War Hope - Nicole Lynne

WAR HOPE WAR SERIES: TWO

NICOLE LYNNE

CONTENTS War Hope 1.

Hope

2. Finn 3. Hope 4. Finn 5. Hope 6. Finn 7. Hope 8. Finn 9. Hope 10. Finn 11. Hope 12. Hope 13. Finn 14. Hope 15. Finn 16. Hope 17. Hope 18. Finn 19. Hope 20. Hope 21. Finn 22. Hope 23. Finn 24. Hope 25. Finn 26. Hope 27. Finn 28. Finn 29. Hope 30. Hope Epilogue Acknowledgments About the Author Also by Nicole Lynne

WAR HOPE

By Nicole Lynne

1

HOPE

oris hands me a margarita before plopping down on the other side of her La-ZD Boy sofa. She places her margarita in the cup holder, runs a wrinkled hand through her white hair, and grabs the box of popcorn from the table, setting it in her lap. Her sausage dog, Shits, is in my lap and she reaches across handing him some popcorn which he eagerly scarfs down. Giggles, her Chihuahua comes scurrying across the floor and wraps himself around her leg, furiously crotch thrusting his way home while she studiously ignores him. The first few times I came here it was a little weird, but hey, Doris doesn't give a fuck. Why not let the little bugger knock himself out? "Oh, oh, this is it," Doris says as the rolling credits start. She shovels a huge handful of popcorn in her mouth never taking her eyes off the TV. I hesitate. Surely this is not what I think it is. "Uh, Doris..." "Yeah?" She slurps on her margarita. "What is this?" I watch a man strut onto the screen butt-arse naked and fisting his cock. Slowly, she turns toward me, confusion wrinkling her brow as she points at the TV. "You don't know who Colby Keller is?" "No, but he has an arse on him." Doris shakes her head and exhales a lusty grunt. "That arse was made for fucking, and his dick...just you wait." She holds her hands out. "Veiny." I swear she just moaned under her breath. She shakes her leg. "Get off Giggles. Go hump Shits." The dog stands dazed for a second before trotting to the corner and licking itself. "Well then..." I pick up my margarita and take a heavy sip. Damn, that's the good shit. A few minutes later and Colby has his dick down some guy’s throat, face fucking him like he owns him. "Damn,” Doris groans. “I want a guy to fuck my mouth like that. He could call me a dirty whore and tell me how he can't wait to ruin my hole.” I turn and look at her. Shit, the woman is over sixty and apparently thirsty as fuck. "Oh, yeah, this gets the juices going for bingo," she says, shifting in her chair and chugging a huge gulp of her drink.

"Eddie's gonna get it," I say. She waves her hand through the air. "That old goat? No! He'd have to whip out his catheter just to have a crack. Bobby...Bobby is gonna get it." She wiggles her eyebrows and cackles. "You'll break Eddie's little heart. I thought you were dating?" She glares at me as she sucks back the last of the margarita and belches. "No, it's called playing the field, honey. Eddie gives me extra bingo cards." I lift a brow. "Touché." She bumps her fist to mine and we resume watching. Colby smashes that dude’s back doors in. They're groaning and grunting and Jesus-fucking-Christ, the guy's not gonna be able to sit down for a week. "Yeah, fuck him in the hole, Colby," Doris chants. "That boy could tap me seven ways to Sunday any time," she says, shaking her head. It takes a lot to shock me, it does. "Holy shit, Doris. I thought you'd be packing up shop by now," I say, pointing at her crotch. "An orgasm's an orgasm no matter how wrinkled your cooter gets. Viagra does wonders for a penis these days. Like the Energizer bunny." She waggles her white eyebrows at me. "I can never look at Bobby the same way," I say. Groans come from the TV and Colby starts coming. I use the term loosely because that's enough come to put out a forest fire. On and on it goes and Colby's face and his sounds—dear fucking god, I need to go and sort myself out. Colby Keller just officially cemented himself as the hottest, most alpha specimen of a man I've ever seen. Any man who can own another guy like that...fuck. Doris sighs as she turns the TV off and slowly stands up, grabbing at her back. "I think you've just given me a gay porn fetish," I say. She laughs. "It will change your life, trust me." She winks as she makes her way to her kitchen. "You going to bingo tonight?" "Of course, I can’t let that cunt Opal win again." "And Poppy thinks you're such a nice old lady," I say, fighting a smile because Doris is me...in a few decade’s time. She's hilarious. "I have to be a nice old lady at work. It would be frowned upon if I went up into the clinic talking about Colby smashing arseholes and Opal being a raging cunt." She grabs her purse. "Next week, I'll show you some James Deen. You seen him?" "Please.” I roll my eyes. “Until just now, he was the king. He just lost his crown." She laughs and I stand up, putting my glass in the kitchen before I hug her. She kisses my cheek. "Bye lovey." "Have fun at bingo. Show Opal who the champ is.” I leave Doris’ apartment and climb in my car, heading straight for The Pit. **break*** A thick cloud of smoke surrounds me the second I walk into Larry's bar. I can

