Luke Adams Boxset 1

by Dawson, H A

  Breathing short, swift breaths, she strode towards him, fighting her nervousness and trying to calm her wobbly legs. It was only when she reached his bedside that he noticed her arrival, and it caused his eyes to brighten and a smile to broaden his face.

  ‘Stacy …’ he said, reaching out his hand. ‘How are you? I’ve heard what happened.’

  ‘You did?’

  ‘Imogen popped in.’ He touched the bruises on her wrists. ‘You should have told me.’

  Visions of her tied to the radiator and witnessing Kim’s suicide attempt flashed into her thoughts. She wanted to disregard them; she wasn’t here to speak of her woes.

  ‘Are you okay?’

  ‘I should be asking you that.’ Her appreciation of his sympathy and understanding softened her face. ‘I didn’t come her for sympathy. I came to …’ her voice faded, her words lost. ‘I’m so sorry I haven’t visited you.’

  ‘I’m the one who should be apologising. I should never have pushed you away.’

  ‘No.’ Stiffening, she pulled back her hand. ‘You didn’t have the right mindset to be making decisions. I should have realised that.’

  ‘It’s no excuse.’ Tears moistened his eyes. Biting his lip, he turned away, and after a moment spent recomposing himself, turned back to face her. ‘I love you.’

  ‘I love you too. But you said-’

  ‘There’s nothing going on between Kirsty and me … never has been.’

  ‘Then why say it?’

  ‘I was angry … so bloody angry.’ Catching sight of her anxious expression, his face softened. ‘Not with you, with myself. I wanted more from her than she had been willing to give. Yes, we kissed. If she hadn’t have stopped me, we would have done more. I’m so sorry.’

  ‘You never slept with her?’

  ‘No. She’s the one you should be thanking. When I realised how close I’d come to doing it, I was furious with myself. That’s why I was in such a bad mood the week of the accident.’

  ‘You appeared to be angry with me.’

  ‘I know.’ He touched her hand. ‘But I wasn’t. Yes, I was taking it out on you, but I was never angry with you. Never.’

  ‘But you told me you wanted her.’

  ‘To push you away … to save you from this,’ he said, pointing to his legs. ‘I never expected you to walk away.’

  She opened her mouth to speak.

  He got in first. ‘I don’t blame you. Please don’t think that.’

  ‘You could have asked to see me, even just sent a text.’

  ‘Would you have come?’

  ‘Of course. I’ve never stopped thinking of you. I’ve missed you … more than you’ll ever know.’

  ‘You had other things on your mind.’ He studied her face. ‘Tell me what happened.’

  She told him her tale, and since visiting time was short, shared every horrid moment as succinctly as possible. All the time, her body shook and tears trickled down her cheeks. However, despite the pain she felt, stemming from deep within her gut, she also experienced a sense of release. She was back where she should be, by Nick’s side, and stared at their interlocking fingers and clasped hands, and focused on the warmth of his touch and the sense of security it engendered.

  ‘It seems you’ve paid the price for walking out on me too,’ he said.

  She frowned. It was hardly the same. ‘What’s the prognosis?’

  ‘Better than we’d hoped. I’ve started rehab, and providing I work hard there’s every chance I’ll walk again. I’m getting out in a few days.’

  ‘That’s amazing.’ She flung her arms around his neck. ‘I so happy for you.’

  Nick grinned. ‘For me too. Stacy …’ he stroked her hand with his finger.

  Her pulse quickened, her nervousness rising.

  ‘… I have a question to ask you.’

  She frowned, and fearing the worst, urged him on.

  ‘Can we start over?’

  Her face stilled. That was not what she expected he would say.

  ‘Feel free to say no. I won’t blame you for a second, but I would like you back in my life. If I’m going to do this, I’m going to need all the help I can get.’

  ‘Do you really need to ask?’

