AN: This will be the last chapter.

A couple of days passed uneventfully. Ste let himself stay at home and play gentler games with the kids, letting himself get stronger.

He was dreading returning to work. While he was at home, with the door shut, he could pretend there was nothing to worry about, that there was no reason to fear Brendan Brady. At work he would have to talk to him, cope with him. Ste had no real idea what to expect.

He received a text from Brendan on the third day at home. It read "They have gone. He won't be back." Ste stared at the screen. Was there a hope that this was all over then?

The simple answer was no. He wasn't sure he could forgive Brendan for choosing to protect the man who had attacked him, attacked the man Brendan claimed to love, however nagging that part of him was that wanted to understand forgiving a father anything. At least a father that had cared. Just like he knew he would forgive Leah and Lucas anything. But this was too big, wasn't it? How could you forgive something like that?

What would Brendan say when Ste returned to work. Would he make his life difficult? Would he try to make sure Ste didn't mouth off? Ste knew what that would mean. If he ended up back in hospital so soon, would the police be more or less likely to believe him? Probably less if Brady had returned to Belfast. But he knew he could make them believe about Brendan. He had Amy and Cheryl as witnesses, and, as the policeman had mentioned, a history of injuries dating back to around the time their relationship began.

So, was this the end then? Had Brendan's father tried to destroy the relationship and succeeded? Ste really didn't know.

He realised he had to go back to work when he spotted Amy having half a small portion of beans for dinner. She'd given the kids and Ste a potato each, but had eaten just the remains of the beans herself. She had tried to pretend it was not a big deal, that she was on a diet, but Ste wasn't fooled. He shared his potato with her, ignoring her insistence that he needed the strength, and went to work the following morning.

Brendan was in the office when he arrived, so he knocked politely and asked if he was needed that day. Brendan stared at him, his expression hungry, longing. "Yeah," he breathed eventually, "Yeah, there's a crate of mixers that need bringing up from the cellar, and the bar needs sorting."

"Right," Ste nodded, and got to it. He trotted down the stairs, relieved for something to do, and thought about Brendan.

He had expected anger, or at least blame. Instead Brendan had looked at him like he was wishing they were back in bed together.

The cellar always brought memories flooding into Ste's mind; the feelings of unlimited desire on that first time with Brendan, the pain and confusion of the punch. Maybe this was the new start they needed; Brendan knew Ste wasn't bluffing about the police, and Ste understood more about the choices Brendan had made, about why Brendan behaved the way he did.

Would that mean Ste could help Brendan learn to control it? Ste barely dared to hope.

He found the mixers easily and picked them up, careful of his bruised torso, before picking his way carefully back up to the bar.

…

Brendan heard Stephen's footsteps climbing back up from the cellar. He listened. The invoices he was supposed to be paying were forgotten the second Stephen had walked into the office. What he really wanted was to follow Stephen down to the cellar, lock the door, and make use of that beautiful body of his. If only the boy would stop trying to involve the police. But of course, he wouldn't expect Ste to want to have sex, not so soon after what happened. And he was not his father, however similar their desires were.

He gave up trying to concentrate and wandered, as casually as he could, to the door to his office. Stephen was just putting the crate down on the bar, ready to restock the fridges. He leant on the door frame and appreciated the sight for a moment. Stephen must have sensed his presence, or just heard his footsteps, because he paused in what he was doing, and turned the tiniest of smiles at him, before getting back to work.

To Brendan it felt like feeling the sun shining on his face after days of rain.

Then he rolled his eyes at himself for being so soppy, and went back to the invoices. But he left the door open.

The sudden voice echoed through the club. It sent waves of nausea through his stomach, and seemed to break his heart in two.

"What do you think you are doing?" it cried aggressively from the door.

Brendan had only ever heard that voice directed to him once, when Cheryl had discovered the lie about Malachy.

He heard Stephen's confusion, "Cheryl, what…"

"You beat up a middle aged man, accuse him of all sorts of awful things, lie about him, then expect to just stroll back in here like nothing happened? You evil little bastard! Get out of my club!"

Brendan was shocked. He hadn't realised that Cheryl had known, didn't dream his father would risk this confrontation. Or maybe he was just completely certain of how Brendan's reaction would be. That thought sickened him.

Stephen must have felt shocked that Cheryl would behave like that. Brendan stood and went back to the doorway, slowly.

"I never lied, Cheryl!" came Stephen's reply.

Cheryl's voice dropped in pitch, but grew in ferocity, "How dare you? My Dad is not a rapist!"

"Cheryl!" Stephen cried.

"But now everyone knows what a pathetic liar you are. The police didn't believe you, and neither will anybody else!"

Brendan felt the pain of that one. He imagined the tears that must have risen in Stephen's eyes, but didn't dare look high enough up the boy's face to see them. How awful must it feel to be called a liar over something like this when you were telling the truth.

"I'm not lying Cheryl," and Brendan was proud of the stability in Stephen's voice. He wasn't sure he could have managed it, "That man came to my house, bashed my head against the wall, pushed me…"

Cheryl interrupted, "You're sacked!" she screamed, "Get out of my club!"

Ste looked stunned, "What?"

"You heard me, Ste Hay, you are sacked!" Cheryl screeched, "Now get out!"

Brendan had been silent long enough.

"You're not sacked Stephen," he said.

"What?" Cheryl turned her screeching on him now.

Stephen must have seen his chance. Brendan wished he wouldn't. "Ask Brendan!" he said, "He knows what happened."

Cheryl looked at Brendan, her face showing how near she was to breaking point. Anger was better than destruction, surely? Brendan couldn't destroy Cheryl like that. "Well, Brendan," she demanded, "what happened?"

He looked at her, then at Stephen. Neither face was welcoming.

Stephen was alright. His injuries would heal. Cheryl would be devastated by this information about her Dad. He made a decision.

"I don't know, I wasn't there."

Cheryl nodded, satisfied. Stephen looked ready to faint.

"There!" Cheryl crowed.

Brendan stared at the floor.

"Fine," Stephen mumbled.

"What?" Brendan asked.

"I said fine," Stephen cried, "I wouldn't want to be anywhere near either of you anyway." He grabbed his stuff from under the bar, "I'm gone, don't worry, I know the way out!"

Brendan watched him go, his heart self-destructing. He realised that was all he'd ever done.

"Good riddance!" Cheryl folded her arms, and stood next to him, conspiratorially. Brendan said nothing. She looked at him. "Oh, love, you didn't still care about him, did you?"

Brendan made a non-committal sound in his throat.

"Oh, Brendan, you could do better than that, anyway. You always could. He's a chav who still lives with his ex, and was probably only with you for what he could get out of it."

Brendan looked at her, anger building in every part of his body. He mustn't take it out on her. It was the anger talking, wasn't it?

"I've got to go," he said. "I've got to, erm…"

He started to leave. Through the same door as Stephen.

"Oh, Brendan, you're not going after him are you?"

He started to run.

AN: Because it is the will-they-won't-they of this relationship you all love, right?

If you want more, please find my story Sins of the Father, (which you can find on my profile).