Pre-war: A War Series Novella

by Lynne, Nicole

  "I'll catch you guys later." I turn and spot a brunette in a pair of tight shorts. I need a distraction.

  28

  Poppy

  17 years old

  It's two in the morning and I lie on my bed, staring at the window, waiting, but I know he won't come. He hasn't climbed through my window for months, not since that night. He's no longer my lost boy. Closing my eyes, I try to reason through it all. Brandon will always be my friend. We still talk. We still hang out, but now there's this unsettled tension, the knowledge that something happened. After that night, everything changed. I stopped being the person he came to, and now I don't know where he goes. There are some lines friends should never cross...but I thought we were closer than that.

  The sense of loneliness eats away at me as I imagine him in bed with some other girl, holding her, making her feel as though she's important to him. I know he still loves me, but right now, it's hard to believe. Eventually, I pick up my phone and type out a text to Connor: Can you come over? .

  I'm nearly asleep when I hear a tap on my window. Adrenaline buzzes through my body and I toss the covers off. When I pull the curtains back, Connor's hanging from the trellis. I open the window. He grunts as he climbs through the narrow gap and stumbles to the floor.

  "Bran makes that look way easier than it is," he whispers as he stands up.

  I nod. "Yeah, he does." I swallow around the lump in my throat. I don't even know why I'm so sad.

  He narrows his eyes, studying me as he sweeps his fingers across my cheek. "What's wrong?"

  I shrug and fight the tears building in my eyes because I would never tell Connor. "I don't know," I whisper.

  "Poppy..."

  "Just," I inhale, "I just feel alone, I guess."

  A small smile tears at his lips and he wraps his arms around me, pulling me against him and into his safety, into what's familiar. "Don't feel that way."

  I cling to him for a moment, breathing in that warm scent of his, resting my cheek against his hard chest and listening to the rhythmic thump of his heart. "It was sweet of you to come."

  "I'll always be here for you. No matter if it is two in the morning." He glances at the door. "It's locked, right?"

  I laugh. "Yes."

  "Just don't fancy your dad slitting my throat or anything."

  Rolling my eyes, I step away from him and fall back on the bed. "He wouldn't..."

  Connor stands next to my bed, watching as I slip underneath the covers. He looks so uncomfortable, so uncertain. I flip the comforter back and pat the bed. "Stay."

  He drags in a deep breath before he nods and kicks off his shoes. He grabs the back of his shirt, tugs it over the top of his head, and tosses it to the side of the room. I can't help it, my eyes trace over his broad chest, his defined abs, his arms. His blond hair's a mess from the way he carelessly pulled his shirt off, and my heart's doing that stupid pitter-patter thing I can't seem to get control of. My stomach kinks with nerves when he slips under the sheets and turns to face me.

  "You know you'll always have me. No matter what. I’ll never leave you." His hand sweeps through my hair and I close my eyes. Connor has always had the ability to bring comfort with a simple touch, a word. His fingers trace along my jaw, leaving a soft heat in their wake, and when I open my eyes, I'm staring into Connor's blue ones.

  Brandon—I'll always love him, but he was my distraction from this. From Con. He was the wild thing you want to chase, you wish to capture and tame. He was chaos and mischief, and that pull he creates, it's electrifying and hard. Terrifying at times. And that, that is why I didn’t see this for so long because the pull between Connor and I, it's subtle and innocent and pure. Brandon is an inferno, and Connor is a haven.

  His warm breath blows across my lips and I can almost taste him. His fingers trail over to my chin, gripping it gently as he lifts my face closer to his. My breathing grows ragged—my heart slams against my chest as heat courses through my body. And, without thought, without hesitation, I press my lips to his. His hands cup the back of my head and my arms find their way around his neck.

  And it's perfect.

  It feels like this is how it always should have been. It feels like a love story.

  29

  Connor

  17 years old

  I squint against the sun pouring in through the window, and when I inhale, I smell strawberries. I bolt upright in the bed—Poppy's bed, my pulse going haywire. She's asleep, her dark hair fanned out on the pillow.

