Page 107 of Playing to Win

“Okay.” Andrew took a deep breath. “I know it seems wrong to be involved with a staff member, someone who was under my power. But I don’t regret it and I don’t apologize for it. Timothy gave me a safe place to be myself when I was younger. Without him, I don’t know how I would’ve survived.”

“I get it.” Colin switched his kit bag and phone to his right side so he could drift his left hand over the metal fence surrounding Firhill Complex—a silly ritual he always did for luck. “It’s good you had someone you could trust back then.”

Andrew gave a grateful sigh that made Colin want to climb through the phone line to feel his breath. “Thanks for understanding.”

Colin forced his mind back to the mystery at hand. Something Andrew had mentioned was nagging at him. “You said your family’s been to your flat. Would one of them do it?” He remembered the way the Sunderlands had looked at him Wednesday night. “To turn you against me?”

“I don’t know. At this point I wouldn’t put anything past my brother.”

Colin stepped onto the empty football pitch and waved to Charlotte and Fergus, who were standing near the touchline. “Andrew, I gotta go, but please, gonnae be careful down there, okay? Phone me tonight when you’re home safe. I don’t care how late it is.”

“I will. Have a good game. I’ll be following John’s tweets to see how you do.”

“Shall I score a goal for you?”

“I’d love that.” Andrew’s voice had regained its signature purr. “Make one a header and I’ll see you’re appropriately rewarded upon my return.”

Colin marveled at how quickly Andrew’s thoughts could turn from personal security to sex. If only his own thoughts could follow.

They said goodbye, and Colin forced a brave smile as Fergus approached. “Oi, skipper! Big opening day.”

“Glad you’re here for it, mate.” The tall ginger captain gave him a back-slapping hug. “How’s the knee?”

“Amazing.” Reviving his role as team clown, Colin did a goofy jig to demonstrate. “Nice to finally get that fucking brace off.”

“Here’s hoping you’ll trade one brace for another today.” When Colin squinted at him, Fergus said, “Get it? A ‘brace’ as in scoring two goals in one game?”

“Och, right. Spend all night thinking that one up, did you?”

“I swear it sounded funnier in my head.” Fergus examined Colin with that surrogate-big-brother look. “You all right? Something on your mind?”

“Just—you know, indyref stuff.”

“The whole team’s on edge,” Fergus said. “I might have to dust off my unity speech.”

Colin nodded. The Warriors’ last training session had degenerated into political bickering after Robert had celebrated a goal by tearing off his practice jersey to reveal a Yes Scotland T-shirt underneath. He claimed he’d forgotten he was still wearing it after his and Colin’s canvassing shift, but no one believed him.

So Charlotte, whose feelings on independence were still a mystery—which probably meant she planned to vote No—had forbidden further political displays. She’d even asked their fan club, the Rainbow Regiment, not to unfurl any indyref banners at Warriors matches.

“You think it’ll hurt our play today?” Colin asked Fergus.

“Maybe, but our opponents will be in the same state. Everyone in Scotland’s a mess just now.” His gaze went distant, out over the edge of the park. “It’s like the air tastes different these days, you know?”

“Aye, it tastes bitter. But in kind of a good way. Like that pure quality beer you had at your housewarming.”

Fergus smiled. “The black IPA? I’ll see to it we’ve got some for our indyref party Thursday night.”

Colin’s stomach did a quick, tight tumble at the wordsThursday night. Now that independence could actually happen, the thought of losing was starting to terrify him. Thursday night felt like the end of one of those Choose Your Own Adventure books he loved as a kid. One page held a hard-fought triumph; the other page, certain death at the hands of the ant people/evil power master/zombie pen pal.

But Colin wasn’t the only one with his hands on the book. Someone else was turning the pages.

Through the park gate, more Warriors were arriving, clad in their violet-and-white-striped shirts and black shorts. With one deep breath, Colin slammed shut the steel doors inside his mind, blocking all non-football problems, a skill he’d unfortunately had many opportunities to hone.

It was time to play.

= = =

Though Colin wasn’t in today’s starting eleven—which he’d expected—Charlotte promised to send him in later as a substitute. “Unless you moan and whinge at me,” she said, “in which case you might as well glue your arse to that bench.”

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