War Hope: War Series Book Two

by Nicole Lynne

  Another rustle. "Sorry, dropped the phone. I need your help. Work called me. Can you have Patrick for a few hours?"

  I really just want to get her off the phone so I can sleep off this damn hangover. "Sure."

  "Thank you! I'll drop him round in half an hour." Shit, I am not telling her I'm at Finn's.

  "I'm not home,” I blurt.

  She pauses. "Where are you?" Think fast.

  "I don't fucking know." Pretty standard answer.

  She sighs in exasperation. "Jesus, Hope. Tell me he wore a condom."

  I lower my hand and glance to the side, allowing my eyes to play over Finn's back. "Uh, I have to go. Make it an hour." I hang up and lift the duvet. Oh my god. I'm only wearing my thong. Fuck all the things. Why do I fucking drink? Jesus. Did I fuck Finnley? It doesn't feel like I went to pound town but damn, maybe he's just hung like a squirrel. Shit, I always thought Finn would be hung. Wait, I'd remember that shit. I mean, even when I'm borderline comatose I still have vague memories of some guy thrusting his way home. Nothing. I got nothing.

  I sit up, clutching the duvet to my chest. "Did we uh...?"

  I feel the bed dip as he stands and groans. "Jesus, fuck no," he croaks. Honestly, I'm a little offended at the way he just said that.

  "Just checking." I hold my hands up and his gaze snaps to the ceiling. He may be the strong a silent type, but he can't hide the tent going on in his boxers.

  "Hope, can you keep a hold of the duvet,” he huffs, rubbing over his face, “please."

  I look down and roll my eyes, pulling the duvet back over the girls. "Are you sure?" I ask on a smirk. "You look pretty happy to see me, Finnley."

  Without a word, he turns away and walks to the bathroom, slamming the door behind him. God, he's so serious. I climb out of the bed, spotting my dress crumpled in the floor. I grab it and pull it over my head, turning around and catching my reflection in the full-length mirror. I look like a crazy alcoholic cat lady. My make-up is smudged down my face. My hair is sticking up in every direction, giving me that dragged-through-a-hedge-backwards look. I slide my shoes on, hopping down the hallway as I go and stumbling into the wall. My shoe comes off. I lean over to fix it and my forehead bounces off something, causing me to stagger back a step before landing on my arse. When I glance up, Finn is standing in front of me with a towel wrapped around his waist. There are a few stray droplets of water clinging to his skin and I watch them trickle down his abs. On. By. One.

  "Still drunk?" he asks.

  Dick drunk maybe. Cockstruck? Fuck knows. "No. I'm late." I hold my hand up and he just stares at me for a second. "Help me up you un-chivalrous prick."

  He lends me his hand and yanks me to my feet, that smirk on his face growing deeper by the second. Cunt. Laughing, he brushes past me and goes back into his room. To get dressed I guess. Good, put some damn clothes on. Fucking waltzing around in his damn towel with his ugly arse body on display. Fuck him and his stupid abs. I toss my hair over my shoulder and head to the kitchen in search of water.

  "I'm going, Finn!" I shout. Nothing. Of course. Huffing, I storm back to his bedroom and shove the door open. "Fuck-face, I'm leaving."

  "Okay,” He glances at me and shrugs. “I heard you."

  "You know, Finnley, most people respond. Bye. I had a great time. Thanks for the naked spoon..."

  And the scowl is back. "I didn't ask you to spoon me."

  "So you're calling spoon rape?" I swear, there's a slight smile trying to work its way across his lips.

  "You're ridiculous." And with that he walks back out of his room and down the hall.

  I follow him. "Fine. I'm going. Bye!" I wait, waving my hand towards him. Nothing. "Fuck my life. You are

  hopeless," I say, opening the front door and leaving.

  I’ve barely thrown my bag down in my apartment before I’m in the kitchen making coffee. I press start on the coffee machine before closing my eyes on a groan. My head is pounding like a marching band, and there's the slight after taste of shame and lost dignity on my tongue. I jump in the shower before Poppy gets here because god knows, I can't be tainting her child with my wild ways.

