Free Hard Choices by Ashe Barker Page A

Callum eat, and before Nick decided we all needed to get some sleep, we managed to establish a few things. Callum’s seventeen. He’s been living in Leicester with his mum and her partner, Charlotte. Nick insisted on having Astrid’s phone number, and Callum provided it but with a marked lack of enthusiasm.
    Callum spent most of the last two days hitching here. I guess not that many motorists would be minded to stop and pick up a scruffy teenager in a dirty hoodie, ripped jeans and carrying a seriously disreputable-looking rucksack. He got lucky with a couple of lorry drivers, and was dropped off at junction thirty-six on the M6 at around eight o’clock this evening. From there he covered the rest of the distance on foot, about ten miles I’d say. No wonder he’d worked up an appetite. And I guess that speaks of determination, at least, and fortitude. And a decent pair of trainers. He’s gone to a lot of trouble to find his father and I doubt he’ll be minded to turn round and stroll out of here any time soon.
    “Do you want him to stay?” It’s another killer question. Fundamental really. I don’t seriously expect Nick to have an answer. Two hours ago he didn’t even know the lad existed. I wait patiently while he considers the matter.
    At last, “I really don’t know.”
    Well, no surprise there. He hesitates. This really is completely uncharted territory he’s found himself in. He leans forward, his elbows braced on his knees as he rakes his fingers through his hair. He looks up, catches my gaze again in the mirror. “Just a matter of weeks ago I knew for sure I didn’t want anyone else to live here with me on a long-term basis, or I thought I did. I was wrong about that.” He smiles at me, his eyes warm, sexy.
    My stomach flips over as his meaning is clear.
    He continues, “I seem to have a family materialising in front of my eyes. First you, now—him. It’s a bit unnerving, to be honest. I can handle you, just about. Unruly subs are my speciality. But I’d be a crap father. What do I know about kids?”
    He’s right about having the measure of me, and I’ll have to take Nick’s word for it about having no experience with kids, but the crap father bit I don’t accept. And I doubt that’s Callum’s view either—he’s gone to too much trouble to let Nick just reject him out of hand. But we still don’t know what our uninvited guest wants or what his plans are, so maybe Nick hasn’t all that much to worry about. I sign that, and he smiles.
    “How come you’re always so calm? Whatever comes your way, you just shrug and accept it?”
    Me, calm? I think resilient might be a better description, or maybe just plain dim. I’m reminded of the beginning of a poem by Rudyard Kipling, ‘If you can keep your head while all around are losing theirs…’ I always thought the next line should have been ‘you haven’t properly understood the situation’ , but I keep that to myself for now. Things will no doubt be clearer tomorrow, once Nick has spoken to the lovely Astrid. And anyway, I have another fundamental question to throw into the mix.
    “What you said to Callum earlier, when he was rude to me…”
    He cocks his head, his smile sexy and warm. Intimate. He knows what’s coming. I turn on my stool, facing him directly now.
    “Did you mean it? All of it?”
    He takes his time again. “I did.” His response lacks any hint of his earlier hesitancy. “I’m not sure when the penny dropped, but I think it might have been when I found you in your apartment, injured, and thought for one crazy moment that someone had hurt you. I was ready to commit a murder. I’ve had people piss me off before, many times. Subs mostly—and you know all about that. But this was different, a white hot blast of searing anger. It was gone in an instant, as soon as I realised you’d hurt yourself by accident. Then I just wanted to take care of you. Protect you. Bring you back here where you belong. And once I got