Page 91 of Worth the Wait
Alfie jumped down and pulled three mismatched plates from the cupboard. One chipped, one floral, one nicked from some motorway café years back, and Nathan dished up generously, ignoring Ron’s muttered complaints about “bloody vegetables again,” and shoved a steaming plate into his hands.
They settled in the lounge. Ron in his worn chair, Alfie and Nathan on opposite ends of the sofa. Plates on laps. Cutlery clinking. Some vintage crime drama droning on in the background, something with too many moustaches and not enough conviction.
For a while, it was good.
The food was hot. The house was quiet. Alfie stayed in the room.
Nathan let himself believe that maybe this was something like normal.
Until a knock came on the door. Three quick raps booming through the front room. Nathan peeled himself off the sofa, dropping his plate between him and Alfie and went to the door.
“If that’s one of those bloody Tory bastards gunning for my vote,” Ron grunted without looking away from the telly, “ask ‘em when they’re planning on fixing the potholes I’ve been refitting tyres for all week. Robbing sods.”
Nathan ignored his dad’s grumbling and crossed the room in heavy strides. He yanked the door open. Then froze.
Backlit by the porch light and wrapped in every inch of authority, was Freddie. Full patrol uniform, navy-blue stab vest snug over his chest, utility belt hanging heavy on his hips, radio clipped to his shoulder, hair wind-mussed, he looked like a fucking fantasy.
A strippergram sent to ruin him.
Nathan’s lungs stalled before his brain caught up.
He angled his body, easing the door partway closed behind him, and glanced down. Boots, belt, the way Freddie’s uniform clung to him as if made for sin, not patrol. He smirked, couldn’t help it. But his smile faltered the moment Freddie didn’t crack a grin. Didn’t even blink. That’s when he knew.
This wasn’t foreplay.
It was fallout.
Nathan glanced over Freddie’s shoulder to the patrol car. Another PC in the passenger seat, eyes fixed forward, jaw clenched. Driver door ajar. Engine running.
Nathan’s stomach sank.
“I’m really fucking sorry,”Freddie mouthed, barely a whisper before he straightened into copper mode. “Nathan Carter. I need to caution you. You’re under arrest for obstruction of a police operation.”
Time stopped.
Heat drained from Nathan’s face.
“You’re serious.” It wasn’t a question.
“Yeah. ‘Fraid so.”
Nathan had taken bullets with less impact.
Freddie looked at him. Not cold, not cruel, but wrecked. This was costing him too.Killinghim.
“Alright.” Nathan nodded. He should have expected this all along. “Okay… give me a sec.”
He turned to pull the door nearly shut, but a voice cut in from behind him.
“What’s going on?” Ron hobbled behind, then opened the door wider. “Webb. What the fu—”
“Leave it, Dad.” Nathan tipped his head towards the living room, where Alfie sat frozen on the sofa, plate still balanced on his lap, face pale and eyes too wide. “Sort him out, yeah? Make sure he gets to school.”
Ron didn’t argue, but he gave Freddie a look that saidyou’d better be sure about this,then disappeared back into the room.
Nathan turned to find Freddie with his cuffs in hand.
Any other time, he might’ve made a crack. Something about playing rough, or who got to use them next. But his mouth wouldn’t move. Not like that.
