Libros publicados

Late October 2024

The tension had been building for weeks.

Craig’s obsession with ruining BlindSpot’s concert had
consumed him. The false reports, the circling vehicles, the taunting messages —
all of it was part of a larger plan to humiliate Jack and the group on their
biggest night of the year.

Jacob, increasingly isolated and bitter, had fully
committed. His relationship with Martha had ended, his job was gone, and his
access to his children was restricted. Craig’s influence had become his only
remaining anchor, and he clung to it desperately.…

Late Autumn 2018

The bench in Central Park had seen many seasons.

It had witnessed the birth of old rivalries between Redcoats
and Bluecoats, the first clumsy notes of BlindSpot in the garage, the quiet
grief after Sunny and Archer passed, and the tentative steps of new families
trying to build something better than what came before.

Now, as the last leaves of autumn drifted down and the air
grew sharp with the promise of winter, the bench waited once again.…

The story of Roseville had always been one of divides —
between Poppy Meadows Cedar Way and Pine Wood, between the Redcoats and
Bluecoats, between those who sought to build and those consumed by resentment.

In *The Bench: Dark Legacies*, we witnessed the long shadow
of bitterness that shaped generations. Craig Jenkins, driven by the inherited
resentment of his father Todd toward the Jones family, became a force of
destruction. His actions — the bullying, the harassment, the final desperate
attempt to ruin BlindSpot’s concert — culminated in a tragic crash that took
his life and left his family and the community to grapple with the
consequences.…

Spring 2015

The bench in Roseville Central Park had seen everything.

It had watched children become adults. Rivals become friends. Friends become
strangers. It had stood through football victories, schoolyard arguments,
community festivals, and the long, painful years when old grudges threatened to
swallow the town whole.

The wood was weathered now.

The paint had faded.…

Roseville had always been a town of invisible lines.

Some were drawn in red and blue on football pitches. Others
were etched deeper — between Cedar Way and Pine Wood, between those who built
and those who burned, between the past that refused to die and the future
struggling to be born.

In the Jones garage, music still played.…

**Roseville, 2007**

The garage in Pine Wood smelled of oil, sawdust, and
possibility.

It had once been just another forgotten corner of the
Blindspot — the kind of place where broken things went to die. Rusted tools.
Abandoned projects. Dreams that never quite left the ground. But over the last…

The sound of the red jersey hitting the bottom of the bin was a soft, synthetic *thud*. It was 1984. The boy, then known as Rodrigo, stood in the changing room, the smell of damp concrete and disappointment clinging to his skin. He had been cut. Too slow, they said. Not the right fit.
He didn’t hate the Redcoats—not yet. He just wanted to play.…

Roseville, 2007**

The garage in Pine Wood smelled of oil, sawdust, and
possibility.

It had once been just another forgotten corner of the
Blindspot — the kind of place where broken things went to die. Rusted tools.
Abandoned projects. Dreams that never quite left the ground. But over the last
few years, something had quietly changed. What began as a neighbour’s quiet act
of kindness had slowly transformed the space into something alive.…

Roseville was never the sort of town people put on postcards.
It had no famous landmarks, no grand cathedral dominating the skyline, no sweeping avenues designed to impress visitors. Instead, it existed in the spaces between larger places—a working town built from freight yards, factory shifts, damp brick estates, and generations of people doing their best to make a life from whatever opportunities they could find.
The town announced itself through sound and smell more than scenery.
The distant rumble of lorries arriving before dawn. The steady hum of industrial cooling fans. The metallic clatter of railway sidings. The familiar scent of rain soaking into concrete that never seemed entirely dry.

Most of all, Roseville was a town of boundaries.…

Roseville, 2007**

The garage in Pine Wood smelled of oil, sawdust, and
possibility.

It had once been just another forgotten corner of the
Blindspot — the kind of place where broken things went to die. Rusted tools.
Abandoned projects. Dreams that never quite left the ground. But over the last
few years, something had quietly changed. What began as a neighbour’s quiet act
of kindness had slowly transformed the space into something alive.…