STEPBROTHERS (3 Book Stepbrother Romance Collection) (16 page)

The strong pull of sleep overwhelmed me. Its invisible hand reached out to grip my arms and threatened to drown me. The sounds that vibrated through the TV suddenly became distant; the words the actors uttered faded into nothingness.

Eric’s face appeared before my sleeping eyes. His face showed an expression I had never seen before: fear. He called out to me, his voice gravelly and in pain. Desperate. Suffering and distress flickered across his face; his hand stretched out, but I was too far away to reach it. I felt a pang of anxiety and urged my feet to move. But the more I tried, the more it felt like my ankles were coated in molasses. I was unable to catch up to him, the sticky substance holding me back. I called out his name as his face vanished.

My body jolted awake, and I looked around the room frantically, trying to get my bearings. My heart pounded within my chest, my skin clammy from the nightmare. I sucked in as much air as I could, needing to calm the panic.

It was just a dream,
I told myself,
a bad one.

Shaking my hazy mind, I pushed back from the couch and sat with my head bowed between my knees. My fingers shook from the aftershock of the nightmare.

My head whirled with unspoken thoughts. Upon shaky legs I walked cautiously to the kitchen sink, grabbed a glass from the cupboard, filled it up with tap water and reached for some paracetamol in hopes of easing some of the pain, especially my throbbing scalp, where Eric had ripped out a whole chunk of hair. I held myself up against the basin, scared my legs were about to give out under me, and tenderly touched the bare section of skin on the back of my head.

After draining the last of the water, the liquid quenching the dryness of my throat, I felt I could breathe again.

The echoing chime of the doorbell startled me, and the glass slipped from my hand and shattered in the porcelain sink. Angry shards sliced open my palm as I foolishly reached for it.

“Shit,” I cursed. Feeling the sting, I watched as a mesmerising crimson line appeared upon my hand. The doorbell rang again, more urgently this time, and then there was the sound of fists against the door.

“Coming,” I yelled, my voice croaking, hoarse as if I’d been at a football match…
or screaming as if I’d been raped,
a bitter voice in my head said.

Quickly, I wrapped a tea towel around my hand and made my way to the door.

Through the mottled privacy glass of the front door I could see two shadows on the other side. Unsolicited salesmen, no doubt coming to sell me triple glazing, or what was the new thing nowadays? Solar panels for the roof.

I used my uninjured hand to open the door and greeted the two men with a polite smile.

“Mrs Sara Chambers?” one of them asked.

Confused, the forced smile slipping from my face as I took in their official uniforms. “Yes? Is everything OK?”

The young bearded police officer ignored my question and continued with the script he’d probably spent time rehearsing in the squad car on their way over here. “Is your husband Eric Chambers?”

I nodded as my hands began to shake. “Yes, he is.” My heartbeat picked up, and my stomach began to churn. “What’s happened?” I asked the young officer, trying to the keep the quaver of my voice steady as I urged him to stop stalling, to get to the point. The moment I opened the door I already knew why they were here. The neighbours had obviously overheard my muffled screams, put a call in. I silently cursed them. It was between Eric and me; it was our business, no one else’s. Looking back at the officers I wondered if they’d arrested Eric, detained him perhaps?

The silent officer stepped closer, his foot on top of the concrete stoop, his hand providing a comforting touch, as his partner delivered his final line. He was a little older than the one speaking, obviously giving the lead to the youngster so he could get some experience in, I thought.

“I regret to inform you that Mr Chambers was in a car accident, Mrs Chambers.”

I looked from one to the other, unbelieving, their eyes waiting for my reaction.

“What? You mean you haven’t arrested him?” I said in disbelief.

“Why would we arrest you husband, Ma’am?”

I shook my head trying to clear the confusion that was building. “He’s only just left for work, he can’t have been in an accident.” Surely I hadn’t been asleep that long? He’d barely be on the dual carriageway by now. “No, you must have the wrong house, got the names mixed up…”

The police officer with his hand upon my upper arm shook his head slightly as his grey eyes tried to convey the truth. “There’s no mistake, Ma’am. Your husband was taken to Ashton Hospital, and I’m sorry to be the one to inform you, but I’m afraid he died en route. I’m so very sorry for your loss.”

