Read Online Playing to Win by Avery Cockburn - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Avery Cockburn
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part? Perhaps he should play along to find out. “Okay…”
“Brilliant!” Andrew said. “Meet me Saturday morning at Queen Street Station, oh-nine-thirty. Pack an overnight bag.”
Colin nearly dropped the phone. “Wait—sorry, what?”
“I’ve yet to truly make amends for ditching you in January.” Andrew paused, and when he spoke again, his voice had lost all arrogance. “Will you let me?”
C HAPTER S EVEN
I T WAS THE towel warmers that did it.
Not that the hotel’s ten-foot-high crystal chandeliers didn’t make Colin feel out of place. They staggered him, as did the polished brass and wood inside the lift, and the green marble arch at the entrance to their hallway, and the gleaming chrome of the bathroom he sat in now.
But when he’d gone to dry his hands and spied the odd-shaped towel rack made of a dozen polished metal rungs, then noticed the button above it, a button that glowed orange when pressed…
He had to sit down a wee while.
What am I doing here?
Perched on the edge of the white porcelain bathtub, Colin leaned forward to force the blood back to his brain. He saw his ragged shoes, held together by duct tape, their tongues scraping the frayed hem of his best jeans, the only ones without significant rips. Everything on him screamed NOT GOOD ENOUGH.
Gonnae stay with your own sort, lad, or you’ll embarrass yourself.
“Get tae fuck,” he whispered to the memory of his mother’s words. “I can handle this.”
A soft knock came on the bathroom door. “Almost ready?”
“Just a second.” Colin grabbed the edge of the black-marble sink and hauled himself to his feet. Then he splashed cold water on his face, trying to ignore how smoothly the tap turned, with no squeaks or resistance, and how easily it shut off, not needing to be jiggled to stop it leaking.
He reached for a clean towel. It was already warm and toasty.
“Fuck.” He slammed his palm against the button to shut off the heat, then buried his face in the towel and tried to steady his breath. Throughout his life’s trials, even in all the high-pressure football matches he’d played, he’d never come close to a panic attack. He was not about to start now. Not over a fucking towel warmer.
Out in their room, Colin found Andrew—where else?—in front of the mirror. He’d gone with a “modified Adam Smith” for the occasion: Black-framed glasses and straighter hair, but wearing gray khakis and a short-sleeved, button-down chambray shirt that was all the colors of a stormy sky. He looked classy but accessible, in a way that would normally have made Colin want to devour him.
“Everything to your satisfaction?” Andrew asked, studying his own hair with the intensity of a microbiologist peering at a potential cure for cancer.
“Yeah.” Colin examined one of the complimentary sleep kits, which included a velvet black eye mask, earplugs, and a tiny bottle of lavender oil. “The room is, erm…” completely crisis-inducing “…nice.”
“I was devastated there were no suites available. But on short notice we were fortunate to get anything, much less a castle view.” He motioned to the window, where the curtains were now open.
“Oh.” Colin crossed the enormous room, moving past the cushioned bench-type thing at the foot of the king-size bed. Outside, the giant medieval castle loomed over the city atop a high, sheer cliff. “It’s so unreal.”
“Isn’t it just? All the years I lived here during school, I could never grow accustomed to it. It’s like an alien spacecraft.”
Resting his knee on the window seat, Colin pressed his forehead to the glass. It was nearly ten years to the day since he’d last seen Edinburgh Castle. The memory made the back of his tongue all twisty with emotion. He was glad they were giving it a miss today in favor of Real Mary King’s Close, a tour of medieval underground Edinburgh. Colin wanted to keep the castle for his eight-year-old self, forever.
“I assume you had
“Brilliant!” Andrew said. “Meet me Saturday morning at Queen Street Station, oh-nine-thirty. Pack an overnight bag.”
Colin nearly dropped the phone. “Wait—sorry, what?”
“I’ve yet to truly make amends for ditching you in January.” Andrew paused, and when he spoke again, his voice had lost all arrogance. “Will you let me?”
C HAPTER S EVEN
I T WAS THE towel warmers that did it.
Not that the hotel’s ten-foot-high crystal chandeliers didn’t make Colin feel out of place. They staggered him, as did the polished brass and wood inside the lift, and the green marble arch at the entrance to their hallway, and the gleaming chrome of the bathroom he sat in now.
But when he’d gone to dry his hands and spied the odd-shaped towel rack made of a dozen polished metal rungs, then noticed the button above it, a button that glowed orange when pressed…
He had to sit down a wee while.
What am I doing here?
Perched on the edge of the white porcelain bathtub, Colin leaned forward to force the blood back to his brain. He saw his ragged shoes, held together by duct tape, their tongues scraping the frayed hem of his best jeans, the only ones without significant rips. Everything on him screamed NOT GOOD ENOUGH.
Gonnae stay with your own sort, lad, or you’ll embarrass yourself.
“Get tae fuck,” he whispered to the memory of his mother’s words. “I can handle this.”
A soft knock came on the bathroom door. “Almost ready?”
“Just a second.” Colin grabbed the edge of the black-marble sink and hauled himself to his feet. Then he splashed cold water on his face, trying to ignore how smoothly the tap turned, with no squeaks or resistance, and how easily it shut off, not needing to be jiggled to stop it leaking.
He reached for a clean towel. It was already warm and toasty.
“Fuck.” He slammed his palm against the button to shut off the heat, then buried his face in the towel and tried to steady his breath. Throughout his life’s trials, even in all the high-pressure football matches he’d played, he’d never come close to a panic attack. He was not about to start now. Not over a fucking towel warmer.
Out in their room, Colin found Andrew—where else?—in front of the mirror. He’d gone with a “modified Adam Smith” for the occasion: Black-framed glasses and straighter hair, but wearing gray khakis and a short-sleeved, button-down chambray shirt that was all the colors of a stormy sky. He looked classy but accessible, in a way that would normally have made Colin want to devour him.
“Everything to your satisfaction?” Andrew asked, studying his own hair with the intensity of a microbiologist peering at a potential cure for cancer.
“Yeah.” Colin examined one of the complimentary sleep kits, which included a velvet black eye mask, earplugs, and a tiny bottle of lavender oil. “The room is, erm…” completely crisis-inducing “…nice.”
“I was devastated there were no suites available. But on short notice we were fortunate to get anything, much less a castle view.” He motioned to the window, where the curtains were now open.
“Oh.” Colin crossed the enormous room, moving past the cushioned bench-type thing at the foot of the king-size bed. Outside, the giant medieval castle loomed over the city atop a high, sheer cliff. “It’s so unreal.”
“Isn’t it just? All the years I lived here during school, I could never grow accustomed to it. It’s like an alien spacecraft.”
Resting his knee on the window seat, Colin pressed his forehead to the glass. It was nearly ten years to the day since he’d last seen Edinburgh Castle. The memory made the back of his tongue all twisty with emotion. He was glad they were giving it a miss today in favor of Real Mary King’s Close, a tour of medieval underground Edinburgh. Colin wanted to keep the castle for his eight-year-old self, forever.
“I assume you had
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