War Hope: War Series Book Two

by Nicole Lynne

  "Want to get out of here?" he murmurs against my ear. This is what we do, flirt and tease, but nothing ever happens. Poppy is convinced I've fucked him, but I like my men with a little more challenge.

  "I'm busy, hot stuff."

  He pulls back and sighs. "Quicky in the toilets?"

  "Gross, Kyan.” I wrinkle my nose. “You have seen the toilets here?"

  "Plenty of times."

  I roll my eyes. "You are so vile."

  The cheers of the crowd grow louder as Finn shoulder his way through to me and Kyan. He wedges his way between us, turning his sweaty back to me. A massive tattoo of some kind of angel-demon creature spans his back. I study it, the thing looks utterly tormented. It’s on its knees with its head thrown back to face the skies. It's twisted and scary, but oddly beautiful.

  "When's your fight?" Finn asks Kyan.

  Kyan smirks, glancing around Finn’s shoulder to cock a brow at me. "Is he ignoring you? Or is this a macho move?"

  I shrug. "I'd go with ignoring."

  He nods and winks before straightening again and facing Finn. "She is ginger. And I'm not fighting this week. Some dickhead from over the pond took my spot." He ducks around Finn again and points at me.

  "Fucking Irish."

  "Aw, don't be sore because the pikey kicked your arse."

  "Better luck next time," Finn says, slapping Kyan on the shoulder before he turns to walk away.

  Sighing, I follow up the stairs and right out the front after him because, yet again, he looks like shit and he doesn't know when to ask for fucking help. He’s pulled his vape pen from his pocket and is steadily puffing on it, a thick cloud of smoke surrounding him. The sweet scent of cherry hits me and I inhale deeply. It always reminds me of Finn.

  The streetlight hits his face just right and I can see that his jaw is swelling. I'm not going to lie; I find a fighter as hot as the next girl—all that manliness, the sweat and the blood. There's good money in it, but it's not exactly a healthy way to make a living, not like this anyway. I'm pretty sure Finn is good enough to train professionally and I have to wonder why he doesn’t. Places like this are where men come to hide, to earn fast cash and lay low. Finn doesn't need to lay low or hide though…does he?

  "Why do you fight here, Finn?" I grab the vape pen from him. He frowns, but lets me have it. I notice his eyes fixing on my lips as I inhale the sweet smoke.

  "It's good money," he says.

  I tilt my head and prop a hand on my hip. "We both know that's not why you're here. Man of your skills could be doing a damn site more with his life than scrapping in this shit hole. Brandon came here to hide." I shrug one shoulder. "But we're all hiding from something, so what are you hiding from?"

  "I'm not hiding from anything." He snatches the vape from me and takes a drag. I snatch it right back.

  "Always so surly, Finnley," I smirk. He ignores me and starts walking away. "Don't you want your pen?" I ask, holding up the vape pen. He glances over his shoulder.

  "Keep it." I swear to god, he’s hot in that brooding sort of way, but he takes himself too seriously.

  "I'll treasure it," I shout after him. He keeps walking. "You still look like shit by the way." He lifts his middle finger over his shoulder. Smiling to myself, I turn around and head back inside the pub, inhaling on the vape as I go.

  Larry's standing at the bar with his wide girth propped against the tatty wood. "You been pestering that poor boy again, red?" He rubs at his glass eye and my gaze strays to the tattoo of a faded pin-up girl on his arm. That tattoo always makes me smile.

  "That one needs some harassing, Lars."

  "You ain't going to get your knickers knocked off by that one, no matter how much harassing you do. He's an odd-fucking-duck."

  I throw my head back on a laugh. "Odd. That's one way of putting it."

  "He's alright. He needs his space. He don't like people much."

  "I, on the other hand," Kyan interrupts, popping his head up from the cellar. "I'd give you all the liking in the world, sugar." He grins and winks.

  "And a case of the fucking herpes and clap, too." Larry chuckles.

  I point at Kyan. "You are a scagger. My ma always said not to talk to a boy who looks like he would lick arsehole." Or maybe it was: don't talk to boys who look like they're poor. Meh, same difference.

