Chapter Twenty-Three
Freddie
Once Taine had left for his flat, Freddie fed Bitsy, showered, and did a quick clean of his bedroom. He had a feeling the rugby player would be spending at least some time in there with him. With the dodgy food tossed from his fridge, he popped around to the local shop to replenish his supplies.
Over a simple lunch of stew that had been brought over by one of his neighbours, Freddie checked on his work emails. Nothing important had arrived while he’d swanned off to Amsterdam. Genevieve had a new client for him to see on Tuesday—a nineteen-year-old with a brain tumour.
God help him.
Dumping the bowl into his sink to wash later, Freddie grabbed his laptop and sat on the floor with Bitsy pouncing on his socked feet randomly. The next week would be a bit of a long one. He had too many things to catch up on, one of the many reasons why he’d never taken a week of vacation.
Freddie had opened his online calendar app to begin organising his week when his mobile gave a cheerful ring. “Dad.”
“Hello, love.” His dad tended to get straight to the point, unlike his husband. “Are you joining us for Yom Kippur?”
Ahh.
“You know I don’t celebrate.” Freddie cringed at the sigh he could hear on the other end. His fathers had always been rather open about their differing religious beliefs. Their Jewish relatives and Protestant ones had rarely agreed on anything. He had been left to decide how to worship on his own as a result. “You’ll only get upset with me.”
“You don’t have to worship to enjoy the dinner we have together, son.” His dad managed to guilt him without actually chastising him. It’s a gift, must be. “Your auntie said you went on a holiday to Amsterdam with a friend?”
“Yes.” Freddie squeezed his eyes shut and prayed his aunt hadn’t known any of the details. “How’d she know?”
“Dr Williams.”
Oh. No.
There was a scuffle on the other end of the line. “Who was your friend?” his tad asked. The scuffle had obviously been a struggle for the phone. “Someone new in your life? Your aunt couldn’t get any information—not even a name.”
No, no, no, no.
Freddie aimed for calm and confident. “No one you know.”
“So, someone new from Cardiff? Tell us about your friend, love.” His dad had regained control of his phone. “What’s their name?”
“Taine Afoa.”
For a moment, no one said anything. The silence was followed immediately by a shout of excitement and the phone being snatched again. His tad exclaimed into the phone about him meeting a rugby player.
Freddie thought for several minutes he would get away without any of the more pertinent and dangerous questions being asked. “I met him through Graham’s BC. You remember, Boyce Brooks?”
“Of course I—”
His dad cut off his husband with another fight for the phone. “Freddie, why precisely did Tens Afoa go to Amsterdam with you? How long have you known the man? You couldn’t have been friends for long. He retired this year.”
Coc y gath.
“Freddie?”
He knew he’d have to give an answer of some sort. “I met him in July at the hospital.”
Not a lie. I didn’t know him then, but I met him.
“So, three months and you’re going on holiday together?” His father’s voice had a definite note of disapproval. “How old is he? He’s got to be close to our age.”
“Dad.”
“When can we meet him?”
Never.
“We’re only friends.” Freddie didn’t honestly know what to call the budding connection with Taine. He certainly had no interest in dissecting it with his overprotective fathers. “Friends.”
“Methinks our son doth protest too much.”
“Twice. I said it twice.” Freddie muted his phone and yelled “Why?” at the ceiling before returning to the conversation. “Do you remember what happened the last time I brought a friend to the farm? Do you? Hmm?”
“The lad has a point.” His dad couldn’t argue, though he’d probably try. “We enjoy meeting all of your friends, love. Why is this one different?”
“Dad.”
Another fight for the phone.
“Are you dating him?”
Freddie winced at the question from his tad, who had always been a little more intuitive of the two men. “I’ve only known him since July.”
“The absence of a simple no leads me to believe you are—or are hoping to date him. How old is Taine Afoa? I recall reading an article about him in the paper the other day. They said he’d been one of the oldest players left in the game before retiring.” He didn’t leave any room for his son to wiggle out of the direction of the conversation. “We’re having a big lunch on Sunday a fortnight from today. You’ll bring Mr Afoa for us to meet.”
Oh, shit.
“Don’t you curse me mentally, young man.” His tad laughed. “You have a good morning, love.”
Freddie stared in horror at his now silent phone. “Well, there’s the end of that relationship, and it’s not even started.”
His fathers had never been brilliant about his dates, one of many reasons Freddie’s move to Cardiff couldn’t have come at a better time. His hope to avoid their antics had clearly been for naught.
They usually interfered in the most humiliating ways imaginable. Freddie still cringed over the time they’d driven out to his university to ensure his eating habits were healthy. His classmates had mocked him mercilessly for an entire year over it.
The solution to the problem usually involved calling his aunt, who would drag her brother and brother-in-law back into some semblance of sanity. Freddie didn’t know how she would respond to the idea of him dating a man in his forties. It still seemed far too soon to be considering meeting the family or even simply calling it more than a casual date.
He had two weeks to figure out how to avoid the catastrophe. Time to hang around the emergency ward at the hospital; someone was bound to have the flu. He could come down with a suddenly terminal case of the plague.
What am I going to do?
Freddie frowned at Bitsy, who stretched in the sun before leaping up onto the couch to curl up. “This is going to be a nightmare, isn’t it?”
Meow.
“Yes, yes it is.”