“I want to call the whole thing off. I don’t care how much we’ve already paid, it’s not worth getting blown up.”

Ben listened patiently to Philip as they stood to the side of the home stand waiting for the Scottish Amateur Cup quarterfinal to begin. It was hard to focus on his client rather than scan the park for Evan, who was running late thanks to a train delay.

“I tried reminding him that the news report said the police had thwarted a planned terrorist attack,” Michael said, standing with his arms crossed. “Which means we’re safe now.”

“From those terrorists,” Philip snapped. “But what about the copycats?”

Ben could tell that the couple had been having this argument all week, probably since the news had broken on Wednesday. In an intriguing swap of personalities, the usually fretful Michael was now the calmer one. But he seemed to be trying to soothe Philip’s emotions with logic and facts, a tactic doomed to failure. Ben knew he had to address the issue straight on.

“What’s your worst fear?” he asked Philip. “And Michael, don’t interrupt or comment, please.”

Philip clutched the shaft of his rainbow flag with both hands. “My worst fear? That we’ll be gunned down in the middle of the ceremony.”

“Okay.” Ben leaned forward so he could soften his voice while still being heard above the crowd. “And how does that happen? Walk me through the nightmare film in your mind.”

Philip sniffled. “Well…we’re on the pitch saying our vows, and a sniper bullet goes right through Michael’s head while I’m looking down at him.”

Ben tried not to blanch at this grim scenario. “So it’s being out in the open that scares you?”

“Aye.”

“We can work with that,” Ben said. “What if instead of holding the ceremony on the pitch after the match, we do it at halftime under the reception tent? It’s got sides that hang down in case of rain or wind. That’ll make it more private.”

Philip shook his head. “There won’t be room for the caterers.”

“We’ll hire a couple of box vans for the caterers to store their stuff in, then move it under the tent during the second half. This is basically our wet-weather plan anyway, so I know it’ll work. The important thing is for you to feel safe.” Ben glanced at Michael to get a nod of agreement. “Philip, if you need to reschedule the wedding or hold it at home, I’ll work with you to make that happen, okay?”

Philip’s shoulders dropped a fraction at this tiny abatement of pressure. “Okay.”

“But as I recall,” Ben continued, “it was your idea to marry Michael at a Warriors match, because that’s where you met three years ago this month. This is your dream, and I want you to have that.” He took Philip’s hand in both his own. “But because it’s your dream, that means you can let it go if you need.”

“Right.” Philip’s breathing was approaching a near-normal rate. “Can I think about it and let you know after the match?”

“Absolutely. And since I’ve no interest in football if Evan’s not playing, I can spend that time researching security options.” He attempted a joke. “Maybe a metal detector that could double as a floral arch.”

Philip laughed. “That’d make a cool photo op.” He wiped his face with his sleeve. “Thank you. Sorry I’m so fragile just now.”

“You’re getting married in two weeks. If you weren’t fragile, I’d be worried.” He patted Philip’s arm and handed him back to a grateful-looking Michael, then looked up into the stands to locate his friends.

A deep voice called his name. He turned toward the pitch to see Liam beckoning him, his face red with what Ben hoped was exertion.

Ben stepped onto the turf near the edge of the pitch, trying to maintain the calm confidence he’d gained from interacting with his clients. “Liam, hiya.”

“Where is he?” the defender boomed.

“Who?”

“Pope Francis. Your worthless boyfriend, Evan Hollister, who else?”

“Like he told you all, he’s away for work.”

“Where?”

“It doesn’t matter.” Ben wished he could say he didn’t know, but Evan had told him this morning he was in London. “He feels pure miserable about missing this match. He wouldn’t have left if he didn’t have to.”

“I’m sure you believe that.” Liam rubbed his forehead. “You’re such a good guy, Ben. It kills me to see him make a fool of you, too.”

“I’m not Fergus.”

“You will be.” Liam leaned in close. “You weren’t here this time last year. You never saw my best mate greetin’ his eyes out for weeks. You never saw this team so demoralized we couldnae find our own arses with a pair of mirrors.” He paused for a second, perhaps reviewing his odd metaphor. “Anyway, Evan Fucking Hollister is a bastard and a coward. Chuck him while you’ve still got a wee bit of self-respect.”

He gave Ben a patronizing shoulder pat as he turned away.

