Page 57 of Worth the Wait
Still trying.
“Right. Yeah. Sorry.” His voice cracked like a dried-up riverbed.
Reece gave him a nod, as if he saw too much, and said nothing. And that was worse than if he’d swung back.
Freddie slipped off to the shower, and Nathan couldn’t follow him. So he dressed. And the lads filed out one by one, shouting and laughing like the punch had never happened, leaving Nathan alone in the changing room. He should leave too. Should be halfway to his car by now.
But Freddie stepped out of the showers, steam clinging to his flushed skin, and Nathan couldn’t help but fucking stare at him. Towelling off, raking fingers through his damp hair, body dripping, lean muscle carved sharp, every inch of Freddie was a revelation and Nathan ached with the memories of how that body had once felt pressed up against his own.
God, he was fit.
Far better than Nathan remembered.
Better because Freddie wasn’t some seventeen-year-old kid anymore. He was a man now. Sure, steady, still devastatingly beautiful without even trying. And it was that version of him, real, solid, and still achingly familiar, making Nathan’s gut twist into painful knots.
“There’s still something here, isn’t there?” Freddie whispered.
Nathan’s head snapped up, but too late. His eyes had already betrayed him. Heat burned across his face, and he hated how naked he must’ve looked under Freddie’s stare. But before he could pull together a single coherent thought, the door slammed open and Alfie barrelled in, hoodie half-zipped, cheeks red from the cold.
“Oi, Dad! We goin’ or what? I’m bloody starvin’.”
Freddie turned back to his bag, towel hitched precariously around his waist, pretending to dig for his clothes. Nathan swallowed hard, shoving down everything clawing its way to the surface.
He stood, grabbing his kit bag, rough hands aching with the effort of dragging the years and memories back into their box and forcing the lid closed.
“Yeah,” he rasped, voice thick. “Be there in a sec.”
Alfie side-eyed Freddie behind his back, then disappeared.
Freddie, still half-dressed, pulled a jumper over his damp hair, peeking at Nathan as if unsure whether they were still standing on the same threadbare ground or whether the floor had finally given way.
Nathan slung his bag over his shoulder. Then he glanced over to Freddie. “Unlike me, the feelings never left.”
Then he turned and left, every step heavier than the last, mind dragging through the past the way his boots had through the muddy terrain in basic.
Fifteen years ago….
The first thing Nathan learned about army life was that it didn’t matter how big you were, how fast, how smart.
You were no one.
And they broke you down to prove it.
“Off the wagon! Shift it, you useless lot! Line up!NOW!”
The bus had barely screeched to a halt outside the barracks before the shouting started. A corporal, shaved head, red face, veins bulging like taut cables down his neck, was already bellowing at him to movefaster, faster, faster. Nathan stumbled off the coach, duffel bag bouncing by his side, joining the sea of scared eighteen-year-olds with buzz cuts and second-hand boots.
It smelt like old sweat and disinfectant and rain.
Cold seeped through the thin layer of his civvy jacket. His heart hammered so hard he thought it might shake loose. But he kept his head down. Kept moving. He wouldn’t get picked off if he didn’t stand out.
First lesson: head down. Eyes forward.
The parade square loomed. Rows of squat, grey buildings lined the yard, every window like an unblinking eye. A life sentence of hard beds, harder fists, and harder truths awaited him here.
“On the line! Now!” the corporal barked.
Nathan dropped his bag. Formed a shaky line. Clenched his fists to stop them trembling. Around him, boys tried to look like men. Jutting chins. Wide stances. False bravado leaking out the seams. Nathan knew better. He’d seen real men crumble. His old man had shown him that.
