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Worth the Wait by C F White

Worth It, Book 1

It was never over. It was just waiting.

Nathan Carter didn’t return to Worthbridge looking for a second chance. He came back for a roof over his head, a job that pays, and maybe, if he’s lucky, a way to connect with the teenage son he’s barely known. Life in the army taught him how to survive, but not how to be a father… and definitely not how to live with the choices he made the day he walked away from everything. Including Freddie Webb.

PC Freddie Webb never left Worthbridge. Not the town. Not the ghosts. Steady, dependable, the man everyone trusts to hold the line when things fall apart, he’s spent years keeping his head down and his heart locked up tight. But all that control shatters the moment a routine arrest throws him face to face with the boy he once loved… and the son that boy now has.

What started between them as teenagers was messy, intense, and unforgettable. Sixteen years later, it’s no less complicated. Eespecially with Alfie, Nathan’s angry, guarded son, caught between them and already spiralling toward trouble.

As old desires resurface and old wounds reopen, Nathan and Freddie are pulled back into each other’s orbit. But with the whole town watching, tensions rising, and the past refusing to stay buried, they’ll have to decide: play it safe… or risk everything for the love they never got to finish.

Because in Worthbridge, the past never stays buried.

And some loves are worth every second of the wait.

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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.