Playing With Fire (Glasgow Lads Book 3) (18 page)

But he
was
sure that the Memory Lane of which Boyd spoke was actually a dim alleyway.

“Better than most girls, I’ll give you that.”
A zipper zipped, a belt refastened, then a hand reached down to pat Liam’s cheek.
“Not a fan of the stubble. But an interesting experiment.”

Here on the pitch, Liam opened his dry mouth, though he had no words.

Then the referee was at his side. “Keep the head, mate,” the official said. “Remember you’re already on a yellow. Don’t make me give you another and send you off.”

“Right.” Liam swiped the rain from his eyebrows, ordering himself to refocus. As he moved back into position, he saw Robert pacing in circles, walking off what seemed a calf strain—not to mention a gallon of adrenaline. He shot Liam a look of disgust, a look that flayed Liam alive.

The whistle blew, and Heather played the free kick out to Liam. He stopped the ball beneath his foot while he considered his options. He knew the Warriors needed to maintain possession, slow the game down again. He should pass to Robert, give their team time to get forward and assemble an attack.

But he couldn’t even look in Robert’s direction. Liam kept the ball, dribbling carefully, searching for a forward pass. Something that would shove this game right down Shettleston’s throats.

So my sex life became your business at Loch Lomond, aye? Fuck you, McKenzie. No one owns me.

When he saw Marcelo racing up the opposite side of the pitch, Liam took two steps to gain momentum, then sailed a long diagonal pass toward his right winger. But the wind held it back, and by the time Marcelo put on the brakes to receive it, an opposing midfielder had the interception. Once again, Shettleston were on the attack.

Liam kicked a clump of mud in frustration.
Stupid, stupid, stupid.

Boyd took a pass with his right foot and surged forward, dodging Fergus and heading straight for the goal.

“Cover me!” Liam shouted to Robert as he swept up to meet the striker, trusting his fellow center-back to move in behind as backup.

But as he neared Boyd, he saw from the corner of his eye that Robert was charging too.
What the—

If Liam hesitated now, Boyd might sweep past both of them. He had to stop him, even if it meant getting sent off. He had to take one for the team.

Besides, he really wanted to plant this guy’s face in the mud.

You’re mine, you bicurious bastard.

He launched his body forward, sweeping Boyd’s legs out from under him. As their bodies struck the cold, wet ground, Liam saw Robert leap over them both, arriving a moment too late to be part of the collision.
Thank God.
At least one of them would survive to fight again.

The whistle blew. Liam’s match was over.

“Fucking faggot,” Boyd muttered as their legs untangled. Liam hoped the striker would lose his temper and kick out at him, an act that would earn him a red card. Instead he got to his feet and wiped the mud from his knees. “Bye for now.”

Liam stood slowly as the referee trotted over, brandishing a yellow card at him, followed by a red card. Fergus hurried to join the discussion as captain.

“You’re getting off lightly,” the official told Liam. “If you weren’t on a yellow, I’d have given you a straight red for excessive force, and you’d be banned three matches. This way you’ve only got a one-match suspension, understand?” He looked between Fergus and Liam.

“Yes, thank you,” Fergus said.

Liam echoed his words, grateful that referees had some discretion in handing out fouls. “And sorry,” he added.

“I’ve worked your games before,” the ref told Liam, “You’re a good lad—most of the time.”

Liam nodded, then turned for the bench without looking at Robert. Time to collect his things and go home.

Fergus walked with him, putting a hand on Liam’s shoulder. “You did what you had to out there today. Everyone knows it, including Charlotte. She’ll probably let you stay if you want to watch from the stands.”

“Nah, I don’t want her to make an exception for me.” Charlotte’s managerial policy went further than league rules, which said red-carded players needed to remove themselves from their team but could remain with the spectators. “Besides, I only got booked so I could get out of the rain.”

Fergus laughed. “Right. Go on, then. Be dry for all of us. We’ll chat later.”

Liam said nothing as he walked on numb feet into the dugout for his kit bag, as he withstood sympathetic looks from Charlotte and the substitutes, and as he headed for the park exit.

Behind him, he knew the teams were assembling for the free kick resulting from his foul. When the whistle blew, he didn’t turn to see if Shettleston scored the go-ahead goal.

