Give Me War

by Kate McCarthy

  GIVE ME WAR

  Copyright © 2020 by Kate McCarthy

  ISBN-13: 978-0-6481236-6-8

  Smashwords Edition

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or any other information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the author, except for brief quotations in a review.

  This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your e-retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual person’s, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  Foreword

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Thank you

  Coming Next

  Books by Kate McCarthy

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Sometimes I wonder if love is worth fighting for,

  Then I look at you,

  And I’m ready for war.

  1

  EVIE

  My eyes blink open slowly. I’m in bed. It’s dark and my head is foggy. I know I didn’t drink last night so it can only mean I’ve woken at a crazy hour. Again. Why, insomnia? Why? I snap my lids closed and try to capture that sleepy feeling before full awareness smacks me in the face.

  I snuffle into my pillow, starting to drift off again when something niggles at me. Something important. Something big. Oh shit. It’s Christmas Eve, and my to-do list for today is longer than the Great Wall of China, give or take.

  Why are we hosting lunch tomorrow? Because I’m an idiot, that’s why. I even said I’d make two trifles—original and chocolate. Evidence of my lunacy. I blame hormones. Mine have taken control of my mind, forcing me to do and say things I wouldn’t ordinarily do. Jared even suggested weeks ago that we have tomorrow catered for. I vetoed; my voice laced with so much stubbornness I want to punch myself as I lay here feeling sick. I told him tomorrow will be a time for us to reconnect as a family, and apparently the only way to do that is by baking stuff, roasting things, and acting as if you have it all under control. Newsflash, I don’t. I haven’t even bought Jared’s gift yet. I’m considering just wrapping a bow around my belly and propping myself beneath the tree for when he wakes. A baby is gift enough, isn’t it?

  We’ve been trying for number two for over three years. Three years. After visits with the specialist, my uterus was declared hospitable and Jared’s swimmers enthusiastic, though perhaps a little blind. Or maybe they forgot how to read a map and are just too stubborn to ask for directions. But if one more person says everything works out how it’s meant to be, I’ll gouge out their eyes.

  Either way, I’ve been sitting on this news for almost two weeks, throwing up undetected almost every morning, hiding my day-long nausea, mood swings, and my newly acquired craving for peanut butter ice-cream. I’ve resorted to hiding the empty cartons in all manner of places; under the kitchen sink, behind Jared’s dusty golf clubs in the garage, and I’m pretty sure there’s one inside the entertainment unit in the living area. It’s hard to keep track of them all to be honest. I mentally add that to my list of things to do today—search the house and clear them all out. Along with the wrappers from last night’s frenzy with the fun-size chocolates. I bought them thinking my willpower was strong enough to have one every couple of days. Satisfy the craving and move on, right? Wrong. I was fooling myself, Jared too when I put them in the shopping trolley, lecturing him on how it was actually good for you to have a small treat now and then. His expression of scepticism left me determined to prove him wrong.

  I add that to my list for today too. Buying another bag of fun-sized chocolates so Jared won’t know how weak my willpower is.

  I sigh quietly. Living with a radical health nut is exhausting.

  You brought it all on yourself, I can hear Henry say, and Mac, and everyone else. There’s no sympathy. No support.

  But it’s the truth. I did bring it on myself. My mantra is ‘life is short, eat the damn cake,’ and yet I married him anyway. It’s true that love makes you stupid. Now it’s Jared’s personal quest to keep me as healthy as possible. He wants me to live an extremely long life, but what’s the point if broccoli and grilled chicken make me miserable? You don’t see anyone posting pictures on Instagram of their cauliflower rice and spinach smoothies with the hashtag #YOLO.

  I roll over, yawning, and a little squeak catches in my throat.

  Jared is wide awake, his head propped in his hand. His green eyes are on me, unblinking in the dark.

  My heart pounds. “What are you doing?”

  “You woke me up.” His voice is deep and sleepy, all smoky like a Cuban cigar.

  I actually shiver, marvelling that this man is my husband. “No I didn’t.”

  “You did. You snorted and said ‘cake.’”

  “I said bake. Not cake,” I lie, because it’s highly likely I was mumbling my mantra aloud. “I’m going over my to-do list.”

  “Hmm,” he says in a disbelieving tone. “You’re sure you’re not dreaming about cake again, babe?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I reply, indignant and thoroughly embarrassed about the dream I had a week ago where our house was a giant wedding cake with our kid trapped inside. I had to eat it all to save him. I’m annoyed with myself for sharing. Jared thought it hilarious, but what he doesn’t get is how staggeringly high my cravings and maternal feels are right now. Mama bear is out and she’s hungry.

  Jared grins, his eyes dancing as dawn begins its approach. “You don’t remember the dream where you ate an entire cake?”

  My nostrils flare. “I did it to save Wolf. I didn’t see you doing anything. You weren’t even there!” I point out.

