Epilogue Flipping Hell #2
Nathan held him there, locked around him, watching every second of him falling apart. He didn’t look away. He wanted the image. No cameras. The memory.
Freddie slipped out, then dropped to the floor, and dragged Nathan to the edge of the bed so his legs dangled, heels hitting carpet, then he was between his thighs, lips parting around his aching cock, tongue flicking as he took him all the way in.
“God, yeah ,” Nathan groaned, raking a hand through Freddie’s hair, gripping the back of his head and guiding him down.
He glanced to the side, reached for the phone, unlocked it, then angled it downward, capturing the sight of Freddie deep-throating him, mouth wet and working, tasting himself, eyes half-lidded, hungry and focused.
Not for the camera. Not for anyone else.
Just for him .
Nathan came with a tight, gasping hiss, hips twitching as Freddie took every drop and didn’t stop until Nathan was shaking, cock oversensitive, breath broken. Nathan had to tug his hair to pull him off. “Too much.”
Freddie settled back on his heels, lips slick, eyes dark with mischief, and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Still got it.”
Nathan couldn’t even argue.
Freddie climbed on top of him, settling himself on his chest and Nathan dragged a hand down Freddie’s back. “Could stay here all day.”
“Your dad’ll ground you if you don’t get to the garage soon.”
“Tell him I’ve died.” Nathan squeezed Freddie’s arse. “Gone to heaven. No forwarding address.”
Freddie snorted, nuzzling into his neck.
Maybe one day this could be theirs. Not just Freddie’s place. Maybe one day they’d have their own place. And they wouldn’t need to rush, stealing stolen moments and squeezing their time together in between school runs, garage jobs, nights shifts, Alfie’s stuff…
Yeah . That would be nice.
To have this.
All the time.
But for now, he’d have to wait.
Freddie was worth it.
So he eased out from under him, gathered him up to the top of the bed where he draped the covers over him and kissed his forehead. “Sweet dreams, baby. See you later.”
And he left.
As he seemed to always have to do.
* * * *
Later that night, Freddie arrived at The Half Moon pub, the place already humming with easy, lived-in energy only small-town coastal pubs could muster on a weeknight.
Warm light spilled from the windows, the low thump of conversation underscored the clatter of pint glasses and the occasional burst of laughter.
Someone had lit one of the wall-mounted gas heaters outside, and a cluster of smokers hovered near it like moths to a pub-branded flame.
Freddie searched the crowd.
The pub was all worn leather booths and mismatched chairs, walls crowded with faded rugby team photos, old black-and-white snapshots of the town, and handwritten signs with things like NO DOGS ON THE POOL TABLE and YES, WE’RE OPEN, EVEN IF YOU HAVE TO ASK .
The bar was sticky, as ever, but the regulars didn’t mind.
This was Worthbridge , after all. No frills, no fuss.
And if your pint was warm, you shut up and drank it, anyway.
He spotted Reece already propped up at the bar, half out of his fire service uniform and deep in some suspiciously intense conversation with Trent, who still had his paramedic lanyard on. They didn’t look like they were flirting, but they didn’t not look like they weren’t, either.
In the far corner, Alfie sat at a table with Tilly, armed with a box of colouring pencils and a pad of paper. Tilly demanding Alfie draw her something she could colour. Freddie smiled. Nights like this felt easy . Had texture. Made staying in Worthbridge the right decision.
Freddie glanced around, scanning the room until he caught on the window.
Outside, beneath the amber glow of the car park lights, Piper stood beside a gleaming gold Range Rover, Ryan balanced on her hip, posture taut with tension.
She was mid-conversation—no, mid-argument—with a man Freddie would recognise in his sleep. A man everyone in Worthbridge would .
Graham Radley.
Freddie clenched his jaw, watching the exchange with a pulse like a drumbeat warning in his chest. But before he could move, the lights above the little raised stage flickered, pulling his attention back toward showtime.
Nathan appeared beside him then, pressing a kiss to the side of his neck and slipping a cold pint into his hand.
“Brewed locally.” Nathan lifted his glass. “Probably by someone you arrested last year.”
“They’d have deserved it.” Freddie took a sip, though his eyes tracked back to the window.
Nathan followed his line of sight. “Is that—?”
“Radley.”
“What the hell is Piper doing talking to him ?”
“Fuck knows.”
Before either of them could speculate, Piper came striding in through the door, juggling Ryan and a scowl. Freddie intercepted her, catching her arm before she could make a beeline for Tilly and the pink gin and tonic she’d left behind.
“What did he want?” Freddie nodded toward the window where Radley slid into the driver’s seat of his flash motor.
“Nothing important.” She rolled her eyes. “Offered me a bloody job.”
Freddie widened his eyes. “You didn’t take it?”
“Course I bloody didn’t,” Piper scoffed. “Told him where to shove it.”
“Good.”
She moved off then, calling to Tilly and settling in by the edge of the crowd as the room began to hush. Freddie watched her for a second, then raised his pint toward the stage. “She seen you yet? ”
Nathan shook his head. “Not yet. Enjoying the calm before the mystic storm.” He leant in. “Sleep okay?”
“Like a fucking log. I blame the overexertion.”
“Huh. Tough night shift, was it?”
“Not as tough as my current lay.”
Nathan chuckled into his pint. “Any consolation, my arse still hurts, too. Dad called me out on the limp and I had to blame the old shrapnel injury.”
“Some warzone that.”
“Friendly fire’s always a stinger.”
Freddie laughed. But Nathan turned suddenly serious, holding his gaze.
“Seriously, though. Didn’t get to ask earlier. The shift? All okay?”
“Dull as dishwater.”
Nathan kissed him. “Good. I hope it stays dull.”