  Larry cocks a brow. "Your momma ain't never had her asshole licked then?"

  "Oh, gross. Leave my ma out of your dirty mind, Larry." I swat at him and he laughs, slapping his palm on the bar.

  "I need to meet your mum," Kyan says. "She sounds like my kind of girl."

  "Stop!" I put my hand over his mouth and he licks my palm. "Gross," I groan and snatch my hand away.

  "Aw, don't be horrified, ginge. After all, I'd lick your arse." He wiggles his eyebrows, and I roll my eyes.

  "I'm going to go check on Poppy,” I say. “See you guys later."

  "Oh, wait," Larry says, ducking behind the bar and rummaging around beneath the counter. He comes back up with a small bag. Inside is a cuddly toy version of what I think is supposed to be a naked cat. I study it. Jesus, it’s made of velour.

  "For the little one." He’s smiling, but I can see the sadness swimming in his good eye. Poppy hasn't been back here since Brandon died. She hated the fighting. Who can blame her? This is where men come when they've given up, where old dogs come to fight for scraps. Larry means well, bless him, but he's just the ring master, egging them on and cracking the whip. Or at least, that's how Poppy sees it.

  I take the bag, offering him a small smile. "Thanks. I'll make sure he gets it."

  "Tell Poppy she's welcome here anytime."

  I turn and walk away. She won't visit and we both know why, but I hate to be a cunt to an old man.

  Just as I'm walking out of the bar, my phone pings with a text. I glance at the screen and my heart stammers over itself. The message is from a random number, but the words are easily identifiable:

  Hope. Call me. Please. I need you.

  There's only one person who sends me messages like this. Silas. The former love of my life. I pause for a second, my finger hovering over the reply button. I take a deep breath, letting it slowly slip from my lungs before I click delete. That's a whole lot of heartbreak that I'm not prepared to get into right now.

  Silas will always need me, and I will always want him, no matter what he does to me. It's a toxic combination that has stung me more than once over our long history.

  6

  Finn

  “It doesn’t look good, Finn,” David says. “They’re pretty strict when there have been cases of domestic violence.”

  I stare at the icepack laid over the knuckles of my free hand, letting the cool touch of the ice sting my skin. “It wasn’t habitual—”

  “She said it was.”

  “I shoved her once.”

  “She had marks.”

  “I know she did, but it was once.”

  “She said she’s afraid of you.”

  I groan and knock the icepack off my hand. What can I say? Not one fucking thing, because he’s right. Staring at my swollen knuckles, I flex my fingers. “Okay, well, we can keep trying?”

  “Of course. These things just take time. She hasn’t terminated your parental rights, so there is still hope.”

  “Thanks, David.”

  I hang up the phone and grab my beer from the coffee table, taking a swig as I settle back on the couch. Out of habit, I reach in my pocket for my vape pen, but it’s not there. I groan and throw my head back against the sofa cushions when I remember that Hope has it. Tension swirls through me, every so often balling in my gut and waiting to be released. I know plenty of guys like me. Served in the military, seen shit they can't un-see and left fucked in the head because of it. I used to go to those group classes where they ask you to pour out your bleeding heart. All those guys used to say the same thing: nothing helps except fucking and fighting. Half of those guys have ended up divorced just like me because their wiv
es couldn’t handle the aftermath. I don’t blame them. I don’t blame Kiera, but it fucking hurts. Fighting and fucking. I fight, but forget fucking anyone. All these years later, I still love her even though she wants nothing to do with me. I can't let go of her because she represents a time when I was happy, a time when I was fucking normal.

  I stand and cross the room, picking up my guitar from the corner. I strum my fingers over the chords as I make my way back to the couch. I close my eyes and loose myself to the music, humming softly along to the tune. I used to play this same song to Lydia when she was a baby. Emotion swells in my chest and I fight it back, pushing it down to the recesses of my soul where I have control.

  A knock sounds at my door. I stop strumming, my fingers resting on the strings. The knock comes again and I frown without moving.