  Conall is our firstborn. Named in honour of the Valentine’s Scottish heritage. It means ‘strong wolf,’ and the name stuck as they seem to do in our circle. My kid is just Wolf now, and he’s a menace. Steve, my father-in-law, thought it would be cool to buy him a pint-sized policeman outfit last week—an early Christmas present. Wolf won’t take it off. He’s sleeping in it right now, and every time I tell him to do something, he flashes his cop badge at me and tells me he’s the law around here. I just know Casey taught him to say that. He’ll pay for it later. I’m considering a scratch on his precious Marjorie. Or a slight drowning during our morning surf.

  “Babe. You’re mad at me over a dream?”

  “Yes.” Pregnancy makes me an asshole. “I have to do everything around here, so much so I’m even dreaming about it.”

  His brows rise but there’s amusement in his expression. “I offered to have tomorrow catered. You did hear me say that, right? And you insisted on cooking. You remember saying that too, don’t you? Or was all that a dream as well?”

  I tug at the long dark hair stuck beneath my pillow and huff. “Yes, I remember, and now I regret it, okay? Are you happy? I regret it. I’m not Martha Stewart. I’ll never be Martha Stewart. I’m not a seventh wonder of the baking world. I
can’t make a cake without it sinking in the middle.” Wolf’s last birthday I had to fill in the hole with icing so no one would notice. “And I’m the only one who can’t cook a side of beef to save my life.” Tears fill my eyes. My pot roast has become a running joke in our family. My last attempt was cooking one for Christmas in July two years ago and it broke Steve’s (my father-in-law) Black and Decker nine-inch electric carving knife. They threatened to use it in a game of rugby. Now every time we have a gathering, someone always asks if I brought the beef ball and everyone laughs as if it’s a great joke. “It always comes out so dry and tough. I don’t know what I’m doing wrong.”

  Jared reaches across and helps free my hair from its pillowed prison. Then he brushes a thumb across my cheek, his expression softening. “Babe. I’ll help you.” His hand drops to my shoulder and gives it a squeeze. “Between the both of us, we’ll get it done.”

  “I’m trying to argue with you here. Why won’t you let me?”

  His fingers travel slowly down my arm, leaving shivers in their wake. “It’s too early. And besides, you’re …”

  He trails off, hesitating. There’s a wealth of love in his expression, but there’s also uncertainty. “I’m what?”

  “You’re beautiful when you’re angry.”

  I should be happy he still thinks me beautiful, even now with my eyes puffy, hair wild, and my bitchy hormones coming out to play. My eyes well up. Again.

  “You okay?”

  “Fine,” I say on a queasy heave as I shove the covers off and roll to a seated position. Taking a deep tired breath, I rise to my feet with a groan. “I’m going for a surf.” It will accomplish two of my morning goals. One, strangle Casey, and two, ask him what I should get Jared for Christmas, though I should probably do the latter first.

  “Stay.”

  I turn my head with surprise at the request. Jared shifts over and slides a warm palm across one lacy-clad ass cheek. It skims around my belly as he shifts closer, dipping down, and down, sliding inside my knickers. His fingers meander south until they glide through the slick heat between my legs.

  A moan escapes me, my head tipping back.

  Things between us haven’t been ... easy. I’m worried. Three years is a long time to be trying for a baby. It’s hijacked our life and we’ve lost sight of each other along the way. The tether between us used to be tight. Now it’s loose and growing looser by the day. We still have our fun banter, but it feels like every interaction takes place at surface level, as if both of us are too scared to dive into the deep waters below.

  “You know, this would feel so much better if you lost these,” he says, his other hand tugging at the elastic of my underwear.

  “Are you trying to have your way with me?” I’m aiming for stern but my voice comes out breathless and weak. It’s been a while. Physically intimacy is problematic when you have a kid, but it’s even harder when there’s a bridge forming between you and neither can work out how to cross it.

  His thick finger circles my clit. “How can you tell?”

  “Oh, I …” I gasp when the hand tugging my underwear yanks them down, leaving them bunched around my upper thighs while his mouth finds my ass cheek and bites down. “God, I …”

  “You what?” I can hear the smirk on his lips.

  Jared knows I can’t form a single thought right now with his hands on me. His unshaven face scratches my skin and it feels delicious. I call it his ‘holiday’ face because he rarely shaves when he has time off from work. His holiday face feels so gooooood.

  “I … Ohhhhhh.”

  My moans are loud as he plays with me, and he shifts so he’s sitting on the edge of the bed at my back, his fingers rubbing and sliding inside me, his tongue teasing and flicking at my skin. It feels as if there are two of him working me over, and I’m gasping for air, overwhelmed.

  “Babe, fuck,” he mutters and groans. “I need you to sit back on my dick.”

  Yes. God, yes. It’s been too long since he’s needed me this way. Now. Hard and hot. Desperate. My vision blurs and I have to blink several times.

  Then his hands are suddenly gone and he’s muttering a soft, pained curse.

  I’m about to protest when I hear, “Daddy, what are you doing? Is mummy okay?”

  Fuck. Fuck.

  I scramble with my underwear, turning, my eyes landing on my son. His hair is golden brown and rumpled, overly long about his face, his police uniform creased, the shorts askew around his little hips. I want to scream my frustration at his untimely interruption, and I also want to squeeze his seriously cute face, his cheeks glowing pink from a hot summer sleep.

