Page 31 of Worth the Wait
“What you done?”
“Caught it on the edge of the manifold.”
Ron grunted. “Not used to it anymore, eh?”
Nathan didn’t answer. He could’ve. Could’ve rattled off his years of experience stripping rifles and rebuilding field-grade engines in brutal weather, under pressure, half-starved and sleep-deprived. Could’ve said he’d kept an entire platoon’s gear working through two tours. That fixing an old Peugeot should’ve been easy.
But none of that mattered when his hands shook at the wrong moment because he was too busy watching the man he left behind get groped by someone who’d been only too happy to pick up the pieces.
Ron pushed back his chair with a wheeze and stood. “What you working on? I’ll do it.”
Nathan was already wrapping the plaster around his finger, too tight, the blood smearing beneath it. “Freddie brought his Peugeot in. Spark plug’s loose. I’ve got it.”
At the mention of the name, Ron peered past him, out towards the forecourt. Freddie and Reece were mid-argument now. Body language prickly, tight, all flinching shoulders and pointed hands. Nathan couldn’t hear a thing over the buzz of the radio, the thrum of engines, the wind outside dragging exhaust fumes through the air, but he didn’t need to. He knew how it felt to stand too close to someone you wanted and not know what to do with it.
His father’s voice cut through, low and offhanded. “Those two queers back together?”
Nathan’s stomach dropped.
Ron nodded towards the forecourt. “In and out of each other’s beds, that lot.” He huffed. “You do the bike. Reece is a fireman. Give him the Emergency Services discount.”
Nathan opened his mouth, but no sound came out.
No defence. No argument. The same silence he’d been swallowing since he was fifteen.
Ron limped out, crossing the forecourt, where he shook Reece’s hand, said something Nathan couldn’t hear, then clapped Freddie on the arm as if they were old mates. Then he walked straight to the Peugeot and got to work. And Nathan stood there watching, mouth dry, pulse hammering, realising something that made his chest clench tight.
Freddie had been right.
Hewasa fucking coward.
But he forced his legs to move, heading for the bike to get on with the job. Reece stood beside it, peeling off one of his gloves, casual as anything. As if he hadn’t laid claim to something Nathan had barely had the courage to want again.
Nathan crouched beside the Bonnie, running a hand along the gear linkage, fingers steady despite the tightness coiling through him. The Triumph had enough scuffs to show it’d been ridden hard but looked after.
“You said it clicks on the downshift?” he asked, not looking up.
“Yeah.” Reece adjusted his jacket zip. “Happens low down. Second to first, mostly. Not every time, but enough to do my head in.”
Nathan nodded, squinting at the shifter. “Could be the selector arm. Maybe the pawl spring sticking or play in the shift rod. I’ll get it up on the stand and take a look.”
“Safe to ride till then?”
“If you shift clean, yeah. But don’t go stamping down like you’re chasing a fire.”
Reece chuckled. “No promises.”
Nathan didn’t smile. His focus had drifted again. Towards the Peugeot. To Freddie. Leaning against the driver’s door, arms folded, head bowed in thought while Ron was saying something, gesturing with a wrench. Freddie nodded, distracted. Then he glanced up.
Their eyes met across the yard.
And for a breath, maybe two, everything stilled.
Freddie didn’t smile. Didn’t speak. But the look on his face hit Nathan harder than any punch he’d taken in the barracks. As if there were words hanging between them, thick and heavy, and neither of them had the guts to say them out loud. Freddie looked as if he wanted to speak. Wanted tostay.
But he didn’t.
He gave the smallest nod to Ron, then slid into the car.