He didn’t need to. The home fans rose to their feet as one, exhaling a raucous cheer and shouts of “Yaaaaas!” and “Get in!” As Liam passed, they turned and flipped him off, cackling, shouting every name in the book.

He pulled up his jacket hood to shield himself from the rain and the sight of the fans. But nothing could shut out the memory of Robert’s face as Boyd reminded him what Liam had been for so long—a cheap plaything for any random lad with a ginger fetish.

It was clear now: He and Robert could move on only by moving
back
, to the way they were before. Liam had to be the one to forge that retreat to mere friendship—to safety. Even if it broke his heart.

R
OBERT
RAN
THROUGH
the ice-encrusted caves, still reeling from a near-death at the hands of the most grotesque antagonist he’d seen in years. Between the battle with innumerable enemies near the trebuchet, followed by the avalanche caused by said trebuchet, his health was in poor shape. But his left hand was still glowing nuclear-waste green, so he had that going for him.

When the cave tunnel bent to the left, he slowed his pace out of caution, anticipating more demon spawn. Having left his companions behind so he could face the Big Bad alone, he needed to be extra careful.

A pair of flashes appeared ahead of him, their color matching that of his hand. His elf rogue avatar rushed forward, whipping out both weapons from the sheaths on her back and slashing the demons to bits. As they died, something called
Mark of the Rift
appeared.

“Nice,” he whispered, noticing his throat was dry. “A focus-based ability.”

Robert’s phone rang. He answered with an offhand tap of his hand, keeping his eyes on the PC monitor. “Yeah?” he answered in speaker mode.

There was a brief pause, then, “Hey, Rabbie.”

Robert’s hand jerked on the controller, causing his avatar to spin in place, as if doing a victory dance atop the corpses of her fallen enemies. He paused the game. “Mate?”

“Aye.” Liam gave a quick cough. “So, I heard the new
Dragon Age
came out Friday.”

Was Liam making small talk? About video games, something he’d no interest in? Surely this was a joke, after what had happened between them yesterday on the pitch at Shettleston.

“I’m playing it now.” Robert sat back in his desk chair, just now noticing the ache in his…everything. “What time is it?”

“Nearly five. Have you been playing all day?”

“Yeah.”
And all night.

“Not to be that nagging gay pal, but when was the last time you ate?”

He looked at the empty mugs strewn upon his desk. “Does coffee count as food?”

“No.”

“What if it’s got milk in it?”

“As the team expert regarding muscles, I order you to get up out of your chair,” Liam said. “At least walk about the room.”

Robert rose unsteadily to his feet, joints creaking. It was dark outside, but it had also been dark when he’d begun playing nearly twenty-four hours ago, so his bedside table lamp was still on. He wasn’t certain there had actually been sunlight today.

“Are you standing up?” Liam asked.

“I am. I think.” Robert rubbed the seat of his tracksuit pants, where his arse had gone numb. Then he picked up the phone and staggered to the refrigerator, driven by a sudden gnawing hunger. “Sometimes when I’m really into a game, I forget I’ve got a body. Like I’m this disembodied brain floating through another world.” He was relieved to find half a loaf of bread and some sliced cheese product that had yet to expire. “Or like I’m part of the machine.”

“And now I’ve unplugged you.”

“Thanks for that.” He rubbed his eyes, which felt like they’d been pinned open for hours while a hairdryer was blasted into them. For Liam to be phoning him like nothing had happened seemed surreal and yet natural. In Robert’s video game–distorted time sense, yesterday’s fight seemed ages ago.

After the match, Heather had tried to counsel Robert, probing for the cause of his internal storm. He’d been close to opening up to his goalkeeper until he learned Liam had asked her to speak to him. This revelation had so confused Robert—what about Liam’s desire to keep him in the closet?—that he’d shut down immediately, telling Heather he was merely stressing over university work and job interviews.

“Nae bother,” Liam said. “I know sometimes you get absorbed and need an intervention.”

“Intervention?” Robert opened the jar of mayonnaise and sniffed it before setting it on the worktop. “You make me sound like an alcoholic.”

“Those games are addictive. You evil geniuses design them that way. You said so yourself.”

