Page 212 of Playing By Ear

“I knew you could do it, babe!” Katie said, squeezing extra hard. “I knew it.”

The whistle blew. Jamie spun in time to see Ramsay preparing to attempt his own penalty, with Heather in goal. If he succeeded, the rotation would start over and Fergus would be next. Jamie wanted to volunteer to go first this time, and second and third, aye, take all the penalties.

Ramsay rushed the penalty spot. He kicked the ball, a low, bouncing shot toward the right post.

With a swift dive, Heather slapped it away.

“YAAAAAAASSSSS!” Jamie dashed for the goal, arms raised, his teammates sprinting beside him. Heather rushed to meet them, and they swarmed her in a pile of pure joy.

The Warriors bounced off one another like pinballs, hugging, kissing, lifting each other up. They hoisted Heather onto their shoulders and carried her to the touchline, where they deposited her in front of Charlotte, who gave her the biggest, longest embrace of all.

Jamie paused on the touchline to take it all in, to stamp this moment on his memory forever. Up in the stands, the Rainbow Regiment was a riot of living, pulsing color. Their belief had carried the Warriors here, had never wavered even in the bleakest minutes.

He put a hand to his chest. Surely the love would burst his heart.

Then he looked at his family, the ones who’d made him, so long ago and so recently.

His breath stopped. His eyes burned twice as hot as when the ball had smashed his face.

Then his knees gave way, and he dropped to the ground with his head in his hands.

“Eight more days,” he choked out as the tears came so hard and fast it seemed they would bruise his eyes.

Charlotte reached him first, wrapping her arms around his back and repeating his name. Then Ali was there, and Shona, and more, until the voices of every teammate blended into one.

“Eight more days,” Jamie said again, his cheek scratched by the zipper of his manager’s jacket. “If I’d done better by him, he might’ve lasted. He might’ve seen this.”

“No, lad,” Charlotte said, her own voice breaking. “You did everything.”

“How do you know that?” She hadn’t been there.

Charlotte pulled away and took his face in her hands. “I know that because I know you.”

“Oh, dear,” the commentator said. “It looks as though one of the Warriors has collapsed in the midst of the celebration.”

Perry broke his jubilant hug with Brodie and touched his earphone. “Someone’s collapsed? What’s happening out there?”

“Hang on,” Ben said. “I see Evan and Fergus, and there’s…” He named a few more under his breath. “Oh, no, it’s Jamie.”

Perry’s pulse surged. “Is he okay?”

“I think so. Awww, Robert’s got him up and giving him a big hug.”

“The player in question, fullback Jamie Guthrie,” the livestream commentator said, “is on his feet now. I’m told he’s sadly just lost his father. Small wonder, then, that this occasion brings out so much emotion.”

Again Perry battled the impulse to run to comfort Jamie, but this time he knew the Warriors were there, lifting him up with their indomitable strength.

John wrapped a hand around his arm, this time gently. “Think of this, if it helps,” he said, his voice an island of serenity in the shouting, singing chaos. “Tomorrow we get to wake up and remember today.”

His cheeks drying in the wind, Jamie returned to the pitch for handshakes and back-pats with his opponents, whose heartbreak was etched upon every face. Near the goal, Heather had her arms around a sobbing Ramsay, rubbing sympathetic circles on his back.

“We’re cool, aye?” Grimes asked Jamie as they shook hands. “If your eye’s injured, let me know how I can help before you⁠—”

“My eye’s fine.” Jamie was rather proud of taking a point-blank shot to the face in the name of protecting the goal. “Even if it wasn’t, I’d never have your kneecaps busted for it.” He shrugged. “My big sister, on the other hand…”

Grimes’s eyes widened.

“I’m joking,” Jamie added.