After the Scrum (20 page)

Time flew far too quickly for him. Supper with the family seemed to suddenly be upon them. If it hadn't been for the potential of hurting his mother's feelings, Caddock would've blown the whole thing off. For all his bluster, he could never stand to see her cry.

"You two are as tightly wound as a fiddle. I can feel my own eyes starting to twitch from
your
stress." Francis's gran, Mrs Keen, stopped entertaining Devlin to speak to them
.
"Family is family, love."

"Very insightful, Gran." Francis sounded as anxious as Caddock felt. He reached out to hold Caddock's hand, wanting to offer comfort and wanting it for himself. "Family
is
family."

"Trust your gran. Everything will turn out all right." She went back to teaching Devlin one of the sea limericks he'd heard around town—one of the more child-friendly ones. She glanced over at the two silent men with a concerned frown. "What's the worst they can do? They're your parents."

"She's done it now. She's gone and jinxed us." Caddock groaned dramatically, sending his nephew into hysterical giggles. He glared over his shoulder at the lad. "It's always good to know you'll be there to laugh at my misfortune."

Upon arrival, Devlin took Mrs Keen by the sleeve to lead her into the house to meet his grandparents. They could hear his excited introductions all the way outside. Caddock stood beside Francis, reaching down to hold his hand while they drew in several calming breaths almost in unison.

"Ready then?" Francis sounded like they were about to take on a firing squad.

"No. But let's do it anyway." Caddock hadn't earned his reputation on the pitch for nothing. He always tended to do first then think afterwards. "Do you think my father might swoon if we snog at the dinner table? Might be worth it."

"
Caddock.
"

"Cub." Caddock deepened his voice in the way he knew always had an effect on Francis. He smirked when the hand in his suddenly tensed. "Something wrong?"

"You are a total and utter arse." Francis blocked him with his arm when Caddock attempted to swat him. "I refuse to sit at supper with our families with a sodding hard-on, so quit it. No getting handsy with me in your parents' house."

"I don't need to touch you to get a reaction though, do I?" Caddock bent forward so his breath rushed over his cub's ear. He saw the shivers run through Francis. "Shall we go inside? Or do you require a moment to settle yourself down?"

"Prat." Francis hissed at him in obvious annoyance. Caddock bent down to hush him with a kiss and used his hold on his hand to draw him closer. They separated after a few seconds, only to have Francis whack him on the arm. "Is this your idea of behaving? It's no wonder you spent so much time in the sin bin."

"My son has no concept of the word behave."

Caddock stiffened at the familiar voice. He turned towards the man, trying to casually place himself as a barrier between his father and his partner. "We were…."

He couldn't exactly tell his father what they'd been doing. For all his jokes, it wouldn't be wise to antagonize the man when he'd been making so much effort to change. Old dogs didn't learn new tricks easily.

"I'm Francis Keen, lovely to finally meet you—officially." He held out his hand expectantly, appearing completely calm except for the already fading pink on his neck and cheeks. "Thank you for welcoming my gran and me into your home. We've been looking forward to it."

Caddock's father stared blankly for a long, rather awkward moment before reaching out to shake Francis's hand. "I won't lie. I was fully prepared to
not
approve of you or this relationship. I had my mind set on being as difficult as a Stanford can be which is
incredibly
, obstinately bothersome."

"
Father.
"

"And I would've been wrong." His father gently patted the hand still resting in his own. "Forgive me for being an old fool. And please, it would be an honour to welcome you into our home
and
our family. My wife's told me what a lovely young man you are. I look forward to getting to know you myself."

"Thank you." Francis stumbled over his words, shocked at the sudden changes of mind. "Your grandson speaks highly of you."

The two men continued into the house. They left Caddock standing stunned by himself. Had Hell frozen over and no one bothered to tell him? He was well and truly gobsmacked.

He blinked when he realized they'd gone without him. "Oh, don't mind me then, I'm only your son."