  The disorientation lifts and I flop back on the mattress next to her. There's a knock on the door and Poppy stirs, mumbling something incoherently.

  "Poppy, I'm going into town," her dad says through the door and my stomach knots. Fuck, if he tries to open the door I'm going to get beat. "You need anything, sweetheart?"

  "No, love you," she says, her voice raspy with sleep.

  "Love you, too." And I listen as his footfalls disappear down the hallway.

  This is it. We kissed. And now...I turn and look at her. She smiles at me and my pulse starts thumping around like some jacked-up rabbit. "Hey," I say.

  "Hey."

  Silence. She clears her throat. I clear my throat. I just have to do it. Say it. Get it over with, like ripping a fucking Band-Aid off some disgusting scab. Over and done. I turn to face her and those dark grey eyes of hers are staring right back at me. Fuck. I swallow again. "So...you kissed me..."

  Exhaling, she rolls onto her back and faces the ceiling. "Sorry."

  "I want to kiss you again,” I say. She keeps staring at the ceiling, chewing on her bottom lip. Shit, maybe I shouldn't have said that. I nervously reach across the bed and grab her hand, tugging on it. "Come here."

  When she turns over, there are tears in her eyes, and I have no idea what the hell to do. I slowly let go of her hand and reach up to cup her cheek, wiping the tear that just fell away with my thumb. "You can't cry."

  "I'm not," she smiles.

  "I love you, Poppy. I've been in love with you for as long as I can remember."

  And now the tears really start falling. Wrapping my arm around her, I drag her to me and lay my lips over hers. They are so soft and full and everything I've ever dreamed they would be. Just a tender kiss. One short kiss and I pull away.

  "And I've always loved you," she whispers, tracing her fingertip over my mouth.

  My heart clenches in my chest and I grin so wide my face hurts. "I feel like this can't be real."

  A soft smile touches her lips as she leans in to kiss me, her small hand cupping my cheek. She's everything I've always wanted, everything I will ever want. It feels like my whole world has started and ended with her since that day on the playground. I sweep her hair back and gently brush my tongue against hers, fighting back a groan at how perfect she is. I'm going to make Poppy Turner mine.

  * * *

  I open the door and find Brandon on the doorstep. He's wearing his football shorts and a tank, and he's covered in sweat, I guess from running.

  "Hey." I push the door open wider and walk back inside. My ma has gone to town, so the house is empty.

  He closes the door behind him and follows me to the kitchen. "I'm making a sandwich. Want one?"

  "Sure. Thanks." He jumps up and sits on the kitchen side, watching me. "Why are you so damn happy today?" I shrug and his eyes go wide. "Wait. Did you finally get laid?" I drop my gaze to the floor and he laughs, slapping his hand over his thigh. "You did! Who was it? Chloe?"

  I rub a hand over the back of my neck and I can feel my cheeks heating. What if this changes things? The three of us have always been friends. "No, I...I kissed Poppy." I stumble over the words and then slowly lift my gaze. He's gone still, the smile slipping from his face.

  "Poppy?" he barely whispers her name.

  "It just happened. I went over there last night, and..."

  "You slept in her bed?" I nod and he swallows hard, fixing his eyes on the kitchen tile. I've never stayed in Poppy's bed, but Bran used to all the
time because he couldn't go home. I think he felt bad staying here too much.

  "You know I've been in love with her since forever."

  “Yeah.” He hops down off the counter, slapping me on the back. "I'm happy for you, mate." He smiles, but it doesn't quite touch his eyes. Maybe he's worried that things will change now, but Poppy will always be the girl I love, and Brandon will always be the brother I never had.

  "I think I'm gonna ask her on a date."

  He nods. "Good, that's good. Yeah, you should take her out, do all that shit girls love."

  "How would you know?" I joke. "When was the last time you went on a date?"

  He shakes his head. "I don't date, Con. I'm the bad boy, remember? You're the good one."

  I hand him a plate with a sandwich on and he takes it. "Nah, you just put that shit on to get in more girl's knickers."

  He snorts. "Whatever."

