Playing to Win (29 page)

Was this love? He hoped so, because if this was merely a pale imitation, then the real thing would probably kill him.

“Colin,” Andrew said, panting. “Don’t leave me again.”

“I won’t,” Colin answered in his next breath, before fear or good sense could steal the words away. “I cannae leave you.” He pressed his lips to Andrew’s ear. “I need you.”

Andrew quaked inside, and his moans suddenly pitched up. Colin reached down and grasped Andrew’s cock, pumping him in time to the rhythm of his thrusts.

“Yes! Oh God, ohhhhhhhh!” Andrew’s last syllable went on and on, rising in pitch. His arse began to twitch and spasm around Colin’s cock. Clutching their pillow, Andrew screamed again and again.

The sight, sound, and feel of Andrew’s orgasm sent Colin over the edge. As if from a distance, he heard himself cry out as he came. It was like dying and being reborn at the same time, as if one moment he was only his own, and in the next, he was lost to this man beside him.
 

Lost, but also found.

= = =

Colin returned from the bathroom, expecting to find Andrew sitting up in bed sipping wine, or perhaps even away to the kitchen assembling dinner.

But he was still lying where Colin had left him, only now he was half under the duvet instead of atop it. With an arm draped over his head, he stared at the ceiling with that same dazed look he always had after sex (though never for this long).

“Hey.” Colin went over and picked up one of the wine glasses, unsure which was his. “All right?”

Andrew turned his head to gaze at him, and the sight—those blissful silver-blue eyes, the rampantly tousled hair, and one long, tan, bare leg stretching out from beneath the white sheet—nearly brought Colin to his knees. He wished he were a photographer, so he could capture the utter artistry of this moment.

“Come here,” Andrew said, just above a whisper.

Colin held up the other wine glass, but Andrew shook his head.

“Just you,” he said, lifting the edge of the covers. “Lie with me.”

Colin obeyed. Andrew shifted next to him, then slowly rested his arm across Colin’s chest.

“Oh.” Colin carefully moved his own arm aside and looped it over Andrew’s shoulders, half expecting to be pushed away. But Andrew settled his head upon Colin, tucking his face into his neck.

Hiding his shock, Colin pulled him close with both arms. “Are we cuddling, then?” he had to ask.

“We are sharing a moment of quiet repose,” Andrew murmured, his breath brushing Colin’s skin. “Call it whatever you like.”

I call it paradise.
Colin fought the urge to cling, and instead merely stroked his thumb against the impossibly smooth skin of Andrew’s elbow.

“Did you mean it,” Andrew asked, “when you said you won’t leave? I feel like you’re always on the verge of walking out forever.”

Apparently Colin had done a poor job of hiding his instincts. “I never wanted to leave. I just didn’t want to be asked to leave.”

“Oh Colin.” Andrew tightened his embrace for a long moment. Then he shifted his other arm up to rest his elbow on Colin’s pillow. “If you stay, I can’t promise it’ll be easy. This world will not be kind to us as a couple. I can’t shield you from all the prejudice we’ll face, but I can promise I won’t abandon you. I won’t walk away.” He took Colin’s hand and kissed his knuckles. “Will you make me that same promise?”

“I—sorry, I’m not sure what you’re asking.”

“I want us to be boyfriends,” Andrew blurted. “Publicly. I don’t mean to make an announcement or anything crass like that. But I don’t want to hide you anymore.”

Colin’s tongue felt stuck to the roof of his mouth. He managed a shaky nod.

“Is that a yes?” Andrew asked.

“Aye.” Colin took Andrew’s face in his hands and kissed him. “Aye, it’s a yes. Aye, I want this. It’s fucking terrifying, but aye, I want it.”

“Oh, thank God. I was about to pass out there for a moment.” He reached across Colin for the wine glasses. “Really need that drink now.”

They sat up to toast their new status, then sipped side by side, legs pressed together, holding tight to each other’s free hand. Colin’s heart was still slamming his chest. He felt like he was about to dive into the biggest rave crowd of his life, a crowd that might not catch him.

“It’ll be a challenge,” Andrew said, “introducing you to society.” He gave Colin a sly smile. “But I know just where to start.”

“Y
OU
’
RE
MEETING
HIS
parents!!?” Katie grabbed Colin’s shoulders so hard, he feared he’d have bruises. “The Marquess and Marchioness of Kirkross?”

