After the Scrum (18 page)

"Yes, ma'am." Caddock kicked a snickering Rupert in the shin. "I can still—"

"Are you the family of Francis?"

Caddock spun around to find a doctor holding a chart, staring at the three expectantly. The woman frowned at Sherlock when she spotted him. "He's a therapeutic canine—Francis's actually."

"Ahh." She didn't seem overly pleased by the canine in her hospital, but appeared to see the wisdom in letting the matter rest. "Francis is going to be fine. He has a concussion, but from the scans I've done, I don't believe it to be life-threatening. He's going to be disoriented for a while. Given the nature of his trauma, I would advise keeping a close eye on him for a few days. I've prescribed something for the headache, which is likely to linger."

"Can we take him home then?" Rupert asked hopefully.

"We're discharging him now." She nodded.

Gran reached out to touch Caddock's arm lightly. Her hand shook and Caddock covered it with his own, giving her a comforting squeeze. "Go get our lad."

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Caddock

Francis had surprised his family and friends with his rather speedy recovery. Caddock worried it had been a tad
too
quick. He hadn't been certain it was his place to say anything, but it seemed several hours spent with his therapist had done wonders for his state of mind.

They hoped.

The tender care of one persistent four-year-old might have also helped. Devlin hadn't been told any specifics, yet the clever lad instinctively knew something bad happened to his "Fwannie." Shared biscuits, cuddles, and stories were apparently his idea of the perfect cure-all.

Neither Caddock nor Francis had the heart to dissuade the boy. As a result, it had pulled the slightly down man out of his dismal mood. Devlin had a way about him, something he had most certainly inherited from his father.

Haddy would've made a brilliant doctor. He soothed hearts often without even meaning to do so. Instinct had more often than not been his guiding force, something his son did as well. Caddock would have to watch over him closely to keep life from kicking him in the teeth too viciously.

A week had passed since the incident with the drunk. The pub opening had been delayed because of permit issues and they hoped to have it resolved by the following week. While Caddock was aggravated by the delay, it allowed him to spend more time with Francis.

Despite his insistence on being fine, Francis hadn't ventured far from home much. They decided to force the issue, using Devlin to convince him to take Sherlock for a walk with them. Maybe his nephew would end up as a barrister—the boy could argue the Queen out of her crown.

They all managed to agree fresh air would do wonders for any and all ailments. A stroll through Looe would also allow the villagers to see Francis with their own eyes. Everyone had been so concerned for him.

News of the attack had spread like wildfire. The police had actually put Patty in a cell on his own, worried he might be attacked. Francis was loved by all. They hadn't taken his assault well.

"I'm too tired for a walk." Francis was a terrible liar—a blatant one as well. He couldn't meet Caddock's eyes. "I'm simply exhausted—couldn't sleep a wink."

"Good. The walk will tire you out and let you rest better." Caddock put an end to the argument by simply lifting the man up and carrying him out the door. Devlin raced behind them, giggling at Francis who kept swatting Caddock on the back. "Sherlock needs a walk and so do you. Be a good cub and stop protesting."

"You take him." Francis's protests fell on uninterested ears. He found himself bustled out the door with relative ease. "You're a demanding brute. Thank God you're attractive; otherwise, no one would want to put up with you."

"Want a coffee?"

"Now you're appealing to my baser needs." Francis perked up a bit at the idea.

According to Ruth, who handed Francis coffee and several freshly made custard tarts, her pastries could do miracles. Devlin, with his own bag of peanut butter biscuits to share with Sherlock, wanted to know what miracle meant. The lad asked everyone they met on the street about it. By the time they'd started to turn back for home, everyone including the local priest had offered an opinion.

Devlin found it all incredibly confusing. It made Francis smile. Caddock would've dealt with worse than endless questions for that alone.

They made a slow procession down the cobblestone alley that led towards the sea. Devlin danced along beside Sherlock. The two took turns taking bites of the biscuits. They'd be buzzed on sugar for hours.

Wonderful.

