Page 109 of Playing to Win

“Colin! Gie laldy!” Words of encouragement he’d heard a hundred times from a hundred friends and fans. But from this person, he’d not heard it in years.

He stopped, turned, and saw her at the end of the top row, sitting up straight like a queen on a throne, her long black waves of hair billowing in the wind.

He didn’t speak the word so much as mouth it. His throat was too tight, too dry, to make actual sounds.

“Mum…”

CHAPTERTWENTY-SIX

SLOWLYCOLINLIFTEDhis hand, though it felt his arm would crack in two from the tension. His mother mirrored the motion, raising her own right hand and holding it, palm out, as if giving a long-distance high five.

Their eyes met, and it seemed he could see her irises, pale green like his own, even from this distance.

“Oi!” one of his opponents shouted. “Gonnae join us today or what?”

Colin dropped his hand as laughter erupted from both sets of fans. He felt like a wean, waving to his mummy in the middle of a match.

The whistle blew to start the second half, and Barrowfield quickly took the ball into their attacking third. Lingering back near the midline, Colin rubbed his arms, forcing himself to focus on the play. It had been so long since he’d heard his mother’s voice in real life—and not just in his head—everything around him now felt like an alternate reality.

The Barrowfield right winger drove a bullet of a shot toward the goal. Heather leapt like a cat and got her hand on it just in time, sending it flying up over the crossbar.

A corner kick was awarded to Barrowfield as a result. Normally Colin would have moved up to help defend the goal, but as the lone striker, his job was to hang back to execute a counterattack. Two Barrowfield defenders stayed equal with him, one on either side, while the other two moved forward in hopes of heading in a goal from the corner kick.

Perfect.

The whistle blew, and the Barrowfield captain sailed in a swooping corner. Colin saw Liam leap up at the near post, his bright red hair glinting in the sun. He headed the ball sharply, out past the edge of the penalty area, where Duncan brought it down with a deft chest-tap. Colin took a single step forward, making sure he was still onside the moment the pass left Duncan’s foot.

It came like a cannonball. Colin backed up, watching the ball descend, keeping the converging fullbacks in his peripheral vision.

No fear. They can’t hurt you. Well, they can, but that’s the price of playing.

Just as the defenders reached him, Colin leaped to meet the ball with his head, flicking it backward toward the opposing goal. Then he landed, spun on his once-injured leg, and took off. It was now a race between him and the goalkeeper, who was just now springing off his line.

As Colin caught up to the ball, the speedy left back thundered in, but Colin trapped the ball with the studs of his boots—only for a fraction of a second, but long enough to lose the defender, whose momentum kept him going. As Colin took the first step to the side, his knee twinged, but it cooperated, catapulting him like a sprinter off the blocks.

The gigantic keeper rushed forward as Colin neared the penalty area. Colin watched the keeper watching him, waiting for Colin to signal when and where he would shoot. Colin angled his body as if preparing to slam home the ball with his left foot. Just like he always used to do.

The keeper dived, buying the act. Just before his foot struck, Colin turned it, poking his toe under the ball, lifting it over the keeper’s sliding body. As the ball arced up, up, up, Colin vaulted over the keeper, ready to tap in the rebound in case his shot hit the crossbar.

There was no rebound. The ball’s slow, graceful journey ended at the back of the net.

“YAAAAAASSS!” Whirling to face the crowd, Colin tapped the Warriors crest over his heart, then lifted it to his lips.

The other Warriors swarmed him. From behind, Duncan lifted Colin off his feet in a bear hug and spun him around.

“Put him down!” Colin heard Katie roar. “Jesus, what is wrong with you people?” When Duncan obeyed, she muscled in between them and held out her arms to block the others. “Celebrate gently, everybody! We can’t afford to lose him again.”

As they headed back to the center of the pitch for the kickoff, Colin raised a hand to the cheering crowd. He tried not to search for his mum, tried not to beam at her like he did when he was seven and scored his first goal in a youth football match. Tried not to care.

He failed. But, whatever—he’d more important things to worry about than lingering birthday bitterness.

The scoring dam broke, with three more Warriors goals in the second half (including a header by Colin, which would please Andrew), and two by their opponent.

When the final whistle blew, the Barrowfield players queued up to congratulate them. Unlike most of the Warriors’ opponents, these guys dispensed handshakes and high fives without a trace of homophobia.

“Brilliant play, mate,” the Barrowfield left back told Colin, giving him a backslapping hug. “Heard your knee was hurt, but obviously not anymore.”

“Yeah, feels great.” As soon as the words left Colin’s mouth, his knee began to ache. He’d need to hurry home to an ice pack and a pot of the anti-inflammatory tea Andrew had given him. “Hope you win next week.”

---