  "Finn, I know you're in there," Hope's voice comes from the other side of the door. Jesus, she's fucking annoying. There's a moment of silence. "You know, anyone else might be offended by your cuntish behaviour, Finnley." I don’t move, waiting it out until she finally lets out a huff, followed by an agitated groan. "Fine. I'm leaving food outside your door. Eat it, you ungrateful bastard."

  My landlord is going to kick me out for having that loud-mouthed woman swearing in the hallway.

  I wait until it's been silent for a few minutes before I pick up my guitar and resume playing. Eventually, I tire of playing and get up to go to the front door. I only open it a crack. I don't trust Hope to not be lying in wait. I glance along the corridor before dropping my gaze to the mat. There's a small Tupperware container and on top of it rests my vape pen. Quickly, I scoop up the plastic box and shove the vape pen in my pocket. The scent of tomato and garlic wafts up as I close the door. My stomach rumbles as I head into the kitchen, opening the lid. There’s a square of lasagne. A small smile pulls at my lips. I can guarantee it was Poppy who made this because I doubt that Hope McGrath has any culinary or domestic skills, and this lasagne looks and smells like pure perfection.

  Hope can be annoying as fuck. I do want her to leave me alone, but I must admit, it's nice of her to go to the effort of bringing this over.

  I shove it inside the microwave for a minute, not even waiting to sit back down on the couch before I dig in. Yeah, this is way too good to be Hope's cooking. Scarfing the lasagne down, I pick up my phone and type out a brief message to Hope: Thanks.

  She messages back with a little kissy face emoji. I roll my eyes and throw my phone on the coffee table.

  This weird feeling settles in my chest because in a life of solitude and isolation, a Tupperware container of lasagne makes me realise that somebody gives a shit, even if I don't myself.

  7

  Hope

  The smell of chocolate fills the kitchen and I grab at a cookie from the piping hot rack. Poppy swats the back of my hand with a wooden spoon.

  "Ow!" I clutch my stinging hand to my chest. Shaking her head, Poppy props her hands on her hips. As if the crocs weren't bad enough—she's now wearing a bloody apron.

  "Stop stealing food."

  "Stop making cookies. I'm going to get fat," I say, grabbing one lightning fast and stuffing it inside my mouth.

  She scowls at me. "That'll be your own doing." Her eyes flick down my body. "Why are you dressed up anyway?"

  "I'm not dressed up." I sweep my hand down the front of the short black dress I'm wearing. "I have a scarf on,” I argue. “A bitch can't be dressed up in a scarf."

  "That wouldn't be for Finn's benefit, would it?" She arches a single eyebrow.

  I roll my eyes. "I'm always this fabulous. Plus, he'd have to see me for that, and seeing as he never answers his door..."

  "Have you thought that maybe he wants to be left alone?" Her eyes subtly shift from me to the baby monitor in front of her.

  "Of course he wants to be left alone."

  She frowns. "So..."

  I cross my arms over my chest and huff. "You haven't seen him, okay? He looks like shit." Her gaze instantly fall to the floor. I know she feels crappy for not having seen him. That's not my intention. "He needs someone, even if he doesn't want someone." Finn definitely doesn't want me around but fuck him. I'm not about to just sit back and watch him become another tragic statistic. He's better than that.

  She nods slowly. "I should talk to him."

  She's not ready. I know it and she knows it. Hell, since she's had Patrick, she's pretty much not seen anyone but me.

  "I've got Finn, you just do you. He's not going anywhere." Her eyes lock with mine and I know what she's thinking. She didn't think Brandon was going anywhere. Finn's different though. He might be moody and antisocial but he's got his shit together.

  "How long are you going to keep doing this Hope?"

  "Doing what?" I ask, feigning ignorance.

  "Taking him food. Forcing yourself into his life." She shakes her head. "You can't save everyone you know. Me, Finn...Silas." My heart clenches at the mention of his name.