  “Mummy?”

  His cautious, worried little tone makes my insides melt like chocolate in the sun.

  “I’m fine, baby. I uh, just had a uh …” My eyes shift to Jared, down to his dick, where the sheet is doing a poor job of hiding his wonderfully rampant erection, and dart back to his face.

  He tosses a pillow onto his lap and rubs at his forehead. I’m not sure if he’s on the verge of tears or laughter. I’m going with tears because I want to weep right now too. The fleeting wisp of deeper intimacy we were creating seems to float away into nothing.

  “Mum had a cramp, little Wolf,” Jared tells our son. “That’s all. I was helping her ease the ache.”

  Oh boy. I am so not eased.

  “What’s a cramp?”

  “Well uh …” Jared rubs at the back of his neck.

  “I’ll leave you to explain,” I mutter and make a break for our private bathroom. I have a vibrator in the top drawer of the vanity. The toy has been getting quite the work out lately. I can shut the door, turn on the shower, and finish what he started. My husband seems to understand my intent in a split-second, grabbing my arm and halting my mad dash. Selfish bastard. He could at least let one of us have some relief.

  I’m forced to a standstill while Jared speaks. “It’s when your muscle gets all tight and hurts.”

  “Do I got muscles?”

  Jared nods at him, expression solemn. “Big ones.”

  Wolf nods as if his father was confirming his suspicions, bless his little heart. “Bigger than yours?”

  “Maybe. One day.”

  “Pop said I could be a hero too, like you.”

  “He said that?”

  Wolf nods, adjusting the crooked badge still pinned to his chest. “I did heard him says it to Uncle Travis. What’s a hero?”

  Jared swallows a visible lump of emotion. It’s been a big year for us. My husband, alongside Casey, has branched out a new sub-division of their business, the Bright Penny Foundation, which grants wishes to foster kids. It’s been like a snowball, gathering momentum faster than we can handle it. People are loving the idea, and everyone is wanting to jump on board and help. He’s been incredibly busy, working long hours. Next year we’ll have to hire more staff and take the charity nationwide.

  I’m so proud it makes me want to weep, even now, so I step forward and sweep Wolf up in my arms before my hormones have me bawling like a baby. His little hands grab on to my sleep shirt and he stares right into my eyes from an inch away.

  I answer for Jared. “Heroes are ordinary, everyday people who do extraordinary things. They make the world a better place.”

  Wolf plays with the ends of my hair, looking down at the dark brown strands as he speaks. “Can I be strordinary too? Like Dad?”

  “You can be whatever you want to be.”

  He nods, having heard that particular mantra from just about everyone in his immediate circle, which is a lot. Our circle is big and growing every day. “I’ll have my breakfast now.”

  The master has spoken. I carry my little long arm of the law downstairs while Jared finds his clothes. He jogs down shortly after us, chest bare and a long pair of boardshorts hanging low on his hips. I eyeball the whole area longingly before setting Wolf down on the kitchen counter. “What’s it gonna be?”

  His big brown eyes light up at the chance to choose. “P
ancakes.”

  Jared nudges me away. “I can do it. Go get your surf in.”

  “Thanks.” Getting on my tiptoes, I go to kiss his cheek. He turns his head at the last minute and his lips capture mine, soft and loving, and somehow sad. I sway a little.

  “I miss you,” he whispers.

  “I’m right here.”

  He shakes his head. “You know what I mean.”

  “My turn,” Wolf shouts.

  I give my son a quick kiss and grab the keys for the Hilux, not knowing what to say. My baby news won’t automatically bridge the widening gap between us. I’ve been scared to ask him what he’s feeling because what if … what if he resents me? A sickening pang hits me sharply as I walk away. What if we can’t get back what we had, baby or not?

  “Hey!” Jared calls out as I reach the door that connects the garage to the house. Twisting the handle, I turn my head. “Be safe.”

  There’s a warning in his eyes. A flash of fear. Be safe. He says it every time I leave the house without him. After years. After the shooting. Every time. Be safe.

  “Always.”

  I move through the door and shut it behind me. My wetsuit is hanging across the line inside the garage. I tug it up my legs and over my lacy bottoms, not bothering to put a swimsuit on. Shrugging off my sleep shirt, I toss it onto the passenger seat and put the top half of the wetsuit on. After yanking up the zipper, I’m in the car and zooming down the road in record time, my board already in the back and the beach only minutes away.

  I ease the Hilux in beside Marjorie and soon I’m on my board and paddling through the waves. Spying Casey sitting on his board, I make my way over. Reaching his side, I sit up and take a deep breath, my eyes on the sun as it climbs beyond the edge of the ocean. Already I’m calmer, my to-do list put to the back of my mind. Jared was right. We’ll get it done. Together. Just like we always do. And tonight we’ll talk and clear the air before the damage becomes too great to heal. I love my husband with all my heart. We’re going to make this work. We have to. Whatever it takes.