My legs went from under me, and pain shot through my arm as one of the police officers reached for me. More bruises to add to the others, I thought. What was one more? I was already a black and blue canvas…

Strong, capable arms wrapped around me as I crumbled into a wail of sadness. Somewhere deep in my mind, I knew that the man was still speaking, consoling me. Yet none of the words penetrated the overwhelming emotions that were trying to smother me. My hand curled around the police officer’s vest, holding on.

“
I
s
there anyone we can call for you?”

I was sitting on the couch again, Officer Pierce next to me, holding my uninjured hand. He and his bearded partner had introduced themselves after I’d calmed down, but I couldn’t remember the other man’s name. All I could think about was how nice Officer Pierce was to sit with me and reminded myself that I must thank him later for his kindness, even though I knew he was just doing his duty. He probably did this all the time, sick to death of consoling widows in shock.

“No, I’m OK. What happens now? I’ve never…”

I didn’t want to think about Eric, his body or what I was supposed to do with it, not right now, but I knew I had to keep it together. I couldn’t embarrass myself again today in front of these gentlemen—Eric would be so ashamed of me if I did.

Officer Pierce smiled. “We need to take you to the hospital.”

“OK, I’ll go get changed,” I said, nodding, as I suddenly realised I was still in my robe and no bra to speak of. Eric had told me to get changed, and I didn’t listen to him. Ashamed, heat rose upon my cheeks; they’d probably had a right eyeful, I thought. I pulled the gap to my robe closed as I got to my feet, all too aware that my cleavage had been on display.

In a daze I’d managed to dress myself and later sat quietly in the back of the police car as they drove me to the hospital. The only noise was the occasional squawk of the police radio up front and the rumble of the tarmac beneath the wheels. My mind filled with blank thoughts as I stared out the window at everyone just going about their normal everyday lives, whilst mine was being turned upside down.

I was alone, with no one left to care for me. Eric was lying cold and lifeless somewhere, unable to help me. Even after everything he’d put me through, I still didn’t know how I was going to survive without him.

I looked up, and Officer Pierce was opening the car door for me. “Mrs Chambers?” Too lost in my own pity party, I hadn’t even realised we’d arrived.

They escorted me into the hospital, the thick odour of antiseptic and sickness greeting us as soon as we breached the entrance. I walked ahead of the men, though they occasionally led the way, pointing out which corridor to take next as we made our way deeper within the maze-like building. They must do this often, I thought, to know the way so easily.

We finally arrived at a quiet station, only one nurse behind the sage green counter. “This is Mrs Chambers,” Officer Samuels—I finally remembered his name—informed the expectant nurse. She nodded.

I wanted to speak, to ask where my husband was, but the massive lump in my throat had other ideas, and I was too weak and drained to fight past it.

The nurse inclined her head and came from around the station. “This way please,” she said and began to walk forward down another bland corridor, and I followed. Realising the officers weren’t coming with us, I turned and provided Officer Pierce with a timid smile of thanks before he took his leave.

Our footsteps padded against the icy marbled floor. The sound they made matched the loud rhythm of my heart. My belly was in a knot, as if a pair of invisible hands gripped my intestines, twisting them without mercy. Trying to be brave, I continued to follow the other woman, curling my fingers until my nails burrowed deep into my skin, deep enough to leave dents and to cause the cut to throb.

I concentrated on the scratched corridor walls, avoiding looking ahead. Taking in the happy yellow painted surface as if the shade could bring some cheer back into the lives of those who’d made this dreaded journey. Dents marred the surface, plaster chipped away little by little by laden trolleys grazing the walls. The pictures dotted periodically along the corridor were inexpensive, sympathetic prints of heartening scenery. Too sunny and bright for this area of the hospital, I thought. It was as if they were trying to compensate for all the gloom that penetrated the walls over the years.

Above the blue double doors an aged sign read
Morgue
.

My feet halted. Somehow I couldn’t bring myself to walk through the doors, to stroll inside as if nothing significant waited for me, as if I were about to visit a friend. Nothing about this was normal.

