C.F. White's Blog

Want to know if it’s worth it?

Then here, read the first chapter of Worth the Wait (Worth It Book 1)…

OUT in KU, paperback and eBook on July 31st 2025

Chapter One

Clear and Present Danger

Worthbridge always looked prettier from a distance.

Up close, the cracks showed. Empty shopfronts. Kids with their hoods up and nowhere to be. The wrong vans pulling into the wrong lockups at the wrong time of night. And PC Freddie Webb had spent the last six months watching it get worse.

Taking a reluctant sip from his battered travel mug, he grimaced. “Jesus, that’s vile.” He screwed the lid on tight. Not that he was trying to preserve it, more contain the damage. It tasted like tar scraped off his boots after a rainy shift. “You trying to off me, Becks?”

Behind the wheel, PC Becca Lambert smirked. “Brewing anything drinkable with that urn’s like raising the Titanic with a teaspoon. Be grateful you’re still alive.”

“Pretty sure that kettle predates the Bronze Age.”

“Like Tony in Custody.”

“The one with the pager?”

“Vintage chic, mate.”

Freddie snorted and slouched lower in his seat. The patrol car hummed along Worthbridge’s narrow back lanes, tyres whispering over damp tarmac. The Sunday morning shift always brought a peculiar hush. Not quite peace, not quite quiet. It was the town catching its breath after a long Saturday night. This morning was no exception. The April sky hung low and sulking, a thick blanket of cloud turning the sea into a sheet of dull metal. April showers were getting ready to wash the town away while the gulls shrieked overhead, wheeling in lazy circles as if they had grievances to air. They shouldn’t. They’d already hoovered up the scraps from Saturday night’s takeaway benders.

The air smelt like brine, damp concrete and leftover chips.

And…home.

Yeah. It smelt like home.

Because for Freddie, this scruffy little Essex seaside town was home. The place that raised him, roughed him up, and, at least once, nearly choked the life out of him. Literally.

Stretching out his legs, he relished the lull. Mornings like this were rare. No drama yet. No one screaming down the phone about stolen bikes or domestics. Not even any drunken lads spoiling for a fight. The shops were only just stirring, shutters rattling up like yawns, and the pubs hadn’t rubbed their eyes open yet.

For a moment, it was the sea, wind, and the quiet hum of the car.

“How’s it going with the history teacher?” And Becca’s too personal questions.

That was the thing about sharing shifts with Becca. She came armed with shit tasting caffeine, boatloads of sarcasm, and an endless supply of personal questions. Prying ones. Ones that made him want to crank the window down and roll himself out onto the A-road.

Scrubbing a hand over his face, Freddie tipped his head back with a groan. To buy time, he took another sip of the coffee, immediately regretted it, then leant out the open window to spit it out onto the tarmac.

“Oi!” Becca barked, eyes still on the road but tone filled with mock outrage. “That’s a criminal offense!”

Freddie fastened the lid shut on his travel mug. “The gulls’ll clean it up before you even dig out your ticket pad.”

She snorted. “Did you spit on the history teacher, too?”

He shifted in his seat, suddenly fascinated by the scuffed trim on the dash.

“Swallowed?”

He side-eyed her. “Christ, Becca. I know I ain’t your superior by rank, but can we roll with the pecking order, anyway?”

“You don’t like him then.”

“I do. He’s…sweet.”

“Knew it.” She grinned, triumphant. “You don’t like him.”

“I do like him,” Freddie said, far too quickly for Becca not to pick up the subtext. “I said he’s sweet.”

“Which is code word for boring.”

“No, it’s code word for—wait for it—sweet.”

“Then you’re clearly a diabetic.”

Freddie laughed, but it caught in his throat, and he turned back to the window, watching the gulls wheel over the flat grey sea, their cries piercing over the stillness of the morning. Jude was sweet. Polite. A bloke who remembered birthdays and opened doors and would make sure he drank water between pints.

Safe.

But that was the rub. Safe didn’t do it for him. Never held his interest long. Didn’t light him up or make his pulse jump. No. He always gravitated towards the messier options. The ones who bit back. Had shadows behind their smiles and chaos stitched into their bones. The ones who burned too bright and left scorch marks when they went.

The ones who were oh so very unattainable.

He stared out the window, the scent of salt and old chip fat curling through the crack in the glass. He scrubbed a hand over his stubble and forced a grin to cover the shift in his gut. But, as if right on cue, they passed the weatherbeaten pier, and he got the same old ghost of cider on his lips. An echo of a laugh tangled in the sea wind. And remembered when, for a heartbeat, life had been simpler. Lighter. When everything still felt fixable. By a crooked grin, a bottle passed between trembling hands, and a kiss that wasn’t sweet, wasn’t perfect, but lodged itself in him, anyway, rewriting the blueprint for every kiss that came after.

“It ain’t cause you’ve still got feelings for that Reece, is it?” Becca took her eyes off the road to deliver that punchline.

“The fireman?” Freddie laughed. “Nah. Not sure I ever had feelings for him. He was…”

A stop gap.

They were all stop gaps.

Distractions. Warm bodies and easy smiles. Stop-gaps between the job and the bits of his life he didn’t want to sit with for too long.

He was starting to think they’d all be that way. Temporary.

Sighing, he looked back out the window at a group of late teens carving lazy arcs across the promenade, wheels rattling over the cracked concrete of the skatepark. Hoodies up. Heads low. Same faces, same patterns. No harm in them. Yet.

Worthbridge had always had edges. None the tourists ever noticed. Cause, sure, it looked like bunting and postcards in summer, but when the sun went down? Different story. Uni students necking pints, fights outside chip shops, lads shouting karaoke until their voices cracked. Freddie knew the routine. Not only because he was the poor fucker who had to clear up most of those things, but he’d also been one of them once. Young, stupid, and three sheets to the wind under the pier with someone whose name he barely remembered. Those were reckless, golden nights. Sweetened by vodka and a cocky grin. But they’d left their mark too.

Irreversibly so.

Lately, though, Worthbridge had become dangerous.