  I do a quick rinse and hop out, drying myself off and grabbing clothes on my way to the kitchen for that fucking coffee. She knocks just as I'm tugging a tank top over my head.

  I open the door and she pushes past, forcing me to step back. "Sure. Come in." Jesus, my fucking head.

  "Are you sure you don't mind having him?" Poppy asks. Oh god. The thought of dealing with that screaming ball of hell—joy. I mean joy. "Work asked me to cover a shift and they're desperate."

  "Uh-huh. Yep. Sure," I mumble. She starts talking, going on about bottles and other shit. I can barely focus over the pounding in my head. Finally, she hugs me and kisses my cheek.

  "You're a star. Thank you so much!" She kisses Patrick, whose still in his pram, and then she leaves, closing the door behind her.

  I glance at him on my way to the kitchen to make my coffee. He’s sucking on a pacifier and seems content enough. I don’t bother to add milk or sugar to my coffee. I just down it as though it were a gift from God himself, and it’s then, as I stare into the empty coffee cup that I finally realise the gravity of my situation. I tentatively glance inside the pram and Patrick is looking at me, his bright green eyes focusing on my face. He's still sucking on his pacifier, waving his little hands in the air. I take his bag off the back of the pram and rifle through it, looking for a note, some kind of instructions, anything. Shit.

  I leave him in his pram because if I pick him up, I guarantee he'll shit himself. Something about my presence seems to encourage that child's bowel movements.

  I suck down another cup of coffee and email my dad. And Patrick is now sleeping in his pram. No shit. No tears. I tidy up the apartment, thinking maybe it’s all going to be okay and then he starts. The terrible screeching is like a fire alarm going off whilst somebody fires a gun...at my face. I go through everything I see Poppy do. I feed him. I change him and he doesn't even piss on me. I sing to him even though I sound like a dying hyena, but he doesn’t stop. His face is all red and splotchy, big crocodile tears are forever running down his cheeks. After an hour of it, my head is killing me. My nerves are shot to shit and I wonder if this is how Finn feels about noise. I call Poppy's number three times and it goes straight to voicemail. Why me? Of anyone she could have called, she called me, the most child inept person on the face of the earth. Shit. That's it…

  I strip the pram down until it becomes a car seat and then I hoist the baby bag over my shoulder and carry Patrick down to my car. He screams the entire way to Finn's apartment and by the time I get there, I'm ready to leave him in a ditch somewhere. Okay, not really, but fuck me, he's a whiny little thing.

  I bang on Finn's door and am about to use my key when the door swings open to a shirtless Finn. One of his hands is braced against the door frame and coffee mug is clutched in the other.

  "Hope," he says, his brow wrinkling when he glances at Patrick. I lift the car seat, using my knee to hoist it higher.

  "Take it," I snap. Finn’s fingers wrap around the handle and he glances from Patrick’s squalling face to me. I shoulder past him and go straight to the kitchen in search of more coffee and an Aspirin. Hell, perhaps I should just get back on the wine at this point. I can never have a child. I'd be a raging alcoholic within days. I find the Aspirin on the counter, pour a cup of coffee, and swallow the pill. Leaning against the kitchen counter, I rub over my temples. And then I realise, the noise has stopped. Blissful silence reigns over Finn's apartment and I tentatively poke my head around the kitchen door half expecting Finn to have taken the little hellion out. But no. Finn is on the sofa with Patrick clutched to his bare chest. A smile touches Finn's lips, and I'm not sure I've ever seen him smile like that. Patrick’s cheek is sweetly pressed to Finn's shoulder and he's sucking his pacifier rhythmically.

  "You got him to stop," I say, lingering near the kitchen. I don’t want to move at th
is point because I’m afraid I’ll break whatever weird spell Finn has going on.

  He looks up at me, placing his large hand over Patrick's tiny back. "He just wanted to be held." I glance at the floor, feeling embarrassed.

  "I'm not good with children,” I say. “I don't know what possessed Poppy to leave him with me. I think she was desperate.”

  "It takes practice," he says. I watch as he lifts Patrick away from his chest and smiles at him. I've never been one of those girls who's mad for a baby, but Jesus, my ovary might have twinged just now.

