Chapter Eight Rules of Engagement #2
“Answer the man,” Nathan said, and caught the terseness in his own tone too late. It was that voice. The one he’d used in the field. With lads too cocky, too green, too close to getting themselves killed. It had no place in a school office. No place between him and his kid.
He exhaled slowly, grounding himself.
What he needed now wasn’t command. Or control. It was a connection. What Nathan hadn’t ever had with his own dad. And he wasn’t entirely sure how to build it. But he was here. He’d shown up. Maybe that was where it started.
Mr Ellison studied Alfie for a long beat, then shifted to address Nathan.
And for a moment, behind the teacher expression and school-issue glasses, Nathan saw the man beneath.
The human. And sympathy, maybe. Understanding.
As if he wanted to say something but couldn’t without stepping outside his professional remit.
Then, Mr Ellison said, “Alfie? Could you give me and your dad a moment, please?”
Alfie glanced between them, uncertain. Nathan gave him a single nod. “Wait outside. I’ll drive us home.”
With a grunt, Alfie grabbed his bag and slouched out, clipping the edge of a desk with his hip on the way. Nathan’s eyes followed him until the door clicked shut .
Mr Ellison exhaled. “Ordinarily, I prefer transparency. Saying everything in front of the student where possible. Helps build trust. Ownership. But in this case…” He paused. “Some of what I need to raise falls under formal safeguarding.”
Nathan tensed. “Right. Go on.”
“You’ll be hearing from our safeguarding lead shortly. Mrs Patel. She’s coordinating a MASH response around Alfie.”
Nathan’s stomach dropped. “Because of what happened at the weekend?”
“Yes.” Mr Ellison’s tone stayed calm but firm.
“And there are risk indicators we can’t ignore.
The arrest at the weekend triggered an automatic flag.
Combined with other concerns raised from staff.
His behaviour in class, reluctance to engage, isolation.
He’s now on the Multi-Agency Safeguarding Hub radar.
The police officer attached to the school’s panel has already reviewed his file. ”
Nathan swallowed. “He’s been here a week.”
Mr Ellison leaned forward, clamping his hands together on the table.
“Last month, our Year Nines attended a safeguarding workshop. Gang culture, knife crime, county lines. Since then, we’ve been watching more carefully.
And Alfie fits several of the risk factors.
Not because of what he’s done. But because of how he’s seen . ”
Nathan clenched his jaw.
“What we’ve observed just in this short space of time is that he’s on the fringes of a known group. Not embedded. Not beyond reach. But drifting. And once that drift becomes a pull…” Mr Ellison’s expression turned grave. “We lose control of what happens outside the school gates.”
Nathan’s throat dried. “So what now? ”
“We’re not at Child Protection yet,” Mr Ellison said carefully. “But a Strategy Meeting is being arranged. Police, social care, education. All involved. You’ll be formally invited as Alfie’s legal guardian.”
Nathan bristled. “So what? You’re all sitting in a room deciding if I can keep my own son?”
He’d already taken him away from his mother. From his friends. Now Nathan was in danger of losing him completely. To the system. A system he wasn’t sure he trusted.
“No.” Mr Ellison shook his head. “The meeting isn’t about blame.
It’s about protection. Support. We want to work with you.
But I’d strongly recommend allowing us to make an Early Help referral in the meantime.
It’s the step before anything more serious.
He could get a keyworker. Structured mentoring. Something stable outside school hours.”
Nathan stared at him. Thought about Romford. About empty nights and unreturned calls. About the boy he was trying, desperately, to save.
“Yeah.” He nodded. “Okay. Do it.”
“Thank you, Mr Carter. I know this is a lot to take in. But it’s the right start.”
They stood. Shook hands. Nathan’s grip was firm, but his shoulders were still tight. He hated how this felt like a battlefield with no clear enemy. Hated even more that his kid was already caught in the crossfire.
He collected Alfie, guiding him out into the corridor and as they pushed through the glass doors into daylight, Nathan dropped his hand to the back of Alfie’s neck.
Not a warning. Nor control. Just contact.
Reassurance. I’ve got you, that’s what he meant.