  His doubt stilled in his expression. ‘I do, after what I did with Kirsty, and after the way I treated you. The accident was never your fault. I hope you know that. I was out of line inferring it. I thought by giving you a reason to hate me, I was helping you get away from me.’

  She pressed her finger to his rambling lips. ‘I will be with you every step of the way … literally.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘No, thank you,’ as she leaned to kiss him. ‘For choosing me.’

  Girl On A Train

  Chapter 1

  Squeezing her arm, he yanked her backward and forced her against the wall at the top of the stairs. Twisting her head away from his stare, she gritted her teeth and battled his crushing grip. She would not scream, would not allow him the privilege of seeing her pain, and yelled out a profanity demanding her release.

  Holding her tight, and with his voice tainted with venom and his expression carrying a wretched smugness, he informed her he would achieve his aim. As though proving a point, he pressed himself closer, crushing her breasts to his chest and exhaled his putrid breath in her face.

  Wriggling and tussling, her body swelled with her efforts and her skin burned. Yet her energy was wavering and her muscles weakening. Driven by terrifying images of his ghastly needs, she gathered the last bit of strength, and in one last push, freed her leg trapped by his thighs, kicked him in the shin and kneed him in the groin.

  Jerking and yelping, he slackened his grip.

  She pulled herself free. In a desperate attempt to get away, she lost her footing on the staircase, landed on her hip and thigh, and continued to the bottom, beating each step with an agonising thud. Her vision swirled and her pain contorted her body. Crying out her agony, she clenched her thigh and searched for a consoling hand or gesture. She did not see him standing smugly at the top of the stairs, but she could sense his gratification dripping from his pores. He showed no remorse, not even a smidgen, and whispered that she deserved it.

  Later, when others were present, he said it was an unfortunate accident and begged for forgiveness. To her horror, they believed him. Why could they not see beyond his quivering voice and glassy eyes? Now, she was the villain.

  There was only one solution. Despite all she would lose, she had to leave.

  Motioning back and forth with her hand, Megan caressed the large purple bruise hidden beneath her faded jeans as disbelieving voices rattled, tormenting, provoking. She scrunched her face, urging the demons to leave, and focused on the rhythmical sound of the train. Like a heartbeat, it was graceful and flowing yet powerful and discreet; it was a comforting sound, providing a moment of solace in a period of unease.

  She gazed out of the window, blanking out her nagging recollections and absorbed the tranquillity of the ever-changing countryside. Beyond an intermittent hedge was a vast green space, where horses grazed, cattle strode along a country lane, and birds swooped overhead. Dwellings appeared, and in the distance, there was a power station emitting billowing plumes of gas. Shuffling in her seat, wearily moving her aching body, a comforting sense of community emerged. She wondered about the lives of the people hidden behind the brick and stone structures. Did they suffer as she had? She placed her hand across her middle. It rose and fell in response to her strained breaths.

  Megan had given up everything - her job, her friends, and Ben, her partner – and felt suffocated by the prospect her new start and the loneliness that would follow. It was not what she would have wanted, or predicted. Ben had seemed like a kind and compassionate man and she had hoped for longevity in their relationship; yet it was not to be, and her chest swelled with a curious mix of anger, guilt, and sorrow. Rising to her feet, easing the stiffness within her thigh and the tension in her mind, she paced the carria
ge.

  A middle-aged man wearing a loose-fitting sweater and ragged jeans plodded towards her. Even though Megan moved aside, waiting in her gap between two seats, he still managed to bang his arm into her.

  ‘Hey . . . watch what you’re doing,’ she said.

  He passed her a cursory glance and continued along the carriage and out of view. Searching for sympathy, she scanned the other travellers and caught sight of a young woman glaring at her from behind a newspaper. Wanting solitude, away from judgemental eyes, so sure that everyone could detect her weaknesses and vulnerabilities, she returned to her seat.

