After nearly a year of hoping and dreaming, of chapping doors and making calls, the most important day of Colin’s life passed in a flash.

At seven a.m., he arrived with his dad and gran at the Drumchapel polling station, where they stood in a long, merry queue. Then he went to work at a phone bank for the last push of calls—reminding Yes voters where their polling stations were and finding volunteers to drive those who needed rides. The mood in the Yes Scotland campaign office was sky high.

It was the same on Twitter, where the #VoteYes hashtag showed countless encouraging reports. Teenagers casting their first ever ballots. Old people casting them for the first time in decades, finally feeling they’d something worth voting for. People changing their minds to Yes while standing in the polling booth, their fears giving way to hope, their doubt giving way to faith in their fellow Scots.

We can do this, Colin thought, a sentiment echoed throughout the nation. This time there would be no glorious defeat, no consoling themselves with how nobly they’d fought.

This time they would win.

“Ruth says it’s in the bag.” With a satisfied smile, Jeremy set his phone on the tiny pub table between him and Andrew. “I’d love to order champagne, but that might look suspicious.”

Andrew frowned down at his dinner plate, his salmon croquettes barely half eaten. His stomach had been in knots for hours.

As on every election day, there’d been no substantive news, just an entire country gnawing its collective fingernails. The Times’s front page read D-Day for the Union, and one old chap on the Tube compared London’s atmosphere to that during the blitzkrieg. “It’s like waiting for the world to end,” he’d told Andrew.

Andrew lifted his head to look at his brother-in-law, only now registering his words. “Ruth Davidson?” The Scottish Tory leader had been dispatching hourly voter-turnout updates to senior party members. “What does she mean it’s in the bag?”

“They’ve been sampling postal ballots for weeks.” Jeremy’s dark eyes gleamed. “The No vote is so far ahead with those, the chance of Yes winning is nearly nonexistent.”

Andrew stared at him. “Sampling? Is that legal?”

“Completely. Both sides have been doing it. It’s only against the law if you look to see how a particular person voted.” He raised his diet Coke an inch off the table, then quietly clinked it against Andrew’s club soda. “It’s over, mate. It was over before today’s voting even began. The union’s been saved.”

Andrew couldn’t get his mind around this news. “How do we know for certain? What if Yes have a massive turnout?”

“They won’t, not as big as ours. We’re using the same get-out-the-vote consultants that won Obama the White House. So whilst Yessers have been partying in George Square and trolling on Twitter, we’ve been seeing to it every member of Scotland’s silent majority makes it to the polls.” Jeremy darted a glance around the pub, then beckoned Andrew to lean in close. “I’m hearing fifty-four to forty-six percent.”

“My God.” Andrew imagined Colin’s heartbreak at losing by such a decisive margin. The knot in his stomach doubled back on itself.

“I had a good feeling about today.” Jeremy covered his mouth to hide a giddy smile. “I’ve been watching the online gambling sites. As recently as Monday the momentum was with Yes, but by last night every bet had switched back to No.”

“What changed, I wonder?”

Jeremy gave an animated shrug, palms up. “Last-minute promises by Westminster? Cold feet on the part of the undecideds? Mercury coming out of retrograde?” He sat back and rubbed the five o’clock shadow along his jaw. “I think the Yes campaign simply ran out of time. If the referendum were next week, who knows? They’ve fought well—better than we did. Of course, that doesn’t make them right.”

“Of course,” Andrew said softly, thinking of what Colin had said last night about fighting well but always losing. How it was the Scottish way.

Jeremy sat forward again, his exuberance bubbling over. “I for one can’t wait to see the Nats’ sniveling faces tomorrow morning when their idiotic dreams are crushed.” He made a fist around his paper napkin. “I can’t wait to hear them rant about how they were cheated. I can’t wait to watch them turn on one another like losers always do.” He reached for his drink, then paused when he caught Andrew’s eye. “Excepting your boyfriend, of course. I hope he’s all right.”

He won’t be. After a lifetime of cynicism and impotent rage, Colin finally believed in something. Once his dream turned to dust, would he take comfort in knowing that Scotland was forever changed? Or would he fall into despair and think all his hope and hard work were for nothing?

Would he hurt himself again?

