Page 7 of Worth the Wait
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
His heart kicked hard, each beat thudding out those curse words in synch. Because sitting in that room, to the left of the boy he’d arrested, wasNathan Carter.
Freddie hadn’t seen him in over a decade. Fifteen years, give or take, since everything had collapsed. Since promises had cracked beneath the pressure of real life, fear,and timing that was never quite right. And yet, in one glance, it was as if no time had passed at all.
Nathan’s lighter hair was cropped shorter now, almost a buzz cut. Or growing out of one. His shoulders broader. Still built as though he carried the weight of everyone else before his own. That same posture. Tight. Guarded. Composed. He hadn’t changed. But there was a shift now. A break in the armour. And as he sat hunched, bouncing one leg beneath the table, hands clenched in his lap, he looked worried.
No,scared.
The crack in Freddie’s chest, the one he’d papered over with work and quick fucks, split wide open as if it hadn’t ever healed.
Bowen paused at the threshold, nudging the door with her shoulder. “You coming in?”
Freddie didn’t move at first. Couldn’t. His body felt like stone, held together by instinct and uniform alone. For a second, he wasn’t a copper. Wasn’t anything. Just a man standing outside a room that had cracked open a past he wasn’t ready to face.
Then Nathan looked up.
Fifteen years of silence shattered in that glance. And the breath Freddie had been holding slipped quietly from his lungs.
Chapter two
Ghosts in Uniform
Sat in a too-hot interview room at the back of Worthbridge Police Station, Nathan Carter did what he’d been trained to do.
Held it the fuck together.
He focused on the clock. The scuff marks on the floor. The sharp edge of the table. Anything but the truth. Which was that he was hanging by a thread.
Didn’t matter. Couldn’t show it. Years of service had drilled that into him. Keep calm. Breathe. Don’t let the panic win. Tactical breathwork, hostage protocol, situational control. He’d nailed all that under fire. Could pull a wounded lad from a convoy under shelling without breaking stride.
But this?
Well…This was different.
This was his son. Fourteen. Slouched in the chair beside him as if he could shrug off the entire world. Alfie wouldn’t even look at him. Wouldn’t speak. Christ, the lad didn’t evenknowhim. Not really.
And Nathan didn’t know how to fixthat.
He could rebuild a carburettor in the dark. Clear a room in under sixty seconds. But this? A kid who won’t speak, won’t look at him? No fixing that with a wrench or a weapon. Fucking hopeless.
Still, he held the line. Didn’t let none of it show. Until he looked up.
Clocked the man through the reinforced glass.
Freddie Webb.
Nathan’s chest tightened.
No. Couldn’t be.
But it was. Clear as day.
Didn’t matter that he was in uniform now. Patrol vest, duty gear, dark hair slicked back as if ready to brief a squad or break up a pub brawl. It was still Freddie. Same eyes. Same walk. Still too fucking handsome for his own good. That hadn’t changed. Bit more rough and stubble but if someone fed a search term into a computer for ‘bastard who ruins your sleep,’ it’d spit out a photo of Freddie Webb, smirking in hi-vis and looking like sin wrapped in regulation blues.
And Nathan had to watch him walk in as if this was any other shift, any other day. While all he could see was the past. Pulled tight, rough-edged and unfinished.
He ground his teeth.
