Football was full of triggers.

Evan felt it each time a player came at him from behind, even here at practice session, surrounded by trusted teammates. At the approach of pounding footsteps and heavy breath, a klaxon blared in the base of his brain, urging him to fling back an elbow with all the force in his threatened body.

He didn’t give in to that urge. If anything, that brief jolt of fear sharpened his play. Every nerve and muscle strived for escape, whether by a deft double scissors feint or a nimble Marseille turn. His manager, Charlotte, had pronounced his dribbling “dazzling,” but to him it just felt like survival.

Charlotte wasn’t as thrilled with how long he held onto the ball, pressing forward as far as he could instead of passing to his teammates, who all thought him arrogant for it. Evan had fed that belief with barbs about their lack of speed. As long as they considered him a dickhead, they’d never notice he was broken.

Now he was dribbling down the middle of the indoor practice pitch, zigzagging toward the goal, trying to shake his final defender, Warriors center-back Liam Carroll.

Ahead of him, forward Duncan Harris shouted for the ball. Evan did a quick flap-flap move to try to shake Liam but gained only half a step on the speedy defender. It was enough to see clear to Duncan, but something stopped Evan from passing.

Liam stepped forward and poked the ball back between Evan’s legs. His body collided with Evan’s, sending him sprawling on his arse.

“Oops,” Liam said with no regret as he zipped around Evan to steal the ball. The tackle had been perfectly legal—and perfectly humiliating.

As Evan rose from the turf, recovering his breath, he imagined Charlotte’s imminent rants.

“You do realize we Scots invented passing 150 years ago for a reason?” she’d said more than once. “You’ll never earn back your teammates’ trust until you give them yours,” she’d also said, more than twice.

But at the end of tonight’s practice, Charlotte had no lectures, only urgent news: The draws for the next two rounds of the Scottish Amateur Cup had been released. In the tournament’s early rounds, the Warriors had been lucky to play against sides from lower divisions, so they’d had a relatively easy run so far.

Judging by their manager’s face, the team’s luck had finally ended.

“Round seven will take place the seventh of March,” Charlotte said, reading from her phone screen. “It’s a home match.”

“Yes!” Duncan said beside Evan, pumping his fist.

“Against Moray Rovers.”

Duncan dropped his arm. “Shit.”

“Who are they?” asked left fullback Katie Heath, who’d just joined this season.

“Last year’s finalists,” said striker Colin MacDuff, rubbing the wound that lay beneath his football shirt. “Fucking hell.”

“It gets worse.” Charlotte lowered the phone. “If we beat Moray, we’ll face either Stirling Hill or Forthside in the quarterfinal.”

Evan echoed his teammates’ groans. Forthside United—appropriately abbreviated FU—had held the cup for three straight years.

Charlotte continued. “But you’re not to think of the quarterfinals—not this year’s, which we may never play, and certainly not last year’s. We focus on the match in front of us. Understand?”

Evan’s face flamed under his teammates’ glares. MI5 had deployed him to Northern Ireland directly before last year’s quarterfinal. With no safe or legal way to explain his absence, he’d invented a story about running off to Brussels with a fictitious Belgian lover. He’d broken the hearts of every Warrior—especially Fergus, who had replaced Evan as captain.

Since returning last July, Evan had tried to redeem himself through hard work, dedication, and of course scoring and assisting as many goals as possible. But most of the Warriors—Fergus included—probably wished Evan would disappear again forever.

“There’s something else,” Evan said. “In April we’ll be needing to make up the league matches that got postponed by the weather. We’ll be playing a brutal schedule, probably twice a week for over a month.”

“True,” Fergus said, “but so will every league team. If anything, we’re fitter and better prepared, thanks to our training schedule. Most amateur players treat football like a hobby.” He cast a proud smile over their teammates. “Warriors treat it like a calling.”

“We’re at a disadvantage,” Evan said. “We missed an extra league match on Saturday because of the Cup.”

“Aye, we’re the only team in our division still in the tournament.” Charlotte looked at Evan. “You’re worried we’ll not have enough healthy players?”

He nodded. “If any of us get injured between now and April, Warriors might not be able to field a full squad for some matches, not without risking further injury.”

“We could do with some new blood.” Fergus rubbed the dusting of ginger stubble on his chin. “Maybe another open trial?”

“And who’ll be coming to it?” Evan asked Fergus. “All the people we rejected from the trial we held six months ago.” After the Warriors’ charity match last summer—an event that had made them international LGBT icons—every queer footballer in the Central Belt had wanted to sign up. Only two players out of the dozens who’d applied had been good enough to join even as substitutes.

“You’ve got a better idea?” Liam snapped.

“I can scout for quality players at the gay football league’s matches,” Evan said. “Like I used to do.”

