Next on my list was Mark Crossley. Of all the conversations I had to have, this was the one that sat like a stone in my gut. He wasn't just a player who had left; he was the captain, my lieutenant on the pitch, a friend.

His departure had felt like a personal betrayal, a knife to the gut that had almost derailed our entire season.

But then I'd seen him in the stands on the final day, his face a canvas of raw, conflicting emotions pride, regret, hope, and pain.

He hadn't just been watching a football match; he'd been watching his family win without him. He deserved more than closure. He deserved a way back.

We met in a quiet park halfway between our houses. It was a place of jarring normality, with kids screaming on the swings and old men walking yapping terriers.

He was sitting on a bench overlooking a duck pond, hunched over in a plain grey hoodie, looking smaller than I remembered.

The confident, commanding centre-half was gone, replaced by a man whose shoulders were slumped under an invisible weight. His face was pale, his eyes red-rimmed. He looked like a man who hadn't slept in weeks.

"I'm so sorry, Danny," he said before I could even sit down, his voice raspy and low. He didn't look at me, just stared at the murky water. "I never meant for it to happen like that. Chen… he told me the deal was for the end of the season. A clean break. I didn't know about the loophole, I swear on my kids' lives. I wouldn't have done that to you. To the lads."

"I know," I said, sitting down beside him, leaving a careful foot of space between us. It felt like a chasm. "I saw you at the match, Mark. You were still with us."

He finally looked up, and the desperate, pleading hope in his eyes was like a punch to the chest. "I was. Every second. It was the hardest thing I've ever had to do, watching you all out there, knowing I should have been with you. When Jamie scored that goal… I was so proud. So, so proud." His voice cracked, and he had to look away, composing himself.

"We did it," I corrected him gently. "And you were a part of that. You were our leader for almost a year, Mark. We wouldn't have been in a position to win the league without the work you put in, the standards you set."

"But I wasn't there at the end," he whispered, shaking his head. "And for what?" A bitter, hollow laugh escaped his lips, a sound utterly devoid of humour. "For nothing. It was all for nothing."

"What do you mean?" I asked, though a cold dread was already beginning to form in the pit of my stomach.

"My wife's pregnant again," he said quietly, his voice barely a whisper. "A third kid. Due in August. When Chen offered me that three-year deal, the security… I couldn't see straight, Danny. All I saw was a future where I didn't have to worry every time the car broke down. I thought I was doing the right thing. Providing for my family." He took a shuddering breath.

"Then you won. And everything went to hell. Chen had a massive bet on Salford to win the league. Hundreds of thousands, apparently. He went ballistic. Called me this morning, screaming down the phone, blaming me for everything. Said the deal was off, that he was tearing up the pre-contract."

I stared at him, the pieces clicking into place with sickening clarity. It wasn't just ego. It was a gamble. Chen had used Mark's life, his family's future, as a chip in a high-stakes game, and when the bet went south, he'd just swept the chip off the table.

"He can't do that," I said, my voice low and tight with anger. "A pre-contract is a legal document."

"His lawyers say otherwise," Mark said, the fight completely gone from his voice. "They'll bury me in legal fees I can't afford. I've got nothing, Danny. No club. No money. No future. I'm thirty-two years old. This was my last big payday. And I've blown it. We're going to lose the house."

I sat there in silence, the cheerful sounds of the park fading into a dull roar in my ears. My sympathy for Mark was curdling into a cold, hard fury directed squarely at Marcus Chen.

He hadn't just tried to destroy our club; he'd tried to destroy this man's life, all for a bet. He had used him like a pawn and then discarded him without a second thought.

I told him then about the Crystal Palace offer, about my decision to leave. He listened patiently, the sad, knowing look on his face deepening with every word.

"You deserve it, Danny," he said when I'd finished, and for a moment, a flicker of his old self, the supportive captain, returned. "You're the best manager I've ever played for. You're going to the very top."

"That means a lot," I said. "But I'm not leaving Moss Side in the lurch. I'm recommending Scott Miller as the new player-manager."

Mark nodded slowly. "Good choice. The lads respect him. He's a good man."

"But he's going to need help," I continued, turning to face him fully, closing the gap between us.

"He's going to need a good assistant. Someone who knows the club, knows the players, knows how to win. Someone they already respect, even if they're angry with him right now."

His eyes widened as he understood. He physically recoiled, shaking his head as if to ward off the idea. "You can't be serious. You want me to go back? After everything? The players… they hate me. I saw their faces."

"They don't hate you, Mark. They hate what happened. They felt betrayed because they looked up to you. But they're good lads. They're your mates. They'll understand. Big Dave already does. He told me himself. You're one of us. You always will be."

I looked at him, at the despair etched onto his face, and I made a decision. This wasn't a suggestion. It was a lifeline.

"It's not over," I said, my voice firm, resolute. "You're coming back to Moss Side. As Scott's assistant. Terry will pay you what we can. It won't be much, not the Chen money, but it's a start. It's a wage. And we'll fight this. Together. As a club. As a family. We'll get you a lawyer. We'll make sure Chen doesn't get away with this."

He stared at me, his eyes wide with a fragile, desperate hope, warring with the shame that had consumed him. "You'd do that? After what I did?"

"You made a mistake," I said, my voice softening. "You trusted the wrong person. We've all done that. Now it's time to come home."

***

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