"I enjoyed this story, the author has written well rounded, realistic characters and the plot doesn't seem far fetched. In fact, with the knowledgeable medical terms spliced with a great paced plot this seems more fact than fiction."
Nurse Sophie Monday is the mother of a small boy – a boy that everyone believes is her late husband Michael’s…
She once loved his brother Daniel with all her heart, but when tragedy struck Daniel rejected her, unaware she was carrying his baby. Pregnant and alone, she turned to her friend Michael for help… Another chance?
Daniel’s now a well-loved paramedic at St Jude’s, and Sophie knows she must finally admit the truth…
Twenty minutes later Charlie was as stabilised as they could get him in the rain on a roadside. They loaded him in the ambulance and Daniel and Sophie watched its flashing red lights until it disappeared from sight.
They stood in silence for a moment, the rain finally easing to a light shower.
"Well, this'll be a night I won't forget in a hurry," said Daniel.
"You can say that again," she said and gave a half laugh. She turned to face him. Now the emergency was over she didn't know what to say. It had been two years since she'd last seen him and the terrible things they had both said still seemed so fresh they could have spoken them yesterday.
"Why don't we go back to the house. I think we need to talk."
"No," she shook her head, "I need to get back. Sally needs to know about Charlie. I don't want her to hear it over the phone and I have Max in the car."
He shot her a measured look. "How is my little nephew going? Mum said you took Max to see G."
"Yes, he's much happier now."
The rain continued to sprinkle down around them as another silence fell between them.
"We need to talk Sophie. We're going to be seeing a lot of each other. G needs support and harmony not -”
"I assume you're staying at Arabella?" she asked interrupting him as she thought quickly ahead. She didn't want to have this conversation with him now. In the dark, in the rain, in soaked clothes, with Max asleep in the car and with Charlie's emergency and John's stroke weighing heavily on her mind. She was a little too overwhelmed to think straight. If this conversation turned out like their last then she'd need to have her wits about her.
"In my old room," he said a small smile on his lips.
"Okay," she said, shrugging the heavy, sodden blanket from her shoulders and opening her car door. She needed action. Anything to take her mind off the things they had done in that room. "We can talk tomorrow."
Sophie sat her drenched body in her beautiful car pleased to see that Max had slept his way through the whole incident. She started the car and realised she hadn't even thanked Daniel. They may have had their problems but she knew one thing for sure - Charlie would be dead right now if he hadn't come along when he had. She pressed the button for the electric window and it slid down with a soft whirr.
"Thanks," she said, hating the husky note that had crept into her voice.
He nodded at her wordlessly and she drove carefully away. Sophie watched the unmoving form of Daniel in her rear-view mirror until the rain and night totally obscured him. Her arms and legs started to shake as reaction from the events of the night sank in. She shivered and turned the heater on high.
So, Daniel had come back. She had asked and he had come. And he was living at Arabella. Well, it was his home after all. Much more his than hers. She shifted uncomfortably in her seat the wet denim of her shorts chafing her thighs. Could they live under the same roof?
She pushed her disturbing thoughts aside and switched the on the radio. The DJ announced a mushy love song in a chirpy voice and she quickly changed channels. A hard rock song blared out and she turned up the volume. Anything to stop herself thinking about living with Daniel.
Daniel stayed rooted to the spot for who knew how long. Long after her car lights disappeared. Long after the rain finally stopped.
She was still exactly the same.
Still the same girl who had shadowed him constantly when she’d been five and he eleven.
Still the beautiful teenager who had begged him for her first kiss when she’d been sixteen.
Still the desirable woman who had given him the gift of her virginity and had told him she loved him.
Still the woman who had married his brother instead.
Still the woman who had slept with him mere hours after they had laid his brother, cold and dead, in his grave.