Page 127 of Playing to Win

Andrew drew a cross in the Yes box.

Colin covered his mouth, feeling he might boak again.

In the video, Andrew set down his pen and let out a deep breath. Then he released his famous winning smile, showing all was well with the world.

“Thirdly,” Andrew said. “I love you, you silly cybernat.”

The video ended. Colin’s knees gave out, and he sank onto the sofa, nearly sliding off the edge of the slick leather cushion.

ANDREW, WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?

Hands trembling, he replayed the video, which had more than three thousand retweets and favorites. By now it must have been noticed by those in power, perhaps even the Prime Minister himself. Colin scrolled down the endless list of replies, recognizing prominent names from both the Yes and No campaigns.

He knew he should be happy. He’d won, in a sense. Not only had he brought Andrew over to his side, but the man loved him. Andrew had publicly declared his feelings and his allegiance, regardless of the consequences.

Consequences.Andrew had brushed off his father’s vague threats, saying they amounted to nothing but a reduced allowance. But Colin knew that powerful people like the Sunderlands—not to mention the United Kingdom’s ruling party—could do much, much worse.

“They’ll destroy you for this,” he said aloud. “They’ll destroy us both.”

“And I thoughtIwas the drama queen.”

Colin turned to see Andrew standing in the reception room doorway. He was wearing Colin’s Yes Scotland T-shirt and matching blue boxers.

“But I suppose every queen needs a king.” Andrew ambled over into the kitchen. “Can’t believe I slept past noon. I’m starving. What about you? Eggs and toast? I’ve got frozen crumpets for—”

Colin spoke his name, but Andrew turned only halfway, not meeting his eyes. Was he afraid of Colin’s reaction? Or did he already regret his declaration?

“I’m sorry if you feel ambushed,” Andrew said. “I meant to show you the video privately, but it never seemed the right time.” He opened the refrigerator. “Would you bring me my phone, please? It’s dreadfully bright over there and I’ve a massive headache.”

Colin switched on the device and laid it beside the sink. “I don’t know what to say.”I love you too?I’m pure happy you threw your life away for my sake?That color looks brilliant on you? Two out of those three statements were true.

“You’re probably the only one. I’m sure everyone else has loads to say.” Andrew set half a dozen eggs on the kitchen worktop, then picked up his phone. As it powered up, it played tones Colin recognized as text messages and voice mails, but Andrew’s frown deepened as he thumbed the screen. “Odd, my family hasn’t rung once. I assumed by this hour they’d be breaking down my door.” The intercom buzzed. “Ah, there they are.” He went to the console, pressed the speaker button, and said “Hiya” for the first time ever.

A man’s voice crackled through. “Yeah, I’ve got a telegram for a Mr. Andrew Sunderland?”

Andrew did a double-take. “A telegram? Is this a joke?”

“Why does everyone ask that?” the guy said.

“Because the world’s final remaining telegraph office closed last year in India,” Andrew replied.

“I’m from TelegramsOnline.com. We’re a messaging service. Look, I’ve got a busy schedule the day, so can you just let me up?”

“I’ll come down.”

The two of them dressed quickly. Colin noticed Andrew didn’t relinquish the Yes T-shirt—not that Colin wanted it just now. Then they hurried downstairs to the block of flats’ front entrance.

The burly messenger handed Andrew a brown envelope and said, “Oi, nice shirt.”

“Thanks.” Andrew signed the sheet on the clipboard. “Shitter of a morning, eh?”

“Aye. Cannae believe we only got forty-five percent of the vote. I thought it’d at least be close.” The messenger looked at them with bloodshot eyes. “Greeted my face off when they announced the results. All my mates, too.”

“Same here.” Colin was relieved—though not surprised—to hear he wasn’t the only grown man to cry over the referendum. Not since Uncle James’s death had he wept like that. “Might pop over to George Square later, see if anyone’s gathered.”

“I wouldnae.” The man shook his head and rubbed his black goatee. “Glasgow feels a powder keg the day. Everyone’s either cryin’ or—” He stopped and stared at Andrew. “Mate, you all right?”

Colin looked at his boyfriend and felt his own stomach plummet. Andrew’s face was deathly pale, his eyes fixed on the message in his hands. Colin grabbed the paper, a cream-colored sheet made to look like a telegram, complete with old-style typeface and a round, faded date stamp in the corner.

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