  "I wanted to talk to you about something else as well."

  "Oh?" I follow him into the living room and sit on the sofa next to him. He turns on the TV, pulling up a boxing match.

  I take a deep breath. "I'm going to join the army."

  "What?” His eyes snap to mine and he frowns. “Why?"

  "I don't know. I just feel like I need to do it. I want to do it." He sighs and drags a hand over his face. "Okay, fine. Where do we sign up?"

  "We?"

  He rolls his eyes. "Jesus fuck, Con, I'm not letting you go into the army on your own."

  "Brandon, you hate all forms of discipline."

  He grins. "Ain't that the truth. But I haven't got anything better to do. What the hell would I do if I'm not looking out for your arse?"

  "Bran, you don't have to do this."

  "Remember that night when you asked me to teach you how to fight?"

  I nod.

  "I promised you I'd always have your back."

  Brandon may be a hellion and a wrong'n, as ma says, but he's the best friend anyone ever had. "Shit, so we're really gonna do this? Together?"

  He grins. "Same way it's always been."

  30

  Poppy

  18 years old - six months later

  Connor slams me against the wall right beside the front door, his lips on my neck as his hand travels up my thigh. "Con, stop..." I feign to push him away.

  "Just a quickie. You know that damn skirt does it for me." His fingers brush along the inside of my thigh and every bit of me feels like it's on fire. My muscles go weak. I want to give into him. "Come on," he teases, and I groan. "Don't make me beg..." He gets this pleading look on his face, that look he knows will make me give into him.

  Connor and I just happened. One day we were friends with a crush on each other and then one day...we weren't. When I think back on it all, it was always him, we were always fate. He's always been there for me, no matter what. From the day he came up to me on the playground, there was something special between us, and really, what purer love is there than the one between two best friends?

  "People will be here any second," I say on a moan as his finger slips underneath the hem of my thong.

  He bites my neck and then there's a knock at the door. "See," I sigh, pushing his hand out from under my skirt.

  He steps away from me, adjusting himself as I open the door. Hope is standing on the doorstep, shouting at Silas. "Just bring it in, would you?" He groans and disappears behind the back of the SUV. She turns around and looks at me, narrowing her eyes. "You two weren't just fucking, were you? You look all flustered." She steps inside and shoves a sparkly blue bag at Connor. "Here, that one's for you. It's a pocket pussy." She grins.

  "Thanks for the surprise..." He peeks inside the bag and sticks his finger in. "It feels so...fleshy."

  "And why are you giving that to Connor and not Brandon?"

  "You can Facetime him and he can pretend it's you, and let's be honest, Brandon's going to be shoving his nasty cock down every hooker's throat between here and London."

  "Wow..."

  Silas comes around the back of the car, dragging a barrel with him.

  "What the..."

  "It's all I could think to get the cunt," Hope says. "That or a prostitute and I wouldn't dare do that to a prostitute."

  "A barrel of whiskey. He'll die."

  "Nah." She smacks me on the back. "He'll be fine. He's Irish."

  "And his liver's already pickled, babe," Connor says, wrapping his arms around my waist.

  Silas totes the wooden barrel over the threshold and sets it down by the kitchen. "Hey, Poppy. Hey, Con." He takes a breath and leans against the barrel.

  "Hey..." And it hits me. After tomorrow, nothing will be the same. Connor and Brandon will be gone, and since I first moved into this very house, they are all I've ever known.

  "Oh, shit." Hope sighs before she wraps her arms around me, tugging me away from Connor and hugging me so tight I can barely breath. "Don't get all sad."

  I smile and pull away from her. "I'm fine." Connor's hand touches my lower back, brushing over my hip as he pulls me into his side.

  Hope glances over my shoulder and glares. "I bought you whiskey, cunt," she says.

  I turn around and see Brandon leaning against the hallway door, a sly grin on his face. "For me? I think I might get emotional, ginge."

  She snorts. "Fuck off, pikey."

  Silas slaps Brandon on the back and then disappears inside the house with Hope in tow. Brandon watches me for a second, his hands shoved deep in the pockets of his jeans.