Fergus tilted his head back and sighed at the ceiling. “So we’re back to poaching, then.”

“I prefer the term ‘active recruitment.’”

“Whatever you call it,” Fergus said, “it makes the gay teams hate us.”

“They already hate us, so I don’t see—”

“Lads, lads.” Charlotte stepped forward. “Gonnae no chew each other’s heads off? I’ll have a wee chat to the board about it and let you know Saturday.”

As the players gathered their gear, Evan was approached by right fullback Jamie Guthrie. “If you need another pair of scouting eyes, I’ll go with you.”

Evan straightened up from his kit bag, amazed a teammate actually wanted to hang out with him. “Thanks.”

“Nae bother.” Jamie toweled off his own face, muffling his voice. “You recruited me from Glasgow Greens, so it’d be, like, full circle and all. Plus it’ll be fun.”

“Even if we go to a Greens match?”

Jamie lowered the towel to stare at him. “Can I wear a disguise?”

“Aye, we’ll both need them. If they recognize me, I’ll be the one needing a permanent substitute.”

“We’ll be like spies!” Jamie’s face froze. “Oh God. I didn’t—sorry, I cannae believe I said that word.”

Evan kept his face straight. “What word?”

Jamie blinked. “Right. So…erm, yeah, just let me know.” He hurried off to help Colin and Duncan collect the practice cones, though they were nearly finished.

This had been Jamie’s first slip-up since he’d been involved in Evan’s original MI5 vetting. The agency had requested four names as references, then each of those people in turn had been asked for four more names. Evan had given MI5 Charlotte’s name, and she in turn had offered them Jamie’s because, as she’d told Evan later, “The lad knows how to keep a secret.”

Though Jamie and Charlotte never knew which agency Evan had applied to or whether he’d been hired at all, they must have suspected that his sudden departure last year had been connected to his work. They’d had to remain silent in the face of his teammates’ recriminations, unable to defend him without raising suspicion and risking national security.

The thought of vetting reminded him of Ben. Evan needed more intel, the sort MI5 couldn’t provide.

He approached center-back Robert McKenzie, who was seated on the floor, leaning forward with the soles of his feet together in a deep groin stretch. “You know your friend Ben? Fergus’s wedding planner?”

“I was wondering when you were gonnae make your move.” Robert stretched his arms forward, spreading his fingers over the fibers of the artificial turf.

“We’re having dinner Saturday.” Evan sat beside him. “I don’t want to make an arse of myself, so any insights you could give me…”

Robert looked amused. “Ben’s great. He’s kind and funny, constantly buzzing about one thing or another. And he’s honest—sometimes too honest. Cannae keep a secret to save his life.”

Good to know, Evan thought.

“Which is ironic,” Robert continued, “considering his Grindr username is IllusiveMan. Erm, you knew that’s how we met, right? On Grindr?”

Evan shook his head but smiled to ease Robert’s embarrassment over the hookup app. “Illusive as in deceptive?”

“Illusive Man is a character from the Mass Effect video game. He’s a bad guy, but he’s got his reasons.”

“Reasons for what?” Liam asked, creeping up behind them. Evan pretended to be as startled as Robert.

“Gonnae stop eavesdropping, ya knob?” Robert beamed up at his partner. “This yin’s finally ready to woo Ben Reid.”

“Ben’s too good for you,” Liam told Evan, then turned back to Robert. “Your place the night?”

“Aye. Shower’s fixed.”

“Good.” He tapped Robert’s hip with his toe. “Though I do prefer you filthy,” he added before walking off without a glance at Evan.

“Sorry about him,” Robert said.

“I understand. Fergus may forgive me one day for hurting him, but his mates never will.”

“I’m glad you came back. You’re the reason this team’s not bottom of the league table.” Robert rubbed his thighs as he straightened his legs. “Besides, I believe in second chances.”

“Thanks.”

“But if you hurt Ben, I will personally break every one of your limbs.” He patted Evan’s shoulder as he stood. “Even if it means Warriors get relegated.”

Evan sighed. Sometimes he wondered whether he should move on for good, leave his team in peace. But he needed the Warriors and the exquisite everyday normalcy of football. His therapist and psychiatrist had agreed, else he never would have been allowed to return to Glasgow.

Now he watched as Robert and Liam left the building together. Lifelong best mates, they’d always been close, but ever since Robert had come out as bisexual and fallen for Liam, their synchronicity had taken on a sweetness and heat that anyone could see was true love.

Evan had once known that sort of bond with Fergus, before his job had driven them apart—little by little, then all at once, like a glacier inching toward the edge of a continent before plummeting into the sea.

Maybe his dad was right. Maybe it was time for Evan to find a new land.