  Finn’s biceps bulge as he lifts Patrick into the air. He smiles at him and that smile transforms Finn's entire face.

  "You're good with him," I say, grinning myself. “And so, I’m not leaving.”

  “It’s fine,” he says.

  Hours later and Patrick has yet to have another breakdown. Finn is the fairy-fucking-godmother in this situation, and honestly, I've never seen him look as happy as he seems to be around Patrick.

  At four o'clock, my phone rings. Relief washes over me when Poppy's name flashes over the screen. I can barely look after myself, let alone a child.

  "Thank fuck," I say when I pick up the phone.

  "What? Why? Where are you?" she says in a rush, panic lacing her voice. "I'm at your apartment and you aren't here."

  "No shit.” I roll my eyes. “I'm at Finn's with Patrick." There's a beat of silence. "Want me to bring him to you?"

  "No, uh, I'll come get him," she says.

  I glance at Finn, watching him rock Patrick. "You sure?"

  "Yeah. Be there soon." She hangs up and I turn to Finn.

  "Poppy's going to come and pick him up," I say. His face doesn't change, but I spot the slight tightening of his shoulders. "You okay?"

  He nods, plastering a smile on his face for Patrick. "I'm fine," he says, never taking his eyes off that baby.

  "Okay." I turn away and go to the kitchen, leaving him to it. He's calm, happy...so I let him have his moment before Poppy takes Patrick home.

  15

  Finn

  Patrick's asleep in my arms and I can't stop looking at him. I never cared much about holding babies before I had Lydia—actually, I wouldn’t hold them because they looked like they’d break too easily, but damn, did I love to hold her. That is a feeling like nothing else in the world—cradling a tiny little person in your arms, knowing you helped create it, knowing that they will depend on you to help them grow and learn and survive. I stare down at him. Brandon never knew what that felt like. I'll never know what it feels like again. Tears threaten my eyes, but I fight them back.

  "You're a baby whisperer,” Hope sits next to me on the sofa. “I swear. I watched him once when Poppy was showering and he wouldn't stop wailing. I tried everything....he hasn't cried once with you. You'd think you knew what you were doing," Hope says with a smile. And the thing is, I do know what I'm doing but no one knows that. Lydia is a secret I keep because it's too painful, too shameful for me to disclose to anyone. Brandon didn't even know, and he is the closest thing I've had to a best friend since before the war.

  There's a knock on the door and Partick’s eyes pop wide.

  “Oh shit, I hope that’s Poppy.” Hope rushes to open the door, and I swallow, attempting to prepare myself for the emotions seeing Poppy is going to have. I shove it all down into that dark place, burying it alive. The door swings open and Poppy walks in. She looks thinner than I remember...and tired. She glances at Patrick bundled up in my arms and smiles.

  "You look like a natural, Finn," she says as she goes to take him from me. "Thanks for watching him."

  "Hey,” Hope says, “you look at him like he did all the work.”

  Poppy laughs. "Come here, Paddy. Mommy missed you." She kisses him on his chubby cheek and he makes that little raspberry noise babies are pros at making. I want to hug her, but I don't know if I should.

  "How have you been, Poppy?" I ask.

  Nodding, she adjusts Patrick on her hip and he grabs at her long brown hair. "Good. We've been good, haven't we?" She glances at the baby and he squeals, kicking his fat legs out. I feel like a shitty friend to Brandon for not checking in on her, but I just couldn't. What do you say to someone who has literally lost everything? Hope was there for her...I didn't want to harass her when all she probably wanted was to be left alone. I don't know, maybe I should have.

  "He's cute," I say, tickling the bottom of his foot.

  "Thanks." A soft smile shapes her lips and she stares off. For a moment, it's like she gets lost in a memory. "Well, we've got to be going. It's bath night and already close to bedtime."

  "Dear god, Poppy. You have that baby on a tighter schedule than the freaking Queen."

  Poppy rolls her eyes and grabs the diaper bag from the floor. "Thank you two again." She turns and her gaze lands on me. "It was good to see you, Finn."

  "You too, Poppy. Let me uh...let me know if you need anything. You know any help around the flat or anything."

  "Thanks." And with that, she leaves.