And maybe Alfie got it too, because he didn’t shrug him off.
Not until they hit the car park and Nathan stuttered .
Because there, leaning against a red Peugeot, arms crossed tight, posture casual, was Freddie Webb.
Backlit by the April sun, jaw shadowed with stubble, dark hair slipped back into that up and over that looked too deliberate not to have taken effort, Freddie met his gaze and his lips parted.
Nathan caught the scent before he registered the expression.
Aftershave, crisp and clean, carrying on the breeze as if aimed right at him.
Fuck, he smelt good. Always had.
Nathan’s stomach flipped, traitorous and immediate, and he dropped his hand from Alfie’s neck.
Alfie glanced between them, brows drawn.
Nathan didn’t miss the flash of recognition in his eyes.
He’d forever remember the copper who nicked him.
But he didn’t say it. Although he hovered awkwardly, watching.
Clearly noticing the unrest between them. How could anyone not? It was palpable.
Freddie blinked in surprise, clearly not expecting to see him either, and he unfurled his arms from their cross. “Hey.”
Nathan swallowed. “Hey. What are you—”
Before he could finish, a window slid open behind him and Mr Ellison leant out, cheerful and oblivious. “Sorry, Freddie! I’ll be two minutes. Tops!”
Unease bled out of Freddie. “Yeah. No worries.”
Of course. Of fucking course, that was happening.
His father’s voice rang out, uninvited and ugly: In and out of each other’s beds, that lot.
First the fireman. Now the teacher.
And Nathan, like a fucking idiot, was still standing there nursing a crush as if it hadn’t been his own fucking fault for walking away from him in the first place.
He had no right to feel angry. It wasn’t as though he’d stayed clean or celibate, pining in noble silence.
No, he’d taken what he could. Barracks beds, quiet corners, men who didn’t ask questions and didn’t need answers.
A few women, too, here and there. Ones who didn’t expect more than he could give.
Even Katie, more than once. After Alfie.
Before the spiral. When he was lonely, and she was warm, willing, and too familiar for it to feel like anything new.
Each time, he told himself it meant something. Each time, he knew it didn’t.
And each time, he hated himself a little more.
Didn’t make it sting any less, though. Not when this was Freddie . Not when the thought of him doing the same felt like a knife in his chest.
He turned on his heel. “Come on, Alf.”
But Freddie’s voice caught up to him before he reached the car. “Nate— wait .”
Nathan stopped. Turned. Tried to hold himself together as Freddie launched away from his car and stuttered closer, shifting from one foot to the other and glancing from Nathan to Alfie as if he wasn’t sure if he should say anything at all.
Then, with a breath scraped up from somewhere deep, he said,
“Look, I don’t even know if we’re talking or not. If you want me to talk to you. Or not. But it’s weird, yeah? Seeing you. Pretending like we don’t know each other.” He paused again, swallowing, as if the words cost something. “So I wanted to ask if maybe you… wanted to talk?”
Nathan held his gaze. And for that second, he didn’t know what the right answer was.
Coming back to Worthbridge had been about Alfie.
About pulling his kid out of a bad situation and giving him something better.
He hadn’t thought through the Freddie part.
Hadn’t dared to. He’d boxed it up. The way they got taught in basic. Keep it neat. Keep it buried.
But now here Freddie was, standing in front of him. Not buried at all .
Nathan jutted his chin towards Alfie. “Go wait in the car, Alf.” He fished the keys from his pocket and handed them over.
Alfie took them, casting a look between the two of them before slinking off towards his Fiesta. Silence rushed in behind him, heavier than it had any right to be.
Nathan turned back. “Alright.”
Freddie blinked. “Alright what ?”
“We can talk.”
That seemed to catch Freddie off guard. He straightened, chest rising as if he’d braced for rejection and got the opposite instead.
“Okay,” he said, quiet, surprised, then promptly said nothing at all.
Nathan let out a dry laugh. “Christ, Webb. You were never short on words before.”
Freddie dragged a hand through his hair, half-laughing, half-growling under his breath. “Why is this so fucking hard?”
