Page 30 of Worth the Wait
And he looked at Freddie as if Nathan wasn’t even there. As if heknewsomething.
“Reece.” Freddie nodded, voice a little too neutral.
Reece’s grin widened. “Don’t you usually take the rust bucket to that place over at Point Bay?”
It was casual.
Toocasual.
Nathan didn’t miss the way Freddie shifted his weight from one foot to the other.
Reece had a presence that filled a room, even if he barely said a word. He had that…historyfeel to him. A man who’d take up space in someone’s bed—Freddie’s bed?—without ever fully stepping into their life. The kind who never had to ask twice.
Nathan recognised the type. He’d served with plenty like him. Loud, confident, all swagger and easy charm. He’d slept with a few, too. No strings, no questions, just heat and distraction in foreign beds and barracks bunks. He’d told himself it was for release. Something to pass the time between deployments. But underneath the bravado, he knew exactly what he was doing. Papering over the silence. Trying to forget the one man who’d always made him feel more than muscle and duty.
“Bike’s been making a weird clicking when I downshift.” Reece directed those words Nathan’s way. “Brought it in Friday, but Ron said he doesn’t touch bikes. Told me to try again today. Said his son was about, knows a thing or two. That you?” He held out a gloved hand, smile easy but a little too knowing.
Nathan wiped his palm on the edge of his overalls before taking it. The grip was firm. Meant to impress.
“Nathan.” He angled his head. “Pull it round to the side. I’ll take a look once I’m done here.”
“Nathan, huh?” Reece echoed with a raised brow, already swinging one leg back over the bike. He revved it once, the engine snarling under him, then turned it with a smirk as if he could feel every inch of tension he’d walked into.
Freddie still hadn’t said a word. He’d shoved his hands deep in his coat pockets, eyes fixed anywhere but on Nathan. Or this Reece, whoever he was.
Nathan turned back to the Peugeot, the open engine bay suddenly feeling colder than it had minutes ago. The warmth that had bloomed in his chest at the sound of Freddie’s voice was gone. Snuffed out like a spark in rainwater.
The engine hissed as it cooled, and Nathan leant in, checking the ignition coils, trying to focus. But then he heard Reece again, boots scuffing across the forecourt, his low laugh too close and Nathan glanced up in time to see him crowding into Freddie’s space, whispering in his ear. Then he had to witness that massive, leather-gloved hand land squarely on Freddie’s arse.
Nathan tightened his grip on the wrench almost as hard as he clenched his jaw.
Freddie elbowed Reece in the ribs and muttered a warning, but not before Nathan’s hand slipped, caught thelip of the manifold housing, and a jagged edge bit deep into the side of his finger.
“Fuck.” He hissed through his teeth, yanking his hand back. Blood welled fast, running down his knuckle and smearing over the grease on his palm.
He straightened from the bonnet, wrapping his hand in the oily rag and clenching his fist to stop the bleeding.
Freddie looked over then, eyes wide with something like guilt. Or worse, pity.
Nathan looked away.
The cut stung, but not half as much as the sight of Reece still standing there, grinning as if he’d pissed a line in the snow to mark his territory.
“You alright?” Freddie inched closer.
Nathan didn’t look at him as he wrapped the oily rag tighter around his finger. “Yeah. Caught it on a burr near the intake. Nothing major.” He forced himself to meet Freddie’s gaze, then jerked his chin towards the open bonnet. “Looks like one of your spark plugs has worked itself loose. That knock you’re hearing? It’s misfiring under load. Could’ve been rattling for a while without you noticing.”
Freddie nodded and Nathan brushed past him towards the side bench, flexing his injured hand.
“I’ll grab a plaster. Then torque it down properly and check the rest while I’m at it.”
He didn’t wait for a reply.
Because his chest already felt tight, and the last thing he needed, worse than the sting of the cut or the heat creeping up his neck, was Freddie looking at him like that. As if he still cared. As if itmeantsomething.
Nathan wasn’t ready to bleed in front of him twice.
So he turned away, retreating through the clatter and hum of the garage to the tiny office tucked behind the oil-streaked walls where his dad sat hunched over paperwork. He looked up as Nathan opened the battered first aid tin on the shelf.