"Do stop talking to yourself, Caddock. It won't do to have your young man thinking you're one step away from going batty." His mother looped her arm around his. She smiled up at him. "You look so amusingly bewildered. I did tell you he promised to behave himself."

"Yes, but…" Caddock hadn't believed true change could possibly come so quickly. He stood on the threshold of the living room, watching his father conversing easily with Francis and his grandmother. "…I hadn't dared to hope."

"You never do. You always were our little pessimist." She patted his arm fondly. "It's all right, dear. I have enough optimism for the entire Stanford clan."

Chapter Thirty

Francis

Francis had a date to plan. Despite the numerous romantic classics he'd read over the years, it was
not
turning out to be a particular talent of his. Days went by with his mind remaining frustratingly blank on the subject.

He dithered. And then did it some more. At this point, Sherlock had better ideas than he did. Why was this so bloody difficult? Restoring an eighteenth-century painting had been easier.

The answer finally came to him while straightening up toys and books on a visit to Devlin and Caddock. A letter had been stuck in
The Wind in the Willows
. It appeared to be an invitation to an awards ceremony in which the Brute would be receiving special recognition for his years of service to English Rugby.

Interesting.

It was scheduled for the following week. Why hadn't Caddock at least mentioned it to him? They spoke about everything else. He didn't for a second believe the man was ashamed of their relationship.

Caddock flaunted the fact that they were a couple. It likely had nothing to do with him and everything to do with rugby being a sensitive subject. This had potential.

A note attached to it indicated Caddock had refused to attend. Francis's mind immediately began to go into overdrive. He could understand not wanting to be in some impersonal hotel ballroom with hundreds of people staring at him.

Caddock had gone through so much turmoil towards the end of his career. It didn't mean the man wouldn't enjoy feeling appreciated by those who played beside him. Francis wondered if there might be a better way to go about it than a posh banquet that the players, for the most part, would hate.

Making his excuses, Francis quickly bailed on Caddock and Devlin. Time to find someone who excelled at plotting behind others' backs. He would definitely need help with this, since his knowledge of the rugby world tended to revolve around how well their arses look in those tight shorts.

Rupert might not be prone to keeping his mouth shut when secrets were involved, but he did have the in when it came to Caddock's world of sport. The two men had played together for years. It also didn't hurt that the man tended to be up for anything that might even slightly resemble a prank. And pulling one over the Brute's eyes would certainly fit the bill.

They met up at Rupert's realtor office, since anyone interrupting would assume the conversation was about a new design job. Francis showed him the invitation he'd nicked. Rupert immediately agreed to attempt to put together something a tad more personal to celebrate.

Of course, it then took another hour to reel in Rupert's wilder ideas. They finally seized on the idea of a charity rugby match in the Brute's honour, maybe something in support of preservation of the Great Barrier Reef—a cause close to Haddy's heart. The award could be presented prior to the game.

The theory was Caddock might more gracefully accept it on friendlier footing. It might work. Maybe it wasn't a romantic night out, but this was about who they were as a couple and individuals.

"The Brute'll be pissed at first," Rupert said casually, but in clear warning. "A few snogs'll set him straight."

Francis pierced him with a hard stare. "Pun intended? You
will
resist the urge to prod at him about this. Do you understand? Caddock will be prickly enough without you being your normally exhausting self. Just remember, I know your wife and she likes me better than you."

"Only because you bribed her with a sodding tea set," Rupert muttered grumpily. "Do you know how hard I had to work to find a Christmas present to top it? Bloody bone china. It's so delicate, she gets all cross with me if I dare to touch it with my
man
hands."

Francis had a chuckle at the man's expense. Joanne loved all things delicate and floral. He had been on one of his antique hunts when he'd stumbled across a pale blue tea set from the early eighteen hundreds. It had been a thank you for all the nights he'd spent in their guest room. The couple really had been rather amazing friends to him.

"Oh, poor Rupert." Francis threw a pen at him and then grew serious. "Do you think he'll hate me for this?"

"Yes."