"Are you going to share?" Caddock teased.
Francis hugged the paper bag containing the custard tarts to his chest. He nodded towards the other one that held the biscuits. "You can have some of those."

"Caring is sharing."

"Says the prat without custard tarts." Francis laughed—his first unbridled one in days. He reached out to take Caddock by the hand. "I'm going to be fine. He left no lingering damage. My panic attacks are no better and no worse. You can stop waiting for me to shatter."

"If you do splinter into a million pieces, I'm gifted with superglue." Caddock winked at him, keeping an eye on Devlin and Sherlock. The two stayed close to them, but he wouldn't put it past them to be getting themselves into trouble. "And for the record, I know you aren't going to shatter."

"Uncle Boo?" Devlin trudged over with the sheltie at his heels. He then tugged on Caddock's sleeve and lifted his hands up. "I'm sweepy."

Ahh. Nap time.
He'd wondered how long it would take for the boy to get tired. He'd been up rather early. A walk through the village, no matter how small, had clearly taken all his energy reserves.

Lifting his nephew up into his arms, they changed direction to head to the cottage. Caddock found himself imagining they were a family—two fathers, a son, and his dog. The strength of his longing for it hit like a tackle on the rugby pitch.

Too soon.

Damn it all.

"Caddock?"

He shook his head to clear the images in his mind. "Sorry. Just thinking."

"Did it hurt? Wait, I think I can smell smoke coming from your ears." Francis reached up to fan away the smoke. "You might want to grease your wheels."

"Funny. Did you become a comedian overnight?" Caddock kicked his leg up to catch his lover in the arse with his foot. Devlin giggled drowsily with his head resting on his uncle's shoulder. He kept one arm firmly around his nephew while winding his other one around Francis. "I never imagined what moving to Cornwall would bring me. I'm so glad I let Rupert convince me it was a good idea."

"Are you turning into a weepy brute?" Francis leaned into him with a tired sigh. Devlin was apparently not the only one in need of a rest. "I'm incredibly pleased you came as well."

"Are you?" Caddock wiggled his eyebrows with an exaggeratedly lecherous grin.

"Oh, shut it." Francis ruffled Devlin's hair. "The tiny human has big ears. You want to explain the birds and the bees to him this early on?"

"Fair point."

If one looked at the dictionary under idyllic, Caddock felt fairly certain it would show a photo of the four of them. Walking through picturesque Looe, villagers kept popping out to say hello. It was something out of one of those soppy movies his mother loved so much.

Oh, for…. Get a grip.

By the time they arrived at the cottage, Devlin had started to snore softly in his ear. His first order of business was to get the lad tucked into bed. Sherlock hopped up to snooze at his feet. The dog had definitely grown attached to his nephew. He seemed as protective over him as he was with his owner.

He quietly walked out of the room, leaving the two to nap together. Life had certainly thrown him for several loops lately. He wondered if Haddy had used his time in the afterlife to screw around with his brother's plans. It was something he would do.

The changes in his life had all—for the most part—been good ones. Caddock wouldn't change a minute of his move to Looe. Even the bad moments that had led him to this.

Sounds coming from the kitchen drew him over. Francis stood by the counter, making tea for both of them. He held out one of the mugs with a tentative smile.

"Hope you don't mind."

Caddock didn't want to terrify Francis by telling him how much he
didn't
mind him making himself at home in his cottage. "No tart?"

"If I must." Francis sighed dramatically. He reluctantly held out a plate with one of the custards. His eyes were alight with suppressed laughter. "Nothing says romance like a shared tart."

"You naughty thing." Caddock swallowed down his urge to roar with laughter. It wouldn't do to wake up Devlin so soon after being put down for some rest. He snatched one of the pastries before Francis could change his mind. "Can you stay for supper?"

"And breakfast?"

"Definitely for breakfast."

Not wanting to press Francis for anything, Caddock decided a cuddle by the fire would be their best plan. Francis grabbed one of the novels from a nearby bookcase before joining him on the sofa. He turned to the first page then held it up.

