After the Scrum (12 page)

Devlin had been disappointed to be leaving. He'd pouted when Caddock said no to a sleepover, only cheering up when promised they'd have dinner again the next night, with Rupert. He wasn't looking forward to the chaos the blond could cause—and usually enjoyed causing. Being reunited with his twin would make it worse; the two might not look the same, but their personalities were damn near identical.

Having the prodigal brother, Graham, return had been an interesting turn of events. Francis seemed almost tense about it. Caddock had decided it wise to let the matter rest. They'd see tomorrow how things went.

With an audience of grandmother and nephew, they'd left each other
without
the snog Caddock really wanted. Devlin had been so worn out from playing with Sherlock, the lad had passed out asleep in his arms on the way to the cottage.

Once his nephew had been tucked into bed, Caddock sank into a chair by the fire in the den with a tumbler of Scotch in hand. He took a sip then lost himself in thought. It had been a good night; tomorrow might be slightly more difficult.

He slouched further into the leather cushions with a sigh, lifting his glass to no one in particular. He said with a wry smile, "Here's to old whiskey, younger men, and good food."

* * * *

The following night, Caddock volunteered to drive them to the Hodson house. Francis surprised him when he left his canine shadow at home. He claimed to want one less mischievous bugger to deal with for once.

A mate from his rugby days, Caddock knew Rupert could be a handful—age hadn't mellowed the man at all. He wasn't as familiar with his twin brother. Graham had already been overseas when they'd met. But from Francis's words, he would likely be exactly like his brother.

The evening would require patience and beer, not necessarily in equal doses either. His nephew could provide at least a partial shield for the madness. He had a particular talent for drawing attention to himself without even trying.

"Will Wupert let me play in the garden?" Devlin broke the silence in the vehicle. He swung his blue teddy around to hit the driver seat. "Hurry, Uncle Boo, Wupert might eat all the food."

Caddock barely heard his nephew's chattering. He worried more about the silent man seated beside him. Reaching over the centre console, he took Francis's hand in his own, resting both on the man's thigh. "Don't worry, little Devil, Joanne won't let her husband eat all the supper before we arrive."

Tension radiated off Francis. Caddock squeezed his hand gently. It wouldn't be wise to question him too deeply with little ears listening in on the conversation. Adult chats and issues would remain with the grown-ups. So Caddock offered support the only way possible in the enclosed vehicle: through touch. The tension eased slightly, but Francis still held himself like a goal-kicker about to make a match-winning attempt.

Once they arrived at the house, Devlin immediately raced inside. He'd been there numerous times. Rupert and Joanne were favourites of his, even babysitting him on occasion.

"What's got you so tightly wound?" Caddock caught Francis by the arms, stopping him on the front walk. He shifted his hands up to gently massage the man's shoulders. "Rupert's always sounded incredibly fond of you. I can't imagine him doing anything to cause this much anxiety."

Francis brought a hand up to scratch the side of his head. He took a second to then fix his hair. "I am aware of his character."

"So what's the issue?" He dragged his thumb along the side of Francis's neck. "They don't bite. I'm starting to worry about you. What is it?"

"History," Francis answered enigmatically. He ducked under Caddock's arm. "Not all memories are enjoyable to revisit."

"Don't worry your pretty head about it, cub. The Brute'll save you from the nasty idiots." He caught up to his lover only to be elbowed in the stomach. "What?"

"Worry my pretty little head?" Francis parroted back to him with a frigid glare.

"Sorry." Caddock grinned completely unapologetically, and then crowded him into the house. Raucous laughter could be heard inside. "Maybe I'll hide behind you."

"Prat."

He was swatted on the arm this time.

"Oh, I do love seeing the Brute put in his place." Rupert's cheerful greeting drifted over from where he was tossing a happily shrieking Devlin back and forth across the room with Graham. "We found a rugby ball. He's a tad long and lumpy though."

"Wupert. Stop it." Devlin protested when he was shoved underneath the man's arm. "Bad Wupert. Put me down."

"Oh, it's Boo." Rupert set the lad down and grinned at Caddock before ducking the punch thrown his way. "Touchy, touchy."