“Aye, tomorrow night.” He still couldn’t believe it himself. But every moment this week seemed unreal.

Having finished the day’s canvass, he and Katie moved through Glasgow’s George Square, where hundreds of people were milling about, their Scottish Saltire flags and Yes banners waving in the brisk wind. It wasn’t an official rally, just like-minded people coming together to share this feeling of jittery hope. Most were near his age, but there were older people as well, including parents with children, who played tag among the fenced-off monuments or danced to the guitarist and bongo players camped out on the grassy area to their left.

“This is amazing!” Katie twirled around, arms extended, looking more like a winsome hippie than a fearsome fullback. “I’m so lucky to be here to witness history.”

“We’ve not won yet,” Colin pointed out, though with a week and a day until the referendum vote, the Yes side had all the momentum.

“Win or lose, this is epic.” She pulled out her phone. “And definitely selfie-worthy.”

They joined one of the Saltire-waving crowds, then posed together in front of the flag. Colin screwed up his face, making rock horns with one hand and holding up his Yes Scotland sign with the other.

Katie took the picture, then laughed when she examined it. “You are such a wackadoodle.”

“Is that a good thing?”

“When it comes to selfies, sure. Instagramming this now.” She thumbed the screen for a few seconds. “There. I’ll hear about it from Siobhan for posing with a Yes flag. We got into it on Facebook last night after I posted a Three Stooges reference.”

“I saw.” Colin grimaced, both at the conflict between Katie and her girlfriend, and at the mention of the heads of the three major political parties. Sunday’s poll showing Yes with a lead had thrown the Westminster establishment into a panic. They were falling all over one another promising Scotland more powers if it stayed in the Union. No one Colin knew actually believed these empty vows, and even many No voters were insulted by the “love-bombing.”

“So are you nervous about going to Dunleven?” Katie asked him, plucking a stray leaf from her thick dark ponytail.

“Terrified. Andrew got the menu from his mum, so tonight we’re having a dress rehearsal on how to eat things properly.”

Katie gave a delighted groan. “That is sooooo sweet of him. How much has he told his parents about you?”

“They know about my, erm, family situation. So they’ll not be asking awkward questions like what my father does for a living.” He rubbed his stomach, feeling queasy at the very thought. “Andrew swears they’re nice people.”

“I believe it,” Katie said. “Andrew’s pretty nice.”

“Hah! Andrew is lots of good things, but ‘nice’ isnae one of them.”

“Same goes for you, so you’re a perfect pair.”

“I’m not nice?” Colin secretly took this as a compliment, along with his and Andrew’s designation as a perfect pair. It would have seemed insane a month ago, but the last few days had been a dream. Every night they were snuggling close on the couch watching romantic films, then later falling asleep in each other’s arms. And in between, the sex had somehow been better than ever.

“What about this?” Katie gestured to a yellow-vested police officer posing for a selfie with a young Yesser. “Have you converted Andrew to independence?”

“I’ve not tried. We argue about it constantly, but we both know there’s no convincing the other, so we just have fun with it.”

“I do not understand men. How can you be so calm? How can you not take it personally?” Her bright green eyes grew suddenly wet.

“It’s probably just a phase. We’re at that infatuation stage, you know, where even our farts are adorable.”

“Ugh. Like I said, I do not understand men.” She rubbed her nose. “But I do understand falling in love. It was magic.”

Colin wanted to protest that he wasn’t falling in love with Andrew, but it would have been a lie. In any case, Katie’s phone was ringing, with a musical tone he recognized as Siobhan’s. He stepped away to give them privacy, turning to talk to a group of Yessers beside the Queen Victoria statue. It was easy to make instant friends these days, when they all shared a common goal.

The three university-age lasses were discussing today’s speech by the Tory Prime Minister, David Cameron.

“He said he’d be ‘heartbroken,’” the blonde one said, “if Scotland left the Union.” She made a fake pout. “Poor lamb.”

“Is he trying to win more votes for Yes?” Colin asked.

They all laughed. Most Scots had hated Cameron’s Conservative Party since the 1980s reign of Margaret Thatcher, so the opportunity to make a Tory cry would tempt even the staunchest No voter.

“Apparently Obama’s made a statement in support of the Union too,” said the tallest girl. She twisted the end of her loose brown braid about her finger. “I used to like that guy.”