Jeremy looked at his watch. “Ah! We should head to the station. The Party wants us back in Edinburgh to celebrate.” He opened his wallet and yanked out a twenty-pound note.

“‘Us’?”

“Didn’t I mention it? The leaders want to meet with you. Now that this ghastly referendum business is over, we can finally look to the future of the Scottish Tories.” He slapped the note on the table. “And you, Lord Andrew, are that future.”

Andrew steadied his breath as he followed Jeremy out of the pub. At long last he was being set loose to fulfill his destiny.

Jeremy’s patter continued in the hotel lobby. “Tonight during the bash we can discuss where you stand the best chance of getting elected. After you finish at Glasgow University, you could study law in Edinburgh.” He steered Andrew through the crowd toward the door. “A few wealthy council areas there could very well switch to Tory by the 2025 general election.”

“General election?” Andrew had assumed they meant for him to stand for Scottish Parliament first. Were they aiming even higher, like he’d always dreamed?

“But let’s think out of the box for a moment.” Jeremy slung an arm around Andrew’s shoulder. “East Renfrewshire,” he said in a hushed voice. “We move you there immediately—it’s near enough to Glasgow you can commute to university. You start making connections there now, and by the 2020 general election, who knows? You could be the first Member of Parliament born in the 1990s.”

With a grin, Jeremy let go of him and started to step into the revolving door.

Andrew stopped short. “What about Colin?”

Jeremy pivoted, bumping into an annoyed lady in a red suit-dress. “What about him?”

“You’re not concerned he could harm my political career?”

Jeremy snorted. “Of course he would, in the long run. Which is exactly why you should have your youthful dalliances now, get them out of your system.” At Andrew’s shocked look, Jeremy added, “I know at your age, every relationship feels like the be-all and end-all. When I was twenty, I met a woman I swore I’d marry. Luckily I didn’t swear it out loud, because a year later I met your sister. Now hurry or we’ll be late.”

He ushered Andrew ahead of him through the revolving door. Outside, the doorman waved over a taxi.

“Euston, please,” Jeremy told the driver, then sat across from Andrew. “Reggie’s packed your things at the Knightsbridge house. He’ll meet us at the station.”

“Oh. Thanks, I guess?” Andrew didn’t like anyone, even his bodyguard, touching his stuff. And since when did Reggie take orders from anyone but him?

“I know this must feel overwhelming,” Jeremy said, knee bobbing with excitement, “but get used to it. You’ve an illustrious career ahead of you, and it’s well-deserved. When I see sharp young people like you, I don’t fear for the future.” He leaned forward and gave Andrew a brotherly pat on the knee. “I welcome it.”

With a tight nod, Andrew turned his head to watch the London streets passing by. He knew most of his brother-in-law’s words were mere flattery. The family and the Party no doubt sensed Andrew was drifting away, and this was their softer, kinder attempt to win him back. Whilst George wielded the stick, Jeremy offered the carrot.

Still, Andrew believed that if given the chance, he could rise to the top. He should rise to the top. Success in politics was about much more than intelligence and hard work. It was about pleasing the right people. Staying on-message. Being a team player.

And seizing opportunities, no matter when or why they were presented. No matter what the cost.

Colin’s knee—all of him, really—was relieved when football practice dismissed early. The Warriors were pure ready for Saturday’s match, and no one could focus anyway. Like her players, Charlotte wanted to get showered, changed, and in front of a TV, pronto.

By the time polls closed at ten p.m., Colin and most of the other Warriors had gathered at Fergus and John’s flat, though no results were likely to be announced until after midnight.

“Welcome to our all-night referendum bash!” Fergus stood before the partygoers, stretching his long arms across the kitchen doorway. “First, a few ground rules.”

Laughter mixed with groans. The Warriors captain’s list of team rules was infamous and ever-growing.

“Rule One,” Fergus said. “No getting hammered. We’re forty hours from our next match. Anyone caught drinking more than one beer an hour will be cut from Saturday’s starting eleven.”

Colin raised his hand. “Can we bank our beers? Like if I drink nothing until two o’clock, I can have all five at once?”

Fergus shook his head. “No banking beers. No rollovers.”

