Chapter Thirty-One
Freddie
Morning dawned rather bright and early for all the residents at the Fisherman’s Refuge. Freddie woke up to find himself on the floor, squashed under a table with Taine to his left and a stack of marmite toast on his right. The smell of the spread didn’t do much for his stomach.
Twisting around on his back, Freddie winced when his shoulder whacked into the solid wooden leg. He stretched out his legs only to kick over several bottles. The sound woke Taine, who shot up only to smash into the underside of the table.
“Well, if the hangover didn’t give you a headache, the concussion will.” Freddie grabbed one of the slices of bread to offer to the groaning man beside him. “Marmite toast?”
“Is it torture Taine day?” Taine attempted to avoid the bread only to catch himself on the other table legs. “What the bloody hell are we doing under the dining room table?”
“Not a clue.” He crawled out from under it, avoiding the toast and bottles. “Mrs Morgan’s going to beat us all with a wooden spoon. We’ve made quite a mess.”
“Why is there marmite toast?” Taine clambered out with one hand rubbing the back of his head. He kicked at an empty jar of the stuff on the floor. “What in the world did we do last night?”
“Toast and bowling with beer bottles?” Freddie hazarded a guess from the position of the bottles and a rugby ball nearby. “Maybe the toast was for the winners?”
“Or losers?”
Stumbling into one of the chairs not overturned, Freddie gently massaged his aching head. He couldn’t recall ever being quite so pained after a night of drinking. His evenings at the pub were usually restricted to one or two pints of beer.
His stomach rolled uneasily. How much did we drink last night? There would be a number of sore heads when everyone else woke up.
The nurse in him decided it might be best to prepare for the inevitable. His auntie Anna had always sworn by lots of water, orange juice, and bananas to fight off the ill stomach and headache. He’d never had to test it out himself.
Better make sure Taine hasn’t actually gotten a concussion from bashing his skull into the table.
Given the signs of one might coincide a bit with symptoms of drinking far too much the previous night, Freddie opted to check Taine’s eyes. His pupils seemed fine, not overly dilated. He managed to track the finger moving in front of him fine, as well.
He had a bit of a lump on his head, but nothing massive. No trouble with his vision, no numbness or tingling, he didn’t appear dazed or confused. His headache and nausea likely came from alcohol more than anything else.
Satisfied with the results of his impromptu examination, Freddie left Taine to make his way into the kitchen. Mrs Morgan had left them with plenty of scones, saffron buns, and other baked goods. He found a bit of fruit in the fridge, along with juice.
“Playing housekeeper?”
Freddie paused in the middle of pouring a cup of juice for himself. He stared in amazement at the figure in the doorway. Scottie wore pink pants and a Santa hat. “Merry Christmas?”
“Some shit stole my clothes.” Scottie slurred half his words, obviously still well into his cups. “All of them.”
“But you found pink pants and a Santa hat?” Freddie turned on the coffee machine. He thought several of them might need to sober up a bit before curing their hangovers. “Dare I ask where you found them?”
“In my room.”
“Someone stole your clothes and left you pink pants and a Santa hat?”
“Could you stop fucking saying it? It hasn’t fucking changed.” Scottie advanced into the kitchen. He would’ve been intimidating—except for his new lacy pants. “Have you made coffee? Why are you awake and in the fucking kitchen?”
If Scottie wore regular clothes, Freddie might’ve found his hulking approach a bit terrifying. He never found out what the mostly naked man intended to say. The sauced rugby player stumbled from the kitchen, muttering to himself about evil elves snatching his trousers.
Pots of tea and coffee sat on the counter by the time a showered and changed Taine joined him. Freddie hopped up beside his own mug of coffee and pulled out his mobile when it buzzed. His aunt apparently applauded his staying away, but thought a Boxing Day brunch might give his dads a chance at redemption.
Freddie: Not sure brunch is our wisest plan ever.
Anna: Afraid of their reaction? Or did you lot get a bit drunk last night? I heard from Mrs Morgan this morning. Did things get loud?
Freddie: A bit.
Anna: Tea then. You can’t put the issue off forever, nor can you run away every time they do something idiotic. We’ll have tea. They love you enough to listen.
Love, Freddie thought, had never been the issue. Until his fathers accepted their son as an adult, nothing would ever change. They’d continue to bash their heads together, no matter who he dated.
Sipping the coffee he’d fixed for himself, Freddie pondered the invitation to tea. What was that quote about insanity from Albert Einstein? He vaguely remembered one of his university professors repeating it constantly during one of his lessons.
Insanity: doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results.
How many times should he place his heart into a bear trap and hope not to have it smashed to bits? For his beloved fathers? He probably ought to do it at least one more time. What harm could tea do? If his aunt had her way, the two men would be on their best behaviour.
He side-eyed Taine, who stood next to him, staring blankly into his own coffee. “Have any plans for this afternoon?”
Taine lifted his head slowly, as if he had to move it through treacle. “I barely made it through a shower. Why?”
“How do you feel about tea?”
“I’m drinking coffee.” Taine was either still drunk or not completely awake. “Think it’s coffee. Is it coffee?”
“Definitely.” Freddie couldn’t help a snicker at him with his bleary eyes. “Want to go for tea later?”
Taine blinked. Twice. “Sure.”
“Wonderful.” Freddie eased off the counter and chugged down the last of his coffee. “I’ll get in the shower. Hope the elves left my trousers alone.”
He made it halfway down the hall before Taine’s groggy voice followed him from the kitchen. “Did you say elves?