He knew he probably shouldn’t be policing in his hometown. All the complications. The conflicts of interest. He’d listened to the warnings when he’d joined the force. And for a while, he earned his stripes with an extended stint in Southend, saw the other side of the patch. But Worthbridge needed him. His mum was here. His little sister. His niece. New baby nephew. He had to make sure this town was safe for them. He couldn’t trust anyone else to do that for him.

Which, yeah, he was well aware and had been told sounded cliché as fuck.

Maybe there was something deeper going on. A reason he’d stayed put all these years, wearing this uniform in the same streets he’d got drunk in as a teenager. But he didn’t like to over-analyse it.

Especially not on a bloody Sunday.

“You’re doing it again,” Becca cut through his thoughts.

Freddie arched a brow. “Doing what?”

“That constipated thinking face. Usually means the Radley case is crawling around in that brain of yours again.”

Freddie grunted, resting his elbow on the window ledge. He didn’t have to answer. They were both thinking about it.

Six months. That’s how long he’d been embedded on community detail, quietly feeding anything useful upstairs. Six months of tailing ghost vans and jotting down license plates leading nowhere. Six months of watching Whitmore Estate kids wander home with new trainers and older eyes.

Still nothing stuck.

Because Graham Radley was careful. Generous. Untouchable.

Everyone in Worthbridge knew the name. Radley Developments. Proud sponsor of the local sports teams, the Christmas lights, the bloody community day stage. Vivienne Radley chaired the town’s cultural committee. Their photo was still framed on the council website, cutting ribbons and shaking hands.

But Freddie had spent too long chasing ghosts to be dazzled by high-gloss charity work. The real Radley estate wasn’t made of bricks and ribbon-cuttings. It was made of silence.

The East Docks moved at night. Vans in by five, out by six. No names. No cargo manifests. No CCTV that couldn’t be explained away. Cash passed in corners. Girls from the estate disappearing for days, coming back quieter. Some didn’t come back at all. Drugs flooding the estates, but never in Radley hands. Always some teenage runner who “couldn’t say” where it came from.

And everyone was too bloody afraid to say the word out loud.

Trafficking .

Because saying it meant admitting it was real. That it wasn’t just happening in cities or headlines, but here, in Freddie’s hometown. In alleyways he used to ride past on his bike. Behind doors marked with Radley logos. In the silence between neighbours who knew better than to ask.

Becca had been there the night they pulled that girl from the van behind Whitmore garages, too. Seventeen, half-starved, wearing a men’s coat three sizes too big. She hadn’t said a word.

Radley’s name wasn’t on the van.

It never was.

“We’re running out of time,” Freddie said, more to himself than her.

Becca drummed her fingers on the steering wheel. “Maybe. But Carrick wants more. Wants them caught in the act.”

“Yeah, well, while we sit on our hands, more kids get chewed up and spat out.”

Becca didn’t argue. There was nothing to say.

Freddie stared out at the low tide, the black slick of sand glittering like oil under the gulls. He thought about his niece, Tilly. Six years old. Fairy wings, glitter pens, boundless trust in the world. It made his stomach twist to think of what could happen to kids like her if they didn’t move fast enough.

A beat passed. Then, quieter, Becca asked, “You ever thought about going for the detective pathway?”

“Thought about it. Loads of times.”

“You’d walk it. You’ve got the instincts, and the way you read people? That’s half the job already.”

He shrugged. “Maybe. But it’s not just about instincts, though, is it? It’s all politics. Exams. More desk time than I can stomach. Then there’s the paperwork. Endless bloody forms and sitting in briefings where half the room couldn’t find their own arse with both hands.”

“You already sit in those. And I know you have no problem locating your arse, or anyone else’s, for that matter.”

“Ha fucking ha. But at least I get to chase down scrotes in the rain. Talk to people. Be on the ground. You go down the CID route, and suddenly you’re buried in case files and red tape.”

“You say that like you wouldn’t be bloody brilliant at it.”

Freddie was quiet for a moment. Then: “I don’t know. There’s something about being in uniform. Visible. There when something kicks off. When someone needs you. It feels real.”

“And personal.”

Yeah. It was.

Really fucking personal. This was his town.

Freddie glanced back at the skatepark. The teens had moved on, but the image lingered. Young, stupid, vulnerable. All it took was one of them getting in too deep. One bad choice. One promise of easy money. And that was the part he never talked about with any of his casual flings. Certainly not history teacher Jude. The man he’d been dating for a few weeks, whose conversations with remained surface level and flirtations ended with a goodnight kiss. He wouldn’t understand. The not knowing. The dread. The gut-deep fear of what might happen just out of reach. Or what could happen if he didn’t move fast enough.

“Quiet one today, though.” Becca tempted fate with that.

As if on cue, the radio crackled to life.

“Control to Delta Two One, report of a disturbance at the seafront skatepark. Multiple youths involved. Possible assault in progress.”

Freddie shot Becca a look.

She winced. “Yeah, I know, I jinxed it.”

He grabbed the radio mic. “Delta Two One—received. Show us en route.”

Becca swung the Astra around at the next junction, tyres crunching over loose gravel as she switched on the blues. The flashing lights tore through the sea mist, scattering a few lingering gulls.

“Better not be some kid pissing about with a scooter.” Becca tutted, already scanning the grey sprawl of the promenade.

Freddie stayed quiet.

Because his gut, the one that hadn’t let him down yet, said this wasn’t just a fight.

Not today.

Not with Radley’s shadows creeping closer to the kids who couldn’t defend themselves. And if he was right? Then whoever was about to get their name written up in Freddie’s notebook wasn’t only a teenage thug looking to score points.

They were a spark.

And the whole bloody town was soaked in petrol.

The skatepark hunched at the edge of the promenade like a broken tooth. Concrete bowls tagged with graffiti, bins overflowing, the air heavy with stale weed. Becca swung the car in hard, tyres squealing a warning. Freddie was out before it stopped fully, boots slamming onto cracked tarmac, scanning.

Movement. Voices. The distinct edge of a scuffle behind the far ramp.

He sprinted towards it, Becca on his heels.

Two lads legged it across the grass. Skinny, fast, and gone before Freddie could even get a shout out. Another kid remained on the ground, hands up over his head, trying to shield himself from the blows raining down from a feral teenager above him.

