Page 83 of Worth the Wait
“Didn’t you get a payout or anything?” Freddie asked. “Enough to get your own place and not stay with…him.”
“Wasn’t in long enough for that. I got a resettlement grant, yeah. It’ll help with a deposit once I find somewhere. They gave me physio and a bit of comp for the leg, but it’s not money you can live off. I get a deferred pension at sixty, but that’s a long time to wait when you’ve got a teenager and bills stacking up.” He sighed. “Thought I was doing the right thing. Fresh start. Get Alfie out of that life. Away from the dealers, the chaos. Bring him home. Figured that’d be enough.” A bitter edge crept into his voice. “But turns out, trouble’s not hard to find. Doesn’t matter where you are. Just changes postcodes.”
Freddie nodded. “They’ve been creeping in more and more. Using towns like Worthbridge to push product quiet. Think a sleepy seaside force won’t have the tools to stop them.”
“Reckon you proved ’em wrong last night.”
“Yeah.” There was no pride in Freddie’s voice.
Nathan tilted his head. “You in trouble?”
“So far, no.” The kettle clicked off, and Freddie turned his back to make the coffee. “But I’m expecting it tonight.Once my DI’s gone through the logs and footage. Once he sees what I left out. What Ichoseto leave out.”
Nathan’s stomach twisted as he watched Freddie reach for the mugs. It was subtle, but he noticed the tension pulling across Freddie’s shoulders. The way his spine locked in, bracing as if already preparing for the fallout. To take the hit for something Nathan had caused.
It gutted him.
So he pushed off the back of the sofa, moving quietly. Old instincts. Boots silent on the floor. Move like a shadow until ready to be seen. Then he slipped up behind Freddie and wrapped his arms around him, stroking his thumbs over the snail trail of hair on his stomach. It was instinct and apology and everything in between. And when he kissed Freddie’s shoulder, he held him flush to his chest.
Freddie froze for a beat. Tense. Unsure.
Then he exhaled, a quiet sound, and leant back into him.
Nathan closed his eyes.
“I’m so fucking sorry I put you in that position,” he said into Freddie’s ear. “Really fucking sorry.”
Freddie didn’t speak. He let the silence do the heavy lifting.
But Nathan felt it deep in his bones. Freddie would’ve done it, anyway. No questions. No hesitation. He always had.
And Nathan hated himself for it.
“How come you joined the force?” Nathan left his lips on Freddie’s shoulder, warming the skin. “You never spoke of it before.”
“Wasn’t exactly a lifelong dream.” Freddie turned his head to press his cheek to Nathan’s. “After college, I bounced around a bit. Got promoted to manager at TGI Friday’s—yeah, I know,hold your applause—then did a stintat the gym to put that very useful Sports Studies A-Level to work.”
Nathan furrowed his brow. “Didn’t you go to uni?”
“No.” Freddie heaved a breath. “Didn’t go to Ibiza either.” He paused, the humour fading into something quieter. “Guess I was hanging around for something.”
Nathan closed his eyes. Held Freddie tighter.
Freddie continued, “When Piper had Tilly… I sorta found my path. She’d been through hell with a few blokes. Proper nasty ones. I dunno, something clicked. Figured if they knew her brother was a copper, maybe they’d think twice. Maybe I could stop that cycle from happening again. Keep Tilly safe. Keepthistown safe. Felt like the first thing I’d ever done that actually mattered.”
Nathan held him closer. “It does matter.”
“Maybe. Some days it feels like it. Other days… it’s just whack-a-mole with better boots. No matter what you do, there’s always another bastard waiting to crawl out of the woodwork. But it’s a wage. Pays for me to live here.” He indicated to the window and the vast expanse of Worthbridge below them.
Nathan let out a low hum of agreement, rocking him gently, the motion more instinct than intention. Then he peered over Freddie’s shoulder, out the window. “Nice view.”
He could have meant Freddie. His body now broader, more defined. Nathan was still the stockier of the two, but Freddie had clearly worked to shed the lanky awkwardness of youth, trading it for solid muscle and quiet strength. Strength Nathan ached to trace with his tongue. But it wasn’t Freddie he meant. It was what lay beyond the kitchen window. Past the cluttered sill crowded with wilting herbs and a sun-bleached fridge magnet clinging stubbornly to the glass. Beyond theestate’s prim rooftops, where the town spilled downhill in crumbling layers: narrow lanes, leaning fences, and garden sheds patched with scraps of corrugated tin. And further still, at the edge of it all, the sea. Grey and glassy. With the pier, weathered bones jutting into the water, standing crooked and stubborn, an ever-static reminder of where it all started.
Nathan didn’t say it aloud. He didn’t need to.
The pier still held the ghost of that night. Salt air and adrenaline. Stolen kisses pressed between fear and wanting.
“I like to torture myself.” Freddie stirred sugar into two chipped mugs of instant coffee.