Nathan arched a brow. “D’you really need me to answer that?”
Freddie made a noise somewhere between a scoff and a sigh, then drummed his fingers on his thigh as if psyching himself up. “Okay. Fine. I can talk. I’m talking. So… how long you back for?”
“Indefinitely.”
A half-smile, soft, almost hopeful lifted Freddie’s features, before he quashed it with a nod to Nathan’s leg. “Because of the injury?”
Nathan stilled. So he’d noticed the limp.
How long had Freddie been watching him?
“No.” He kept his tone even. “Last op. Ligament damage. It’ll heal.”
He didn’t say more. Not yet .
“What happened?”
“War happened.”
Freddie lingered, chewing on his bottom lip as if the words he wanted were hiding behind it.
Nathan hadn’t meant for them to get into anything heavy.
Not right then. He hadn’t meant for them to talk through it all now.
He’d meant that they shouldn’t keep walking past each other like strangers .
But now Freddie had opened the door, Nathan wanted to hear what might come out of it.
Then Freddie said, “I’m sorry.”
No preamble. No hedging. He dropped the words between them with a quiet weight that shifted the ground beneath him.
Because it wasn’t about the leg. Or the war.
Or any of the other things people said sorry for when trying to be kind without having a real stake in his pain.
This was different. An apology that came with history.
With fifteen years of silence wrapped inside it.
A quiet offering, held out with both hands.
Nathan hadn’t expected it to hit so hard.
But it did. Like a blow and a balm. And it knocked the wind from his lungs even as it loosened the tightness clamped in his chest for so long.
His throat seized. Pressure built behind his eyes.
Fuck.
He looked away. Sniffed once, as if that would be enough to hold it all down. But it wasn’t. His vision blurred and his face twisted as he wiped a hand roughly across it. Sweat, dust, tears smeared his skin. He’d done it enough times in desert heat and moonless nights. But this was different.
This was home .
And he hated how that made it harder.
“Shit.” Freddie stepped forward, alarmed. “ Nate — ”
Nathan held up a hand, trying to catch his breath.
Steady his spine. Steady himself. Was this what they’d meant in those briefings?
When the army said the hardest part wasn’t war, it was coming back?
That it wouldn’t be the noise of gunfire that got him, but the quiet that followed.
The silence in kitchens. The flash of emotion in someone’s eyes. A fucking apology .
Was this PTSD?
He didn’t know.
He just knew that this , whatever this was, hurt more than he was ready for.
He felt raw. Open. Exposed in a way no soldier wanted to be. No helmet. No armour. And with the same quiet conviction he’d carried through every long night on a rattling fold-out bed, bombs pounding in the distance, prayers mouthed into sweat and grit, he found the words to reply, “Me too.”
Freddie exhaled as if he’d been holding his breath for years.
Maybe he’d needed to hear that as much as Nathan had needed to say it.
Neither of them moved. Until movement behind Freddie broke the moment.
Mr Ellison stepped out of the building, slowed by another teacher at the exit.
Nathan straightened, clearing his throat. He needed to go. Had to go.
“I need to get—”
“Yeah. Okay.” Freddie nodded, gesturing vaguely towards the school. “I should… Do you want…?”
Nathan didn’t wait to hear what Freddie might offer. Or see Mr Ellison sidle up to him. He couldn’t watch the exchange or the easy familiarity pass between them. So he turned. Walked back down to his battered Fiesta, eyes stinging all over again. Climbed in, turned the key.
Alfie sat beside him, hood up, headphones in, pretending not to notice anything.
Nathan started the engine, and as he pulled away, he peeked in the rearview mirror.
At Freddie. And how the teacher squeezed his arm.
It wasn’t the same reaction to when he’d seen the fireman grope Freddie.
No. This was way worse. Because the teacher wasn’t territorial.
He was affectionate.
Nathan looked away.
Kept driving.
“You know him?” Alfie didn’t lift his gaze from his phone.
“Who?”
“The copper.”
Nathan gripped the wheel tighter. Turned a corner. Took a beat before answering. “Yeah. I know him.”
And he did. Too well.
Still.