Page 72 of Worth the Wait
Freddie forced himself to breathe. And lie. “Cat,” he said, as flat as he could, locking eyes with her and willing her to choose to believe him. “Stray. Probably scared off by the lights.”
A beat of silence stretched between them, taut and dangerous. Freddie held her stare, hoping she’d see what he couldn’t say out loud. Hoping she’d make the choice to stay on his side, even if it was a shitty one. Then he used the observation log to block her view, subtly noting the time. He logged nothing. No movement. No activity. Officially, the scene was still tight. Still clean. Except it wasn’t. Freddie’s gut knew it. His heart knew it.
Soon enough, Carrick would know it, too.
Across the street, tactical vans pulled in, armed officers, black-clad and masked, fanning out into pre-assigned zones. Organised. A brutal sweep that wouldn’t end quietly.
Becca nudged his arm.
Freddie wiped a hand over his mouth, swallowed thickly. Nodded. He got it. Becca was on his side. Whatever. And now the case was being taken out of their hands. Job done. He sat back, closing his eyes for a second, listening to the controlled chaos unfolding around them. The rustle of kit, the clipped orders, the low static of radios.
Any minute now, they’d go. They’d hit that house. When the breach order finally came—hard entry authorised—Freddie stayed in the car, watching the raid unfold like a man underwater. Doors kicked in. Shouts. Heavy boots pounding inside.
Becca buzzed beside him, already scribbling notes, glancing at the live radio chatter. Freddie couldn’t hear her. He’d made his choice tonight. Crossed a line. Not for himself. ForNathan. For Alfie. Ironically, the kid who’d split them up in the first bloody place. For something hehadn’t realised he was still aching for until Nathan fucking Carter had kissed him in the dark and made everything spin.
He had to hope no one noticed what he’d done. Because if they did, his career, his reputation, his whole life—gone.
Was it worth it? Worth risking his entire life for one kiss? For Nathan Carter?
Freddie wasn’t sure he could answer that.
Didn’t know if he wanted to.
* * * *
Nathan got Alfie home, shoving him through the back door into the kitchen. The room swallowed them whole. Too bright. Too normal. And far too small to hold everything tearing through Nathan’s chest.
He was livid. Panicked. Gutted by guilt so fierce it made his hands shake.
And couldn’tturn it off.
They warned him when he left the army during briefings, debriefings, endless handouts thick with clinical words, that moments like this would crack him open. That the body didn’t know the difference between a battlefield and a living room when the adrenaline hit. That the panic, the rage, the helplessness would come back no matter how much time had passed.
And now it was here. Roaring through his bloodstream with nowhere to go.
Out there, in the thick of it, he would’ve had an outlet. A sparring partner. A target. Another soldier who understood he wasn’t really angry atthem, but at the fear, loss, and impossible stakes.
But here?
Here he had none of that.
He had a fourteen-year-old boy trembling in front of him with that same look Nathan had seen a hundred times in younger recruits hauled from burning vehicles, bleeding and shaking and wondering what the hell they’d done wrong.
He couldn’t shout.
Couldn’t lash out.
Couldn’t give in to the animal urge clawing at the inside of his ribs.
He would not, under any circumstances, be his old man.
All Nathan could do was clench his fists uselessly at his sides, while the boy he was supposed to protect shook, realising, maybe for the first time, how deep in the shit he really was.
Christ. What kind of father saves his kid just to scare the life out of him?
Nathan forced himself to breathe. Forced the words through teeth he wanted to grit until they cracked.
“I’ll ask you this once.” He held Alfie’s gaze and the fear present in those too-young eyes had him reeling in anguish. “Did you know what you were walking into?”