“True.” He relieved a cheese slice of its plastic wrap and shoved it into his mouth. “But sometimes people just need an escape, you know?”

Liam was silent for a few seconds. “Is that what you’re doing now, escaping?” he asked, his voice laced with pain. “Because of…everything?”

“No.” That wasn’t completely true, but pretending things were cool between them was the first step toward
making
things cool. “You know I always do this when a new favorite’s out. I cannae rest until I’ve played through the whole game at least once.” He started slapping together a cheese-and-mayonnaise sandwich. “The games’ universes grow and develop with each release, so I want to find out what happens. It’s not just pointless playtime. It’s more like bingeing on the latest season of
House of Cards
.”

“Okay. But how’s your wrist and all?”

Robert sighed. That was them in a nutshell—him entranced by abstract fantasy and Liam focused on physical realities. He set down the knife and flexed his fingers. “Cannae feel my hand.”

“That’s what I thought. Look, I’m off today, cos Scarlett swapped shifts with me. Seeing as we missed Mates’ Night In yesterday on account of—” Liam paused for half a second. “Well, you know how I always give you a proper shoulder massage after a new video game release?”

Robert nearly dropped the phone. The thought of Liam’s purely platonic hands on him seemed more torture than he could bear. But if he said no, he’d look a coward. Also, the upper half of his body felt like one big knot.

“I don’t know.” He moved back toward his computer, drawn by the game’s promise of oblivion. As complex and perilous as the land of Thedas was, with those giant demon-spawning rifts in the sky, its challenges were simple compared to the real world’s. No sword or potion or custom blacksmith-crafted armor could protect Robert from his own stupidity. “Do you think that’s a good idea? The two of us alone with my shirt off?”

“You think I cannae resist those pecs of yours? I’ve seen them before.” Liam gave a verbal shrug. “They’re all right.”

Robert stared at the screen, where the current quest’s title and subtitle were displayed on the right:
In Your Heart Shall Burn: Find a way forward
. In the screen’s center, his avatar stood immobile. Her bright green eyes glowed with adrenaline, but her blood-streaked face and torn clothes spoke of her recent trials. Perhaps she needed a break as much as he did.

And perhaps he and Liam really
could
return to the way things were.

Robert saved his progress, then exited the game. “What time?”

= = =

Yes, this is fine
, Robert told himself as he carried the bag of takeaway curry up the creaky wooden stairs to Liam’s flat.
We’re back to normal now. Just mates. Besties. BFFs. Just like old times.

But the moment his best mate opened the door, looking so very…Liam in his green-and-white Celtic Football Club T-shirt that stretched across his broad shoulders, Robert knew it was a lost cause.

“That smells fantastic.” Liam ushered him into the kitchen, three steps from the front door. “Set it on the worktop. Then we’ll see to your shoulders.”

“Or we could eat first.”

“Nah, massage on a full stomach’s bad for digestion.” The microwave beeped. “That’s your hot compress. We’ll want to get your muscles loose before I dig in.” He pulled out a kitchen chair and turned it around. “You know the routine. Taps aff.”

Robert took off his shirt and draped it over the back of the chair, which he then straddled, crossing his forearms on the table. Liam laid a pair of thin tea towels across his upper back, then went to the microwave. The kitchen wasn’t really wide enough for a table, so he had to brush hard against Robert to move past him. Even the slightest touch set Robert’s nerves afire.

Liam retrieved the steaming compress, which he laid atop the towels. Robert let out a soft sigh at the warmth. “Thanks for this.”

“Thanks for the food.” Liam peered into the bag of takeaway. “Extra chutney, good. So how was the game?”

“We lost after you left.” Robert hurried to add, “I’m sorry my idiocy got you sent off. If I’d been doing my job, you wouldn’t have had to commit either of those fouls.” He cleared his throat. “And I’m sorry for what I said about you and the other Warriors. I’d no right to judge you or slut-shame you.”

Liam snorted. “
Slut-shame
. Is that what they call it at uni? Well, I’m sorry I football-shamed you about your playing. As for making up for your mistakes, that’s what teammates do.” He pressed down on the warm compress. “We good now?”

“Aye.” Robert closed his eyes, letting himself relax as the heat infused his skin. At least they’d got that out of the way.