Pre-war: A War Series Novella

by Lynne, Nicole

  "Is this about Connor and Grace?" he asks, his thumb gliding over my jaw. I glare at him and he grins. "Oooh, so it is."

  "Why...Grace Kirkpatrick, Brandon? Really?"

  He throws his head back on a deep laugh. "That boy has got to pop his cherry soon, poss. It's not right."

  "Why are you always so gross?"

  He lets me go and lies back on my bed, folding his hands behind his head. "Not gross, poss. This is a simple fact. He's sixteen and a virgin. I'm pretty sure that goes against all the laws of nature." I open my mouth—"And before you say it, you're a girl. It's different. He doesn't want Grace, but there comes a point when you just got to get shot of the v card."

  "Well, if that's the case, maybe I should just go hand mine over to Davie Logan?"

  He sits bolt upright, a scowl on his face. "If that little fuck goes near you, I'm gonna break his knee caps."

  I roll my eyes. "Says the whore who will stab his dick in anything with a pulse? Polly, Heather, Nieve, Grace, Slutty Suzie—"

  "I did not sleep with Slutty Suzie...she just sucked my dick."

  "And now Connor can have your sloppy seconds, but heaven forbid I look at a guy."

  He tilts his head back and stares at the ceiling, letting out a long groan. "Jesus, fuck, poss. How can you not see that Connor is obsessed with you? Poor kid's been wandering around with his balls in his hand for years."

  I wrinkle my brow and stare at him. "He's my friend..."

  "Uh-huh. Because girls get upset when their 'friends' go on dates. Do you cry when Hope goes on a date? Please tell me you shed a little tear for me." He smirks.

  Heat flashes across my cheeks and I clench my jaw. "Fuck you."

  He laughs. "Aw, poss, I'm just helping you out." He shrugs.

  "Do you think I'm pretty?" I ask before I even realize what I've said and my cheeks instantly begin to burn, my heart thumping so hard I can hear it.

  A choked sound leaves him and he swipes a hand down his face. "Ah, poss, you can't ask me that."

  My pulse picks up and I'm mad at myself for sounding so pathetic. Brandon lifts his arms over his head and his shirt rides up enough that I'm staring at that deep V cut into his sides. I swallow and force my eyes away, reminding myself that Brandon is not the guy you give your heart to...

  "Don't give me that look! Of course I think you're pretty, so do half the guys in school. But it's you. You're my best friend."

  And even though that hurts, that is what I need to hear. I need to hear that I'm not Lola Stevens. I need to hear that I am only possum, and I scold myself for ever wanting to be more, for believing in those stupid fairytales and the butterflies in my stomach.

  I drop my gaze to the bed sheets, tracing the pattern of a flower with my index finger. Brandon sits up, and then his fingers are brushing my chin, forcing me to look at him. Those bright green eyes search mine as he takes a deep breath.

  "Don't think that I haven't thought about it, poss. Trust me, I have," he says on a cocky grin that has my stomach clenching.

  I look down at the sheets. I can't look at him now. He laughs and when I glance up, his gaze is fixed on my lips and the air seems to still. I can hear each heavy beat of my heart counting down the seconds. There's this pull between us, and I want it. I want to know what his lips would feel like on mine. And then his eyes close and his fingers tighten into fists. "Don't worry,” he whispers. “I know I'm not good enough for you. But Con is." His eyes open and touch every inch of my face, as though he were committing me to memory. His fingers gently brush over my cheekbone and he smiles. "I love you, possum."

  "Love you, too," I whisper.

  Without another word, he gets up and leaves the same way he came, through the window. And here I sit, wondering how much longer he'll be my lost boy, how much longer before my Peter Pan is climbing through someone else's window?

  **break**

  Hope's garden is littered with people from school. There's a bonfire going and everyone's already shitfaced. Nieve struts past, glaring at me. I swear to God, sometimes I'd like to just take her by that blonde ponytail and yank her head back a few good times.

  "Want a drink?"

  I turn around and Connor's standing right next to me holding out a wine cooler. "Oh, sure. Thanks." I peek around his shoulder. "Where's Brandon?"

