I help you get out of this?”

Andrew felt a tug on his leather harness as Colin unbuckled it. “No,” he choked out, clutching at the loose strap.

“Okay.” Colin paused. “Can I hold you?”

“Please.”

The air shifted as Colin moved away. Then came a pressure on the mattress, followed by an arm curling lightly around Andrew from behind.

“All right?” Colin whispered.

“Yes.” Andrew brought the harness’s strap to his nose. The scent of well-oiled leather reminded him of saddles and bridles. He could almost smell his pet pony Gretchen’s thick, dusty coat and the fresh hay of her stall.

Fingers caressed his scalp, then soft lips pressed his earlobe in a fleeting kiss.

“Do you want some water?” Colin asked.

Andrew’s throat was parched and his skin was coated with cold sweat. But he knew he’d only gag on any liquid. “Not yet.”

“Can you talk to me? Tell me what just happened.”

“In a minute.” Andrew opened his eyes and focused on a fixed point in front of him, where the dark green of the bedroom wall met the white of the molding, which needed dusting. Gradually the tornado in his head began to abate. “I just got scared.”

“Of me?”

“Never.” Andrew bit his lip, knowing his next words would sound insane. “You didn’t scare me, because I wasn’t here.”

“What do you mean? Where were you?”

“I was…it was Frederick Street. The nineteenth of September.”

Colin’s body tensed behind him. “When I got stabbed? That’s what this is about? Are you still afraid for me?”

“No. Well, yes, I do fear for your safety, but also…” Andrew stopped, twisting the corner of his pillowcase. Evan had said Colin would understand what it was like to suffer in silence. But when it came to The Incident, Colin had been the hero. How could he know what it was like to live with the memory of doing nothing ?

“I cannae help if you don’t tell me.” Colin pressed his face against Andrew’s nape. “Do you not want my help?”

“I do. I need it.” Andrew’s chest tightened, as if trying to crush the truth before it could escape. “I’m afraid for you, but also for myself.”

There. He’d confessed.

“That makes sense,” Colin said. “What happened to you would scare anyone.”

“Not this much. Every time I have to leave our flat, I think of a million reasons not to go. All I want is to stay here with you, and for you to stay here with me.”

Andrew stopped, too lightheaded to keep talking.

Colin whispered his name as he took his hand, his palm warm and dry against the icy slickness of Andrew’s skin.

Andrew turned his head slightly, fixing on a square of weak sunlight on the guest bedroom wall. “You must hate me now. You were the one hurt that day, not me. Nothing happened—” His breath caught in a near hiccup. “Nothing happened to me.”

“That’s not true.” Colin held him tighter. “You were the target. You were the one betrayed by people you trusted. You feared for your life.”

“So did you.”

“I never had time. I was too busy fearing for yours. But sometimes I still get stuck in that moment I saw you cross the street with Reggie, the moment I knew something was wrong. It’s like the memory grabs me and I cannae move.”

Yes. That was it exactly. “So what do you do? How do you get unstuck?”

“I try to ground myself in the here-and-now. Find something concrete to remind me where I am—and when I am. Like, if there’s a window, I look outside. I see trees with no leaves and I know it’s not September.” Colin’s shins brushed against Andrew’s calves. “If there’s no window, I just focus on the floor under my feet, or the chair under my arse.”

“Is that all it takes? If I do this, I can forget what happened?” For the first time in the new year, Andrew felt hope.

“You’ll never forget it.” Colin rubbed his thumb over Andrew’s. “But you can learn how to remember it in a way that doesnae do your head in. It just takes time and work.”

Andrew wiped his eyes, then shifted his head on the pillow again, trying to find a spot that was neither soaked with tears nor stiff and starchy from those he’d shed this week. He didn’t see what good it would do to think differently about the past. No amount of work would change the fact he was responsible for Colin’s injury.

Colin fidgeted with one of the back harness straps. “It’d probably also help not to trigger yourself with this sort of madness.”

Andrew’s face heated. “How was I to know I’d react like that? We used to play this way all the time.”

“Aye, we did, but…”

But things changed, because of me. That’s why I have to change them back.

“Look, this was my fault,” Colin said. “I knew something was off. Should’ve listened to my gut instead of my prick. I’m so sorry.”

Andrew’s tension eased a little, now that they were discussing the present instead of the past. “I should have said ‘foosball,’ but once you tied me up, most of me left the room.” He had only a vague memory of Colin’s hands and mouth on him. “Also, I was right—I really don’t fancy being hit.” Even now, the thought of Colin’s blow made Andrew want to shrink into himself.

“Good, cos I really don’t fancy hitting you.” Colin stroked Andrew’s arm with his fingertips. “Were you spanked when you were a wean?”