Ben felt the week’s pressures rise up inside him: the ISIS threats, Evan’s emergency departure, and finally Philip’s meltdown. Liam’s ignorant tirade was the last straw.

Ben marched forward, fists clenched. With a roar of rage, he shoved the defender in the back.

Liam turned with the bewildered look of a lion bitten by a mouse. “What the—”

“Shut your fucking mouth about Evan.” Ben pointed his finger in Liam’s face. “If you think he’s a bastard and a coward, then you don’t know him at all.”

“All right, lads?” Robert was approaching, palms out in pacifying position. “What’s the problem?” he asked Liam.

“I think your mate here knows where Evan is but won’t tell us.”

“Why not?” Robert asked Ben.

“Cos Evan’s fooled him, too,” Liam said.

“Let him talk,” Robert growled, then turned back to Ben. “If there’s something about Evan we should know, something to help us understand why he fucks off out of town on a moment’s notice, then please tell us.”

“I can’t. Just trust me: If you knew why he left this week—and last year, too—you’d understand.”

“Hold on,” Robert said. “What’s this week got to do with last year? Last year he said he’d run off with another man.”

“And why would he say he cheated on Fergus if he didnae?” Liam asked. “Why would he let everybody hate him?”

“It doesn’t matter.” Ben started to back away, feeling like he was driving on the edge of a cliff with no guard rails.

“Oh, it matters,” Liam said, advancing. “I want to know why Evan broke Fergus’s heart. What could be worth that?”

Ben wanted to cover his ears and run. “I told you I can’t say.”

“You always say you cannae say, and then you always say. So spill. Tell us why we shouldn’t hate that traitor’s guts.”

“Gonnae leave it.” Robert touched Liam’s arm. “We’ve got warmups, and you need—”

“He’s not a traitor,” Ben said softly.

“Sorry?” Liam shook off Robert and loomed closer. “What did you say?”

Ben’s teeth ground together, as if his own mouth was trying to hold back the words. But he’d heard enough baseless attacks.

“Evan’s not a traitor,” he said. “He’s a patriot.”

In taxi frm train stn be rt there

Evan hoped Charlotte had her phone switched on to receive his text. Kickoff was in thirty-five minutes, which probably meant he’d missed his chance to play, as his manager was required to submit the official team lineup an hour before the match began.

Just in case, he was tugging on his football boots in the back of this cab, having changed into the rest of his kit in the lavatory of his infuriatingly delayed train.

He’d tried to reach his father—because no one had specifically told him not to—leaving what must have seemed a cryptic voice mail (“I guess you’re at work, wherever that may be.”). Unsurprisingly, Dad hadn’t returned his call.

Evan jammed his shin guards into the front of his socks, still furious that MI5 had kept him in London overnight, only to inform him this morning that they’d “be in touch” regarding his future with the Service.

He looked up to see the taxi had driven past the match venue. Choking back a screech of panic, he said, “Mate, we’ve gone too far.”

“Naw, it’s up here in Firhill Road. Been there a hunner times.”

“That’s Firhill Stadium. I want to go to Firhill Complex. The sport center with the football pitches next to it?”

“I know what Firhill Complex is. You said, ‘Firhill Stadium.’”

Evan pulled in a deep breath through his nose. Keep the head. Don’t waste energy you’ll hopefully need for the match. “Please take me to Firhill Complex.”

When the taxi finally dropped him at the right place, Evan dashed through the car park toward the pitch, his kit bag banging against his shoulder and his rolling holdall bouncing behind him. He was no doubt straining a few back muscles as he weaved through the crowd, but all that mattered was not letting down his team again.

His manager was standing near the home bench, handing the referee two sheets of paper: copies of the official team line without Evan’s name on it.

“Charlotte, wait!” he tried to shout, but his voice was swallowed by the Rainbow Regiment’s rising cheers at the sight of him.

The referee shook Charlotte’s hand, then turned and jogged toward the other team to deliver their copy.

“Charlotte!” he called again, and this time she turned and saw him.

“Wait!” Charlotte sprinted toward the referee. Catching him just before he reached the other manager, she yanked the sheets away and handed him an alternate pair, then dashed back to the Warriors’ bench before anyone could protest.

Evan met her there. “I’m so sorry I’m late.”

“I got your text,” she said, panting. “Officials gave me an extra half hour to turn in the team line—which got the other manager raging, of course. Probably have to pay a fine or something.”