  The train eased to a halt. She looked through the finger marks on the window at the new trail of passengers, before noticing her faint reflection in the glass. Her hair was far from lush and often untidy, but she liked the colour and brushed aside floating strands from her face. Ben had called it butterscotch. He had often run his fingers across her scalp and inhaled the sweet smell of avocados and coconut. He had loved the aroma. She had loved him.

  The train eased away from the station. Next to the railway line were dilapidated industrial buildings with boarded-up windows, walls spray-painted with sketches and slogans, and disused car parks and wasteland overrun with weeds and broken concrete. Smashed glass bottles littered the ground, and cans and takeaway wrappers collected in bushes.

  The train gained speed, travelling over rivers and under roads. It was a monotonous journey, and she rotated her ring and chewed her lip as she tried to keep her mind free from her ponderings. Nevertheless, every so often an image of Ben appeared inside her head. Even the train offered reminders of their relationship, as despite the short time they’d spent together they had shared many moments. In her mind, his deep-throated laughter echoed and his eyes sparkled. Needing convincing that her departure was the necessary and correct course of action, she placed her hand on her sore thigh.

  The train pulled into another station. She glanced through the window and watched a group alight. She was half way to her destination and would soon be able to step inside her rented accommodation, close the door, and forget her traumas. She would look for a job and build a new life without the complexities of a male companion. She did not need anyone, after all, there had been many moments during the last thirty-one years of her life when she had been without a male figure, and she had coped.

  Someone was staring. Irritated by the intrusion, she lifted her head. Her skin tingled with cold as a deep sense of familiarity emerged. The man looked about sixty years old and he had a firm physique, his mouth was loose and his face flushed. He had short grey hair, a rounded face, and a smooth complexion, and he rested his arm on the back of a chair for support.

  'Do I know you?' she asked.

  He stood for a moment, speechless. 'No . . . do you mind if I sit down?'

  She shook her head.

  She had seen him before, but where? He had an air of refinement and was smartly dressed in well-fitted attire, and from what she could see, his clothes did not have designer labels. He also appeared to be studying her, and when she started chewing her lip, his attention became more concentrated. Strangely, she did not feel threatened but comforted. It was an unfathomable experience.

  'I'm sure we have met before,' she said.

  He smiled and then shook his head. 'I would have remembered.'

  'Have you ever lived in Halifax?'

  'No. I've never even visited West Yorkshire.'

  'I used to live there.' She swallowed her agony. 'I'm moving to Rodley in Nottinghamshire. I'm making a fresh start.'

  He gawked. She touched her cheek, wondering if she had something on her face, but there was nothing there. Unsettled, she turned away. After a few moments, he regained her attention.

  'I live in Rodley,' he said.

  'Really? What's it like?'

  'It's okay. Clean, not a lot of crime. The town centre is pleasant . . . there are some decent bars, restaurants, and shops. Are you staying with family?'

  'No. A friend of mine rents out properties. He's found me a place to stay. I haven't seen it . . . I haven't even visited Rodley before.'

  'Why Rodley?'

  She rotated her silver crossover ring, a gift from her mother, and tried to formulate a response that sounded intelligent or meaningful. 'Why not?'

  'Do you have a job there?'

  'No. That will be my first task.'

  'You may need a bit of luck. There's not a lot around.'

  'I'm not worried about what I do. I'll find something eventually.'

  He nodded. 'I like your attitude.'

  He had large earlobes and even white teeth. His back was straight, his knees pressed together and his feet were flat on the ground. He caught her scrutinising him and smiled. She smiled back.

  'What's your name?'

  'Megan Armstrong. You?'

  'Larry Carr.'

  She jerked. The name was familiar. Where the hell had they met before? 'Have you been on television?'

  He chortled. 'No.'

  'I'm sorry, but I do know you.'

  The sound of a ring tone disturbed her ponderings. She reached into her bag, studied the small screen, frowned, and pressed the decline button.

  'Is something wrong?'

  She held the phone tight within her fingers and the coolness crept into her hand. 'No.'

  'You look worried.'

