Chapter 2
Chapter Two
Michael
When he sat in the Port Fressa stands watching the lads on the pitch, everything came right. No longer was he the mourning fiancé, the conflicted son, or the trained protection officer who had nearly failed his prince and the House of Blue.
No, while watching the Cross PF Youth Football Club, Michael felt whole. Yet he couldn’t sit here forever, cheering on the lads with the cold spring winds blowing from the Port Fressa Bay.
He cupped his hands around his mouth. “Come on, lads, you can’t all be strikers. Cross the ball.”
His ten-year-old nephew Phineas ran down the middle of the pitch toward the goal.
He had a clear shot. Shoot the ball, Finn.
Shoot. Michael leaned forward, arms propped on his legs, a cup of coffee warming his hands.
He loved this game. Spent his youth on this very pitch, honing his skills, rising in the ranks.
“Goal!” He jumped up, nearly dropping his coffee. A perfect soaring kick from Phineas. Just like his Uncle Michael had taught him. He gave a fist pump when Finn looked his way with a grin.
From the sidelines, Michael’s brother Evan looked back with a nod. That was brother speak for thank you.
With ten minutes left in play, Michael relaxed, confident the Cross lads earned the win.
Named after and sponsored by his ancient family—one as old as the House of Blue—the pitch sat in the middle of Lauchtenland’s vibrant capital city of Port Fressa.
The expertly kept field stretched in peaceful defiance against the daily hustle and bustle.
The historic city surrounded the Cross facilities. Behind him, twenty-first-century high rises and luxury flats. In front of him, the six-hundred-year-old Parliament House and Ministry Hall. To his right, the peaks of Perrigwynn Palace, home of the royal Blues.
As a member of the esteemed Cross family, he was a kindred spirit to this older part of the city. His bones were honed from the same sturdy stone as those hallowed structures.
Though recent events seemed to crack his inner core a little.
His boss, Gunner Ferguson, Chief of Her Majesty’s Security Detail, ensured him he’d done his job the day a wild man tried to assassinate the Crown Prince of Lauchtenland, Prince John, right after his keynote address to the North Sea Island Nations’ Summit in Brighton Kingdom.
The HMSD kept the attempt undercover. So much so the tabloids and mainstream media never caught wind of it.
The crown prince, along with Michael and two of the hotel security guards, were the only ones there when a gunman charged Prince John, as he pulled the trigger.
Michael returned fire. The shot was fatal.
Which was why he’d spent his days in the palace basement, running the Queen’s Operations Room and watching CCTV while the Crown’s Investigation Bureau—made up of men in dark suits with tea-stained shirts—launched a quiet investigation.
Today, after six long months, they had arrived at the palace to announce their findings. Michael had headed to the pitch to await his fate.
Speaking of which—Michael glanced in the direction of the palace just as someone plopped down next to him.
“They told me you’d be here.” Gunner hunched against the chill, digging his hands into his dark wool coat bearing the queen’s cypher. “Who’s winning?”
“Depends on your side.”
“I’m on your side.”
“Then give a cheer, mate. The Cross Football Club is on top. The lad dribbling is my nephew, a top-notch striker.” Michael raised his coffee for a long sip. The liquid was starting to cool. “Are you here to fire me?”
Gunner laughed. “I told you to trust the process. The CIB cleared you today with recommendation for commendation.”
Michael glanced at Gunner, and the invisible yoke he’d been wearing broke off. “Thank you, sir.”
“Their findings concluded you’d gone above and beyond your duty. You risked your life to save our future. The House of Blue and the nation thank you.”
Lauchtenland had been through a few skirmishes in the past three years.
Rogue operators had infiltrated and stirred up trouble, hoping to start a war.
Prince John’s adopted daughter, Princess Imani, had been in danger as well as his wife, Princess Gemma.
The whole mess read like a blooming Jack Reacher novel.
“You can have your choice of assignments,” Gunner said, giving a rousing shout as the Cross lads scored another goal.
“The incident will remain confidential. We don’t want to inspire copycats or members of the Renaissance Coalition.
” Gunner glanced at Michael. “So, what’s your pleasure, Mick?
Where do you want to serve?” As he spoke, the April clouds suddenly darkened and dusted the stands and pitch with a soft snow.
Gunner shook his fist at the heavens. “It’s spring, you brass monkeys. ”
“I rather like the dark room with all the tellies,” Michael said. The atmosphere mirrored the shadows of his life. “I’ve been running emergency protocols and perfecting escape routes. Did you read my notes on improvements?”
“Already submitted them to the maintenance yeoman. And you’re not staying in the dungeon. I only asked where you wanted to serve as a courtesy. Report to the squad Monday morning.”
“Yes, sir.” It was back to Her Majesty’s Security Detail. Michael finished his coffee, crushed the cup, then rose up, tossing it at the bin. It hit the lip before bouncing in.
“One more thing.” Gunner cleared his throat. “You good with, um, everything? The shoot. Purnell.”
“By ‘good,’ do you mean I get out of bed every morning? Yes.”
“The shoot was a clean, Mick. You acted in accordance with your training. But if you need to talk to someone, I can—”
“I’m good with the shoot, Gunner. Though I never like aiming my weapon, much less discharging it.”
“And Purnell?” Gunner gave Michael a single solid pat on the shoulder.
“I’m good with her too.” Almost. Getting there.
Last year had been one of those years—a year a man might have leapt over if he’d known what was coming.
Yet what would he change? To strip away the ugly, painful moments meant losing the lovely, sweet, beautiful ones as well.