“Oi!” Freddie shouted, closing the gap.

The aggressor looked up, then ran.

Down the far side of the bowl, up the concrete bank, slipping on wet grit, and tearing off across the park in a jagged sprint.

Freddie launched after him.

“Whitmore foot chase,” he shouted into his radio. “Male, mid-teens, grey hoodie, black joggers. Heading east, towards the seawall.”

The wind tore past his ears as he pounded after the boy, closing the gap with every stride. The kid was fast, no question, but running scared, making mistakes. Cutting across open ground. Glancing back.

Freddie saw his moment.

He lunged forward, arms out, and tackled him. They both hit the ground in a tangle of limbs and grit. The teen squirmed, kicked, thrashed like a cornered animal, but Freddie rolled with it, locked a forearm across his chest, got a knee into the small of his back.

“Stay down!” he barked.

The kid wriggled, shoving back hard, until he saw the uniform over his shoulder.

“Calm down. Now!” Freddie gripped the kid’s arm while pulling a set of cuffs free. “What’s your name?”

The boy didn’t answer.

“I said, name!”

The lad’s eyes snapped towards him. “They started it!”

“Started what?”

No answer except for a spit on the gravel.

Freddie hauled him up to his feet. “You have anything on you? Knife, blade, anything I need to be aware of?”

Knife incidents had crept up in towns like Worthbridge. They weren’t only city problems anymore. Gangs didn’t care if a place had bunting and ice cream vans in summer. They saw bored kids, no prospects, no one watching. Then moved in. Targeted the vulnerable. Offered cash and power in exchange for loyalty and silence.

And it worked.

Small towns were ripe for the picking.

Freddie had seen it too many times. How fast a schoolyard punch-up could turn into something you didn’t walk away from.

The boy stiffened, eyes darting sideways, then looked back at Freddie with a mix of fury and panic.

“They were—” He stopped. “Forget it.”

Freddie’s instincts buzzed. That wasn’t nothing.

And it sure as hell wasn’t over.

“You’re being detained under Section Five of the Public Order Act. Disturbing the peace and suspected assault. You don’t have to say anything, but it may harm your defence…”

Freddie delivered the caution. Words he’d said a hundred times before. To youths as young as, if not younger than, the one in front of him. But as he spoke, he watched the boy’s face change. Not in fear. Not in guilt. But… harden. As if he’d slipped a mask on.

Then Freddie caught his eyes.

Angry. Rabid. Almost feral.

But blue. Deep and startling, a bright clash with the shadow of his dark hair, damp and curling beneath the edge of his hoodie. Freddie jolted. He’d seen eyes like those before. And it twisted in his memory bank like a faulty bulb refusing to switch fully on. He shoved it down to do his job.

Before walking him back to the car, Freddie gave the standard instruction. “I’m going to search you now under Section One of PACE. Anything sharp I need to know about?”

The boy said nothing.

So he patted the kid down, checking pockets, waistband, shoes. Nothing. No weapons, no phone, no sign of drugs. Just a skate tool and a scrap of paper with a half-smudged number on it.

He shoved it all into a clear evidence bag, more for process than concern.

Then, as they made their way to the car, the kid muttered under his breath, “Should’ve let me finish it. Would’ve done you a fucking favour.”

Freddie glanced sideways but didn’t bite. “Yeah? How so?”

Kid clammed up again. Probably wise.

Becca joined them, wiping her hands on a tissue. “Other kid’s banged up but conscious. Says he doesn’t want to press charges.”

“Doesn’t mean we don’t log it,” Freddie said. “Get his name?”

“Yeah. He’s known to us. Low-level stuff. Shoplifting, pushing boundaries, usual teenage crap. The two that fled are the interesting ones.” Becca returned to Freddie’s side. “This one, though,” she tilted her head towards the cuffed teen, “new face.”

The kid glared at her.

“Proper lost his rag. Other kid reckons he flipped.”

Freddie tightened his grip on the lad’s arm. “You might have picked a fight with the wrong people.”

“Couldn’t give a fuck who they are!” the lad shouted over his shoulder.

Across the park, the other teen held up two fingers to his mouth, waggling his tongue between them. Real mature.

Freddie felt the tension roll through the cuffed boy and prepared for him to launch a counterattack. “Oi. That’s not gonna help anyone.”

He opened the back door and guided the lad into the car. The kid didn’t resist, but he vibrated with fury. Shoulders tight, breath shallow. Controlled chaos. The usual shit. Freddie slid into the driver’s seat, adjusted the mirror, and watched him through it.

“You gonna tell me your name?”

Nothing.

Freddie turned halfway, resting one arm on the seat. “Right. Listen. If you’re under eighteen and you refuse to ID yourself, we’ll have to bring in Social and a responsible adult to sit with you at the station. And until we know who you are, we can’t let you go. That’s the law.”

Lad clearly thought he could stare his way out of this.

“I’ve got all day, mate.” Freddie widened his eyes. “You?”

Still nothing.

Freddie clucked his tongue, turning back to face the road. The kid didn’t look scared. He looked braced. As if whatever was waiting for him at the end of this was worse than anything he or the station could offer. That was the part that got to Freddie. The silence screaming louder than any teenage bollocking. He knew that look. Had seen it too many times before in kids dragged in from rough homes, from estates run by gangs, from families where trust was a foreign language.

But something about the shape of the lad’s jaw, the stubborn tilt of his chin…it snagged on Freddie’s memory.

“Control’ll love us bringing in a no-name on a Sunday.” Becca got back into the passenger side.

Freddie drove.

Something told him this wouldn’t be another quick tick-box caution and release. Because despite Becca’s best efforts to build a rapport with the lad on their way to the station, he remained mute. So when they arrived, Freddie guided him out of the car, through the secure doors, nodding to the sergeant behind the desk. Becca followed, filling in the details on the tablet, already ticking boxes and logging the time of arrival.

“Male, mid-to-late teens,” she said. “Brought in under Section five, suspected common assault and disturbing the peace. No ID given.”

Mick, the custody sergeant built like a wardrobe with the patience of a saint, arched a brow. “No name, huh?”

