Chapter Seventeen Serve and Protect #2
“I’m telling you. We don’t make exceptions for civilians who play hero. He compromised the integrity of the operation. If this case collapses, it’s on us.”
Freddie swallowed. “And the kid?”
Bowen leant forward, arms on the desk. “Bring them both in.” She met his eyes, unflinching. “Tonight. Interview under caution.”
Freddie’s heart thudded beneath his stab vest trying to break free.
Nathan .
After this morning . That kiss , that confession, that hope .
The walls of the room pressed in, but somehow Freddie pushed back his chair, stood and was the compliant Police Constable and not the man whose heart was breaking when he said, “Yes, sir.”
He turned on his heel and left the incident room with Becca falling into step behind him, boots echoing down the corridor. They didn’t speak until they reached the car park. Freddie climbed into the driver’s seat of their issued patrol car, slammed the door, started the engine. Then cracked.
He slammed his fist into the steering wheel. “ Fuck! ”
Becca yanked open the passenger door and slid in fast. “Oi! Calm it .” She grabbed his arm before he could hit it again. “You need to tell me what the fuck is going on. Now. ”
Freddie threw himself back into the seat, thudding his head against the headrest. He shut his eyes. Counted to five. Tried to breathe through the chaos. Then he stared up at the roof lining to spill the truth. “I know Nathan Carter.”
Becca angled towards him, brows furrowed. “Okay… how well?”
Freddie opened his eyes and met hers. “Very well.” He drew in a deep breath. “We were best mates growing up. From five onwards. Joined at the hip.”
Becca’s frown deepened. “And you didn’t think to mention this when we arrested his kid ?”
“I didn’t know Alfie was his until I walked into the interview room.”
Becca blinked. “What? How ?”
“I hadn’t seen Nate in fifteen years. He left for the army right after he found out Katie Brewer was pregnant with his kid.”
Becca paused. “Alright… so that’s not ideal. You should have told someone you knew him, but it’s salvageable.”
Freddie gave a dry laugh. “There’s more.” He tugged off his cap, ran a hand through his hair, then dropped it onto the dash. “We weren’t just best mates. Not towards the end. We were… turning into something else.”
Becca went still. “Boyfriends?”
Freddie snorted. “Not exactly. Not outright.” He screwed his eyes shut.
“Fuck, we were teenagers, Becks. Mucking around! Quick handjobs under the pier, sneaking into each other’s rooms when no one was around.
But it was… becoming something. Then he found out about Katie.
The baby. We had a fight. Fucking brutal and ugly.
He left. And that was it.” He looked away for a beat, throat working.
“Then I saw him in that interview room. And it all came back.”
Becca stared at him, then slowly exhaled around the revelation, “You still have feelings for him?”
“Yeah.”
“What about him?”
Freddie hung his head, speaking to his chipped nails. “Well… if turning up at mine this morning, slamming me against a wall, tearing my pants off, then jerking us both off so hard I nearly passed out counts for anything, then, yeah. I’d say his feelings are still very fucking present.”
“Oh, Freddie …” Becca tilted her neck. “Why the hell didn’t you declare it? You’d have been pulled from the case immediately.”
“Exactly.” Freddie tightened his grip on the wheel, knuckles white. “And now I’ve got to arrest the only man I think I’ve ever actually been in love with.”
Becca turned to him, eyes wide. “Then go back in. Tell Carrick now. You’ve compromised yourself. It’s not too late to step away—”
Freddie let out a bitter laugh. “So I can get pulled, put on enforced leave, flagged with PSD for a potential conflict of interest? So Carrick can stick someone else on it. Someone who doesn’t know Nathan, doesn’t know Alfie , and won’t think twice about throwing them both under the bus to keep the paperwork clean?
” He shook his head. “No. I do this. I see it through. It’s the only way I can protect them.
Keep some control over how it plays out. ”
Becca looked at him, torn. “You think you can protect them like this?”
“I don’t know. But if I walk away now… I definitely can’t.”
“You gonna call and warn him? ”
Freddie scoffed at the full reality of the situation. “Can’t. Was too busy sucking the fella off to get his new number.”
* * * *
The last job of Nathan’s day was a knackered old Focus with a whining clutch and a headlight held in place by duct tape and misplaced faith.
Ron had buggered off early, muttering something about beans on toast and his weekly Westerns, which left Nathan and Alfie alone in the garage, having picked him up straight from school to bring him here and teach him a trade.
A kid with a trade was a kid with a future.
Wind whistled through the roller door, wafting the scent of oil as Alfie leant over the open bonnet. “So it’s the belt?”
Nathan shook his head. “Nope. Listen again. Hear that ticking under the whine? That’s the tensioner.”
Alfie squinted at the engine. “You sure?”
Nathan smirked. “I’m always sure.” He handed Alfie the ratchet, watched him take it with hesitant fingers. “Go on. Loosen that bolt, there. I’ll talk you through it.”
For the next ten minutes, they worked in quiet rhythm with Nathan guiding, Alfie trying, failing, trying again, until the noise was gone, the tensioner adjusted, and the engine hummed like it had half a will to live.
“Nice.” Nathan clapped him on the back. “You’ve got good hands.”
Alfie beamed, trying not to show how much it meant.
They shut the garage up together, the roller door rattling down with a groan and a final thud echoing across the cracked concrete forecourt. Done for the day. Then Nathan drove them home with the windows cracked enough to let in the salt-stung Worthbridge air.
At home, he went straight into the kitchen.
To his surprise, Alfie didn’t vanish upstairs.
He hovered, lingered, leaning against the doorframe, then eventually drifted in beside him.
Maybe it was the lack of his phone, still locked away in Nathan’s toolbox, but Nathan let himself hope it was more than that.
Maybe Alfie had seen enough to realise he could still be a kid.
That he didn’t have to carry all the world’s weight just yet.
“You learn to cook in the army too?” Alfie hopped up onto the counter to sit opposite him.
“Nah.” Nathan stirred the bubbling pan of tomato sauce.
“Army’s got cooks. Big industrial stuff.
Tastes like shit but fills a hole.” He angled his head towards Ron in the next room, already settled in front of the telly.
“Learned after my mum died. Someone had to feed the old man. You see the microwave crap he was surviving on before we got here?”
Alfie snorted. “Not sure some of that was food.”
“Exactly.” Nathan smirked. “Now get the plates out.”
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. Killing him.
“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 said you’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.
“You cuffing me?” he asked quietly.
“I have to.”
Nathan nodded once, then held out his arms. “Do it quick. ”
The metal was cool against his skin, and it clicked into place like a full stop. But the realisation of it hit harder than any restraint. In his gut. His chest. Like concrete poured where hope had been.
Freddie secured them, eyes down. “You do not have to say anything, but—”
“I know the rest,” Nathan said, resigned. He even smiled when Freddie lifted his gaze to meet his because what stared back at him wasn’t authority. It was hurt. Longing. Bleak and helpless.
An ache they both knew too well.
Freddie swallowed it down and guided him towards the car, breath curling into the chilly night. The other officer stepped out from the passenger’s seat, and opened the back door. Nathan ducked his head and climbed in, the cuffs heavy on his wrists, heavier still in his chest.
Freddie lingered by the open door, fingers flexing once at his side before he exhaled a long, shaking breath then got in the driver’s seat.
The door shut with a dull finality.
Behind the window of the house, lit by the dim flicker of the telly, Alfie stood with his hands pressed flat to the glass. Watching his father disappear .
Again.