And it was those memories, shining through the cracks, that carried him on the hardest days.
Ignoring the spring snow, the lads played on. Gunner stayed for the final minutes, which Michael found oddly comforting. The Cross PF Youth Football League bested the Clemency Park boys three to nil.
Down on the pitch, Michael congratulated the coaches—his brother Evan and his longtime mate Piers Hollings, also known as the Lord Atterbery.
Two years younger, Evan was the good son.
At least to Mum. A former lawyer and advisor to the Crown on Supreme Court matters, he’d recently accepted a position at the other family business, Pratt Printing, which was also the other ancient family that formed Michael’s bones.
Evan headed up their legal department, overseeing the business in forty countries.
Between the Cross family, one of duty and devotion to the Crown, and the Pratt family, a heritage of entrepreneurship and business, Michael wondered if he’d ever be at peace about the direction of his life.
“Did you see me, Uncle Mick?” Phinneas knocked him back with a running hug. “I kicked it like you said. It worked, it worked, I made a goal.”
“Excellent kick. I never doubted you.” Michael hugged him close. He’d always wanted a family of his own but—
“Are you coming over?” Finn asked, taking his gear from his dad, who reminded him to pack it up the next time. “Mum’s making hamburgers and hot dogs, crisps, and ice cream.”
“I’ll be there straightaway.” He’d not planned on joining the family, but the look in Finn’s eyes defied anything but a yes.
While Finn dashed off with one of his mates, Michael helped Evan carry the sporting gear to his motor.
“The kids love when you come round. You know that, right? Mindy and Linus love seeing you.” Evan popped open the boot.
“By the way, Tracy insists you come for dinner. We’ve seen you once since Christmas.
At Easter dinner. I get it. Being a member of HMSD requires a lot of time, but we miss you when you don’t darken our door.
Also, fair warning, Trace thinks you’re hiding because of what happened with Purnell. ”
“I’m not hiding.” No matter how tempting.
“Then come to dinner. Here’s a second fair warning. Mum will be there.”
“Oh, blimey, I think I have a pressing engagement elsewhere.”
“Very funny. I know Mum comes at you hard about joining Pratt Printing, but you need to figure a way to get on with her.” Evan closed the boot and called for Finn. “I saw Gunner Ferguson in the stands. What did he want?”
“Nothing.” Evan knew a wee bit about the events in Brighton Kingdom but only that Michael prevented an incident. “Merely gabbing about future assignments.”
Piers came along and clapped Michael on the back. “Why aren’t you on the sideline with us? I need you, my star footballer friend.”
“Too busy. I shan’t commit only to back out.”
“Then come when you can. You love the sport. You love the kids. You coach from the stands whenever you’re here.” Piers tossed his keys to his son. “Marcus, let yourself into the motor.”
“Believe me, I would if I could, but I live a life that takes me elsewhere.”
“Michael, I’ve known you for over twenty years,” Piers said.
“Where’s the chap I knew running round the pitch, coaching up others, life of the party, top of his class, winning the awards and top honors?
And all so effortlessly. I hated you when we met our fresher year.
I’m ashamed to say it, but I truly did. Then you offered to help me pen a paper, and I learned of your kindness, not to mention your wit and brilliance.
Don’t get me started on the lasses giving you looks everywhere we went.
Seriously, just saying all this now makes me loathe you again.
Are you real? The lads wanted to be you.
The ladies, well, they simply wanted you.
To be Mrs. Michael Cross, I say, was their dream. ”
“Piers, leave it out,” Evan said.
“Why? Michael is an ace. Top drawer. Even in Her Majesty’s Special Forces you blew off the doors.”
“I said leave it out, Lord Atterbery.” Evan stood between Michael and Piers. “Have you no heart? He just lost his fiancée a year ago. You speak as if he’s a partying playboy without a soul.”
Piers looked stricken. “Oh, Mick, mate, so sorry. I’m a bum. We all loved Purnell. Such a sweet and kind lass. Please…” He rested his hand on Michael’s shoulder. “I wasn’t thinking how you must miss her.”
Michael glanced away, never sure how to respond to sympathy. He blamed himself. Gunner and Piers were simply being good mates.
But last year was a blur. Everything happening so fast. One day Purnell was fine, healthy, and happy.
The next, falling ill, leaving him on the sidelines to watch, helpless, and unable to save her.
Then came the attempt on Prince John. The moment he spotted the man’s weapon, one thing and one thing only came into his mind: save the prince.
“Dad, you coming?” An irritated Marcus leaned out the passenger side window. “I’m starved.”
“We were like that at his age?” Piers wondered with a laugh.
“Coming, lad. Keep your knickers on. Ring Mum, tell her we’re on the way.
” He turned to Michael. “A piece of advice? You’re a splendid chap, Mick, so don’t let death steal the life in you.
I cannot know how it feels to lose the woman I love, but I do know letting death defeat you is not the answer.
You’re a champion, Michael. Remember that, please.
Get on with your life. Fall in love. Raise a family. ”
“He’s right, Mick,” Evan said. “Purnell said as much to you when she was in hospital.”
Michael nodded. “I’ll take it under advisement.”
Though he didn’t mean it. At least not in this moment. Maybe next year. He might be an inch or two closer. What he wanted more than anything was to sense, feel, even hear Purnell one last time. To say what he needed to say.
For a long while, Michael sat behind the wheel of his car, motor idling. The wipers had dusted away the thin, wet snowflakes, and sunlight broke through the scattering clouds.
He wanted to be the chap Piers bragged on. But that was easier said than done.