  I straighten away from the counter and open the cupboards in search of some Tupperware. "Yeah, well, we both know I didn't save Silas." Far from it. I tried though, god how I tried. And even when the cause was lost, I naively kept trying because for me, the world started and ended with him. I find a clear container and place it on the counter. "I'm not trying to save Finn,” I say. “I'm just being a good friend.”

  We both know I'm lying. I can't help but want to fix everyone around me. And let’s be honest, what else am I good for? The heiress to a whiskey empire, socialite, best friend, daughter...that's it.

  Poppy opens the slow cooker and spoons chilli into the plastic tub I placed on the counter. I pop a couple of cookies into another tub and seal the lid. "Say hi to him for me," Poppy says.

  "Like I said, I never see him," I say, picking up both tubs and palming my car keys. Truthfully, I don't know why I do this to myself. I spend so much time making sure other people are okay, but what happens when I'm not okay? I go out and get blind drunk, only to wake up in a stranger’s bed because that fixes everything, right? Well, that’s what I’d have everyone else believe anyway.

  I leave Poppy's apartment and drive over to Finn's with this unsettled feeling swirling through my stomach. I pull up outside his apartment building and jump out, clasping the two small tubs in my hands. I push through the main door and climb the stairs to the first floor, pausing outside his door. I take a deep breath and drop to a crouch, placing the tubs on the mat the same way I have every day for the last week. Only this time, instead of knocking and shouting at him, I simply stand and turn to walk away. When I do, I collide with something warm and hard. Hands land on my waist, steadying me with a firm grip. I slowly lift my eyes to Finn's face

  "You okay?" he asks, a small frown set on his lips.

  "Yeah,” I nod. “I'm fine." His hands linger a beat longer and I find myself liking the way his broad hands span my waist. "I left you food," I say, jerking my head towards his door.

  He nods before his hands slowly slip away, dragging over the material of my dress in a soft brush. "Thanks.”

  I'd usually have a quick come back for him, but not today. "You're welcome." I step away from him before ducking around his large frame. I walk down the stairs and I can practically feel him watching me walk away. Honestly, I feel like I'm caught in this cycle of depressing bullshit. Poppy has her own shit, Finn is a train wreck, and everyone else is too consumed in their own shit to notice anything going on around them. There's only one person I can call. I get in my car and take out my phone, dialling the number.

  "Ginge!" Kyan says. "Did you change your mind?" I can hear the smile in his voice and that's what I like about Kyan. He's a prick but he's always smiling and fuck knows I need that.

  I snort. "Definitely not. I need to get drunk."

  "Ah,” he laughs, “well that I can do."

  "I'll pick you up in ten minutes. Try not to dress like a pikey," I say on a grin before hanging up the phone.

  Kyan trips going up the stai
rs, staggering sideways and smacking into the wall with a loud thump. I snort loudly, slamming my hand over my mouth to stifle a giggle.

  “Fuck!” he says.

  “Shhh,” I hiss. “I swear to god, wake Patrick up and Poppy will eat you alive,” I whisper-shout.

  He turns around, swaying in the stairway as he closes one eye and squints at me. “What?”

  I throw my hands up in the air and accidentally launch my shoes over the railing. “Aw, fuck.” I groan loudly. “Fuck it, I’m not going back down." God knows it’s taken me ten minutes to make it this far. I can barely see and I swear the stairs are moving.

  I walk up the next few steps and shove his arse, pushing him up the next step. He crawls up the stairs and we eventually make it to my apartment. As soon as I close the door, Kyan is in front of me with a stupid grin on his face. “Hey ginge,” he says. I think it’s supposed to be seductive, but he sounds like a class A creeper.

  I frown when he moves close and I think he’s trying to kiss me. I slowly duck to the side and he head-butts the wall. “Ah, fuck!” he curses.

  I snort a laugh. “That’s what you get you AIDS-y fuck.”

  “Mean, so fucking mean.” He clutches his forehead as he wobbles to the sofa. “I’d make you feel so good, treacle.”

  I place my hand on the wall for support as I go to my room. “Yeah, I hear crabs feel real fucking good.”