“He’s not talking.” Freddie stepped back.

Mick leant on the counter. “Alright, son. One last chance. What’s your name?”

The boy stared dead ahead. Not angry. Blank. Silent.

Mick sighed and gestured to the back. “Cell Two. He’s under eighteen by the look of him, so I’ll get Youth Services in. Can one of you pull a photo from school records or Missing Persons, see if we can get an ID?”

Becca nodded, already scrolling through the tablet.

Freddie lingered for a second, a tug at the back of his mind not letting him move on. But eventually, he turned and headed back out into the corridor. Statements needed taking. Paperwork needed drowning in.

Which he did for the next hour and was halfway through writing up the incident report when the door creaked open, and DS Bowen stuck her head in.

“Webb. Interview room two. We’ve ID’d the lad from this morning. Minor. His appropriate adult’s arrived. You were the arresting officer, so I want you in there.”

Freddie rubbed his eyes, groaning inwardly. “Alright. Gimme a sec to log off.” He closed the report mid-sentence and stood, stretching the knot out of his shoulders. “Is he talking yet?”

Bowen shook her head. “Not a peep. Maybe having you in there’ll jog something loose. Name’s Alfie Carter.”

Freddie froze. The name snagged in his brain like a thorn catching in cloth.

“Alfie Carter?”

The words echoed, meaningless at first. Until something clicked. A long-forgotten connection tugging at the edges of memory. It made little sense. Couldn’t be. But the feeling had already settled deep in his gut, crawling under his skin.

He followed Bowen down the corridor, the world narrowing to the tunnel of strip lights and the hollow hum of the station. The distant voices faded. Even his own breath felt far away.

They approached Interview Room Two, and Bowen reached for the door. But before they went in, Freddie peered in through the reinforced glass.

Fuck.

There was no other word for it, and it slammed through his skull with the force of a dropped weight.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

His heart kicked hard, each beat thudding out those curse words in synch. Because sitting in that room, to the left of the boy he’d arrested, was Nathan Carter.

Freddie hadn’t seen him in over a decade. Fifteen years, give or take, since everything had collapsed. Since promises had cracked beneath the pressure of real life, fear, and timing that was never quite right. And yet, in one glance, it was as if no time had passed at all.

Nathan’s lighter hair was cropped shorter now, almost a buzz cut. Or growing out of one. His shoulders broader. Still built as though he carried the weight of everyone else before his own. That same posture. Tight. Guarded. Composed. He hadn’t changed. But there was a shift now. A break in the armour. And as he sat hunched, bouncing one leg beneath the table, hands clenched in his lap, he looked worried.

No, scared.

The crack in Freddie’s chest, the one he’d papered over with work and quick fucks, split wide open as if it hadn’t ever healed.

Bowen paused at the threshold, nudging the door with her shoulder. “You coming in?”

Freddie didn’t move at first. Couldn’t. His body felt like stone, held together by instinct and uniform alone. For a second, he wasn’t a copper. Wasn’t anything. Just a man standing outside a room that had cracked open a past he wasn’t ready to face.

Then Nathan looked up.

Fifteen years of silence shattered in that glance…

After a subscriber poll, the brand new cover for my brand new series is here…

Love runs deep in the town where the tide never truly washes anything away…

Welcome to Worthbridge, a windswept coastal town in southern England where the sea’s never still, the past clings like salt on skin, and second chances are as rare as sunny days in February.

In this emotionally charged MM romance series, men scarred by love, loss, and life find themselves drawn back to the town they thought they’d left behind, or trapped in it, with nowhere else to go. Each book follows a new pairing, weaving together gritty real-life stakes with slow-burn chemistry, found family, and deep-rooted bonds that refuse to fade.

Whether it’s a brooding ex-army single dad haunted by regret, a local police sergeant hiding feelings he’s sworn to bury, a charming fireman desperate to outrun his own reputation, a guarded paramedic convinced love isn’t meant for him, a runaway teacher trying to outpace his past, or a stoic lifeboat volunteer clinging to the wreckage of old wounds, every love story in Worthbridge is a risk worth taking.

Full of British small-town grit, aching romance, and a cast of recurring characters you’ll grow to love, Worth the Risk is about the kind of love that doesn’t just heal, it anchors you home.

Drum roll for the reveal of book 1…

Worth the Wait is a second-chance, small-town MM romance brimming with found family, unresolved history, and smouldering tension between two men who never got their closure. Think broken boys, ex-army grit and police uniforms that leave nothing to the imagination , all building to a slow-burn that finally, gloriously, explodes.

Coming to Kindles on 31 July 2025!

It was never over. It was just waiting.

Nathan Cole didn’t return to Worthbridge looking for a second chance. He came back for a roof over his head, a job that pays, and maybe, if he’s lucky, a way to connect with the teenage son he’s barely known. Life in the army taught him how to survive, but not how to be a father… and definitely not how to live with the choices he made the day he walked away from everything. Including Freddie Webb.

PC Freddie Webb never left Worthbridge. Not the town. Not the ghosts. Steady, dependable, the man everyone trusts to hold the line when things fall apart, he’s spent years keeping his head down and his heart locked up tight. But all that control shatters the moment a routine arrest throws him face to face with the boy he once loved… and the son that boy now has.

What started between them as teenagers was messy, intense, and unforgettable. Sixteen years later, it’s no less complicated. Eespecially with Alfie, Nathan’s angry, guarded son, caught between them and already spiralling toward trouble.

As old desires resurface and old wounds reopen, Nathan and Freddie are pulled back into each other’s orbit. But with the whole town watching, tensions rising, and the past refusing to stay buried, they’ll have to decide: play it safe… or risk everything for the love they never got to finish.

Because in Worthbridge, the past never stays buried.

And some loves are worth every second of the wait.

PREORDER NOW!

With the release of Killing Me Softly, the To Love a Psycho series is officially complete. Three books. One dark, twisted, devastating, and deeply romantic journey. I’ve lived and breathed these characters for years, and as I close the final chapter, I wanted to reflect on what this series has meant. Not just as the writer, but as someone who poured their heart into every word.

