Page 22 of Worth the Wait
“You assaulted someone. Again. You’re lucky they let you walk out without a charge. What the hell were you even doing there?”
“Told you. Wanted to go skate. You were too busy arguing with Grandad, so I left.”
“It wasn’t an argument.”
It was.
Ron wanted answers. A plan. To know why Nathan had given up a military career and dragged a teenage boy across counties instead of leaving him with his mum. He wanted to know why Nathan had walked away from the one thing that had given his life structure and pride.
The irony was almost poetic.
Nathan had left it all behindfor Alfie. To pull him out of the rough estate where the shouting never stopped, and the walls were too thin. To get him away fromKatie, who was more interested in keeping a rotation of men in her bed than checking her son’s school report. Nathan had stepped in when he’d learned how bad it had got from his routine visits. And Alfie was angry athimfor it trying to give him a better life than the one he was destined for.
He glanced at the boy beside him, chewing moodily through the chips and his heart twisted.
“I want you to stay away from there,” Nathan said firmly, lifting a hand before Alfie could cut in. “Just for a while. Let things settle.”
“So I can’t skate?”
“Find somewhere else.”
“There ain’tnowhereelse,” Alfie snapped. “It’s a skate park. That’s literally what it’s for.”
“Just for a while.”
Alfie huffed, threw a chip back onto the pile, then turned to stare out the open window. The night breeze stirred his fringe, but he didn’t speak.
“You’ll be choosing your options soon. Going into year ten. Shit gets serious then.” Nathan tried to get back in his line of sight. “You’re already behind, which I know ain’t all your fault. But this is your chance to actually get somewhere. That art you do—”
“It’s called graffiti, Dad.” Alfie tutted. “The filth won’t like it.”
“I saiddon’tcall him that!” The words came out too brusque, too fast, the snap in his voice louder than he’d meant.
Alfie flinched.
And Nathan felt it crack down his spine like a whip. He exhaled, running a hand over his face, ashamed of the flash of temper.
It was Freddie.
Still lingering. Still tangled in his chest, in his voice, in every half-formed thought. Making him feel things he didn’t have the space or language for. Making him speak like someone else entirely.His old man. Ron had always had a voice in his head, too. A louder one.
“You’ve got a real shot, Alf. Don’t waste it getting in fights or tagged as trouble before you’ve even started.”
Alfie didn’t answer. He fixed his gaze on the dark beyond the window, as if the streetlights out there held promises Nathan could never quite live up to. Nathan watched him for a moment, then gathered up the remains of their meal. He folded the greasy paper in on itself and gave it a final, crumpling twist in his hands.
“You need anything?”
Alfie said nothing.
“You know where I am.”
He left it at that.
Downstairs, the telly blared out some dated police drama into the living room. His dad sat hunched in his armchair, half-eaten fish supper balanced on a plate across his knees.
“Needs a bit of discipline, that one.” Ron didn’t even look away from the screen.
“What he needs is someone who believes in him.”