“I wonder if my American mate knows about this.” Colin turned to see Katie standing where he’d left her, staring at the phone in her hand. The look on her face was pure devastation.

Oh no.

He rushed over to her. “What is it? Is it Siobhan? Is she—”

“It’s over.” Her next breath was a shallow gasp. “I’ve lost her.”

“She broke up with you?”

Katie nodded, her lips pressed so tight they were turning white.

“Because of a
selfie
?” he asked. “That’s ridiculous.”

“Not the picture,” she choked out, shoving her phone at him. “The caption.”

He brought up her Instagram app and looked at the photo she’d posted of them ten minutes ago. Underneath she’d written
Hanging with @WarriorColin after a long day’s canvas.

Colin guessed Siobhan wasn’t raging about Katie misspelling
canvass
. “You never told her you were campaigning, did you?”

Katie shook her head, tucking in her chin, her shoulders beginning to jerk with the effort not to cry.

“Still,” he said, “it’s pure madness to break up with you over it.” He opened his arms. “C’mere.”

“I can’t—” Katie hugged her own waist as if literally holding herself together. “If I hug you, I’ll cry, and I don’t want to cry in front of all these happy people. It’s bad luck.”

“I think the movement will survive one lass’s tears.” He gently took her wrists. “C’mon, stiff upper lips look silly on American faces.”

She choked out a laugh that morphed into a sob, then reached out to draw him close. “I can’t believe this is happening.” Her body shook against his. “We’ve been together seven months. We loved—” She hiccuped. “We loved each other. Now she hates me.”

“I’m sure that’s not true.”

“It is! After that stupid poll came out Sunday, she got all scared. She got mean.”

Colin thought of how shell-shocked Andrew had looked Sunday morning before the canvass. Would he have turned vicious too, if he’d not witnessed the reality of Colin’s life?

He hugged Katie tighter. “She might come back. Maybe after the referendum—”

“It’ll be worse!” She pulled away so hard, he almost fell over. “If we come this close to winning and still lose, we’ll be crushed. If we win, and we’ve destroyed the Union—” She lifted an arm toward the pigeon-shite-splattered statue of Queen Victoria. “They’ll hate us.”

Colin dreaded either scenario, and right now, he’d no idea which was more likely. Thinking of the nineteenth of September, the day after the referendum, was like looking into a pitch-black crystal ball. “I don’t know,” he said, “it’s been bitter at times, but we’re still one people.”

“No, you’re not.” Katie reached into her pocket and pulled out a ragged tissue that looked like it had already sopped up its share of tears. “I’ve seen it happen in the States. Democrats and Republicans read different newspapers, watch different networks, eat different chicken—”

“Chicken?”

“Chick-fil-A hates gays, remember?” She dabbed at her nose with what was left of the tissue. “My point is, everything is political. Saying ‘Merry Christmas!’ offends liberals, and saying ‘Happy Holidays!’ offends conservatives. Everyone just talks to people they agree with.” She gave up on the tattered tissue and used her sleeve to wipe her face. “Twitter makes it worse, cos you can just tune out anyone with a different point of view. I hate seeing Scotland turn into that.”

“Me too.” Colin looked around the square, at the smiling faces and dancing weans, at the dogs with wagging tails and lasses with waving flags. In the middle of
this
, it seemed every Scot wanted independence. It seemed so possible and peaceful and right.

Yet in his canvassing, he’d met No voters who weren’t stupid, or feart, or uninformed. They simply loved being part of the United Kingdom, with all their hearts, hearts that would break if the sun rose a week on Friday to a shattered Union.

But all births came with pain, and this birth of a new country would be worth it. It had to be.

= = =

“It’s. An actual. Castle.”

“Yes.” Andrew switched off the Tesla and peered at Colin’s face, which was alarmingly pale. “I mentioned that, did I not?”

“I thought you were joking.” Colin seemed to be struggling to breathe.

“My jokes are usually funnier than that.”

Looking entirely unamused, Colin gripped the dashboard as he leaned forward to examine Dunleven Castle through the windscreen.

Andrew gestured to the Tudor-Gothic portion of his home—whose rose-gray facade, he noticed, had lost a few more stones since his last visit. “This bit to the right here is about two hundred years old. It’s where I grew up.”