Chapters 1 & 2 Teaser

Stormbound 

Heads up: these are bare-bones drafts. The real book’s way bigger, with more detail and scenes. These chapters just hit the main plot and key moments, cutting out anything that doesn’t push the story forward.

Chapter 1

The door creaked open and Mark stepped inside. The stale mix of microwaved food and cheap candles hit him straight away. Same shit, different day. He kicked off his shoes, dumped his coat, and made for his room, but Helen’s voice stopped him. “Is that you, love?” “Yeah, just dropping my stuff.” Before he could answer, Jamie came charging in and nearly tackled him with a hug. “Beat the boss on your new game! Told Gran all about it.” Mark ruffled Jamie’s hair, smiling tiredly. “Proud of you, mate.” The kitchen was dull and worn—cream walls stained by years of cooking and smoke, mismatched cupboards, and peeling worktops. Mark sank into his usual chair as Helen slid a warm mug in front of him. “Rough day?” “Shit one. Alternator snapped mid-fit, got soaked, and Reg crushed his foot. He’s fine, still an arse though.” Helen chuckled. “Sounds like a Tuesday.” Mark’s smile faltered when she mentioned Kara and Jamie being quiet. “He’s just adjusting to secondary school. Kara’s great.” Helen didn’t press. Mark headed upstairs to change. His phone buzzed. Only two people messaged him—Helen, downstairs, and Kara. The message from Kara read: On my way home, Helen better fuck off before I get there. He switched it off. Back downstairs, he thanked Helen quietly. “You don’t need to thank me,” she said softly. Mark walked her to the door. As she left, Kara barged in, phone in hand, her bright smile barely masking something colder. “Evening!” she chirped. Mark muttered “Hey.” Helen’s smile froze as their eyes met—polite, sharp, knowing. Helen left without a word. Kara launched into a rant about work—old blokes, carers who don’t know how to wipe arses, endless frustration. Mark tried to keep up, asking about Jamie. “Jamie always gives me a hug,” Kara said, her voice sweet but hollow. “What’s for dinner?” “Not started yet.” “Pasta!” Jamie yelled. Kara’s chilling smile returned. “You heard him. Get started. We’re hungry.” Mark nodded silently, already feeling the weight of the evening closing in.

Chapter 2

Mark’s up before dawn, making a drink for Kara he knows she won’t touch, and breakfast for Jamie. He steals a quiet moment in the garden, watching the sun creep over the hills. Jamie bursts down, buzzing for his first day at secondary school. “What’s for breakfast?” “Breakfast pizza. Tomatoes, cheese, sausages, scrambled egg. A Turner special for you, Prince Jamie.” Jamie beams, but Kara stomps in, pissed at the noise. “You two gotta be quieter. I’m tired and today’s my only day off.” Mark tries to calm her, but she’s snapping, blaming him for everything. Jamie worries about being late. Kara hurries him out, ignoring his unfinished breakfast. Mark promises Jamie he’ll make it up and take him to school. The car’s a rusty old heap — no money for fixes unless it breaks. On the way, Jamie asks about the argument. “Just grown-up stuff, you’ll get it one day,” Mark lies. Jamie’s nervous. Mark tells a cringe story about wetting himself on his first day, earning a laugh. At school, Jamie meets his new teacher, Camila — stunning and warm, catching Mark off guard. Mark waves Jamie off, feeling a flicker of warmth he hasn’t felt in a while. Driving to work, Mark’s phone buzzes—three voice messages from Kara. He listens to her anger and pain, her feeling unsupported, unheard, exhausted. His grip tightens on the wheel, tears blurring his vision. He punches it once, breathing heavy but refusing to break. At the garage, Mark throws on his overalls and dives into work, trying to drown the noise in tools and grease. A spanner slips, knuckles hit the chassis hard. Cal appears quietly, starts helping without fuss. “There’s coffee out back. I’ll sort this.” “You’re on break.” “You’re about to break. Go get it.” Mark nods, finds a moment of calm with the bitter coffee. The garage smells like oil and misery — the only place that still makes sense. Machines break, you fix them. People? Not so simple.