Page 211 of Playing By Ear

The goalkeeper lunged. The ball caught his fingertips, hit the post…

…and ricocheted wide.

Ramsay vaulted to his feet, face contorted in triumph. He whooped as he pounded the Forthside United patch on his chest.

No…

No.

No!

It had been a solid shot, the best Jamie had ever taken. But the goalkeeper had deflected it a few fatal inches.

Jamie had failed. When he’d felt most calm and confident, when he’d done everything right, he’d still failed.

He turned to make the long, desolate trek back to his teammates. How could he face them after letting them down? If Heather didn’t save the next shot, the Cup would be lost.

Perhaps all along his fear of penalties had been rooted in this moment. Perhaps he’d remembered his future disgrace.

A whistle blew. All at once, the crowd noises rushed back, as if the whistle had punctured a hole in Jamie’s bubble of silence. Someone touched his back: the referee, whose voice was inaudible above the shouts of fans and players.

“Sorry?” Jamie leaned in and put a finger to his ear.

“Goalkeeper came off his line early.” The official handed him the ball. “Retake your penalty.”

Was this real? Jamie turned around. Ramsay was pleading his case to the linesman, who stood implacably on the spot where the goal line and eighteen-yard box met, finally having done his job.

Another blanket of calm fell upon him on his way to the spot, but not the rigid, steely calm of his first attempt. Not this time.

He was no longer channeling his father. He was channeling himself.

Himself, who had worked his way up from £4.38 on his first day busking to a career as a pro musician. Himself, who had overcome fear, exhaustion, and his own pride to care for his father at the end of life. Himself, who had finally dared to fall in love.

If he could manage those feats, he could pass a ball twelve yards into a gigantic net.

Jamie set the ball on the spot, took a deep breath, and met the goalkeeper’s eyes again. All of the man’s nervous habits had increased fourfold. If Ramsay didn’t save this shot, he’d have to score his own penalty attempt next. He was probably already thinking about it. And if he was thinking about his own penalty, he wasn’t thinking about Jamie’s.

Jamie smiled at him. Not a supervillain’s I’ve-got-you-now smile, but a genuine, we’re-all-on-this-mad-journey-together smile. The smile that had disarmed Glasgow’s godfather, first on Jamie’s mum’s face, then his sister’s, and finally his own.

And with that smile, all tension washed away.

Jamie took four steps back and waited for the whistle.

It came.

He moved forward. One. Two. Three. Four steps.

He planted his left foot, slammed the ball with his right, launching it toward the top left corner. Ramsay dived that way, but the ball flew past out of reach, unsave-able by any human.

The Rainbow Regiment shrieked.

He’d done it. Holy fucking hell, he’d done it!

Jamie punched the air with both fists and gave a throat-shedding roar to the sky. Then he raced back to join his teammates on the center line.

Liam, Robert, and Katie wrapped him in a triple bear hug.

“Top bins!” Liam shouted, so loud it hurt Jamie’s ear. “Top fucking bins!”