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Everyone vacates the pitch. I stand on the sideline, hands clasped under my chin, and remind myself to keep breathing. If I pass out from lack of oxygen, I might miss the winning goal. Callum will be victorious. I know it.
Damian takes a deep breath and hollers, "Ready! Set! Go!"
Lachlan tosses the ball onto the field, and the players vie for control of it. Callum gets it first and dances around Hugh to avoid letting the Brit steal the ball away from him. Hugh finally snags it and pushes it toward the opposite end of the field. But Callum races past him, spins around, and whacks the ball away from Hugh'scaman, sending it soaring in the other direction.
The ball crashes into the net.
"It's a goal!" Damian shouts. "Callum MacTaggart wins the match!"
Can't control myself. I leap up and down while shrieking, though I've never done anything like this before. I'm so thrilled Callum won that the joy bursts out of me. I race onto the pitch and hurl my entire body at Callum.
He catches me, lifting my feet off the ground, and we kiss. With tongue. In fact, what we're doing might qualify as public lewdness. Good thing nobody brought their kiddies to the battleground today.
The man I love sets me down but keeps one arm around me.
Hugh comes up to us and offers his hand to Callum. "The best man won. Congratulations, mate."
Callum accepts Hugh's hand. "Are we still mates? Havenae been sure lately."
"I know, and that's my fault. I'm sorry, Callum. Should never have let my pride nearly destroy our friendship."
"We can talk about that later." Callum rolls his eyes toward the crowd. "When the whole clan isn't listening in."
The two men amble off the field while Callum keeps hold of my hand. I doubt one handshake has repaired the massive rift in their relationship, but it's a start. I believe they will work it all out and be best friends again, but not overnight. Hugh has some serious issues to deal with, and I somehow need to convince him to tell Callum about that.
Sure, no problem. Because men love to share their feelings.
Damian and Luke lead us back to the two tables set up on the green.
"Ready for round two?" Luke asks. "Let's see what triggers your anger toward each other, so you guys can work out your differences as self-aware men instead of boneheaded morons."
I like Luke more every time I hear him speak—because he tells the truth. His tone is never snide or mean. He says it like it is, but with a smile and humor. Kirsty told me that Luke used to be a "flaming ersehole," but that she helped him deal with his old issues. Now, he's once again the man she fell for more than a decade ago. They're getting married soon.
Callum responds to Luke's challenge first. "I'll do it. Hugh won't, since he doesn't want to suffer another public defeat."
"This isn't a competition," Luke says. "It's a therapeutic technique."
"Public therapy? Never heard of that."
"We invented it just for you two."
Hugh rolls his eyes. "And we're so bloody grateful. Is this compulsory? If I'm going to be imprisoned again, I'll skip the public humiliation."
"You can walk away now," Luke says. "But maybe first you should think about what it might do to your friendship with Callum. How much does that matter to you?"
Callum and Hugh look at each other. The Scot lifts one brow. The Brit puckers his lips.
But then Hugh smiles and thumps Callum on the back. "If you can handle this bollocks, I can do it too. Male pride be damned."
The man I love grins. "Let's see if we can break Luke's equipment."
"I hope you mean his electronic equipment."
"Oh aye, that too."
They're both smirking, which I take as a positive sign. Men who joke together stay together, right? That's been my experience.
Luke smirks right back at the Scot and the Brit. "My equipment will survive just fine—all my equipment. Will the two jackasses take a seat now?"
