After the Scrum (15 page)

"So… bath?" Francis grimaced at the dirt under his nails. "I smell like pasture. It is
not
pleasant."

"We haven't christened my shower yet." Caddock broke into what felt like his first real grin in days. "How silent can you be, cub?"

Silence turned out to be unnecessary. Devlin interrupted them before they could even begin. He stumbled down the hall in his footie pyjamas, dangling his bear behind him. It took a while to settle the lad down.

Three stories, a warm glass of milk, and snuggling down with Sherlock finally did it. With him down finally, hopefully without another nightmare, the two men withdrew to the living room with tea. They held hands, drank their comfort, and enjoyed the now roaring fire.

This,
Caddock thought,
this is how family and a happy life together could be.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Caddock

It took days for Devlin to return to his normal self. He refused to go anywhere without his uncle. It hadn't seemed a terrible idea to indulge the lad. What could it hurt?

Damn Father and his ignorant, outdated shit.

Insecurity had plagued Devlin's dreams in particular. Every night had been filled with restless sleep and whimpering cries. Caddock would comfort his nephew while mentally visualizing visiting revenge on his father—a healthy pastime in his opinion.

But he knew he would never strike the man, no matter how tempting. Devlin wouldn't thank him for it in any case. The boy still loved his granddad, even if he was a "meanie head from meanie village."

And, after all, Devlin mattered most to everyone involved. Even the hint of legal action had hurt him; physical retribution would only serve to exacerbate the situation. Cool heads were needed to handle this intricate and delicate family issue.

It stopped now. Caddock decided it was time to visit his parents to settle things. His mother had a point when she'd told him sacrificing his urge for payback could only benefit his nephew. Devlin needed his whole family; so somehow, Caddock had to find a way to get through to his father—to make him understand without it devolving into a screaming match or worse.

Hopefully.

With Devlin in the garden with his grandmother, it was time to hash things out. Caddock went to his father's office, which brought back so many memories from childhood. He remembered all the times he'd stood in the far left corner with his nose pressed into the dark wood panelling.

Hadrian, of course, often stood in the opposite corner. They'd been close as children. When one was in trouble, the other usually followed along.

The brothers never let anything come between them. It was one of the reasons Caddock felt so strongly about keeping his nephew safe. He was protecting his brother's legacy.

Pictures lined the walls of the small office, which had always felt more of a library than anything else. His father had a deep love of books, something Hadrian and his son shared with the man. It
hadn't
been one of his.

Caddock had never been as close as his brother was to their father. They had similar loves of knowledge and learning. Haddy was almost the spitting image of the man. He had been the changeling child—never quite fitting in with a family of intellectuals.

And yet, family did matter to him. It did. Nothing mattered more than trying to keep everything together for one special four-year-old. Devlin deserved his complete family.

They owed more to him. The adults had been the ones to bugger it all up. They would have to be the ones to fix the mess.

"Son."

Caddock started in surprise at his father's voice. He gripped the arms of the chair, momentarily brought back to his teen years and the long lectures on his behaviour. Only, he wasn't fearful any longer. He sat up straighter—the picture of a confident man. "It's time for our chat."

They didn't exchange their usual handshake. Caddock crossed his arms and merely stared at the hand held out to him. He wouldn't be drawn into the trap of following simply because family tradition demanded it. Things had to change drastically before he'd show any deference to his father.

His father crossed the room to stand by the tall windows that looked out over the garden. Devlin's happy giggle could be heard from outside. "Such a sweet boy."

"He's all Haddy."

"Yes, indeed."

"You let him down." Caddock left unsaid how much the man had disappointed both of his sons—not only his grandson. "He loves you. Always looks up to you, and you hurt him. He's a forgiving child, doesn't hold a grudge. Haddy could be like that at times. Never stayed angry with someone he loved."