"Play nicely, lads. I'll not be replacing any furniture. Are we clear?" Joanne stood in the doorway of the kitchen with her hands on her hips. Her dark green eyes flashed with amusement. "Behave or Devlin and I will eat the grand feast by ourselves, right?"

"Yes, JoJo." The little boy skipped away from the men to take her hand. "Can I help cook?"

"Of course."

Rupert exchanged a broad smile with Caddock. "He's four and he can already out-charm the lot of us. Sad, so immensely tragic."

The blond threw his arms out widely and gave Francis a dramatic, "Welcome to our humble abode." He apparently chose to ignore the fact that they'd all been to the house multiple times before. The man did have an annoying tendency to be rather theatrical.

As if to prove the report, Rupert bowed low with a flourish. He took his brother by the arm and forced him towards Francis. The two old friends stood awkwardly in front of each other—silent and uneasy.

"Oh for…." Rupert placed a hand on his brother's back and shoved him off balance. "Hug or something. Punch each other. Do something. I'm tired of moping letters from around the world about how 'Francis never talks to me.' And I'm sick of watching Francis stare mournfully at Graham's pictures. You're both blithering idiots, so you have that in common."

Graham punched his brother in the arm. "Shut it."

"What? You two were thick as thieves at university." He crossed his arms and glared at the two men before taking Caddock and guiding him out from behind Francis. He leaned in to whisper, "Let them sort this out themselves."

He'd have been happy to let them "sort it out." The trouble was neither man appeared to be capable of bridging the gap. They didn't really know what had started it. Silence stretched out between all of them, only broken by the occasional outburst from Devlin in the kitchen.

"I'm sorry." Francis broke the quiet, likely unable to handle the tension any longer. "You were right, and I am sorry."

Graham, a slightly taller and broader version of his brother, looked completely bewildered at his best mate's apology. "The hell are you on about? Did…. You can't possibly have thought I was pissed at you for Trevor?"

"Well then, what was it?" Francis stepped away from the man. His hands went into his cardigan pockets, likely balled into fists, something Caddock had noticed he did when stressed. "Was it all the travel?"

"Mostly." Graham closed the distance and yanked Francis into a hug. "I thought you had a crush. Didn't want you to be broken-hearted."

"Seriously?" Francis stepped away and then did something so out of character that both Caddock and Rupert gasped. He slammed his fist into Graham's jaw. "You egotistical prat. A crush? On you? I had absolutely zero interest in you."

"Sorry?" Graham rubbed his chin, letting his brother help him to his feet. "Can we strike it off as youthful arrogance?"

Caddock strode over to step between the men, staking his claim subtly and unnecessarily. "He prefers
older
men."

Francis shifted out from his embrace. "I will be in the kitchen with the only sane individuals in this madhouse."

"Something I said?"

Chapter Nineteen

Francis

The kitchen turned out to be a brilliant refuge to gather his thoughts. Joanne plied him with extra bits from the trifle she'd been putting together for after supper. Devlin sat on the counter, munching on his own pieces of sponge cake. They all seemed rather happy to leave the idiots in the living room to argue amongst themselves.

A crush?

A crush.

It had never occurred to him. Rupert and Graham both had fallen almost immediately into the friend category—closer to brother, honestly. The more he thought about it, the more aggravated he became.

His time in London, after the attack and break-up with Trevor, had been rather chaotic, emotionally speaking. And then without warning, his closest friend had disappeared on him. It had seemed obvious to him at the time why.

Now, not so obvious.

"I'll set them straight, don't you worry." Joanne handed him a cup of tea then ordered him to keep an eye on the stove and the menace perched on the counter. She disappeared out of the kitchen before Francis could dissuade her. Her voice carried over to them, causing Devlin to giggle. "Wupert's in trouble."

"You blond twits! What did I tell you, Rupert? You're on the couch tonight."

Francis moved over to stir the sauce simmering in a pot. It smelled delicious even if he wasn't entirely certain what it was. She'd always been a brilliant cook, trained under one of the best chefs in London before they'd moved back to Cornwall.