A Love Story Told in Shadows

From the very beginning, this series has asked difficult questions: What does it mean to love someone you shouldn’t? Can broken people build something beautiful? And how far are we willing to go for the ones who truly see us?

To Love a Psycho isn’t your typical love story—it’s obsessive, complicated, and laced with danger. But at its heart, it’s always been about two people finding each other in the dark. That never changed.

Writing the Line Between Romance and Ruin

This series walks the tightrope between romantic suspense and psychological thriller. Each book dives deeper into obsession, identity, and the murky waters of morality. Writing it has meant exploring trauma, desire, grief, and healing. Sometimes all in the same scene.

And yet, for all the murder and mind games, the heart of the story has always been love. Messy love. Secret love. Love that doesn’t always play by the rules.

Characters Who Refused to Let Me Go

What began as a single idea soon became a world I couldn’t stop writing. These characters challenged me, broke me, healed me. They kept showing up in my head long after I’d stepped away from the keyboard. And now, with Killing Me Softly, their story comes to a close in a way that feels exactly as intense and intimate as it always needed to be.

To Readers Who Love the Dark

If you’ve been on this ride with me, thank you. Whether you read one book or all three, whether you fell for the characters or wanted to scream at them (or both), I wrote this series for you. For readers who love their romance raw, their thrillers gripping, and their emotions unfiltered.

The To Love a Psycho series is complete. But its heartbeat still echoes.
All three books are available now, so if you’re ready to binge, then step into the dark, I promise you won’t be alone.

KISS ME HONEY HONEY is OUT NOW!

The forbidden tension? Unbearable.
The kisses? Possibly fatal.
The romance? So dark, it might just destroy them.

He’s the son of two serial killers.
He’s the criminal psychologist who helped catch them, and now he’s his professor.
They shouldn’t touch.
They definitely shouldn’t kiss.
But obsession doesn’t play by the rules.

Book 2 in the darkly addictive To Love a Psycho trilogy is here.
And trust me… it’s hotter, deadlier, and more unhinged than ever.

If you love:
MM romantic suspense
Dark academia & forbidden love
Twisted psychology & spicy tension
Murder, mystery… and mouth-on-mouth danger

Then this book is for you.

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Exclusive Excerpt

Aaron’s psyche bore scars of complex developmental trauma. Patterns of attachment disruption, parental betrayal, and early exposure to emotional and psychological harm that shaped his worldview. Such profound early wounds resulted in distorted core beliefs. Deep-seated convictions about self-worth, safety, and trust affected all his relationships and interactions, consciously or unconsciously. Therapy wasn’t just about curing Aaron; it was a long-term strategy to help him learn to self-regulate, to reframe, and eventually to trust.

So yes, Aaron needed to keep coming. Not because there was a simple solution, but because the path to healing was long, iterative, and essential. But that was the psychologist in him.

The selfish man in him just wanted to keep seeing him.

Alone.

Like this.

Kenny parked, lifting the handbrake and as Aaron moved to open the door, Kenny reached out, grabbing his arm before he could slip away. “Wait. I’m sorry.”

Aaron paused, hand still on the door handle, turning back to him. “For what?”

Kenny searched for words that felt wholly inadequate. “A lot of things,” he said, voice strained. “Let’s start with barging in on you and your boyfriend.”

“What else?”

Kenny swallowed hard, heart pounding at having to utter the truth. “For being jealous.”

Aaron settled back in the seat. “How was your holiday?”

“It wasn’t a holiday. It was a conference.”

“In Greece. By the beach. Where they had a heatwave.”

“And I spent much of it inside the University of Crete. So in that respect, it was shit.”

Aaron snorted. “Got a nice tan, though.”

Kenny drifted over Aaron’s features, recommitting each detail to memory and checking if the dreams he’d had of him while lounging beachside or locked in a hotel room had been right. They had. He was still infuriatingly stunning. “And you changed your hair.”

“Back to natural.”

“I like it.”

Aaron dropped his head back, heavy-lidded gaze drawing Kenny in until his restraint felt like a thin thread, fraying and snapping. “Didn’t do it for you.”

Kenny ran out of things to say. Because there wasn’t anything he could say to make this any easier. For either of them. They couldn’t happen. For more reasons than being professor and student. Their shared history was muddy and devastating. They would rip each other apart. Yet somehow, he couldn’t bring himself to sever their connection completely.

Aaron reached for Kenny’s hand, interlocking their fingers. Then, after a moment of stillness, he lifted their combined hands to plant a delicate kiss to the back of Kenny’s, pinching the fine hairs between his lips and Kenny could have wept.

More so when Aaron said, “I can’t do this, doc. It’s too hard.”

Kenny dipped over the middle of the car to drag his free hand through Aaron’s hair, down to the back of his neck, and drew him close enough that he could taste the vape flavouring on Aaron’s breath. Peach. “I know.”

A silence settled over the car, neither rushing to fill it.

Then, stark and fragile, Aaron said, “Kiss me.”

God, Kenny wanted to. He’d never wanted to kiss anyone more in his entire life. But how could he? How could he open all that up again when they’d worked so hard to bury it? When he knew his career would be in jeopardy. And how Aaron would consume him completely, take his fill, before eventually tiring of him and leave. There was more than age and authority against them.

So he choked. “I can’t, baby.” The endearment slipped out, and he dug his fingers into Aaron’s neck to prove how desperately he wanted to do what he plead and how cruel it was he couldn’t. Because the moment he did, Aaron would destroy him. “You know I can’t.”

Dream a Little Dream (Book 1), Kiss Me Honey Honey (Book 2), and Killing Me Softly (Book 3)

Discover the series* & learn full details here: https://bit.ly/CFWToLoveaPsychoSeries

Opportunities Available:

ARC: Read & Review

Release Day SM Blitz

Blog Tour

Release Boost

Pick one or choose all—your choice! I’d love to invite you to join us as we celebrate the already available DREAM A LITTLE DREAM and prepare for the upcoming releases of KISS ME HONEY HONEY (March 31, 2025) and KILLING ME SOFTLY (April 21, 2025).