“I’ll pay it,” Evan said. “Thanks for waiting.”

“I assume everything got sorted at work?”

“I think so.”

“Good. Now hand over your things to your man so you can start warmups.” She looked past Evan and cocked her head. “What’s he doing with those yins?”

Evan turned to see Ben standing near the touchline with Robert and Liam. They were all staring at him.

As he drew closer, he realized their shared expression was one of fear. “What’s going on?” He looked at Ben, whose cheeks seemed to pale under his gaze.

“I’m sorry,” Ben said, his voice barely topping a whisper. “I just wanted them to understand.”

“Understand wh—” Evan’s words halted, then froze in his throat as the icy realization took hold.

Slowly he turned his head toward Liam and Robert, who took a synchronized step back.

Robert raised his hands as if in surrender. “We don’t want any trouble. And we’ll never, ever tell.”

Oh God. Evan covered his face to keep from screaming. Everything he’d done these last three years to keep his work secret, all the hard feelings he’d earned, all the hearts he’d broken…were now for nothing.

“Don’t blame Ben,” Robert added. “He only said you weren’t a traitor. We worked out the rest.” He started to stammer. “I-I knew there was something odd on-on Wednesday when you had the two phones, and then when you disappeared after the terrorism news—”

“You suspected he was MI5?” Liam hissed. “And you didnae tell me?”

“It’s none of our business,” Robert whispered back.

“No, but it sure as fuck is Fergus’s business.” Liam turned to Evan and let out a hoarse laugh. “He never knew, did he?” He put his hands to his head like he would tear out his waves of ginger hair. “You lied to him all those years.”

Evan couldn’t speak if he’d wanted to. Words of self-defense lodged in his throat, but they were illegal and irrelevant. He deserved this moment of reckoning.

“Carroll, get your arse over here to lead warmups!” Charlotte called.

He waved at her, then thumped Robert’s arm as he moved toward their manager. “C’mon.”

Robert looked at Ben, then at Evan. “I’ll try and buy you a few minutes to…sort things. It’s the least I can do.” Shaking his head, Robert jogged after Liam, his broad shoulders heavy with dread.

“I’m so sorry,” Ben whispered, his eyes already overflowing.

Evan glanced over his shoulder to see the entire Regiment watching them, though they were too far away to hear. “Let’s find somewhere to talk alone.”

They walked together round the corner of the main building, Evan dragging his holdall over the uneven pavement.

“How much do they know?” Evan fought to keep his voice calm. “It’s important you tell me everything.”

“Liam asked where you were. I said I didn’t know, but then he said horrible things about you, and I couldn’t let—” Ben steepled his palms together over his mouth and nose. “No, I could’ve walked away. I could’ve let it go. I should have let it go.” He dropped his hands. “But I didn’t.”

Evan listened as Ben recounted the conversation. He wanted to rage at Ben for blowing his cover, but it was clear he’d done it with the best intentions, to defend Evan’s honor.

“Once they started guessing,” Ben continued, “I totally froze. I couldn’t think of what to say or do, and they read it all on my face. My stupid face.” Ben took off his glasses and wiped his wet cheeks. “I wish I could take it back, but I know I can’t. I can’t ever…”

He sobbed again, and Evan did the only thing he could do, which was to take Ben in his arms and hold him close. Ben’s body shuddered against his, and before Evan knew it, his own eyes were hot with tears.

Why had he ever thought he could have a real life—playing football and falling in love—without risking his precious secrecy? Most of his colleagues had little social life outside the Service apart from close family. In his arrogance, Evan had believed he was different, and now he was paying the price.

“I can fix this.“ He rubbed Ben’s back, as much to soothe himself as anything. “I’ll say I blew my own cover by accident. Robert suspected me at the pub—that was my own fault for being sloppy with those phones.”

Ben shook his head against Evan’s neck. “If you say that, then Liam and Robert’ll have to lie too.”

He was right, Evan realized with a rising panic.

“Okay, listen.” He let go and took Ben’s shoulders so he could meet his eyes. “This is hardly the end of the world. Believe me, the Service has much more important things on its mind just now.” He drew his thumb over Ben’s cheek to wipe away a stream of tears. “We’ll work this out.”

“No. We won’t.” Ben pulled away and put his glasses back on. “I can’t do this, Evan.” He waved his hand between them, in a space that suddenly felt as perilous as the Pentland Firth. “I can’t do us.”