“No way,” Robert murmured over Colin’s shoulder. “How can we stand the suspense if we’re sober?”

“Seriously.” His heart felt ready to give out after a long day of racing and pounding. Colin had probably burned an entire six pack’s worth of calories through stress alone.

“Rule Two,” Fergus continued. “No fighting. Some of you support Yes, some of you No. Emotions are running high, as we’ve seen at practice. Polite debates are one thing, punch-ups are another.”

“My God, you’re so adorably middle class.” John stepped in front of Fergus and announced, “Rules Three through Ninety-Six will be posted prominently in every room. You must read and sign them before receiving your allotment of pizza. But please, enjoy yourselves.”

Fergus joined in the mocking laughter, then stepped aside to let them into the kitchen.

Not long after, Colin came across John at the table refilling giant bowls of crisps, pretzels, and Wotsits. “Is Fergus serious about the one-beer-an-hour rule?”

“Aye, but he won’t enforce it.” John smirked. “He trusts youse to be responsible adults.”

“I usually don’t drink so close to a match.” Colin raised his beer bottle. “But this is indyref night. Time to celebrate!”

“You know Yes is still the underdog, right?”

“Maybe a week ago we were. But today, I can feel it through all Glasgow. We’re ready.”

“If only Scotland was nothing but Glasgow.” John munched a Wotsit, then sucked the cheesy residue from his fingertips. “Actually, that’d be a nightmare. Can you imagine our city council as Parliament? Fuckin’ banana republic we’d be.” He gathered the empty snack bags and shoved them in the rubbish bin. “As for Fergus, he wants to keep life as normal as possible for the Warriors during these mad times. Yes or No, there’ll always be the football.”

“There’s more to life than sport.”

John put a hand to his heart. “Och! I’ll pretend I didnae hear that.” His phone buzzed inside his shirt pocket, and he quickly checked the screen. “Pizza’s arriving in a minute. Gonnae open the door for the man when he comes? I need to, erm, arrange these snacks. Fergus likes them done a certain way.”

“Nae bother.” Colin went to the front door and peered through the peephole. When he saw a figure approach from the left, he opened the door so the pizza guy wouldn’t risk dropping his delivery in order to knock.

But it wasn’t the pizza guy.

“Hi” was all Andrew could find the breath to say before Colin stepped out of the flat and into his arms.

Andrew kissed him hungrily, backing him up against the door, which had swung shut behind him. He needed to taste Colin’s hope and happiness while it lasted.

“I cannae believe you’re here,” Colin said, squeezing Andrew so hard he thought his ribs would crack. “Did you tell me you were staying in London until Sunday so I’d be surprised?”

“No. I just couldn’t stay away.” He let go, then took both of Colin’s hands, squeezing his eyes shut tight for courage. “Whatever happens, I want to be with you. Whatever happens, I need you to know I—”

The door swung open behind Colin, making him stumble back. Liam caught him.

“Pal, you look pure knackered,” the center-back told Andrew. “Out all day suppressing the vote? Telling poor people the polling station’s closed, so please to put their ballot in this plastic sack and you’ll see it gets counted?”

Normally Liam’s words would have riled Andrew. But knowing what was to happen tonight, he just felt sad.

“Give it a rest, Liam,” Colin said. “Mind, we’ve got to be magnanimous in victory.” He turned to Andrew. “I’ve proposed a major nationwide event tomorrow—Have a No Voter for Tea. Think it’ll catch on?”

Andrew forced a calm smile. “Are you serving tea to No voters, or are you eating them for tea?”

Colin laughed again, his voice pitching high with giddiness. “How’d you escape your captors?” he asked, pulling Andrew away from Liam and toward the kitchen. “Does your family know you’re here?”

“Only my brother-in-law.” Jeremy had thrown a fit when Andrew had decided to board a train for Glasgow instead of Edinburgh, but in the end, he admitted it was Andrew’s decision to make, and he promised another meeting with Party leaders at a quieter time. “He swore not to tell as long as I promised to stay off the streets. I’m only permitted to be here and my own flat tonight.”

“Noooo, you need partying in George Square later!” Colin started dancing, hands in the air. “Gonnae become Adam Smith and raise the roof with us!”

