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It’s a stark contrast to Anderson’s crisp suit, proof that, even though Esme’s resumed her royal duties, she still refuses to follow all the rules, considering the royal household strongly disapproves of members of the royal family wearing team jerseys.
When the director leads them toward the stadium, I follow close behind, a handful of additional guards joining us, as well. For smaller events, we typically don’t have a huge security presence, limiting it to one or two guards.
But during a public sporting event like this, there are too many unknown variables, which is why I always insist on having as many eyes and ears as possible.
After navigating the maze of corridors, we emerge onto the field to stands overflowing with excited spectators, many of them wearing the familiar purple and yellow colors of our home team.
Most of the security team stays on the sidelines, but Archie and I follow Esme and Anderson, remaining several feet behind them as they’re led to the center of the field, the announcer introducing them to cheers and applause.
I take my position off to the side and scan the crowds, alert for anything out of place. Anderson stands in the center, his hand outstretched as he greets each team captain.
As he does, he wavers slightly, brow creasing in worry. I rarely watch him when I’m at one of his public engagements, keeping my focus everywhere else instead.
But it’s my job to keep him safe from any potential danger. Unfortunately, that now includes keeping him safe from his own body. So instead of scanning the crowd, I fix my attention on Anderson.
Something’s wrong. I can feel it. He’s smiling, putting on a show for everyone, but he doesn’t look like himself. The referee hands him the coin, and I notice him pinch his lips together, as if he’s straining. I look at his hand, his fingers seeming unable to close over the coin.
“Why don’t you do the honors?” he says to Esme, his voice bright.
But I can hear the worry within.
“You were always a better throw than me.”
She beams, happily taking the coin from him to prevent making a scene, but it doesn’t escape my notice that she touches her free hand to his elbow, gripping it. Most would probably see it as a sign of affection between two siblings who’ve always been known to share a close bond.
I see it as confirmation that something isn’t right.
ThatAndersonisn’t right.
The seconds seem to stretch as Esme tosses the coin, allowing it to fall onto the ground. The referee leans down, announcing it landed on heads, meaning the visiting team won the coin toss.
I don’t wait another second, jogging behind Anderson and Esme as they wave at the crowd, the cameras following them every step of the way. They’re trying to put on a good show, pretend as if nothing’s wrong, but I see the confusion in Anderson’s face, eyes blinking repeatedly, as if having trouble focusing.
“You okay, mate?” I ask in a low voice. I touch my hand to his back, doing my best not to draw too much attention to us.
“I’m fine,” he grits out, still blinking more frequently and harder than necessary.
It could be due to all the cameras flashing, but I doubt that’s the case. Esme and Anderson grew up having their photos taken at every opportunity. At this point, they’re immune to the blinding effects of a camera flash.
“No, you’re not, Anders,” Esme whispers, forcing a smile as she continues waving to the thousands of people in the stands. Then she glances at me. “He couldn’t hold the coin.” She does her best to keep her mouth from moving. “Couldn’t work the muscles in his hand. He also—”
Suddenly, Anderson’s legs give out beneath him. If it weren’t for Esme and me being here, he would have lost his balance. Instead, I’m able to keep him relatively upright.
But people still notice, the camera flashes becoming even more numerous as reporters descend on us, shouting questions, asking if Anderson feels okay. If this is related to the last time he collapsed a few months ago.
Thankfully, my team’s swift to react, forming a barrier as we rush to get Anderson out of here as quickly as possible.
“I can’t see, Creed,” he chokes out, his voice distressed. Panicked. “I can’t—”
“It’s okay, Anders.” Esme swallows hard, pushing down the tears welling in her eyes. There’s no mistaking how shaken up she is right now, despite maintaining as collected of a demeanor as possible.
She’s been back a month, but hasn’t witnessed the side effects of his diagnosis like this. Sure, she’s picked up on the fact her brother gets tired a bit more often. Has even seen him stumble here and there, but nothing too extreme. This is the first time she’s seeing the reality of her brother’s condition with her own eyes.
I can only imagine the memories it brings forward, especially after witnessing the same thing in her mother.
“I’m here, Anders.” She squeezes his hand as we escort them through the back hallways of the stadium and out to the idling SUVs. “I’ve got you.”
ChapterFifteen