  'I've just split up with my partner. It wasn't working out.'

  'I see.'

  She looked at her thigh. 'He keeps ringing me. He won't accept it's over.'

  'Break-ups can be nasty. I lost someone I loved many years ago. For ages, I had regrets. There was such a lot I should have done differently, but I was aggressive and controlling and I wouldn't listen.'

  'What happened?'

  Hesitating, he stared at his hands. 'She left . . . I never saw her again. For years, I would pray, the last thing at night, that when I woke the next day she would be there beside me. She never was.' A sad expression formed on his face. 'Make sure you make the right decision for the right reason. You only get one life, one chance.'

  Accepting the wisdom of his words, she drifted to the moment of her escape. She had barely given Ben opportunity to explain, defend himself even, and wondered if she had been too hasty. However, as soon as the thought entered her head she reconsidered and her face became pinched. He had had his chances but he had never taken them, there was no reason she should feel guilty. Pushing aside her doubts, she returned her attention to her companion.

  He held a fist close to his mouth. 'Do you have any kids?'

  'No.'

  'Well, that's a blessing. It can get messy when kids are involved in breakups.'

  'Tell me about it!'

  He tilted his head.

  'Sorry, I was muttering to myself . . . Ben has a son.'

  Drawn to his sympathetic expression, her problems rushed to the tip of her tongue, and her chest heaved and her sore leg pressed into her jeans. Devoid of energy and washed of colour, she yearned for a consoling hand. Yet, now was not the time; she was not going to pour out her troubles to a stranger and searched for a change of subject.

  'I understand there's an art gallery in Rodley,' she said.

  His face lit up. 'Yes. We've had a few well-known artists live in the region over the years. Some have their work displayed there. Do you paint?'

  'I dabble.'

  He held a wistful gaze. 'The building is of architectural interest as well. It-'

  'Yes. The archway and alcoves.'

  'I thought you hadn't visited Rodley.'

  'I haven't.' She was perplexed. 'I must have seen it somewhere.'

  The image was crystal clear in her mind. She could see the walkway to the main entrance, the patterned brickwork above the windows, and the row of alcoves. There were other features there too, but since she knew nothing of architecture, she could not name them.

  She returned her attention to Larry. 'Are you into art?'

  He fumbled with his reply.
<
br />   She watched. She waited.

  'I knew an artist once,’ he said eventually. ‘Her work was quite dark . . . she was not well known.'

  'What was her name?'

  He jerked. 'You wouldn't know her.'

  'Maybe you could show me some of her work one day.'

  He averted his gaze. 'Maybe.'

  She detected his reluctance and it triggered a worry he may not want to see her again. It was a bizarre thing to consider since they had only just met, and it made no sense. Nonetheless, after a few moments of silent pondering, she caught him studying her and noted the sparkle in his eyes. Believing that he was sensing an inexplicable connection, she decided to be bold and asked him if he would like to meet up again.

  He smiled and said he would.

  They continued to make easy chatter, talking about music and films and avoided personal matters. It provided her with a valuable escape, and her mental tension regarding the staircase incident started to evaporate. In addition, his companionship reassured her that she had made the correct decision regarding her departure, and she felt increasingly optimistic about her future.

  After what seemed like a short amount of time, she noticed that the train was nearing their destination and sped past a deserted station a few miles to the north of Rodley. Visible through the window was a supermarket with a vast car park, empty fields with overgrown grasses and meadowland, and a housing estate and commercial buildings.

  The conurbation grew and the train slowed. Megan had no idea where her house was located and she wondered if she might even be looking at the very area. There was a road running parallel to the railway line, there were billboards, small shops, and townhouses. There was a sign welcoming visitors to Rodley.

  Without warning, an inexplicable hotchpotch of images rushed into her mind. Blood dripped from her stomach drenching her clothes, and a figure loomed, shadowy and indistinct. She saw herself running, she fell to the ground in agonising pain, and a knife glimmered.