“Don’t be modest,” Lance said with a wave. “You’ve still got that certificate hanging there. What was it… a boxing rank?”
“In Bosnia, yes.” Cross nodded. “From when I was young. Before the war, everything was… different.”
He fell silent for a second. As though electricity had struck his nerves, memory traveled along invisible wires inside him, lighting up distant recollections.
At that very moment, one of the girls came up behind him and draped herself over his shoulder. Tall, wearing a revealing dress with a plunging neckline and a spark in her eyes, she was clearly looking for an excuse to touch him.
“So you’re a boxer too?” she asked flirtatiously, leaning toward his ear. “That’s… well, that’s fucking sexy.”
Cross turned his head a little, his eyes gleaming, and replied without changing his expression.
“I’m a good shot too. Want some practice?”
Laughter erupted around the table. Someone missed a shot, someone spilled a little gin, and someone said, “Now it’s a proper party.”
Cross took another sip and smiled, and something inside him came alive.
“Yeah, sure,” Lance said with a smirk, dropping a ball into a pocket. “Easy for you to say, when Daddy’s money could set you up in a couple of years. Try doing it my way, without any starting capital, connections, or titles.”
He shot Cross a glance. The room grew a little quieter.
“I’m no pretty boy. I don’t have any sporting ranks, and I’m not a good shot, but everything I’ve achieved, I’ve achieved myself. Through my own hard work. Not my family name.”
“Come on, Lance,” Toby interrupted. “Have you forgotten how Cross’s family were almost burned alive in their own house during the war? They had almost everything taken from them.”
Cross sipped his whiskey without taking his eyes off his friend, then calmly set the glass on the edge of the pool table.
“How much have you made on your own?” he asked quietly. “How much is in your account right now?”
Lance shrugged with a crooked smile.
“Enough for me. And a little extra.”
The men laughed, but quietly and without much enthusiasm.
Cross smirked.
“I’ve got enough to buy you and your ‘little extra.’ And as for ‘Daddy’s money,’ it went straight toward debts, lawyers, and staying alive. So, brother, don’t talk about things you know nothing about.”
Lance flushed.
“I remember everything, Cross. Don’t make yourself out to be a martyr. We certainly made use of that money. Parties, cars. Your dad had money stashed away. You don’t need to tell me.”
Tension hung in the room. The laughter faded. Everyone else went quiet.
Cross exhaled and spoke without raising his voice.
“I’m not getting into a contest with you. And I’m not going to prove anything. I know who I am. And I know what I’m capable of. I have no reason to justify myself to you.”
Lance narrowed his eyes and slapped him sharply on the shoulder.
“Then prove it. Don’t just know it. Do it.”
“Lance, stop,” Toby cut in. “Where are you going with this?”
“What?” Lance snapped. “Are you afraid your perfect Cross will fail? That I’ll turn out to be right?”
Cross scratched his chin idly, thinking. For a moment, he seemed to shut everyone out. Then he looked at Lance.
“All right. After Christmas, I’ll go somewhere in the middle of nowhere. No money, no connections, no name. And in a year, I’ll come back with a million.”
“Oh, come on,” Danny muttered. “Why are you letting him get to you?”
