Page 8 of Worth the Wait
And hated how he noticed everything there was to see about Freddie Webb.
Hated that his hands remembered the shape of Freddie’s shoulders before his brain did. That he could still hear how Freddie said his name in the dark, with thatfucking smirk tucked behind every syllable to make it sound filthy without even trying.
But that was over.
Fifteen years gone. Whatever they’d been was dead and buried under uniforms, years, and mistakes Nathan still couldn’t bring himself to talk about.
Now Freddie was here.
Not a friend. Not a ghost.
The arresting officer.
And Nathan? He was the fuck-up in the chair beside a kid who wouldn’t meet his eye.
DS Bowen settled into the chair opposite, placing a slim folder on the table. “Apologies for the delay. We wanted the arresting officer present before starting. This is PC Freddie Webb. He was first on scene.”
Nathan nodded once. Said nothing. Not even a blink.
Then Freddie looked at him.
And all that training? All that discipline? What was it for? Certainly not for when he desperately needed it.
But the red light on the recorder blinked to life with a soft beep and DS Bowen leant forward, pulling Nathan from his fucked-up past to his clusterfuck of a present.
“This is a voluntary interview under caution with Alfie Carter, aged fourteen, conducted at Worthbridge Police Station. Present are Detective Sergeant Angela Bowen, PC Freddie Webb, Youth Offending Officer Calvin Harris, Mr Nathan Carter as appropriate adult, and the interviewee.”
Beside him, Alfie slouched in his chair, arms folded, chin down, eyes locked somewhere in the middle distance. His hoodie was still up, a scab on his cheek, a fleck of blood dried at the corner of his mouth. He looked older than fourteen. Harder. And far too used tothis.
Nathan had seen worse in his life. In uniform. In combat zones. But nothing had ever cracked him open the way thesight of his kid in handcuffs had. Hiskid. The one he’d barely known for most of his life.
Now they werehere.
Across the table from Freddie Webb.
The world had a sick sense of humour.
DS Bowen flipped through paperwork with the calm detachment of someone who’d done this more times than she could count. Beside her sat a younger officer in uniform, tapping quietly on a laptop, gaze fixed on the screen. Nathan hadn’t caught his name and didn’t care to ask them to repeat it. Because all he could hear was Freddie’s voice, ripped straight from the past, furious, and gutting.
“You’re a fucking coward, Nate. A fucking coward!”
It echoed as if it hadn’t ever stopped.
Because, yeah. He was.
He’d faced enemies most people couldn’t imagine. Walked into gunfire without flinching. Taken every dangerous mission thrown his way. But when it came to the one thing that mattered, he’d run. No amount of medals could make up for that kind of cowardice. He’d never expected them to. Maybe that was why he’d kept collecting them.
Bowen looked up. “Are you his father, Mr Carter?”
“Yes.”
“With parental responsibility?”
“Yes.”
The word sat awkwardly in his mouth, as if he’d borrowed it. True on paper, but strange out loud. Because it didn’t quite fit yet. And even worse that Freddie was right there listening to it. Heavy. Unblinking. As though he could see right through the formality. Because saying that in front ofhimfelt as though every scar tore open all at once.
DS Bowen spoke to Alfie. “Alfie, before we begin, I need to remind you that you’re being interviewed under caution. You do not have to say anything, but it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence. Do you understand?”