  "Over there somewhere." He thumbs toward the patio where a group of guys are standing around, cheering on Brandon while he does a strawpedo with a bottle of whiskey.

  "Oh, he'll be on form tonight."

  "Yeah..." I glance over at Connor and he's just staring at me, all glassy eyed.

  "Are you drunk?"

  "What? No."

  "Well then," I take a step away from him. "Why are you acting weird?"

  "I'm not. Where's Hope?"

  "Over there." I point to the side of the garden where she's sitting, lip locked with Silas.

  "He seems like a good guy for her."

  I snort. "Yeah. He's a dirty, old pervert."

  "See. Perfect." Connor laughs. "You look pretty."

  "Thanks..."

  There's yelling from the side of the yard and Hope's dachshund, Bullet, comes scampering past us. Several of the rugby players come chasing after him with a party hat. "Come on, pooch. Join in the party."

  And now, we're just standing here in silence while a bunch of drunks attempt to put a party hat on an overweight sausage dog. "You really are pretty, Poppy." Connor smiles and my stomach flip-flops a little. I swallow. He swallows. The tension between us is uncomfortable but exciting, and just when I think maybe, if me and Connor did kiss—maybe it wouldn't ruin everything, Chloe McMasters comes strutting up in her platform wedges and short skirt.

  "Hey Con," she says. Stepping between us, she puts her back to me. "Not busy are you?"

  "Uh, I mean, I was talking to—"

  "You're so cute." She giggles. "And so muscular." I watch as she grabs a hold of his bicep and he flexes.

  Hope is with Silas still, Brandon's...I don't know where he is now, but most likely with some girl, and now Connor's preoccupied with this bimbo. And I just want to be alone, so I turn around, set my wine cooler down, and I walk down to the pier.

  The laughter and music from the party fade into the background as I make my way down the worn pathway. The boards on the pier creak underneath my feet and the water laps against the edge of the bank, and I wonder, why do I even care? Why do I care if Chloe likes Con, why do I care if Brandon's fucking Nieve? Why does it matter? It shouldn't. I don't care what Hope does, I don't go into a depression when she hangs out with Silas, so why, if Brandon and Connor are really only my friends, do I care? And if they aren't just friends...how do I get over that?

  25

  Brandon

  16 years old

  I spot Poppy sitting alone at the end of the pier, her shoes right beside her and her legs hanging over the edge. A slight breeze blows and catches her long dark hair. She doesn’t look up when I start down the rickety, wooden walkway, and she doesn’t say a word when I take a seat next to her.

  "Why you out here all by yourself, possum?" I fold my knees up to my chest.

  "Don't know." She shrugs, dipping her toes in the dark water.

  "Connor was looking for you—well, you and the Caramel Nibbles." I laugh and she rolls her eyes, but refuses to look at me. Those stormy grey eyes of hers just stare out over the water.

  "I'm sure Nieve is looking for you." There's an edge to her voice, and I try not to smile. I have spent years watching Poppy, wanting her, making sure no one else gets her, while always knowing that she's too special for me to ever do anything with her. But I can't pretend that her jealousy doesn't make me happy. It does. It means that even though I will never be good enough for her—she thinks I am. Poppy Turner wants me, the traveler kid with nothing to offer. It shouldn't mean anything, but it's everything to me because I love her.

  "Well, she can keep looking," I say. She tilts her face towards me, and I can't help but glance at her
lips before I tear my gaze away. Damn it. This is getting harder and harder with her.

  "I saw you kiss her again the other week." She blushes. "She's pretty."

  "She's alright." I scoot a little closer to her and wrap my arm around her shoulder, drawing circles with my fingertip on her bare arm. "Wouldn't be jealous, would you, poss?"

  "Jealous of what? And stop calling me that."

  I laugh. She only tells me not to call her possum when she's really pissed. "Of me kissing her."

  "I don't care who you kiss."

  "You don't?"

  "No," she says with a sigh. "You've probably got mouth gonorrhea or something."

  I laugh and pinch her side. She jerks away from me, giggling. "My little possum is jealous."