  "Don't be sad, poss."

  I shake my head and try to smile. "I'm not."

  "Lies." Sighing, he pushes off the wall and pulls me against his broad chest. "It's just six weeks, and then we'll be back."

  When he lets me go, I step back against Connor's warm body. His lips press into my hair and I close my eyes. "I'll miss you guys. That’s all," I say.

  "Babe,” Connor hugs me, “we'll talk to you every day."

  "Well, unless I'm busy," Brandon says on a grin, crotch thrusting at me.

  "Ew, you're so gross."

  He laughs and backs away from me, lifting his bottle of beer to his lips. "But until then, poss, we have to party, and there's a whole barrel of whiskey out there needs drinking." He goes back into the kitchen and I roll my eyes. Brandon never changes.

  "We’ll talk every day," Connor murmurs in my ear.

  The thing is, it won't be the same. They'll come back for a weekend and then be gone again. And that will be my life, over and over. Weeks without them, days with them, when it's always been the exact opposite. I turn around and bury my face in Connor's hard chest, sucking in his smell. The world is made up of so many people, but these two...they are my world. "I just wish you hadn't done it," I whisper. "I hate this."

  "This will be good, babe. You'll see." Connor could have had his pick of any career, any university, but he chose to join the army. And of course, Brandon signed right up with him because if Connor's going to have to fight, Brandon will always be at his side. It's the way they are. His hand cups my cheek as he leans in, kissing me gently.

  "You're leaving me all alone."

  "Never." His bright blue eyes lock with mine and my heart skitters in my chest when he smiles.

  When I glance up, Hope’s balancing on a chair. "Don't let me fall," she tells Silas. He grumbles something as he hands her a banner. He helps her tack it over the entrance to the kitchen. It reads: Sad to see Connor go. Good riddance to the cunt.

  "Hope, really?" I ask. Connor snorts under his breath.

  "Aw," she says jumping down from the chair, "you know I have a love-hate thing for him. Just wouldn't seem right if I was nice to him, you know?"

  There's another knock at the door and Hope rushes past me to open it. "Come on in." She steps to the side and a group of people walk inside.

  And we party. We laugh. Brandon gets shit-faced drunk and by the end of the night he's wandered off with some random girl, and then it's just me and Connor.

  We leave the me
ss and go to my bedroom door. Connor strips out of his shirt, stumbling before he falls onto the bed. "I think I drank too much of that whiskey," he says. I laugh and climb onto the bed, crawling next to him. "Does that mean you have whiskey dick?" Biting my bottom lip, I straddle him.

  "Babe, I could never get whiskey dick with you." He sits up, slides his hands beneath my shirt, and tugs it over my head.

  He presses his lips to mine and I wrap my arms around his neck, in a desperate bid to be as close to him as possible. "I love you," he says.

  "I love you, too."

  The way I love him is so untainted, so pure. It is a love of necessity because without him, I have no purpose. And so, I kiss him as though I may never kiss him again.

  ***break***

  Bang.

  I sit straight up in bed, clutching the comforter to my chest when I realize I’m naked.

  "Shit, poss. Put those away would you?"

  I can’t help but smile, because I never thought my lost boy would come through that window again.

  "You fuckface," Connor grumbles next to me. "Use the door."

  Brandon groans and pulls his shirt over his head, tossing it to me. "I'm not gonna find a used Johnny on the floor over here am I?"

  "Who the hell throws used Johnnies on the floor?" I say, pulling his shirt over my head. It smells of cigarettes and whiskey. It smells like Brandon.

  "I mean, why wouldn't you? Just pull it off and toss it, let your willy breath." Brandon smirks.

  Connor rolls over, pulling me back down onto his warm chest. "Still shocked that fucker wears one,” he groans. “That's a miracle all on its own."

  "Thought I'd climb in through your window one last time, poss, for old time’s sake and all that shit." He falls on the floor and I toss a pillow to him. "You were always like my safe haven, you and Con both." He sighs and my throat tightens. Tears burn my eyes as I choke back a sob.