Page 75 of Cross + Catherine: The Companion

“Well, all right.”

Naz smiled, and tugged his ever-present beanie from his head. “The gun run was today, right?”

Instantly, Cross’s bad mood was back. “Yeah.”

He ran the gunrunning operation for the Marcello family. He simply didn’t run the guns anymore.

“How did it go?” his son asked.

Naz’s excitement and interest was so bright and clear, that it made Cross smile. Just because he was in a pissy mood about once again sending the guys off on a run that he couldn’t join didn’t mean he had to pass that over onto his son, too.

“So far, so good. I don’t expect to hear anything more from them until the guns land in port, and they’re onto the next phase.”

As usual.

They would be successful.

He trained them, after all.

His team was Ace.

And all too often—like today—Cross wished he was out there with them on the run, too. He missed the rush he used to get from it. The thrill it provided like none other. Being the man behind the scenes, was not quite the same thing as being the man behind the wheel, so to speak.

He didn’t regret his choice to stop running guns for even a second, of course. His reason for quitting back then had been more than valid, and appropriate. He had been too hot of a figure in the North American gunrunning scene to continue. He was—essentially—a loaded gun ready to blow. Every run he took after that last one was playing with fire. It would only be a matter of time until he had gotten caught.

Cross was not willing to take that risk when it meant he might end up leaving his wife and children without him while he spent twenty to life behind bars for some fucking guns. His family, and their life, would always be worth far more than gun metal, and a goddamn thrill.

But … nostalgia could be a mean bitch.

Hence, his bad mood.

Cross opted to change the subject back to the school thing with his son as to get his mind and mood away from gunrunning. “How mad is your mother about this suspension?”

“She gave me that look.”

Cross laughed.

Yeah, every mother had that look.

“All right. Thanks, son.”

He patted his son on the head as he passed him.

“Hey, Dad?”

“Yeah, Naz?”

“When can I go on a run, too?”

Cross turned on his heel to eye Naz. “Not at ten.”

“Eleven?”

Jesus.

“Give me a line here, kiddo.”

Naz rolled his eyes. “Thirteen, then.”