Page 106 of Worth the Wait
Her reply was instant.
Disgusting.
Freddie chuckled, then hovered his thumb for a second before tapping open Nathan’s message.
You still look cute when you sleep. Call you later x
Freddie groaned, flopping back onto the pillows, unable to stop the ridiculous grin stretched across his face.
Fuck. Fuck, and more fuck.
He wasscrewed. Completely, totally fucked.
Because he was in love with Nathan Carter.
Again.
Hopelessly. Stupidly. All-consuming,fifteen-years-too-latein love.
And yet, life had the nerve to go on. The world didn’t stop because Freddie wanted to lie in bed all day, roll around in the scent Nathan had left behind on the sheets, and grin like a lovesick teenager. Didn’t anyone realise he’d waited fucking years to get shagged by Nathan Carter?
But he forced himself upright, peeling the covers off with a groan and rolling out of bed like a man thirty years older than he was. His thighs ached. His lower back twinged in ways that felt both humiliating andverysatisfying. And his arse? Well, that didn’t need mentioning.
“Jesus, Carter.” He staggered to the bathroom, massaging his buttocks. “Could’ve at least left a warning label.”
In the bathroom, he glimpsed himself in the mirror. Hair like a bird’s nest. A fading red mark on his collarbone. Eyes soft in a way that felt too private for daylight. He brushed his teeth, showered off, and tried to piece himself back together bit by bit. It was nearly time to get back into uniform. Back into Freddie-the-constable. The man who answered calls, broke up fights, filled out forms. Not the one who’d fallen asleep wrapped around the man he used to dream about and who he’d taken to his superiors, cuffed and cautioned yesterday.
Yeah. That was a mess.
By six, Freddie was in the gym. A windowless, echoey room tucked at the back of the industrial estate where the air smelt of rubber mats, metal, and tired ambition. It was the usual pre-shift crowd. Mostly night shift emergency services shaking off the day, stretching out sore backs, burning stress before the chaos rolled in.
Reece was on the free weights, muscle vest damp with sweat, headphones in, but he gave Freddie a chin-lift of acknowledgment between reps. Freddie headed for the treadmills and started a slow jog when someone dropped into the machine beside him, slapping the start button.
“Alright, Freddie?” Trent, the paramedic, stepped onto the treadmill beside him, tapping in the incline.
Freddie knew that look. “Tough shift?”
“Yeah. Stabbing. It’s getting worse round here.”
“Jesus. Yeah. I know.” Didn’t he just?
“Looking forward to my four days off.” He glanced at Freddie, adjusting his pace without breaking stride, blond curls bouncing with each step, and he cocked his head. “You look…happy?”
Freddie let out a breathless chuckle, already feeling the burn in his legs. And his arse. “That obvious?”
“It’s part of the gaydar. We can also tell when one of our own is in love.” Trent raised an eyebrow, all faux-innocence and knowing smirk. “So…you and Jude, then?”
Freddie winced. “Ah. No. That didn’t work out.”
Trent glanced towards the weights section, where Reece was dead lifting as if the world owed him applause, his full sleeve tattoo on display, a bold sweep of black and grey ink twisting over muscle, sharp lines and shadowed shapes barely contained by his vest. Trent cocked his head, not even trying to be subtle. “Right. So… back withhim, then?”
Freddie followed his line of sight. “No. No, no, and, for clarity,nope.”
Trent didn’t respond right away, so Freddie felt the need to explain.
“You know it was just sex with me and Reece, right?”
Trent’s answer was quick, cool. “Couldn’t care less.”