"Fwannie?" Devlin held out a chunk of cake. "Don't be sad, Fwannie. Uncle Boo'll kiss it better. He's vewy good at it."

"Yes, he is." He smiled at the little boy. "Why don't we see if there's any extra custard in the bowl?"

"Hands
off
the custard," Joanne warned them both sternly. "I'll toss you both out on your ears."

"Not the ears." Francis grabbed a once again giggling Devlin and carried him swiftly out into the living room, where the three men appeared to be nursing their egos and glasses of whiskey. He set the boy down on the floor, pointing him towards a play area with Legos that had obviously been set up for him, before turning his attention to the men. "She told you three then."

As if on cue, the two brothers fell to their knees. They shuffled forward to Francis, holding their hands out in supplication. He raised his eyebrows when they began to apologize in multiple languages—promising him everything from their first-born to gold and all number of ridiculous things.

Idiots.

"Get off the floor. Honestly, you haven't changed in all the years I've known the both of you." Francis found himself smothered in an embrace between the two men. He flailed his arms, trying to shove them away. "Would it be too much to ask for a bit of oxygen before I suffocate and am unable to accept your apologies?"

The rest of the evening went by rather smoothly. The five adults enjoyed lively conversation, interrupted periodically by Devlin. It had gone altogether more smoothly than Francis had imagined.

His anxiety over the evening proved to be completely pointless. With the apologies out of the way, Francis found himself sinking into the familiar camaraderie with Graham. They picked on Rupert ruthlessly, much to Caddock and Joanne's amusement.

After the meal, Devlin played quietly by himself, eventually curling up under a quilt to fall asleep. Joanne carried him upstairs to the guest room. She returned with a bottle of brandy to share.

Francis waved off the offer of a drink.

"Still?" Graham watched him in surprise. "I'd have thought you'd eventually bring yourself to enjoy at least a glass once in a while."

He shrugged, striving for indifference and falling short, if his friends' faces were anything to go by. "I don't begrudge anyone their enjoyment, and I do on the rare occasion."

"Francis."

Getting to his feet, Francis stepped out of the room, heading towards the back door into the garden. A small water feature in the back, dimly lit by faerie lights, offered a soothing oasis of sound for him. He closed his eyes, breathing in the crisp night air, letting it wash over him.

Strong arms wound around his body and tugged him into a firm chest. Caddock bent down to rest his chin on Francis's shoulder. He twisted his head to brush his lips against his neck.

"They mean well."

"I know."

And he did know. The brothers had done more for him than anyone outside of his grandparents. Their brand of exuberance could be a bit much for him—for anyone really.

Everyone had demons. Alcohol had been the trigger for his for years. Still was. Francis didn't think avoiding drinking himself should be that much of an issue.

It remained his choice. Graham's words had touched a sensitive spot for him. He knew it likely hadn't been meant as censure, yet it hurt nonetheless.

Time.

His therapists always said his anxiety would fade as years went by. Yet, Francis, on his worst days, could still
feel
the fists hitting him. The only difference between then and now was the attacks happened less frequently.

He hadn't forgotten. Couldn't forget. And if not drinking helped, anyone with complaints could take a leap in the nearest river.

Francis would deal with this in his own way. Yes, Sherlock did most of the work. But he was still healing—continuing to progress forward.

Doesn't it count for something?

Caddock tightened his arms around Francis. "Fuck 'em."

"Blond is
not
my type." Francis couldn't help sinking into Caddock's warm embrace. "I'm growing quite fond of greyish-brown."

"Calling me old?"

Francis twisted around and gripped Caddock by the neck to tug him closer for a kiss. "Maybe not old, but in the general vicinity of it."

"Shut up." Caddock silenced him with a long kiss, grabbing him roughly by the arse to press him closer. "I
am
too fucking old for you."

"Only if the plumbing doesn't work." He couldn't help the cheeky retort even though it earned him a bite on his neck. "At least we know the teeth are still yours."

"Oi, no shagging in my garden or I'll hose you both down." Rupert stood grinning at the two of them through an open window. He cried out a second later when his wife grabbed him by the ear and dragged him away. "Oi, woman, let me go."