“Second rule of center-backs?”
“Stick together!”
As they performed their secret handshake, the one they did before every kickoff, Robert noticed the sun seemed to glint off Liam’s red hair more brilliantly than ever. Everything seemed brighter this afternoon, and not just because the two-day rainstorm had stopped a few hours ago.
The first half of the Warriors’ match at Drumchapel had seen the return of Liam and Robert’s lifelong synchronicity. They could once again read each other’s subtle motions, knowing which of them was taking on an attacker and which was to slip behind as backup. They’d moved as one to keep their line perfectly even, throwing their opponents offside, stifling the momentum of every Drumchapel attack.
Together, they could stop anything.
Not only were the Warriors keeping a clean sheet, but Robert had also headed in Fergus’s powerful corner kick to give them a one-goal lead just before the halftime whistle. He could still feel the spot on his forehead where he’d struck the ball.
The whistle blew to begin the second half. Warriors midfielder Evan passed quickly to Jamie, their right fullback, whose ball-handling skills kept him in the starting eleven despite his lack of pace. Robert often had to take up the slack for Jamie’s slowness, filling in the gap if an opponent got past him. He didn’t mind—they needed Jamie’s attacking skills more than ever after losing their star forward, Colin MacDuff.
The team’s extra-high spirits were due in part to Colin himself, who sat in the stands today, attending his first match since his life-threatening injury nearly six weeks ago. It had inspired Robert to see his ferocious, raven-haired mate sitting amongst the Warriors’ raucous fan club, the Rainbow Regiment, along with his unlikely boyfriend, Lord Andrew Sunderland.
“C’mon, Jamie, you’re a pure cheetah!” Colin shouted. At least Robert thought that’s what he said. He and Colin were from different—though equally poor—areas of Glasgow, so sometimes words got lost in translation.
At the next break in play, Liam hurried over to Robert. “Looks like they made some adjustments at halftime.”
Robert nodded, tugging the front of his shirt to cool himself. “Their wee striker, Irvine, he’s playing out in front of Hughes, their big forward.”
“Aye, which means watch out for long passes. Cannae let that quick little bastard get onside behind us.” He yanked on the hem of Robert’s violet-and-white-striped jersey. “You look extra hot today, by the way.”
“Very professional!” he called as Liam jogged back into position.
Still, Robert didn’t stop grinning until the next Drumchapel attack, which saw the red-jerseyed Irvine streak down the left side, taking a diagonal pass from their own center-back. Warriors Katie and Alisdair closed in on the striker, but Irvine passed the ball between them, then surged ahead to take his midfielder’s return pass.
In the blink of an eye, Irvine was inside the penalty area, invading Robert and Liam’s sacred space.
Liam darted up to challenge him one-on-one. Robert wanted to spring to the rescue to help him, but that was Fergus’s job, not his—especially with an unmarked onrushing Hughes to deal with at the goal’s far post. Trusting his teammates, Robert stayed in front of the towering blond forward, matching him step for step, ensuring he’d get no easy chance on a cross or a rebound.
“Steady, lads!” Colin called from the stands. “He’s nothing but a wee—” Their teammate’s last word was lost in the wind.
Irvine zipped back and forth, getting closer to the goal, no doubt hoping Liam would foul him for a penalty kick. But Liam held off just enough, waiting for his chance to intercept or block.
At Fergus’s approach, Irvine hesitated, then darted toward the endline, looking for a chance to send in a cross. Robert felt Hughes trying to jostle in front of him, but he shouldered him back
“Stick together!”
As they performed their secret handshake, the one they did before every kickoff, Robert noticed the sun seemed to glint off Liam’s red hair more brilliantly than ever. Everything seemed brighter this afternoon, and not just because the two-day rainstorm had stopped a few hours ago.
The first half of the Warriors’ match at Drumchapel had seen the return of Liam and Robert’s lifelong synchronicity. They could once again read each other’s subtle motions, knowing which of them was taking on an attacker and which was to slip behind as backup. They’d moved as one to keep their line perfectly even, throwing their opponents offside, stifling the momentum of every Drumchapel attack.
Together, they could stop anything.
Not only were the Warriors keeping a clean sheet, but Robert had also headed in Fergus’s powerful corner kick to give them a one-goal lead just before the halftime whistle. He could still feel the spot on his forehead where he’d struck the ball.
The whistle blew to begin the second half. Warriors midfielder Evan passed quickly to Jamie, their right fullback, whose ball-handling skills kept him in the starting eleven despite his lack of pace. Robert often had to take up the slack for Jamie’s slowness, filling in the gap if an opponent got past him. He didn’t mind—they needed Jamie’s attacking skills more than ever after losing their star forward, Colin MacDuff.
The team’s extra-high spirits were due in part to Colin himself, who sat in the stands today, attending his first match since his life-threatening injury nearly six weeks ago. It had inspired Robert to see his ferocious, raven-haired mate sitting amongst the Warriors’ raucous fan club, the Rainbow Regiment, along with his unlikely boyfriend, Lord Andrew Sunderland.
“C’mon, Jamie, you’re a pure cheetah!” Colin shouted. At least Robert thought that’s what he said. He and Colin were from different—though equally poor—areas of Glasgow, so sometimes words got lost in translation.
At the next break in play, Liam hurried over to Robert. “Looks like they made some adjustments at halftime.”
Robert nodded, tugging the front of his shirt to cool himself. “Their wee striker, Irvine, he’s playing out in front of Hughes, their big forward.”
“Aye, which means watch out for long passes. Cannae let that quick little bastard get onside behind us.” He yanked on the hem of Robert’s violet-and-white-striped jersey. “You look extra hot today, by the way.”
“Very professional!” he called as Liam jogged back into position.
Still, Robert didn’t stop grinning until the next Drumchapel attack, which saw the red-jerseyed Irvine streak down the left side, taking a diagonal pass from their own center-back. Warriors Katie and Alisdair closed in on the striker, but Irvine passed the ball between them, then surged ahead to take his midfielder’s return pass.
In the blink of an eye, Irvine was inside the penalty area, invading Robert and Liam’s sacred space.
Liam darted up to challenge him one-on-one. Robert wanted to spring to the rescue to help him, but that was Fergus’s job, not his—especially with an unmarked onrushing Hughes to deal with at the goal’s far post. Trusting his teammates, Robert stayed in front of the towering blond forward, matching him step for step, ensuring he’d get no easy chance on a cross or a rebound.
“Steady, lads!” Colin called from the stands. “He’s nothing but a wee—” Their teammate’s last word was lost in the wind.
Irvine zipped back and forth, getting closer to the goal, no doubt hoping Liam would foul him for a penalty kick. But Liam held off just enough, waiting for his chance to intercept or block.
At Fergus’s approach, Irvine hesitated, then darted toward the endline, looking for a chance to send in a cross. Robert felt Hughes trying to jostle in front of him, but he shouldered him back
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