Andrew laughed, since it was either that or cry. “Are you drunk?”

“Naw, just happy.” He slid an arm around Andrew’s waist. “Now you’re here, life is complete.”

Andrew’s heart cracked in two at the thought of that radiant smile vanishing. “May we have a minute alone? I really need to tell—”

“Oi!” John shouted, his voice thundering over all the others. “Something’s happening.” He turned up the volume on the television, which was tuned to BBC’s Newsnight.

“What is it?” Colin let go of Andrew and pushed through the crowd. Andrew hung back, knowing it couldn’t be good. Here beside the stereo speaker, he couldn’t hear the news over the dance music.

Katie frowned and nudged Andrew. “There’s been another YouGov poll, taken today. What’s the point of releasing it now?”

“To give wanks on TV something to blether about,” Liam said.

“Yeah, maybe.” She started peeling off pieces of her beer-bottle label. “I have a bad feeling about this.”

“Me too,” Andrew said.

Katie gave him an odd look, then turned back to the TV. “Wow, it’s the president of the polling company.” A moment later, her jaw slowly dropped, and she put her hand to her mouth. “Oh shit. Oh shit oh shit oh shit oh motherfucking shit…no.”

Finally someone turned off the music, and Andrew could hear the television, where a man was saying, “I can’t see No losing this now. At the risk of looking a complete prat in a few hours’ time, I would say it’s a 99% chance of a No victory.”

Andrew shoved his way between Liam and Robert to find Colin standing frozen in the middle of the room, staring at the television with wide, wet eyes. He looked like a child who’d just seen his dog run over.

On the TV, a bold red-white-and-blue graphic predicted a 54-46% win for No. Just as Jeremy had said.

“I’m so sorry, love,” he told Colin, who didn’t respond or even blink. Andrew slid an arm around him. “It’s all right.”

Colin jerked away, giving him a look that paralyzed. “It’s as good as over, and they’ve not counted a single vote cast today. How, in any universe, could that be all right?”

“This is pish,” Liam said. “Everyone knows polls get it wrong.” He looked around at his stunned teammates. “Right?”

“Wrong.” Katie’s voice was laced with misery. “That pollster wouldn’t have gone on TV if he wasn’t sure.”

“That doesn’t mean it’s true,” Robert pointed out. “Mind, all along we’ve said the pollsters weren’t phoning the right people. They skipped people who’ve never voted before. Young ones, or working-class folk who never saw the point in voting until now. The missing million.” He looked at Colin. “All those people we worked so hard to register, and then made sure they voted.”

Colin let out a slow, deep breath. “If the missing million turn out, they could make the difference.” Then he turned away, moving stiffly toward the balcony’s open door.

“So there’s still hope,” John said, “which means there’s still a party!” He lowered the TV’s volume and raised the music’s. But when he glanced at Andrew, his eyes were hollow with disappointment.

Andrew followed Colin out to the balcony, where he stood alone, clutching the iron railing and staring out at the city.

“I’m not gonnae jump,” Colin said, “if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“The thought never crossed my mind.”

“Aye, right.” He let go of the railing and started rubbing his right arm, running his fingers over the scars as he scanned the skyline, east to west. “All these numbers are running through my head just now, registration rolls for every council area in this city, expected turnout rates and that. I’m doing all these calculations, wondering, is there a chance? Could Glasgow make up eight percentage points?”

No, not in a million years. “There are a lot of people here.”

“Aye, and in Dundee, which will definitely vote Yes.” Hope began to return to Colin’s voice as he spoke faster and rubbed his arm harder. “And if we get places like Inverclyde and Perth and Clackmannanshire—which we totally should—maybe there is a chance.” His voice fell to a whisper. “Maybe.”

Andrew put his hand over Colin’s, removing the cold fingers from his wounded arm. “I hope so.”

Colin gave him a sharp look, as if only now realizing to whom he was speaking. “No, you don’t. You want us to fail. You always have.”

A pair of confessions tangled in Andrew’s throat, each fighting to be the first out of his mouth. “I know I have. But I want even more for you to be happy.”

“No.” Colin backed away inside the flat, shaking his head. Then he turned and pushed his way through the crowd of Warriors, through the living room and into the hallway.