  "She's a good mum, you know?" Hope sighs as she falls back onto the couch. "But Jesus, babies are a lot of work. I don’t know that I'd ever want one of my own, I'd forget about it or something. I can't even keep a goldfish alive...you want kids?" My heart pounds a little harder than it should. I stare at Hope, my fingers drawing into tight fists. "I mean, I just imagine they suck the life right outta you, but you'd be a good dad, I think. All surly and protective and baby whispering-like." She laughs, completely unaware of how much that comment is like a sharp-fucking-dagger ripping right through my heart. A good dad. I drop my gaze to the floor and fidget with my hands. Such a good dad that what was best for my baby girl was for me to walk right out of her life and let her forget I exist. Such a good dad that I can't see her even if I want to. I could have been a good father, I would have been a good father. I just wasn't ready—I hadn't let go of the demons constantly riding my back. I hadn't learned how to deal with my anger and anxieties and all that shit I'll never unsee that haunts me day in and day out. But I am trying… "You, uh, you okay there, Finnley?" Hope asks, leaning into my line of vision.

  A jolt of adrenaline shoots through me swift and hard. I feel it pulse through my veins, my jugular and it sends a heat sweeping down to my fingertips. I focus on the wall. On my breaths. In and out. And I nod.

  "Yeah, I'm fine."

  "So, what do we want for dinner? Chinese?"

  Her hand lands on my shoulder and I flinch away from her touch, immediately standing and pacing in front of the couch. What the fuck are we doing? I want her here and I shouldn't, fuck, I beat one out to the thought of her the other night. And I'm not a fucking idiot, friends or not, there's something between us, some need or want or...I don't know...maybe just something that seems familiar because there is something to Hope McGrath that feels all too familiar. Broken people, fucked up people—we have this unspoken understanding and maybe that's what it is with us. We're both fucked up and have secrets we hide. Silence is my buffer and I think maybe, just maybe that loud ass mouth of hers is her mask she prances around behind.

  "Hope, you should go," I say, not leaving room in my tone for her to misunderstand my request.

  Her green eyes narrow before they shoot down to the floor. "Okay."

  And for the first time since I've met Hope, she actually leaves without a single word, the door closing quietly behind her. No one knows the storm that is constantly brewing inside of me. Hope has no idea what kind of messed up shit she'd be in for with me. Kiera couldn’t handle it and Hope sure doesn't even need to try to. There is no point. That's why I keep to myself, to my routine because it makes me feel safe. I can't lose control because the second I do, that storm becomes unbridled. Feelings get out of check. And I don't want to go down that road again. I can't... And the thing is, I think I already care too much about Hope McGrath.

  16

  Hope

  I go straight home after I leave Finn's. I debate stopping into Poppy's b
ecause I feel like I need to talk or some shit, but honestly, what is there to talk about? Finn asked me to leave. That's it. But that's not just it. I have dragged him all over the place, forced myself into his life, slept in his bed for fuck's sake...and he has never asked me to leave. Not once. Until now. Why does it bother me so much?

  Finn and I are friends. Nothing more. And even though he's a miserable fuck at the best of times, I feel this little fissure of rejection taking root and winding itself around me. I'm a confident person, but this feeling...I can't take it. It hits too close to home. It hits on old wounds that should be long buried. Nobody likes being rejected, and trust me, I've had my fair share.

  I go to the fridge and take out the bottle of wine I bought last week, pouring out a big glass. I sit and watch some shitty fucking action film until I've drunk three quarters of the bottle. My doorbell rings and I frown, glancing at my phone on the table. It's nearly eleven. Who the fuck is here at this time? Maybe it's Finn coming to apologise? No one else would come over here.

  I get up, trot over to the door, and yank it open. I expect to see Finn, maybe Kyan, but no. Standing in my doorway with a holdall over his shoulder is Silas. I stagger back a step and my heart pounds in my chest. My stomach bottoms out and my legs tremble instantly. I haven't seen him in over a year but he still affects me the same way as he used to. His eyes lock with mine, the clear, crystal blue, so bottomless I could drown in them. And I have many times. His black hair is swept back to reveal the perfect angles of his face. He always was beautiful just like the poison apple, so tempting.