If I walked through, everything about this day became real, it would become official. It would mean my husband was dead, and the hope that I clung to that it was all a big mistake would be stripped away from me.

“Ma’am?” the nurse’s voice cut through the silence, bringing me back to earth as I nodded and began to walk again. I had to do this. I had to be strong.

I can do this
.

I repeated it over and over again, playing it inside my head like a mantra. Yet when I stepped closer to the double doors, I stopped once again. I felt my body shake in uncontrollable shivers, but I drew in a breath and pushed onwards.

“When you’re ready, we can go in and see your husband,” she said with a reassuring pat upon my arm.

“I-I’m ready,” I stuttered. Shivering, I pulled my sweater closer to my body as I attempted to drive away the cold that had set up home in my bones. The type of cold that makes you feel like you’ll never feel the touch of warmth ever again.

Antiseptic mingled with bleach, and the unusual smell closed around me. The hair at the back of my neck rose and prickled at the odd feeling that gripped me. Death was in the house, and it felt like he was watching me with mild amusement.

The room was eerily quiet; it felt deserted, vacant even. Soulless. Feeling a rise of hysteria and panic, I tried to look at anything other than the lone trolley covered with a pale blue sheet in the middle of the room.

“Mrs Chambers?” A man who seemed to be in his forties, a dusting of grey at his temples, approached my side. “Come this way, please,” he asked as he placed his fingertips upon my elbow, leading me closer to the centre, ever closer to the figure beneath the sheet.

“Is there no one who can be with you?” he asked. His voice was kind, his face softened with age.

I shook my head.

“OK, then. When you are ready I will pull away the sheet. Let me know as soon as you can if you can identify the body. Take your time.”

I nodded for him to proceed, to get it over and done with as soon as possible.

My hands were clammy with perspiration as the doctor lifted the corner of the sheet. He pulled it back to reveal a familiar yet distorted face beneath.

It’s over.

Exhaling the breath I’d been holding I responded, “That’s my husband. That’s Eric.”

I was surprised by my lack of reaction; my eyes stayed dry, my heartbeat was steady and my breathing was a little fast, but only due to the lengths I’d walked. All the way down to the morgue, it had felt like I was about to go into meltdown at any moment, but now that I was there, seeing for myself his expressionless face, a blanket of calm came over me.

Eric looked so small, so powerless lying there, his upper torso discoloured and bruised, his face misshapen. Lifeless, he bared no resemblance to who he’d been in his forty-odd years. And for the briefest of seconds my calmness was replaced with relief.

Appalled at myself, I brought a hand to my mouth, and let appropriate tears escape and wash over my cheeks.

Eric was dead.

I was left alone in the world. And all I could keep thinking was: thank god it was over.

I
’d found
a chair not far from the nurse’s station and sat alone with my thoughts, unsure of what I was supposed to do next, letting the hours dwindle away. It didn’t seem right to just leave him there and go back to our home alone without him. I’d waited for someone official to come find me, to give me some guidance, but no one approached me. Even the collection of leaflets that were spread haphazardly on the small table beside me could not help me navigate this unknown territory. It seemed like there was a leaflet for everything but what to do when a family member died.

A loud male voice penetrated my thoughts, and I glanced up. Taken aback at seeing my stepbrother Harvey walk towards me, I got to my feet, puzzled at why he was here. I hadn’t called him, didn’t want to bother anyone with my troubles. A blonde-haired woman followed behind him, an expensive handbag flung across her shoulder, her nose inches away from her phone.

As Harvey approached, my pulse quickened, as it always did whenever I saw him. There was just something about his presence, his dominating stature in a room, that made me uneasy. His neutral face, solid jawline and broad cheekbones, bore no expression. Beneath the surface, though, I detected a whiff of annoyance, or maybe I was reading too much into his stoic features.

Judging from his clothing, dressed from top to bottom in exquisite formal attire, it was clear he’d been on a date, the lady behind him the lucky woman in question. No wonder he looked mildly pissed, I thought. I’d ruined their evening.