"You want me to read?"

"You've got the perfect voice for narration—all deep and raw. Read me a story?" Francis settled himself on the couch. He leaned against Caddock, who had an arm around him. "It's such a lovely cottage, all warm. Might be a lark to read together."

Those vulnerable, pleading blue eyes could've probably convinced him to try to fly to the moon. Caddock took a sip of tea, cleared his throat, and then began with the first sentence. By the fourth page, the book started to waver in Francis's hands. The warmth had made them both drowsy.

The novel slipped out of slack fingers. Francis sank further into his embrace. Maybe the adults needed a nap as well.

They stretched out on the sofa. It was a little cramped, but they managed to avoid falling off the edge. Caddock looped his arms around the more slender Francis. His grip shifted them closer until they rested tightly against each other.

Quiet giggles woke Caddock. The soft sound was followed by light pats on his head. He opened his eyes to find Devlin and Sherlock watching them intently.

"Is nap time over then?"

"Uncle Boo?" Devlin scrambled up onto the sofa. His little feet dug into Francis first, and then painfully into his uncle until he managed to snuggle into the space between them. "Is Fwannie gonna stay for beans on toast?"

"He might."

Devlin poked Francis on the cheek to get his attention. "Do you want beans on toast?"

"Sounds delightful."

"What's that?" Devlin tilted his head in confusion.

"Yummy." Francis tickled the boy then let out a surprised squeak when he slipped off the edge of the couch to land on the floor. "That was
not
delightful."

Sherlock immediately pounced on him, licking his face and wagging his tail happily. The two rolled on the rug for a few minutes before Francis eventually got to his feet. He told his dog to settle and the sheltie immediately curled up on the nearby armchair.

"Now why can't you be so easy to manage?" Caddock tickled his nephew, who wiggled and giggled wildly. "All right, Devlin, time for beans on toast."

His nephew immediately dove off the couch. He skipped towards the kitchen, popping back to yell for the two adults to follow him. Sherlock seemed content to watch them from his comfortable seat.

Yet another scene straight from some family romance. Caddock found himself enjoying dithering in the kitchen with his nephew and his boyfriend.
Boyfriend? Significant other
?
Partner?
He scratched his head while carefully watching the melting cheddar on the slices of toast under the grill. He'd yet to find the right description for their relationship.

Caddock had never been fond of
boyfriend.
It felt like something a fourteen-year-old would use. He definitely didn't
look
like a boy anything. Lover felt a little more grown-up. Partner sounded like something his father would say.

Definitely. Not.

Shaking his head, Caddock told himself not to overthink any of it. They had only begun the journey together. It wouldn't do to get so wrapped up in defining it so early on. Flexibility had always been important to him, on the rugby pitch and in life.

He caught Francis watching him out of the corner of his eye while also keeping Devlin away from the food cooking on the stove. They truly did work well together. Yet another checked box on finding the perfect person to share his life with.

You overly romantic sop. Focus on the toast before you burn it. Idiot.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Francis

As the days went by, Francis found his hands shook less. The nightmares faded, not entirely, but enough not to torment him endlessly. He went from speaking to his therapist every day to only twice that week—a vast improvement to his mind.

He'd spent several nights at Caddock's cottage, much to his gran's delight and amusement. He had, in all honesty, expected the man to suffocate him with overprotectiveness. Instead, his desire for space to breathe had been expected.

The simple act of attempting to fight back during his attack had done wonders for his psyche. A ridiculous concept, since Francis logically knew it didn't make him any less traumatized. And yet it helped him immensely.

His therapist had warned him about the dangers of putting so much stock in having fought back. She worried it would erode his healing progress. After all, freezing during the assault in London didn't make him weak. Francis couldn't quite squash the feeling, no matter how hard he tried.

If Francis were honest with himself, he'd fallen into feeling like a victim after London. He'd given away power over his thoughts. It had been a group attack, his chances of fighting them off had been slim to none, but his recovery process might've been quicker had he made the mental shift from victim to survivor.