Page 51 of Worth the Wait
So Freddie slung his kit bag over his shoulder and made his way across the tarmac to the changing huts, the scent of turf, sweat, and salt in the air. But when he shouldered open the door to the men’s, he stopped.
Because, once again, there wasNathan Carter.
Stood with his back to him, hunched over, he peeled off his T-shirt, dragging it up and over his head in one smooth motion. Freddie’s mouth went dry. Nathan’s back was broad and powerful, dusted with old scars like a map of where he’d been. Pale lines drawn across sun-warmed skin, a story written in wounds. His shoulder blades shifted with every breath, muscle rolling beneath skin and he looked leaner than before. Not leaner.Harder. The army had chiselled him into solid granite, dangerous and destructive, but still achingly familiar.
And devastatingly stunning.
Nathan turned.
And Freddie drew in a breath.
Because there was something new. Something he didn’t recognise. That wasn’t familiar. A piece of Nathan that he hadn’t gazed at, stroked or licked.
Across Nathan’s left pectoral, close to his heart, was a tattoo of a compass. Worn and weathered in design, as though inked there a lifetime ago, lines slightly faded, not from neglect, but from time and sun andservice. Like him, it had been through things.
Around the outer ring, etched in a military block font lifted straight off a dog tag, were the words:Always North.The letters were defined, clean. But the N stood out. Stylised. Different. A touch more elaborate than the rest.
Freddie tilted his head, taking it in. Wondering.
Then he lifted his gaze, and their eyes met.
Freddie didn’t speak. Didn’t move. Didn’tdare.
Nathan’s chest rose, and for one taut, breathless second, the world narrowed to just the two of them. The years fell away. Along with the pain. The silence. The hurt. All of it. Stripped as bare as the man standing in front of him.
But the door slammed open behind Freddie, lads bursting in and the changing hut flooded with noise. Laughter, shouting, boots thudding on tile, the scent of sweat and deep heat filling the air.
Freddie jolted, instinctively stepping back as Nathan snapped his head towards the door, caught mid-movement, chest still bare, that damn compass tattoo exposed for half a second longer before a red and black jersey came flying over Freddie’s shoulder, and with it a familiar leather gloved hand clapped down on Freddie’s arm.
“Don’t mind, do ya, Fred?” Reece, full of smug confidence, strode past him. “Nate’s stepping in for our lost striker.”
Freddie blinked, brain still lagging. “Uh… where’s Zak?”
“Paternity leave.” Reece dropped down on the bench beside Nathan as iftheywere old mates. “That’s his jersey. Don’t worry, it’s washed. By his wife. Fairy softener and everything.”
Nathan held it up by the shoulders, the silk sheen of the fire service jersey catching the fluorescent lights, red and black stitched with the bold sponsor’s name,Stanley’s Auto Salvage, with the tagline,You bend it, we mend itcurling under the crest. More a threat than a tagline.
Freddie glared at it.
Because it was blocking his view.
Then Nathan popped his head through it and spoke to Reece. “Your part came in. Bring the bike back tomorrow, I’ll fix it.”
“Perfect.” Reece grinned up at Freddie and winked.
But the rest of the Front-Line squad barrelled in, not giving Freddie the chance to flip Reece off as the hut roared louder still. Lads thumping each other on the back, bags thudding onto benches, the stink of aftershave and spray and testosterone rolling in thick as fog. Freddie had no choice but to pull himself together and start changing, forcing his head into the game.
As he peeled off his clothes, he glanced across the row of bodies and kit bags to where Nathan sat on the opposite bench, bent over his laces. He was tying them with the same intensity he used to tie camo boots in his back garden when they were sixteen and pretending to be soldiers. But there was something different in him now. Harder. Weathered. Because he’d tied real, proper soldier boots for years now.
Nathan glanced up as Freddie looked over and Freddie caught the low, secret sweep of Nathan’s eyes across hischest, shoulders, arms. Lower. A covert glance only noticeable to those spent their whole life learning how to spot it. And Nathan had clearly mastered that look, honed it in barracks and locker rooms where watching had to be hidden in plain sight.
But Freddie noticed. And he didn’t mind one bit.
Let him look.
He’d worked for this body. Earned it with years of pounding pavements, mandatory fitness drills, and a self-discipline that came from being a copper with something to prove. He was stronger now, more defined. Not the wiry kid Nathan had last seen shirtless in a teenage bedroom. He was a man. Muscle, power, control.
And if Nathan wanted to take a second glance?