“No one ever struck me. What about you?”

“My mum, when I was bad.” His voice dipped, as though he were talking to himself. “No, that’s not right. She did it when she thought I was bad. It’s not the same.”

Andrew turned over in Colin’s embrace, needing to see his face and feel his broad, solid chest against his palms. “You do that a lot, correct yourself after you run yourself down. Like you’re rewriting your own lines minus the self-loathing.”

“It’s something I learned in therapy. So much of what we tell ourselves is pure rubbish. The first step is noticing how much we do it.” His eyes went soft as they met Andrew’s. “Maybe you’ll give it a go?”

“I’ve no need to rewrite my own lines. I always speak highly of myself.”

Colin smiled. “True. I meant, would you try therapy?”

“Therapy?” Andrew pulled back, drawing his fists to his chest to form a barrier between them. “I can’t. I’m a public figure. I know there are confidentiality laws, but secrets like this always get out.”

“It’s nae secret what happened to us that night. Who’d blame you for getting help to recover from it? Besides, you might help someone out there who’s dealing with the same shite and thinks they’re alone.”

Andrew felt a surge of anger. “So now I’m selfish for not flaunting my weaknesses? For wanting a bit of privacy during a hard time? I’m not here to provide a public service.”

“Okay, okay,” Colin said in a soothing tone. “Sorry, I don’t mean to push.”

“I know you mean well, but you don’t understand. You’ve been in and out of therapy since you were fifteen.”

“Including the last four months. That’s how I know it works.”

“My point is, it’s normal for you. But for most of the world, it’s not normal.”

“Pish,” Colin said. “Loads of celebrities talk about their mental health and all. There’s less stigma when you’re famous.”

“This is different.”

“How?”

Andrew closed his eyes, his bare skin growing cold at the thought of going public with his problems. If he couldn’t trust his own bodyguard and brother-in-law, how could he expose himself to a million strangers? What if someone out there used Andrew’s secrets to gain power over him? “I just can’t. Not yet.”

“When you’re ready, then. Look, I’ll not lie and say it’s easy.” As he spoke, Colin tugged the duvet from under their bodies, then pulled it up to cover them. “Every time I get up in front of a group of kids and show them my scars, I have to fight the shame. I’m ashamed I used to cut myself. I’m ashamed I cannae tell them I never want to do it again, cos it’d be a lie.” He lay down again, his ink-black hair stark against the white pillowcase. “I’m ashamed I’m not the perfect example they need of someone who went through hell and came out fine.”

“See, this is what I mean. You’ve endured so much, whilst I’ve had everything good in life. Money, friends, parents who adored me. I grew up in a castle, for God’s sake.”

“You grew up in a boarding school. That’s got to fuck a lad up.”

Andrew knew Colin was trying to make him laugh, but it wasn’t working. “I’ve no right to feel this way. With all my power—power I never earned—I should be in tip-top shape. I should be resilient, like I’m wearing a suit of armor.”

Colin sighed. “Firstly, you’ve earned some of your power, by being clever and charming. Secondly, even suits of armor have got weak spots, else all those knights would’ve died of old age. Thirdly…” He wrapped an arm around Andrew and pulled him close. “You’ve a right to feel any way you feel. You earned that right just by existing.”

Andrew buried his face in Colin’s warm neck, wishing they could stay like this forever. Those affirmative words sounded so rational in the sanctuary of this room, but the real world was far more dangerous.

Only Colin was safe. Andrew knew he could trust this man, his brave warrior who inexplicably loved him to the bone.

And maybe it would be enough to have one person who understood. Maybe Andrew’s secret pain could live here, out of sight. Then it would belong to him and Colin alone, another jewel in the treasure chest of their insular, insulated love.

* * *

Lonely

Angry

Panicky

Withdrawn

Numb

The brochure from Victim Support Scotland trembled in Andrew’s hands as he sat on the sofa waiting for Colin. This “Common Reactions After a Crime” pamphlet—which the procurator fiscal’s office had sent with the new victim statement forms—featured a column of adjectives, each with an empty box beside it.

He crushed the brochure between his palms. How dare he feel lonely when he had Colin, not to mention a supportive family, dozens of friends, and a million followers? How could he want to withdraw from a world that offered him so much?

“This needs to steep,” Colin said as he set the tea tray on the coffee table. He sat on the couch and placed a pen and a blank victim statement form between them. “You don’t have to fill this in now, but maybe the questions might help you, I dunno, find some words?”

Andrew curled his legs up and shrank into the opposite corner of the sofa. “I know I need to…say things. It’s not fair to you to hide how I feel.”

“Gonnae no worry about me.” Colin held up a hand. “I know, worrying about me’s a hard habit to break. But maybe just for an hour or so, we could worry about you.”

