Page 63 of Worth the Wait
Alfie’s phone buzzed on the table, vibrating steadily, but he didn’t even glance at it. Instead, he stared at the group of teens now clustered around the counter. One of them caught Alfie’s eye, cracked a grin, said something under his breath that set the others off, all of them laughing harder as they shoved out the door in a gust of cold air.
Nathan watched them go, steady and silent, the way he once watched figures slip between broken buildings halfway across the world. Assessing distance, intent, waiting for the tell that gave the game away. Only when the door swung shut behind them did Nathan shift, his voice quiet but wrapped in steel.
“You got anything you wanna tell me?” he said, eyes locked on Alfie. “Anything at all?”
Alfie stood. “I got homework.”
Then he grabbed his phone, shoved it in his pocket and bundled out of the restaurant.
Nathan sighed.
Then followed him out, opening the car, and they drove back home where Alfie stampeded up the stairs and slammed his bedroom door. Nathan fell down on the sofa, head back, eyes closed, across from his old man in his usual seat, hand around a can, watching some programme on the telly about pawning old stuff.
“You had someone knocking earlier,” Ron said.
Nathan opened his eyes, lifted his head.
“Copper.”
Shit. Was this about him? The punch on the pitch? Or was this Alfie? He waited, heart thudding, but Ron didn’t hurry. He slurped from his can, wiping the back of his hand across his mouth, and finally turned that hollow, heavy stare towards him. The same stare that had pinned Nathan to the wall when he was a teenager. That couldreach inside him and pull out every shameful, desperate thing he thought he’d buried.
“You wanna jointhatteam, son? That’s your business.” Ron turned back to the TV screen. “But don’t think for one second it’s happening under my roof.”
The words landed hard. A threat dressed up as advice. And for a second, Nathan wasn’t a grown man who’d seen war and bled in foreign streets. He was a boy again.
Small, cornered, and alreadylosing.
chapter thirteen
Against Orders
The next day, Nathan tried, and failed, to get on with his life.
Or what was left of it.
Elbow-deep under the bonnet of a temperamental Fiat 500, battling the same shitty fault these things always had, he was also trying, not very successfully, not to think about the night before.
The football match.
And Freddie Webb.
Bollocks. He needed a wrench.
He rolled out from under the car with a grunt, stood, and headed for the workbench as the low rumble of a motorbike rolled through the open doors.
Triumph Bonneville.
Nathan didn’t look up right away. He’d half expected Reece to ghost him. Not show. Would’ve figured. Customer gone, maybe even a shot at something resembling friendship, gone too.
But no.
In he rolled. As if nothing had happened. As if being punched in the mouth was a warmup routine. Helmet came off. Same cocky grin working its way up Nathan’s personal shit list.
Reece killed the engine, swung off the bike with too much ease, and tucked the helmet under one arm. “Morning, Staff.”
“Surprised you showed.”
Reece looked at his watch. “Little late, yeah. Got caught rescuing a cat up a tree. Then had to make myself look presentable. Cover a bruise.”