This series is for you if you enjoy:

» Mxrder Mystery

» Psychological Thriller

» Age gap & mutual obsession

» A deadly game of cat and mouse

» Steamy encounters & unbearable tension

» An unhinged twink with a sharp tongue

» Precious, soul-soothing moments

» More chaos & mind games than you’re ready for

*Please note: The trilogy must be read in order. The plot and romantic arc continue throughout the entire series. Aaron & Kenny’s relationship is anything but easy. Their journey is filled with rocky moments, mistrust, and vulnerability, because the stakes are sky-high for both. Amid the darkness, you’ll find heart-pounding moments of connection, hard-fought love, and, yes, a well-earned HEA (eventually).

What readers are currently saying…

“Wow! I’m blown away by this gripping, dark, twisted, and intense psychological thriller. C.F. White is a master of suspense, and she brings her A-game with this new series. This is the true crime/serial killer x MM romance mashup you didn’t know you needed!”

“I loved this book so much.”

“I-need-the-next-book-right-fucking-now. I don’t even know what to do with myself now…”

“Let me take a moment to breathe because WOW this book ATE.”

“Kenny and Aaron are explosive together. The blistering tension ramps up as Aaron pushes Kenny’s buttons, either sexually, emotionally, or mentally.”

“How this story unfolds will blow your mind. It’s dark, hurtful, intelligent, with mutual obsession, a psychological thriller, and immensely intriguing. The characters aren’t just there, they are deeply layered.”

SIGN UP HERE: https://bit.ly/CFWToLoveaPsychoSeries

I am so super psyched to let this fly off into the world. A labour of love for quite some years…it’s finally grown wings and off it pops onto Amazon shelves TODAY!

It was a difficult decision whether to release this under C F White or create a whole new pen name as it is slightly darker than my usual. I mean, it features serial killers, obsessed and morally grey characters and a fair bit of angst, push and pull. And people say to STAY IN YOUR LANE. But at the heart, it is a C F White book. The characters feel real. The setting is wholly British (albeit a fictional town), it features elements of what I know (as in its set in academia, features a character who had to navigate the care system and endured unimaginable trauma as a child and is now trying to fight his way out of the hole he was born in through education).

So, yeah, it’s a C F White book but it’s not hearts and flowers and fluff. I’d urge you to be prepared for that.

Ans it is the start of a brand new serial. Three books. A hard fought HEA. A ton of angst and problems to over come. Along with a nice little murder mystery to solve each book. If you are familiar with my work, then you all know how long it really took Micky and Dan, Jay and Seb and Jackson and Fletcher to get their happy ending. These two fight a little more along the way, but they get there. And trust me, it’s worth it!

Aaron Jones

“Those piercing blue eyes hid so many sins Kenny wanted to dive right in and commit the cardinal. Aaron Jones was going to ruin him.” 

“Aaron broke my heart – the things he’s endured, because of who his parents are, is devastating. I empathized with him so much, and the pain and rejection he feels had me teary eyed.” — Goodreads Reviewer, Five Stars 

Dr Kenneth (Kenny) Lyons

“Kenny was exquisite. Every inch of him. Masculine and mature. Mysterious yet unguarded. Aaron’s heart leapt. Foolishly.” 

“Kenny’s position, age, career, and all the other outside factors prevent him from truly embracing his need for Aaron. The craving. The obsession. I loved seeing him slowly becoming obsessed with Aaron and how that obsession built up throughout the story. — Goodreads Reviewer, Five Stars 

Influences

It’s no secret that I’m a mood writer… as in I need to create the atmosphere to get into the mood of the book/characters I’m writing. I’ve always made playlists which help when I’m out and about to keep me in the story. This one was no exception. Although, the more I got into the music, the more I realised it was becoming part of the book itself. Especially the title tune Dream a Little Dream Of Me. I hear Aaron’s mother singing this and it’s quite chilling when you think of it like that.

So the music became a heavy influence. Each book and each chapter title is that of a song I hear when I was in that particular scene. Some of it chilling, some of it slightly creepy, some of it heartfelt and steamy. Each book has its own playlist, and here’s the first one.

If you love dark MM romance with obsessive tension, murder mysteries, and a forbidden spark ready to explode—this is for you!

What to expect:
Age gap & mutual obsession
A deadly game of cat and mouse
Steamy encounters & unbearable tension
An unhinged twink with a sharp tongue
Precious, soul-soothing moments
More chaos & mind games than you’re ready for

Available now on Amazon Kindle Unlimited, e-book, paperback & hardback!

Go on, grab your copy here, you know you want to!
https://mybook.to/DreamPsycho1

We are one week from release day for the first book in the BRAND NEW To Love a Psycho trilogy!

As this is a little different from previous works, I thought I’d give a little background to the series and a chance to read chapter one of Dream a Little Dream.

To Love a Psycho Trilogy – A Dark MM Romantic Suspense Psychological Thriller Series

When love becomes obsession, and desire turns deadly, how far would you go to survive the one person who sees you completely?

In a world where secrets cut deeper than knives, To Love a Psycho follows Aaron Jones—the son of two infamous serial killers—who has spent his life outrunning the shadows of his past. But when he crosses paths with Dr Kenneth Lyons, a brilliant yet morally conflicted criminal psychologist, obsession blooms in the unlikeliest of places.

Each book unravels the fine line between trust and betrayal, innocence and guilt, love and destruction. As a new wave of murders haunts their campus, Aaron and Kenny are forced into a game of survival—one where every touch could mean salvation or damnation.

Meet Kenny and Aaron…

Book 1: Dream a Little Dream (Coming March 3rd 2025)
His Student. His Obsession. His Undoing.
He’s the son of serial killers. He’s the professor who should’ve known better.
A forbidden connection ignites between Aaron and Kenny, but when a new killer mimics Aaron’s parents’ crimes, trust becomes their deadliest weakness.

Book 2: Kiss Me Honey Honey (Coming March 31st 2025)
Every Kiss is a Sin
As bodies pile up and suspicion falls on Aaron, the bond between him and Kenny deepens into dangerous territory. With the past clawing its way back to the surface, survival means breaking every rule.