"He had you to do it for him." His father moved over to a nearby cabinet to pour them both a drink. "Hadrian inherited my quiet intellectual mind and your mother's ability to quickly forgive and forget wrongdoings. He was obsessed with all things theoretical. And you, ever the little brute, theory bored you to tears. You could never forgive anyone or forget anything. I often feared the words weren't in your vocabulary at all."

"Thanks."

As character assessments went, it wasn't necessarily wrong, but no one enjoyed hearing their own father point out their flaws. The man always had rose-tinted glasses for Hadrian—his golden child. Caddock could never measure up.

"You get it from your mother's family. It's in the family motto." His father offered him one of the drinks in his hand. "I don't wish for us to be constantly in conflict with one another. Can't you forgive me?"

Caddock had no answer, so taking a sip of Scotch seemed a better idea. They glared at each other—one obstinate prat to another. Forgiveness, for all his father's words, didn't come easily to either of them.

"Well?" his father prompted impatiently. "Can we move on?"

"I'm dating a man." Caddock noted the way his father gulped down his Scotch. He raised an eyebrow at his obvious discomfort. "He's special, my Francis. Devlin loves him. I think… maybe one day, we could be a family together. I have hope."

"
Caddock.
"

"He makes me happy." He refused to shy away from the real issue at hand. It would never be resolved if they didn't face it. "I won't give him up to satisfy your stiff-shirted…."

Stop. Don't do anything you'll regret. Think calm thoughts. Don't break your glass or your dad's jaw, or his jaw with your glass.

"I'm sorry."

"And?" Caddock set the tumbler of Scotch down to avoid shattering it against a wall. "What exactly are you sorry about? And how does it fix a bloody thing?"

"Language."

It was so typical of his father. He never wanted to confront issues without deflecting to the superficial. Life felt too short to allow things to be sidetracked by idiotic things like cursing.

"Oh, sod my language. I'm your son. Do you love me or not? Do you love your grandson or not?" Caddock had officially and completely run out of patience with the man. He clenched his fists at his side. "Well? Do you? How deep does your love for your family run?"

Silence reigned in the cramped room for several long minutes. Caddock tried not to make any painful assumptions based on the obvious lack of immediate response. He went through the hurt solely for Devlin's benefit. He'd go through fire for his nephew.

"Is this man the one who found our Devlin?" His father barely restrained his sneer. He absentmindedly poured himself a second drink, turning away from his son's indignant snarl. "Francis, was it? The foppish one?"

He slowed his breathing down and slowly rolled his shoulders to ease the tension. "Why am I here?"

"Be reasonable."

"Fuck reasonable." Caddock was on his feet, towering over his father. He smacked himself in the chest with his fist, over his heart. "I am your son. Does my sexuality really change who I am and how you feel about me? Is it really so important? Who gives a damn who I have in my bed? I'm
your
son. Doesn't that count for anything?"

"I…"

"Mother is in the garden." Caddock stepped away from the man before he said or did something he might regret later on, once his temper had cooled. "I'll say goodbye. Devlin won't want to miss tea with Francis and Sherlock."

"Son." His father caught him by the back of his shirt. He held his son by the arm to keep him from leaving. "I love you."

"Even with my abnormalities?" Caddock refused to be the only one to give an inch. "Can you handle Christmas dinners with my boyfriend? Or will you sneer at him? Poking theoretical holes in our relationship until things are so strained the holiday and every other moment together as a family are miserable and pointless."

"For my son? And my grandson? I will welcome your Francis with open arms, without a shadow of a doubt." His father returned to watching the rest of their family out the window. "We almost lost you once."

"What?" Caddock blinked in confusion at the sudden change of topic. "What are you on about?"

"You were maybe two years old. It happened on Boxing Day. You'd stolen a handful of fruit-flavoured hard sweets, but one of them became stuck in your throat." He closed his eyes, leaning forward until his forehead rested against the windowpane. "Your lips had turned blue by the time I found you. I shook you upside down, swatting your back until the sweet came loose. Those were the longest minutes of my life. I feared I was watching your last breaths. That I had failed as a father."

