Page 22 of Must Love Christmas

“It was my job to salvage it with the call to sweep.”

“We’ll have another chance.” Luca nudged Garen with his elbow. “What’s wrong? You seem off.”

“Think I’m getting a cold. So don’t lick any of the stones I’ve touched.”

They watched as skip Cameron MacDougall drew his first stone deep into the house, leaving Luca with an even more difficult double takeout than the previous one. “If I make this shot,” Luca told Garen, “we win, and you’re away to bed.”

But he didn’t make it. Luca removed only one of the yellow stones, and Cameron finished by drawing another into the house, tying the score and sending the game into an extra end.

Garen sat on a bench at the end of the sheet to rest for a moment. Instantly his body begged him never to get back up. He put his hands to his flaming cheeks. “Ugh…”

“Mate, you sure this is just a cold?” Luca asked.

“You look pure peely-wally,” Ross added.

“It’s just the lights in here.” Garen struggled to keep his eyes open against the bright fluorescent glow. “They’ve got them turned up too high.”

His teammates examined the ceiling, then him, this time with more concern. Luca removed his glove and placed the back of his hand on Garen’s forehead. “Christ, you’re burning up. Get out of here.”

“I can power through for one more end. Just give me another energy drink and—whoa.” He nearly toppled off the bench as the world swooped in front of his eyes.

“Are you gonnae boak?” David picked up the nearest rubbish bin. “Here, use this.”

“I’m not that kind of ill.” Garen put a hand to his burning throat. “But I need to go home before I give everyone the flu.”

* * *

“Sorry I lost us that lead,”Garen told his curling coach as Oliver pulled out of the hotel’s carpark onto the busy Edinburgh street.

“It’s not your fault you’re sick,” Oliver said. “And Team Riley can still win the tournament tomorrow. They’ll just have a slightly more difficult path through the playoffs. It’s because of you that our record was so strong going into that last game.”

“If only I’d been able to keep my concentration a wee bit longer.” Garen leaned the side of his head against the blessedly cool window. “Focusing is enough of a battle on my best days, what with my leaky brain.”

“As someone with ADHD, I can definitely relate.” Oliver stopped the car at the traffic light, murmuring directions to himself as he examined the satnav on the dashboard. “You know, you might want to look into that for yourself. We have a lot of the same, uh, issues.”

“Yeah, maybe I should do,” Garen said, though he dreaded the waiting list to get evaluated. “Especially now I’ve got a flatmate who won’t tolerate my disorderly nature.”

When the light turned green, Oliver pulled into the junction and cleared his throat. “So, um…I’ve actually been wanting to talk to you alone for a while.”

Garen jerked his head to look at his coach, imagining the worst. “What did I do? Whatever it was, I’ll fix it.”

“It has nothing to do with you,” Oliver said, exhibiting more calm than most people showed in response to Garen’s insecurities. “I was wondering…what do you think would happen if I asked Luca to marry me?”

Garen blinked several times, wondering whether the fever was producing auditory hallucinations. “Your work visa’s running out in a few months, isn’t it?”

“No!” Oliver gripped the steering wheel. “I mean, yeah, but that’s not why I want to marry him. Jeez, you’re cynical.”

“Am I? You cannae renew your two-year visa. You’ll have to go back to Canada in February. I’ve looked it up.”

“I might be able to get a six-year visa, but I’d have to be sponsored by a bigger organization than Shawlands Rink.” He slowed at the next junction and put on his turn indicator.

As the car turned right, Garen’s head pounded harder, so he closed his eyes. “So where will you—”

“Shit!” Oliver slammed on the brakes as a car horn blared. Garen felt the jolt of safety belt clutching his chest. He shielded his eyes against the glare of headlights and squinted through the windscreen.

“Mate,” was all Garen could say. They’d nearly collided head-on with a lorry—a lorry that was on the left side of the road, unlike Oliver’s car. Another few feet and the flu would’ve been the least of Garen’s worries.

“Sorry. Sorry!” Oliver called out, waving to the lorry driver. Then he wrenched the steering wheel to take the car into the correct lane. “This hardly ever happens anymore. Just sometimes when I’m in a new city at night.”

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