“Fine. An hour. But I’m timing it.” Andrew picked up the pen and used it to nudge the victim statement form closer. He flipped over the cover sheet, holding it by the corner. The next page asked for basic information like name, address, and date of the crime; and the page after that inquired after physical injuries.

The third page contained the part he’d been dreading. “‘Psychological effects.’ I don’t even know where to begin.”

“What about that list you’ve got mangled in your hand?”

Andrew sighed, wishing for a drink or six. He smoothed out the pamphlet on his thigh, then began ticking boxes beside the list of feelings, followed by the list of “changes” on the reverse side. Oddly, the column labeled Now was much fuller than the one labeled 4 weeks after the crime .

Before he could recover from this bout of honesty, he tossed the brochure onto the couch between them.

Colin picked up the pamphlet and examined both sides. “Christ.”

“At least I’ve not started smoking or abusing prescription drugs, so I could leave a few boxes blank.” Andrew put the cap back on the pen and began to twist it. “Not that I wasn’t tempted recently, as you still had painkillers left over from your surgeries. But I was afraid if something happened and you needed them again…” He pressed his knuckles to his mouth at the thought of another relapse.

“I’d no idea you—” Colin shook his head. “That’s not true, not completely. I noticed your mood swings lately and how sometimes you couldnae focus. But some of these other feelings—like ‘tearful’? Until a few minutes ago I’d not seen you cry in months.”

“Of course not.” Andrew twisted the pen cap faster to keep his hands from quivering. “That’s what showers are for.”

“Ah Andrew…” Now Colin was the one crumpling the unfortunate pamphlet in his fist. “I’m so sorry.”

“Why? You’ve done nothing wrong.”

“I’ve done nothing ,” Colin said, “and that’s what’s wrong. I was too wrapped up in my own wee problems to notice you were suffering.”

“Recovering from a stab wound is not a ‘wee problem.’ And how could you have known how I was feeling if I didn’t tell you?”

“Of all people, I should see when someone’s hiding pain. Everybody leaves clues. Me, I had these.” Colin touched the black thistle tattoo on his inner arm, tracing the old razor scars that formed the pattern of the leaves. “For you it was the empty bottles, and those moments when I’d speak to you and you seemed far away.” He tugged at his hair, releasing a frustrated groan. “I thought you just needed time to yourself. You were used to living alone, and here I was invading your flat and stealing your privacy. So I tried to keep my distance and not be in your face, when what you really needed was for someone to just fucking see your face.”

“Stop.” Andrew slid down the black leather couch to sit beside him, finding Colin’s distress a soothing distraction. “You’re not a mind reader. I shut you out.”

“Did you think I couldn’t help you?”

“You were hurt and ill. You needed me to be strong.”

“I needed you to be you . I know you’re not perfect. I wouldn’t love you if you were perfect.” Colin gave a rough gasp. “Och, I was such an eejit. Sometimes I thought you wanted me gone.”

The word seemed to kick Andrew in the chest. “Gone? That’s the last thing I want. Why would you think that?” he asked, though he knew the answer from the stories Colin had told him about his mum. How when she was ill, her love seemed to switch on and off with each moment. How he never knew, at any given time, whether he’d be hugged or shoved.

“We’re living together cos I got stabbed,” Colin said. “You looked after me, and now I’m better. So I thought maybe it was time for me to move home—back to my family, I mean.”

“God, no.” Andrew felt he might suffocate at the thought. “I didn’t look after you out of pity, I did it out of love. You’re here because I want you here. This is your home.”

“Not legally. You own this flat, and you won’t let me pay rent.”

“Fine. Pay rent, if that’s what it takes to make you feel secure.” He heard his own words. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean that like it sounds.”

“I know, I know.” Colin spoke in a tone Andrew had often used on nervous horses. “It’s gonnae be okay.”

“No, it’s not.” Something crumpled inside him as the tears began to flow again. “To know I was such a prick these last weeks, you thought I wanted you gone…” He covered his face to smother his sob. “Why couldn’t I just tell you the truth? What’s wrong with me?”

“Nothing’s wrong with you! Stop talking like that.” Colin grasped Andrew as if to shake him. Then he took a deep breath and let go, his palms coming to rest lightly on Andrew’s knees. “Sorry. Say whatever you need. Just know that no matter what, I’m not going anywhere.”

Andrew lowered his hands and looked at him. “You won’t move out?”

“Of course not, ya daftie. I’ll stay as long as you can put up with me.”

Andrew sniffled, unable to imagine wanting rid of Colin. “That’s very kind.”

“Pish.” With a soft touch, Colin lifted Andrew’s chin. “I’m not staying cos I feel sorry for you. I’m staying cos I love you.”