"Dad." He could see his shoulders trembling slightly. His father never showed emotion—let alone tears. "I forgive you."

"You shouldn't."

"Pardon?"

His father barked out a deep laugh, one so similar to his own. It was the only thing they shared. "My actions of late have been unforgiveable. I will make it up to you and to Devlin. My family is far more important than my discomfort. I am sorry, Caddock. You were right. Hadrian would've flayed me alive for my treatment of you and his son."

Well, then.

He had no memory of the event, not surprising given his age. Boxing Day had often been a solemn event for his father. He would lock himself in his office, ignoring everyone. Now he finally understood the reason behind it.

Caddock did return the embrace when his father grabbed him for a second time. He could remember a time when the man had seemed seven feet tall. Nowadays, it was his turn to stand head and shoulders above him.

"Haddy would be proud of you." Caddock waved at Devlin, who had spotted them through the window. His mother had obviously seen them hugging since she was surreptitiously wiping her eyes. "Devlin will need both of us in his life."

"Of course, he does. You'll never be able to teach him useful things like budgeting or an appreciation for Shakespeare and the arts." He clapped his son on the back. "Enough emotional rubbish for one day. Go see your mother."

Letting his father have time to collect himself, Caddock made his way out into the garden. His mother gave him a tearful "Thank you," and a hug. She went in to start a light lunch while he entertained his nephew.

"Uncle Boo?" Devlin lifted up a small pebble he'd found. "Are you and Gwandad all happy again? Is he done being a meanie?"

"I believe so." Caddock chuckled. He led Devlin over to the pond at the base of the garden to show him how to skip stones. "Your grandfather loves you, Devlin."

"'Kay. Will he give me bickies then?"

Ahh, the priorities of childhood.

"I'm sure you can convince him to give you some of his special shortbread biscuits. He's very fond of them." He lifted the boy up into his arms, hefting him on his shoulder. They climbed up the hill to the house where his father stood waiting. "Why don't you go ask?"

"
Gwandad!
" Devlin took off at a run once he'd been set down on the grass. He clutched his grandfather around the knees. "Are you not mad at Uncle Boo? Can we have bickies? Did you say sowwy? Fwannie told me sowwy is what you say when you do something bad."

"Well, your Francis is correct." His grandfather crouched down and rested a hand on his grandson's shoulder. "I am very sorry to have hurt you and your uncle. I know he loves you so much and takes good care of you. And I'm proud of how you stood up for him."

"Does that mean I can have bickies?"

"It means you can have two biscuits." He pulled his grandson into his arms. "You're a wonderful lad. Your father would be proud of you as well."

Chapter Twenty-Four

Francis

"Light blue, pale blue, or antique blue?" Francis held up three of his many bow ties to his captive audience of one—Sherlock. His dog nosed the pale blue one then licked it. "A brilliant choice. You have good taste."

His giggling gran had delivered a package to him earlier that Caddock had left on their doorstep. He'd carefully unwrapped the brown paper to discover an antique, carved mahogany chest. Inside, he'd found an invitation to dinner, handwritten on thick parchment in fancy calligraphy.

The chest itself Francis recognized as an early nineteenth-century tea caddy. The workmanship of intricately carved inlays on the sides and top were exquisite. He could smell hints of tea on the inside from the years of use.

The box now sat on a shelf above his bed. Caddock had gone above and beyond for a simple date invitation. He'd never had a man go so out of his way to impress.

Charming prat.

"He did good, Sherlock." Francis stood on his bed to touch a hand to his new antique. He lightly caressed the sleek, aged wood. "Do you think he's going to stay around?"

Sherlock barked twice, tail wagging against the floor.

"Me too." He grimaced when Sherlock rubbed against his trousers—he'd have fur everywhere at this rate. "You are a shaggy menace."

The invite had specifically been for him only. Sherlock would have to be content with Gran for the evening. He doubted the dog would be thrilled with staying home.