  "Would you shut up?" She turns to face me, and she's so damn close, her lips barely a breath away from mine. Her lips part and I lock onto the movement, wondering whether she'd taste like sweet like candy, the way I've always imagined she tastes. She closes her eyes and her breath hitches slightly.

  "I'd kiss you, too, if you'd let me..." The words leave my lips before I can think about it. I'm drunk, my head swimming in whiskey, and I can't talk myself out of wanting her right now.

  I brush her thick hair away from her neck. She trembles when my fingers graze her skin. Just one taste. I want to know what it's like to kiss her. Just once. Leaning in, I wrap my hand around the back of her neck, sweeping my thumb over her jaw as I press my lips to her. They are soft and gentle, everything about her reminding me that she's delicate and perfect. I brush my tongue against hers and fight back a groan. God, she's fucking everything—every thing I'll never have.

  I tear away from her. "Fuck..." I stand up, pacing up and down the pier for a few seconds with the taste of her still on my tongue. Her wide eyes meet mine and I clench my fists. Damn it. Without another word, I turn tail and walk away. I need to get away from her. I need to drink some whiskey, smoke some weed, and go fuck Nieve so I can remember my place. I'm Poppy's friend. I refuse to fuck that up.

  26

  Poppy

  16 years old

  He walked off.

  He kissed me and walked off. I wanted to shout at him, chase after him...but, I know Brandon well enough to know it wouldn't have mattered. I sit, staring at my toes as they disappear beneath the water again, and I honestly have no idea how I feel.

  That kiss was everything I imagined it would be: brutal and raw and wrong on every level. I can't handle him, and I know it. It was just a kiss...but it felt like so much more. My vision blurs behind tears and then I hear Connor shouting for me. I quickly blink those tears away and clear my throat.

  "Down here," I yell, and a few seconds later, Connor's walking down the pier.

  "Why are you out here by yourself?" he asks as he takes a seat behind me. "Aren't you cold?" he opens his jacket and wraps it around me, pulling me between his legs and hugging me to his chest.

  "Just..." I lean my head back against him, the warm smell of his cologne making me feel safe and secure, the way he always has. "Just tired, I guess."

  "Tired, well, you want to go home? I'm bored anyway."

  "Sure."

  He stands and holds out his hand to help me to my feet before he bends down and picks up my shoes. "And please don't ever leave me with Chloe McMasters again, God, she's annoying."

  I can't help but laugh because I'm glad he thinks she's annoying. "She is pretty though, Con."

  He wrinkles his nose. "You think? She's too blonde for me."

  I loop my arm through his and we walk back to Nieve's backyard. Brandon's got some tiny brunette shoved against the outside of the house, his hands up her skirt and his mouth on her neck. "Well, don't guess I need to ask if he's ready to go, huh?" Connor chuckles.

  Swallowing, I force a smile while I fight the knot kinking my stomach. "No. Guess not."

  Con pats him on the back as we pass by them. "See you later, mate."

  Brandon moves his face away from her neck long enough to nod at Connor. His eyes touch mine for a second and I look away, pulling Con with me. And we leave. I leave the party with the boy who owns one part of my heart, leaving the other half of it behind, knowing it's for the best.

  27

  Brandon

  17 years old

  I throw back the shot of whiskey and smile at the girl dancing in front of me. I can't remember her name but she's got a bright pink streak in her blonde hair and a dress short enough to almost show her panties. I'm game. She steps forward and brushes her finger over my bruised jaw.

  "Does it hurt?" she shouts over the music.

  I shrug one shoulder. "Maybe you should kiss it better?"

  Smiling, she leans in and kisses my jaw before she makes her way down my neck. I groan when he warm tongue touches my neck. They make it too easy, they really do. I reach for my beer and my split knuckles reopen, welling with blood at the movement. Last night was the hardest fight I've ever had, but it was worth it because I'm now the bare-knuckle boxing champion of Dublin. My dad finally looked at me like he was proud. Only now, it's too late. I don't want or need his pride.