"
Brilliant.
" He didn't want this to turn into a spectacle that would upset Francis. "Maybe we shouldn't."

Rupert's smile evaporated when he realized how worried Francis truly was about his boyfriend's reaction. "Caddock will probably want to shag you senseless by way of thanks. Ha! You blushed. Listen, Francis, the man is beyond infatuated with you. He'll go all warm and gooey inside at the effort you're going to for him. It'll be dreadfully sickening. I'll be sure to have buckets nearby for anyone reduced to vomiting."

"Lovely visuals, thanks. Also, you're an idiot." Francis did feel slightly less panicky over the plans. "Can you call your old teammates and manager about this? They might think I'm a crazed fan if I do it."

"Of course."

The two quickly ironed out the rest of the details. Francis would convince Caddock to go into London for an afternoon out with Devlin. Rupert would organize everything for their families to get to the stadium. The hardest part would be keeping the media from catching wind of it.

Charity rugby events with the
entire
former and current English National Team in attendance would be big news. They could only pray that even if the tabloids learned of the match perhaps they wouldn't know the real reason behind it. Maybe the press would simply think it was yet another random sporting event.

"Be sure to distract Caddock with plenty of blow jobs—it works for Joanne." Rupert moved over to pour himself a glass of water instead of Scotch, in deference to Francis. "What? Stop frowning at me."

Francis flushed several shades of pink while spluttering for a moment. He decided to settle on annoyed instead of embarrassed. "I'm quite certain Joanne wouldn't appreciate you blithely sharing the details of your sexual deviances with me."

"If you consider a blow job sexual deviance, Caddock has much to educate you on." He pulled his legs quickly out of reach of the bag Francis slung at him. "Now, now, there's no need to resort to violence. You should really learn to broaden your horizons."

Francis decided it was time to return home, and then remembered the other reason he'd wanted to visit. "Oh, next time you have new clients, don't send me the batty old couples who think putrid ochre goes with vomit green."

"Are those actual colours?" Rupert paled at the descriptions. "I thought you loved eccentrics—particularly since you are one."

"This"—Francis gestured towards himself—"is my unamused face. You should fear and avoid it."

"See? Eccentrically British at its best."

"I'm going to leave now." He allowed Rupert to pull him into a hug when he got to his feet. "Careful, my oddness might be contagious."

Rupert released him with a wry chuckle. "You wouldn't be you without a hint of uniqueness."

"I can never tell if you mean that in a good or a bad way." Francis shook his head and decided to leave before he provided the man with another reason to tease him.

The ride home was uneventful, aside from Sherlock, who insisted on informing him with loud barks about the cars trailing behind Watson. Francis had a feeling Rupert's secretary might've fed him one too many dog treats. He rarely went on and on like this.

"Sherlock, is it
really
necessary to have a go at every single car?" Francis could feel a migraine growing already. He winced when a passing Volvo set his dog off again. "I'll tell Ruth to stop making your biscuits for an entire week. I will. I'll even tell her not to say hello."

Blissful silence.

The threat kept Sherlock quiet the whole way home. Gran took one look at him when they arrived and bundled him off to bed with a hot compress. He stayed there for the rest of the day, not even bothering with tea or supper. The simple act of lifting his head made him distinctly nauseous.

A gentle touch woke Francis late in the evening. He could tell from way the moonlight shone into his room that the sun had been down for a while. The pain in his head had blissfully faded.

"You look like shite." Caddock lifted the now dry cloth from his forehead. "How's your head?"

"Better. Did we have plans?" Francis couldn't remember making any with him. "And I do not look dreadful enough for your foul language—thanks ever so much."

"Devlin wanted to see Sherlock," Caddock answered casually. He brushed his fingers gently through Francis's sleep-mussed hair. "And I wanted to see you."

Sternly telling himself not to read deeper things into such an innocent turn of phrase, Francis sat up in bed. He shoved the blankets away from his chest. It was honestly surprising Caddock had been able to get into his room.