Freddie searched his face. The subtle tension in his brow, and the quiet press of worry behind his eyes. His don’t-go-getting-hurt-on-my-watch face. So Freddie brought it up again for what felt like the hundredth time.
“You thought any more about what we talked about?”
Nathan tilted his head. “You mean me joining the force?”
“Yeah.” Freddie nodded toward the window, where the gold Range Rover disappeared down the road. “Reckon that’d rattle Radley.”
“As much as I’d love to help you lot kick in his doors and drag him out by the teeth… Alfie’s the priority right now. The garage keeps me close. Keeps my eyes on him.”
Freddie nodded, respect simmering under the disappointment. “Yeah. Fair.”
Since Alfie had given his statement, things had moved fast. With his testimony and the physical evidence recovered from the house, the case had finally come together.
Arrests were made up and down the county.
Runners, enforcers, low-level organisers whose names had hung over Worthbridge like a storm cloud for years.
Now they were sitting behind bars, awaiting trial.
The CPS confirmed charges. Case files stacked thick enough to choke a solicitor. The trial date was set for winter.
But Graham Radley?
Still clean.
Still untouchable.
His name didn’t appear once in the formal charges. No direct evidence. No paper trail. Just silence, polished shoes, and a thousand layers of plausible deniability. Oh, and a nice donation to the charitable arm of the Worthbridge Police Force as a public thank you for keeping the streets clean.
The irony choked Freddie.
Because he, when he’d been stuck on desk duty pending the outcome of the Professional Standards review, had to watch it all unfold from the sidelines. Reports, interview transcripts, case logs passing through his hands like paper ghosts of the job he wasn’t allowed to do.
And yet… there was relief. Alfie was safe. The streets were cleaner. The town, for the first time in years, felt as if it could breathe. And Worthbridge had a chance to start over. But Freddie had been in this job long enough to know better.
Someone would fill the gap. Someone always did.
And as long as Radley was still out there—smiling for cameras, funding playgrounds, hosting charity brunches—the rot wasn’t gone. It had just gone quiet.
For now.
But everyone knows what comes after the quiet .
“Oh, fuck,” Freddie said out of the corner of his mouth as the curtains at the back of the makeshift stage rustled theatrically. “Sorta glad you’ve already met my mum. Cause you’d dump me in heartbeat otherwise. Utter fruitloop.”
“Apple don’t fall far.”
“Your dad’s an arsehole.”
Nathan chuckled.
Dressed head to toe in supermarket clairvoyant chic, in a deep purple velvet shawl with stars embroidered in gold thread, layered necklaces with chunky stones clicking together, and a sweeping black maxi dress, Colette Webb made her grand entrance.
Freddie groaned. She looked as though she was about to read someone’s aura or curse an ex.
All that was missing was a crystal ball. Or maybe a fog machine.
“Jesus Christ.” Freddie drank more of his pint to dull the pain.
Colette scanned the room as if she was about to read every soul in it, then spotting Freddie, she stepped down from the stage and made her way over.
“Mum,” Freddie greeted. “Take it you had a good time on the Isle of Wight?”
“I did, baby boo.” She kissed Freddie on both cheeks, then turned to Nathan. “And I hear there has been change afoot here.” She dropped a hand on her hip, raking her gaze over Nathan. “My, my. You’ve grown into your face.”
Nathan blinked. “Uh. Thank you?”
“Last time I saw you, you were all knees and attitude, pinching crisps from my kitchen and pretending you weren’t in love with my son.”
Freddie groaned. “Mum…”
Colette winked. “Don’t worry, love. I always knew it’d be you two in the end. The universe likes a full circle. Now, let me look at you.” She grabbed Nathan’s arms tight, then closed her eyes.
Freddie stifled a laugh. Nathan glared at him.
But then her expression shifted. Gone was the theatrical poise. The smirk. The camp clairvoyant persona. What replaced it was much quieter. Like a radio tuning suddenly to the right frequency.
She opened her eyes. “I’m… sorry about Private Briggs.”
Nathan froze. “How do you know…?”
“He says you did everything you could. No need to keep harbouring the guilt.” She patted Nathan’s arm, offered a small, almost maternal smile. “I won’t charge you for that one.” She then wandered off towards the raffle table.
Freddie touched Nathan’s elbow. “Was she… right ?”
“Nah.” Nathan laughed. “Never heard of a Private Briggs.”
“You sly prick…”
Nathan chuckled. Low, deep and sexy as fuck.
Freddie pointed his beer at his mother. “Now she’ll think she’s finally found her calling.”
The pub doors clanged open with a hollow metallic thud, cutting clean through the low murmur of laughter, clinking glasses, and the creak of worn floorboards. Freddie glanced instinctively over Nathan’s shoulder to see who it was, and his gaze snagged on Jude.
He lingered in the doorway long enough to be noticed, his smile sweet and harmless, and he nodded at Freddie with casual familiarity, then tossed a cheerful wave towards the table of teachers by the dartboard. But there was something off about him. As if he was half looking over his shoulder.
Maybe everyone still was .
Freddie turned back towards the bar where, at a far corner of the pub, Reece tossed back a whiskey as if it might drown the weight of his name, easy grin a little too sharp, a little too practiced.
And across the room, Trent leant against the bar in his paramedic greens, eyes tracking Reece with the kind of patience that promised trouble.
Oh, the real storms hadn’t even started yet.
Then Freddie caught Nathan watching him with that steady, familiar look.
The one that had been there all along. Through the missed chances.
The lost years. The endless almosts . Freddie smiled back at him.
Dipped closer to him. And Nathan stroked a hand up the back of Freddie’s neck, then kissed his temple.
And that was everything.
Because some things aren’t supposed to happen easily. Or meant to happen fast.
But the things that matter?
They’re always worth the wait.
And in Worthbridge… waiting is never the end of the story.