Andrew followed. “Listen to me—”

Colin spun to face him. “Why did you come back to Glasgow tonight? Did you know we’d lose?”

Andrew opened his mouth, but no words came out, though he knew silence would condemn him as much as an admission would.

“How did you know?” Colin took him by the shoulders. “Was it fixed? Did your Tory mates rig the vote?”

“No!”

“Tell the truth! Did those bastards put the fix in?”

“They didn’t need to, you silly cybernat!” Andrew wrenched himself out of Colin’s grip. “You want the truth? Here’s the truth you’ve refused to hear—Scotland doesn’t want independence. The people waving flags on the streets and shouting on Twitter, they want it. The artists and radicals who are happy to take all sorts of risks, they want it. Perhaps Glaswegians want it. But most people in this country do not.” Though Colin’s eyes filled with hurt, Andrew kept going. “All these months, you and your mates have laughed when we’ve said there was a silent majority who wanted to stay in the Union. You mocked those people like they were an urban legend, like they were the Loch Ness monster. But the silent majority exists. They’ve been afraid to speak up for fear of getting shouted down by you lot. Finally today they spoke, in the only forum that counts—the ballot box. And you are not going to like what they had to say.”

Colin swallowed hard. “How?” he croaked. “How could they want to stay in their chains? How could they not want something better?”

“Some of them do.” Andrew softened his voice, though he knew it wouldn’t take the sting out of his words. “Some think a No vote will get Scotland more powers with less risk. And some just aren’t ready for independence yet. But they might be one day. Things have changed forever, thanks to people like you.”

“No,” Colin said through gritted teeth. “Things will never change. This was our last, best hope for a better world. And we’ve pissed it away because your silent majority didnae have the baws to take this chance. They were too fucking feart, and you know why?” He jabbed his finger against Andrew’s chest. “Because people like you telt them the fucking sky would fall if Scotland ran its own affairs. There’d be a Great Tartan Depression, and supermarkets would charge 10p more for bread, and the oil would run out, and the banks would all fuck off down south, and we’d have nothing left but sheep and whisky.”

“Look, it wasn’t—”

“Youse called it ‘Project Fear’! That was your name for it, not ours. And it worked! Are you proud of that now? Are you?”

“No, I’m not. I—”

“How many voters did you win over with your stupid tweets?”

“I probably won more Yes votes by retweeting your BBC bias link than I ever won No votes by sharing Telegraph articles.” Andrew wanted to hold him, soothe him, but knew it would only make things worse. “Colin, I beg you to stop for a moment and think about all you’ve accomplished. A year ago, Yes was polling in the mid-twenties. You made it a viable reality. You changed so many minds.”

“Not enough!” Colin put his hands to his head and gripped his hair. “I should have canvassed every night. I should have made more calls. I should have done more.” He dropped his hands. “I could’ve done more, if I’d not wasted so much time with you!”

Andrew took a step back, his heart plummeting. “Wasted?”

“All those weeknights at your place last week, last month, watching films and fucking, living in a fantasy world. I ate oysters on the half shell in a castle while my people were starving. I flew first class to see a Broadway show while my people hadn’t the electricity for their kids to watch Teletubbies.”

“Okay, now you’re being dramatic.”

“You’re fucking right I am. This country’s future just went down the drain, and you’re telling me, ‘Buck up, old chap, you gave it your all.’” He clawed at his right arm, scraping the scars beneath the thistle leaves. “Like I’m to get a trophy for participation.”

“Colin, please.” Andrew reached for him.

“Don’t touch me!” Colin backed away. “I never want to see you again.”

Panic shot through Andrew. “What? Why?”

“Because I hate you.” Colin met his eyes long enough to stamp home the truth. Then he went to the front door and yanked it open so hard, it banged into his foot.

Andrew looked at the others, who were staring at him in horror. “For God’s sake, someone go with him!”

“I’ll go,” Katie said, just as Robert said, “I will.” They both handed off their beer bottles and found their jackets.

“Take this. It’s cold out.” Andrew pulled Colin’s hoodie from the coat rack, trying not to cry at its familiar feel and scent. “And thank you.”

“He’s our friend,” she said. “More importantly, he’s a Warrior.”