Book 3: Killing Me Softly (Coming April 28th 2025)
Some ghosts never stay buried and some lessons in love leave scars.
Aaron’s darkest secret resurfaces in the form of someone he thought he’d lost forever. Now, with the killer closer than ever, his love for Kenny could be the very thing that destroys them both—or sets them free.

Prepare for obsession, betrayal, and the kind of love that could ruin you.

So that’s a little about the books, now for a sneak peek, here’s the prologue for Dream a Little Dream and remember, you can preorder this right now, get it to your kindle and prepare to get OBSESSED.

Prologue

Dream a Little Dream

Ten years ago, September 21st, 2014

The cupboard door creaked open, piercing a narrow shaft of light through the bedroom. His mother knelt beside him, kind eyes pools of warmth in the dimness of the dark and dreary space. She ushered him inside with a gentle hand yet a quiet urgency, and through practiced obedience and a knowledge that good things were coming, he clambered in without hesitation. The coats wafted the faint scent of lavender and mothballs. He sneezed. The dust aggravated his allergies.

It wouldn’t matter in a minute.

“Time for your medicine, my darling boy.” His mum produced a syringe from the folds of her apron and he opened his mouth, the metallic taste expected and familiar.

 He swallowed in compliance. The drowsiness would follow, but his mum would cuddle him until he woke cocooned in her arms. She’d be humming to him, too. Rocking him. Perhaps playing to him on their vintage walnut piano.

He enjoyed his long sleeps.

Felt safe.

If he kept really quiet, she’d reward him with a cookie after.

“Good boy.” She brushed a lock of his nearly translucent blond hair from his forehead, tender fingers tracing the contours of his delicate face, and her voice, a soft melody, filled the small void when she sang. “Dream a little dream of me…”

He so loved it when she sang.

It meant good things. A long sleep. Maybe two cookies…

His eyelids grew heavy but, entranced by his mother’s serenading voice, he fought them. She was beautiful in these moments. And as she hummed his favourite tune, her voice enveloped him, shielding him from whatever lay beyond the walls of his cupboard. From whatever she didn’t want him to see. To know. But tonight, her tone, although soothing, hinted at an emotion he couldn’t quite grasp. It wasn’t like it had been before. It unnerved him.

“Mummy…?”

“Hush now, honey pie.”

He did. And he hung onto her every word, her every note. Nothing could penetrate the safety net his mother swathed him in.

Could it?

Why was he questioning it?

She cupped his face in her hands with such care, as though he were the most precious thing in the universe, and through her singing, her impenetrable gaze, her unwavering love for him, she rid him of any fear. She was his, and he was hers. They always would be.

An unbreakable bond.

She stroked his cheeks, and he focused on her fingertips, soft and gentle, but the medicine and her lullaby forced him into the open arms of the dreamland she sang about. He couldn’t imagine a life where his mum didn’t sing to him anymore.

Life would be sad. Dreary. Dark.

A distant clamour shunted him alert.

His mother’s voice wavered, but she didn’t break the song, only darted her eyes towards the door. His little heart raced, matching the heavy footsteps growing louder, threatening to stamp over his carefully constructed existence.

“Remember, you are my good boy,” she said, her voice a fervent hush. “My boy. You’ll always be mine.” There was a promise in her tone, a fierce declaration extending beyond the cupboard walls, beyond the looming chaos, imprinting on him forever. And she cradled his face in her hands, pressing him to memorise how it felt to be totally, consumingly cherished. “No matter where you are, who you become, you belong to me. No one will love you as I do.”

Abruptly, reality shattered.

A door burst open, and the unyielding grip of his father wrenched her away from him, the cupboard door falling almost closed. Sleep evaded, he peered through the tiny gap at the confusing scene unfolding before him. Figures swarmed the room, an ocean of white. Official voices covered by masks spoke in harsh, rapid tones. Words he didn’t know. Didn’t understand.

“Mummy…?” He feared raising his voice, but he couldn’t see her. Couldn’t feel her. Where was she?

His mother’s silhouette flickered like the eight candle flames on his last birthday cake. He had a birthday soon. Was it today? Tomorrow? He couldn’t ask because his mother disappeared from sight, eclipsed by a mass of white. He pressed his face against the gap in the cupboard door, small fingers gripping the wood.

“Mummy…?”

Muffled shouts and dulled thuds of boots trampling through the house vibrated the walls and his chest squeezed, each breath sharp as jagged ice. He clung to his soft toy, the stuffing straining against the worn seams.

He was alone.

Darkness poured over him in swathes.

He veered closer to the narrow gap in the door, digging his fingers into the fur of his teddy. But a fierce scream had him jolting away. Her. His mother. Screeching a primeval sound tearing through the air and laden with a terror clawing its way inside his tiny heart.

“It was him. Him! Him!”

His father’s returning yell, brimming with defiance, cleaved through the disarray.

“Roisin! Roisin! I’m sorry! I love you, Roisin!”

Passing figures contorted into monstrous shapes on the wall opposite him, a puppet show of horror and his imagination conjured images far worse than any storybook villain, feeding his dread, pushing his pulse to race.

Then the unmistakable sound of a taser rang out, a morbid drumbeat marking the end of something he couldn’t quite grasp.

Life as he knew it.

He recoiled to the back of the cupboard, teddy absorbing his tremors.

Haunting silence followed. And he forced his quivering to still, listening for any hint of what lay beyond the safety of his walls. Moments dragged like hours, each tick of the clock on the wall outside like a thunderclap. Eyes wide, he never left the sliver of light at the bottom of the cupboard door where the shadows danced. Until a shape blocked his view, and the door creaked open, cutting a shaft of light through the darkness, illuminating him and crowning the silhouette of a man coated in white plastic.

He flinched away.

The man’s face, as he crouched to his level, was a mask of professionalism, but his eyes showed his horror at finding him huddled in his cupboard.

“Hey there.” The man extended a hand to him, then pulled down his mask to call out to those beyond his walls. “There’s a kid in here! Get family liaison. Now!” He then beckoned him with softer tones. “You can come out now. You’re safe.”

His words, though meant to comfort, hung heavily in the air. Was he safe? He didn’t think he was. His mummy wasn’t there, waking him up with a soft lullaby, stroking her delicate fingers through his hair, telling him he was precious.

