Page 119 of Playing to Win

Katie stood and took back the flask. “That’s enough. We have a match Saturday.”

“Who cares?” Colin snarled. “We’re all losers now, so what’s it matter? What’s anything matter?”

“Please stop.”

Colin looked over to see a pair of lasses to his left, staring up at him with wet, bloodshot eyes. Though the night wasn’t cold, they huddled close together under a Scottish Saltire flag.

“Sorry,” he said. A quick scan of the area showed people in tiny clusters of comfort and mourning. Colin’s own heartbreak was reflected in each tear-stained face.

Robert gave a wordless grunt. Then he slowly got to his feet, looking like a Clydesdale recovering from a tranquilizer dart. “I’m away back to Fergus’s. I need to see—I need to see everyone.”

“And this flask is apparently empty.” Katie turned it upside down to demonstrate. “Hopefully we can drown our sorrows in pizza. Colin, you coming?”

He hesitated. “What if Andrew’s still there? I told him I hate him and never want to see him again.”

“Is that true?” she asked.

“I don’t know.” The thought of facing Andrew—the thought of facinglife—made the air seem suddenly too thick to breathe, much less walk through. Colin sank down onto the grass again and pitched over onto his side. “It’s just…all too much.” For the first time in years, he wished for a blade, a razor, a shard of glass—anything to bleed out this pain.

Katie kicked the sole of his foot. “Dude.” She kicked again, harder. “Dude!”

“No thanks.” Colin gave a bitter laugh at his accidental use of the Better Together slogan.

Katie’s Skechers appeared in front of his face. “You know what I tell my friends back home? I tell them Scotland is a great place to be a lesbian, because the men are worthless. When you get upset, you either shut down completely, like HAL 9000 here—” She pointed at Robert, who was staring at the pavement. “Or you throw a tantrum like a five-year-old!” Katie bent over, grabbed Colin’s wrists, and lifted him to sit up.

“Whoa,” he said at the swift change in altitude. “You’re very strong.”

“I know.” Katie planted a foot on either side of him, then sat on his outstretched legs. “But so are you.”

“I’m not.” He shook his head, heavy with the weight of grief. “I was, though, for a wee while. I was strong and brave and hardworking and kind. I had hope and trust and dreams. And what the fuck did it get me?”

“Colin.” She grasped his chin so he couldn’t look away. “Do you really not know the answer to that question?”

= = =

Andrew needed a pick-me-up on this worst night ever. So instead of the news, he chose a film he’d watched with Colin last month—Out in the Dark,a love story between a Palestinian man and an Israeli man living in the Gaza Strip. For some reason, Andrew held out hope that on a second viewing, the film would have a happy ending.

If nothing else, he could tell himself it was the sad story provoking this steady stream of tears, not the memory of Colin’s hate-filled eyes.

Why was I so brutal?Andrew wondered as he sat on his couch, knees pulled to his chest, sipping tea he couldn’t taste.Why not just comfort him, let him have his rant about voter stupidity and the system’s unfairness? Why shove the truth down his throat when he was so vulnerable?

Because Colin deserved the truth, no matter how it hurt. Letting him play victim wouldn’t help him move on from this setback. Colin needed to grow up.

But did it have to be tonight?

Perhaps Andrew’s parents had known best after all. If he’d stayed in London like they’d asked, he and Colin wouldn’t have fought. Anyone with half a brain could’ve predicted their relationship wouldn’t survive this historically histrionic night.

His doorbell buzzed. On wobbly legs he walked to the intercom near the reception-room door, gulping tea to wash away his hoarseness.

He pressed the button. “Yes?”

No sound came for several moments. Perhaps someone had rung the wrong flat and was too embarrassed to say so.

Then came a short cough, one Andrew could have singled out from a lineup of anonymous coughs.

He brought his mouth to the intercom speaker so fast, he nearly lost a tooth. “Colin?”

“Yeah. Erm…I know I should say some pure charming words just now to win you back.” Colin made a loud, wet noise that sounded like a sniffle. “But the only words I’ve got are ‘sorry’ and ‘I’m.’” He sighed. “Fuck. I mean, not necessarily in that order.”

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