Andrew managed half a smile at hearing a version of his own words spoken back to him. Then he wiped his eyes. “Is the tea ready, you think?”

Colin stared at him, his mouth pursing like he was trying not to laugh.

“What’s so funny?”

“Nothing.” Colin got up to pour the tea. “Just that even in your shitest moments, you’re still utterly, instinctively British.”

Andrew sniffled again. “Thank you.”

As they drank their tea, now sitting close together, Andrew told Colin about his nightmares. They seemed less terrifying in the daylight, and some details even sounded funny when he spoke them aloud.

“So instead of eating you,” Colin said, “the zombies asked you to join their polo team?”

“Mm-hm. It was like I was already one of them.”

Colin started to laugh, but then his face turned more somber than ever. “Do you think…” He dragged his bottom teeth over his upper lip as he examined the Victim Support pamphlet. “It says here you’ve felt you cannae cope. Did you ever…I mean, when my mum was depressed, sometimes she had to go into hospital cos she was thinking about?—”

“Suicide? No. I’ve never considered it.”

“Not once?”

“I said never .” Andrew clutched his mug in both hands, running his thumbs over the rim. “Though there’ve been moments.” He thought back to yesterday, how that black-hole gravity had tugged him toward nothingness, promising peace and relief if he’d only give up the struggle. “Moments when it seemed easier to just stop.”

“Stop living?”

“More like stop fighting the current. Stop trying to save myself.” He looked up from the amber remnants of his tea to see Colin’s eyes turning wet. “It’s not the same as wanting to die. It’s more like…wanting to rest.”

Colin nodded. “Back when I was cutting myself, that’s kinda what it did—let me rest for a wee while. The pain was like a relief. Pure fucking temporary relief, of course.”

“Like drinking. Or distractions like exams or the holidays or Fergus and John’s wedding.” Andrew hesitated, then decided to be fully honest. “Or looking after you.”

Colin gave a grim smile. “When I got better, you got worse.”

“That’s an awful way to put it, but yes.” Andrew swallowed the last of his tea. “After the new year I tried to fathom why I was…spiraling. I thought I was simply worried about Jeremy’s trial. Surely I’d feel better once it was over. Now there’s not going to be a trial. I got exactly what I wanted, so why do I feel worse?” He crammed the heel of his hand against his forehead, wishing he could shove some sense into his brain. “Why can’t I do anything?”

Colin gently took Andrew’s empty mug and set it on the coffee table. Then he sat back against the end of the couch and opened his arms. “Come here.”

“I don’t need comforting.”

“Maybe I do.”

Andrew’s resolve melted. He nestled into the space between Colin’s body and the back of the sofa, then laid his head upon Colin’s shoulder.

Colin held him carefully. “This is better, aye?”

Andrew could only nod as he wrapped his arm around Colin’s waist.

“You were strong for me, so let me be strong for you now.” Colin stroked Andrew’s hair, as Andrew had done for him so many times. “Maybe I cannae play a full half of football, but I can give you whatever you need, even if it’s just a place to rest. Okay?”

Andrew hugged him tighter and nodded again.

They lay there together for many minutes without speaking, while outside the sadistically brief afternoon began its long fade into dusk. Andrew listened to the echo of Colin’s heartbeat, and for once it felt like a source of solace instead of worry.

He placed his palm upon Colin’s chest and watched it rise and fall with his breath. “Want to hear something silly?”

“Have you ever said anything but?”

Andrew ignored the jibe. “When I was very small, perhaps three or four years old, I looked at my hand and saw there were five fingers. My family had five people, so I assigned each person a finger.” He tapped each one against Colin’s breastbone as he listed them. “My dad was the thumb, my mum the index, et cetera.”

Colin traced the littlest finger, producing a soothing shiver. “And you were the pinky?”

“Yes, because I was youngest by far. So that night at dinner I showed my family what I’d discovered. I proudly displayed to each person their representative digit.” He paused, waiting for Colin to laugh, which he did.

“Oh please, please tell me you gave your brother the middle finger.”

“Right there at the dining table.” Andrew held it up toward the window.

Colin cackled. “I can just see the four-year-old Lord Andrew flipping off the sixteen-year-old Earl of Ballingry. He must have gone off his head.”

“Completely. I think that was the day he started hating me.”

“George doesnae hate you.”

“Not since I almost got killed. Turns out putting my life in jeopardy was all it took to win my siblings’ approval.” He returned his palm to Colin’s chest. “Wait—I hope you don’t think of my fingers as my family members now. That could ruin hand jobs forever.”

Colin took his hand. “Listen, when this is touching me, that bunch of bampots is the last thing on my mind.” He brought it to his mouth and kissed the tip of the littlest finger. “But now this yin’s my favorite.”