“Where’s mummy?”

“You’re safe.” How could he be safe when she wasn’t there? “I’m a police officer. PC Bentley. You can call me Jack.”

With one last look at the familiar confines of the cupboard—his castle, his spaceship, his den—he placed his tiny hand in the policeman’s and stepped into the unknown.

“What’s your name?” Jack asked.

The world beyond the cupboard was a blur of white suits darting between rooms, urgent voices ricocheting off the walls. His heart hammered as he clutched his teddy to his chest and he shook his head in reply. He knew his name. But he wasn’t allowed to talk to strangers. 

“Stay close to me,” Jack said, a gentle hand on his back guiding him onwards.

His home, once filled with laughter and bedtime stories, had transformed into an alien landscape. Family photos askew, drawers yanked open with their contents spilled along with their secrets, and his steps faltered as he was ushered towards the front door.

The cool outside air nipped his cheeks. He hadn’t been outside in…he wasn’t sure how long but long enough to not remember it, and he squinted as he walked into the night, blue lights atop the car painting the sky in strokes of sombre colour. His house, usually surrounded by peaceful woodland, was now guarded by navy and black uniforms, as if it was a prison. He darted his eyes around, searching for something familiar. Something safe.

But there was nothing.

Then, amidst the sea of strangers, stood a man, a figure of calm in the storm. With dark unruly hair to his jawline, intense deep eyes, no police uniform, and a furrow in his brow questioning his little hand clutched in the policeman’s.

“Did you know they had a kid?” Jack’s voice was hushed as he spoke to the dark-eyed man as if not to alert others to their muted conversation. Their exchange was a sparkling, crackling thing. Like a firework. Like his parents were when together.

The man shook his head, gazing down at him. A silent exchange passed between them, and in that moment, his own confusion mirrored in the man’s eyes. But he saw something else he couldn’t quite place.

His saviour?

No.

His tormentor?

Probably.

“Come on, buddy.”

Somehow, this didn’t feel like a rescue.

It felt like a kidnap.

He cast one last glance over his shoulder, searching for any sign of his mum, but only found the dark-eyed man staring at him as if confining him to memory.

He left an imprint right back.

“Let’s get you somewhere safe,” Jack said, securing him in the backseat.

As the car pulled away, the boy pressed his face against the window, watching the house, his home, and the mystery man shrink into the distance.

Highland Fling is OUT NOW at Audible!

This steamy, standalone forbidden lovers MM romance is a “A sizzling tale of culinary passion, unexpected connections, and the irresistible allure of Highland heat” featuring a fiery Scottish chef too used to his own way and a determined ex-footballer desperate to prove he’s more than a pretty face.

Audible US https://www.audible.com/…/Highland-Fling…/B0D6Z7X23T
Audible UK https://www.audible.co.uk/…/Highland-Fling…/B0D6Z84QNK

 Forbidden lovers
 Hurt/Comfort
 Forced proximity
 Found family

Want to listen to the swoon worthy Scottish Ewan? Have a listen here:

Not familiar with the Flying into Love series? Then check out all the completely standalone MM romances where men fall in love and find their HEA at a different location around the world each time. From age gap, childhood best friends to lovers, opposites attract, second chance, hurt/comfort, later-in-life tropes. there’s something for everyone!

All in audio, accents galore 

https://www.audible.com/…/Flying-into-Love…/B0B49M29KF

The Responsible Adult trilogy boxset is going on sale for 1.99! That’s three whole books for less than 0.99.

If you haven’t met Micky, Dan and the adorable little Flynn, then you can get acquainted as part of the Angst MM Romance promotion. Not for the fluffy hearted, these set of books will put you through the wringer but the HEA’s are worth every heartache.

Grab this and all the other books on promo now. https://books.bookfunnel.com/angstymmromance/orn4p6i6pa

That’s right, your eyes are not deceiving you, there is another book to be released in the world of Jay and Seb!

Festive Fever Pitch is a charity Christmas bonus novella set in the world the District Line football/rocker series in both eBook and Audio format with the ever wonderful Piers Ryman returning to narrate, and will be released direct to emails on 1st December 2024.

This book has been written and produced to raise money for my London Marathon Fund (yep, I’ll be running 26.2 miles across London – GAH) where ALL proceeds are going to First Step, a charity supporting families who have a child with SEN and/or disabilities and who were integral to me when my own child was born with a rare disability.

To get your hands on it, all I ask is for donations to be made via my marathon fund, anything you can afford, and all details of how, when and where can be found by completing this form:

https://forms.gle/wYFmJ2CjfRyWYzaV8

At a staggering 37k words, this is more than a bonus but rather a new edition into the District Line series with a potential to continue. What’s the book all about? Well, I’ll tell ya:

Festive Fever Pitch (A District Line Christmas Special)

The Ruttman’s usual Christmas surrounded by friends and family is turned upside down when Jay brings home a troubled teen from his U16 Academy squad. Opening their door to welcome talented footballer and looked-after-child Devon into their life might have been the charitable thing to do for Christmas Day, but it also might open a massive can of worms.

Devon has more in common with both Jay and Seb than even they could have accounted for, and understanding first-hand the barriers he faces to achieve his dreams, how will they be able to send him back to the children’s home come boxing day? Especially when daughter Bea asked Santa for a big brother.

Devon seems to shine a light on all the unresolved issues Jay and Seb have been avoiding confronting about their relationship all these years, making it harder to not to see him as the missing player in the Ruttman band.

Besides, a guitar-playing footballer shouldn’t just be for Christmas, right?

If you know NOTHING about Jay and Seb and the “penguin talk” quote has sailed over your head with its significance, then you can get up to speed with this “Intense and emotional” “epic love story” spanning four full books plus several bonus chapters in time for this Christmas special. Check out the official book trailer for the District Line here:

Watch the official trailer on YouTube

Grab the original trilogy boxset in KU or Audio here  https://mybook.to/TheDistrictLineBoxSet

Thank you so much for supporting me, my books, The District Line and, of course, my marathon efforts to raise as much as possible for disabled children.