Page 131 of Playing to Win

“‘Provoke’? They’re humans, not grizzly bears.”

Colin dragged his hands over his own face. How could he live with himself if his boyfriend lost his family over this? And it wouldn’t be just family—probably most of Andrew’s mates and colleagues would turn on him as well. Soon he’d come to hate Colin.

“Andrew, you’ve no idea what they’re thinking and doing behind the scenes just now.”

“Yes, they’re no doubt conspiring with the Illuminati to have me kidnapped and flown to Mars.” He got up and came over to Colin. “This is no time for hiding. You were the one who said, ‘Be fierce, not feart.’”

“That was a campaign slogan. This is life.” His phone rang in his pocket. “Hang on.”

It was Liam. “We’re on our way to George Square, me and Robert and Katie. You coming?”

“Soon. Andrew and I are back in the Drum.”

For a moment there was silence on Liam’s end of the line. “Andrew’sat your flat? With your family?”

Andrew looked away, clearly having heard the hostility in Liam’s shout. He signaled to the door, indicating he was headed to the loo.

Colin nodded, then answered Liam. “Aye, he’s here, and they love him.”

“Isn’t he worried he’ll get lice or something?”

“Get tae fuck, Liam. And gonnae no be a dick to him today. He’s on our side now. What more does he have to do to prove it?”

Someone yelped, then whooped, in the background behind Liam, who said, “Katie, what are you on about?” There was a long pause. “Huh. I guess it’s a start.”

“What’s a start?” Colin asked.

“Your boyfriend’s latest tweet. ‘Thanks for all the comments on my latest video. Here’s what my father had to say. Hashtag, indyref, hashtag, not a joke.’ Then there’s a pic of a thing looks like a telegram, says—”

“I know what it says.” Colin shut his eyes and held his stomach.Fucking hell.Andrew must have written that tweet earlier, saved it as a draft, then posted it just now after Emma’s urging.

Katie came on the line. “Also, his profile name is now FKA Lord Andrew instead of Lord Andrew Sunderland.”

“FKA?”

“Duh,” she said. “Formerly Known As.”

CHAPTERTHIRTY-TWO

THISWASN’TTHEGeorge Square that Andrew had expected, based on videos and pics he’d seen on the news and on Twitter these last few weeks. It wasn’t “Freedom Square,” as the Yessers had hoped to officially rename it after independence had won.

There were few Saltires waving, and no children playing. There were no guitars or bongo drums. In fact, the only musical instrument seemed to be some sort of bike horn on steroids.

There were still songs, to be sure. But now, “Flower of Scotland” was drowned out by “Rule Britannia” and “God Save the Queen,” two hymns that had once swelled Andrew’s heart with British pride.

His innards had quite a different reaction to these off-key, shouted renditions, however, because now, the center of George Square was filled with Union Jacks, Orange Order banners, and even a sign reading SCOTLAND IS BRITISH. NO SURRENDER. The ugliest elements of Glasgow—literally and figuratively—had come out of hiding.

“Why are they so angry?” Katie asked as the five of them stood at the edge of the square, debating whether to enter. “They won.”

“They won Scotland,” Liam said, “but they lost Glasgow.” He folded his bulging arms over his chest. “These Unionist pricks think they own this city. They mean to take it back.”

“So they’re the same assholes who root for Rangers?” she asked. “Is this about football?”

“It’s not about football,” Colin said, “and most Rangers fans are nice. Like John.”

Andrew watched as a new clump of Unionists entered the square to his left, waving their arms and singing, “You can stick your independence up your arse!”

“We should go,” Robert said. “This could get ugly.”

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