  Pink slides her hand under my shirt and rakes her nails across my stomach. My hand slips beneath the edge of her skirt just as I catch sight of Poppy across the room. I freeze momentarily. Some guy is trying to talk to her, but her eyes never leave mine. I stare at her until I can't look anymore. I hate that every time I glance at her there’s this sadness in her eyes that never used to exist. I think I put that there because I was selfish. I made her think that I could give her something that I can't. I didn't need to convince her I was good enough for her because she's always seen me through rose tinted glasses. But worse, I almost convinced myself that I could be good enough. Good enough for her. For my possum. And now I have to prove to us both that I'm not. I will always be her best friend, but until she remembers that I am not the fairy-tale ending, I have to take a step back. No matter how much it kills me to be away from her. My eyes flick to Connor as he moves beside her. She looks at him, her lips stretching into a wide smile, and my stomach clenches tight with jealousy. God, I wish I could be like Connor. I wish I could be deserving. This is a form of torture all its own—loving her but staying away for fear of ruining everything. The fact is, I need her. I can't not have Poppy in my life, so if I must hurt her now to keep her in it, I will.

  "I'm going to get a drink. Be right back," Pink whispers in my ear. I nod and she disappears. Inhaling, I walk over to Connor and Poppy. They're still my best friends, no matter what, and they always will be.

  "Hey," Connor says, narrowing his eyes at my banged-up face. "I hope the other guy looks worse, champ." He grins.

  "Yeah, he does."

  "I heard you won,” Poppy says. “Congratulations.” And there it is again, that sadness in her voice.

  "Hey, Con!" Matthew Anderson comes over and slaps him on the back. "Come on, Cap, we need you for beer pong." Connor groans and I have to laugh— Captain of the rugby team for three years and yet, he's never gotten the hang of the obligatory drinking games. He sighs and walks off with Matt, leaving me standing here with Poppy.

  "I'm sorry," I say. I don't even know what I'm apologising for, but I feel like I always have something to be sorry for when it comes to her.

  She doesn’t look at me. "Don't be." She takes a deep breath and shakes her head before glancing up at me. "You can't run forever, Brandon."

  "I'm not running. I'm standing right here, poss." We haven't spoken about this. It's been months, and we've both just carried on like nothing happened, whilst at the same time, everything changed.

  "That girl," she thumbs in the direction Pink walked off in, "all those other girls, the drinking..." she shrugs, “that is running Brandon, and it won't change anything."

  I swipe my hand down my face and step forward, bracing my hand against the wall beside her head as I lean down to bring my face closer to hers. "I hate that you look at me like that. I hate that I make you sad." I squ
eeze my eyes shut and inhale the scent of her strawberry shampoo. I can almost remember the feel of her lips on mine. It's cruel, really.

  "I'm sad for you because I don't think you will ever let anyone love you."

  "I love you, poss. And you love me. Like this, as best friends. I'm sorry I ruined that."

  Her eyes close and she slowly nods. "You didn't ruin it, you just changed it."

  "I don't want this to change." I release a long breath. "I need you too much." I can fuck my way through countless girls, but it will always be her bedroom window that I want to climb through when my dad's a dick. It will only ever be her and Connor who truly know me, and what she doesn't see now is that makes her worth a thousand Nieves and Pinks.

  A sympathetic smile shapes her lips. "Okay." I'm afraid she doesn't think it can ever be the same.

  "Promise we'll always be friends?" I hold out my little finger to her.

  Her eyes well with tears, her nostrils flare, and I hate myself for doing this to her. She links her finger with mine and smiles. "Always and forever."

  I pull her against my chest, wrapping my arms around her. "Don't think I didn't see Adam Daniels sniffing around," I mumble.

  She punches me in the chest and I grunt. "You're a dick."

  I laugh and kiss her forehead before I release her. Connor comes back, wrapping his arm around her shoulder. She looks at him, and there it is—the way she used to look at me, as if he's a life raft in a stormy sea. But that's the difference between me and Con, he’s the raft and I am the storm. He'll rescue her, where I will drown her. I step away because I know I have to. I know I need to.