Page 59 of Worth the Wait
Hit bone.
Pain shot up his knuckles.
The fight was messy. Brutal. No finesse, no shouting. All teeth and fists and bodies crashing into the flimsy bunks until the corporal hauled them apart, spitting threats of extra PT and charges. But it was Nathan who walked away with a split across his right eyebrow. A ragged cut that never healed.
A scar he still carried, pale and faint now, that Freddie had traced with a fingertip and asked,“How did you get this?”
Because the truth was, he’d bled forhim.
Always had.
Always would.
Chapter twelve
The Stand Down
Freddie slung his bag over his shoulder and stepped out of the changing hut, head a mess of static and bad decisions. The cold slapped him in the face and the sting worsened when he saw Jude standing there. Waiting for him.
Shit.
Everyone else had already disappeared. Off to the pub to lick their wounds and forget about fists flying and tempers snapping. Freddie was the only one left. And Jude. Zipped-up coat, hands tucked into his pockets, the wind pulling at his hair. Glasses steamed. Smile bright and sweet. But not stupid. Not naïve.
Freddie could see it written all over him.
Concern etched with a growing feeling of discontent.
He deserved better than this.
“Hey.” Jude greeted him warm and easy, as if he hadn’t watched Freddie’s life implode on the side of a pitch.
“Hey.” Freddie forced the word out. His body didn’t feel connected to him anymore. He was floating a few inches above himself, running on autopilot, locked behind glass.
“Tense match.” Jude chuckled, trying to break the tension. “They all like that?”
Freddie huffed a laugh. “You get a bunch of front-line lads together and the testosterone gets chucked around like free shots at a stag do.” He rubbed a hand over his face. “Only with more bruises.”
“So I noticed.” Jude smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Everyone’s already headed to the pub for the all-you-can-eat wings. I wasn’t sure if you… maybe still wanted to go?”
Freddie winced, guilt digging in deep.
The date.
Theirdate.
Shit.
“I’m really fucking sorry, Jude. But I’m not… I don’t think I’m up for socialising tonight.”
Jude nodded immediately. No hesitation. “Of course. I get it. No worries.”
Which somehow made Freddie feel even more like a bastard.
“I can still drive you home, though,” he offered, needing to salvage something.
Jude’s smile returned. “That’d be great.”
“Unless you fancy testing how hot you can take it against a bunch of macho emergency service dudes?”