hear Kyan's loud laugh over the lull of conversation and tinker of glasses. I walk straight to the bar, ignoring the grotty old men giving me the eye. "How you doing, treacle?" Kyan asks, lifting a glass of beer. I smile as I take a seat at the bar. "Alright." "How's Poppy?" "Alright..." And a sullen silence falls over us because talking about Poppy reminds us all of what happened. It reminds us of Brandon. That he's gone. That all of us failed him because none of us saw it coming, and as friends, shouldn't we have seen that coming? Madame Wrinkles hops up onto the counter, slinking around the glasses on her way to see me. Her pink wrinkly skin glistens under the dim bar lights and I move away just before she brushes her hairless self against my forearm. "Poor Madame Wrinkles," Kyan says, patting over her back, "she may be ugly but she still needs love, Hope." He snickers and I roll my eyes. "Her skin's gross and loose, like an old man's ball bag." Kyan looks at me as he grabs the cat and places her in his lap. "If you weren't a ginger, I'd say you were my soulmate." "Fuck off." I shove him and he falls onto the stool, the legs scratching over the uneven floor. A loud round of applause suddenly breaks out and I glance over to the side of the room to see Finn shouldering his way through the crowded pub, holding his ribs. His face is drenched in sweat, his dark hair matted to his forehead. His lip is busted. Blood trickles over his defined jawline. It's been months since I've seen him and he looks like shit. Poppy hasn't heard from him, but I guess he just didn't want to bother her. From what I can tell, he's pretty much dropped off the face of the earth. He's Finn. Strong, silent Finn. I assumed he was just doing what he always does—keeping to himself, until now that is. He looks like he's been to hell and back. Kyan stands up. "'Did you beat his arse?" he yells. Finn glances at Kyan, his jaw clenched and his eyes swirling with something turbulent and raw. And for a second, all I see is Brandon: the anger and the pain, the lack of control. "Yeah," he mumbles before hoisting his bag higher on his shoulder, gritting his teeth as he does. I glance down at his side, noticing the way he hunches over. "Finn..." I shove a drunk, fat man out of the way and send him stumbling to the side. Grabbing Finn's shirt, I yank it up. His entire side is purple and blue. "Jesus Christ, can you fucking breath?" He tenses his jaw and glares at me with his nostrils flaring as he yanks his shirt from my hand. "I'm fine." "I'll take that as an 'it's kind of hard'. You need to go to A&E." "I'm fine," he repeats, his voice just as flat as his cold expression. I laugh and grab his hand, which he promptly snatches away. I turn and glare at

him. "You are not fine. Stop trying to be a fucking caveman." I grab his hand again and lead him through to the exit. The cool night air whips around us when we step out of the pub and onto the sidewalk, and he yanks his damn hand away again. "Hope, just leave it." This isn't him. Finn is brooding and quiet, surly even, but he's not cold. He's not angry, in fact, he was always the calm one. Hell, he was the one that kept a lid on Brandon half the time. I press my shoulders back and huff before I grab him by his earlobe and squeeze. He flinches. "I'm taking you to A&E." "Fuck, Hope." He tries to fight me, but what with his injured ribs, he can't. I keep a hold of his ear as we walk toward my car. I click the lock, the alarm beeps, and I open the door, basically cramming him inside and slamming the door shut. I get in the driver's side and lock the doors—just in case, then start the car and pull out into the late evening traffic. I glance at Finn, watching him flinch and clench his jaw with every bump in the road. As per usual, he says nothing. "What's going on with you?" I ask, fiddling with my mirror. Again, nothing. Fuck me, he's exhausting. He's never been one to talk, but shit — "Jesus fuck..." He points at the road and I turn and look, yanking the wheel just before I slam into a parked car. "Calm your tits." I laugh. "You are—" "A good friend driving you to the hospital." I pat him on the thigh. Truth is, I feel like a shitty friend right now. He slowly glances down at my hand on his leg, his eyebrows pulling together as though he's staring at a riddle he can't quite fathom. "This is a waste of time. Can't do anything for broken ribs," he mumbles, turning his gaze out the window. "Well, aren't you just the ray of fucking sunshine?" He sighs and swipes a hand down his face. "Hope, I'm not in the mood." I jerk the wheel, swerving the car to the side of the road. He falls against the door and hisses. "When are you going to be in the mood, Finn? No one's heard shit from you in months, not since..." I swallow, my heart pounding in my chest because the words came out of my mouth before I fully processed them. And now, we sit in silence. After a few minutes, he reaches for the door handle. "Let me out." The air in the car grows thick with tension, only now, the anger has been replaced with this sobering sense of grief so strong I want to throw my arms around him. "Finn..." I whisper. "Please," he says, his voice devoid of anything. I gnaw on my bottom lip. "I'll take you home." I start the car again before he can say anything and pull a U-turn across the road. When I stop outside his building we both sit in silence for a second before I press the button for the locks. He opens the door and gets out without a word. He walks, stooped over, toward the front of his

building and disappears through the door. We used to be friends. How did I miss the fact that he's become so lost? Perhaps because I'm surrounded by lost people who are all just trying to survive the shit-show of losing someone they loved.

2

FINN

hank god. I walk into my apartment and drop my keys on the T side table. Everything here is in its place. Neat. Orderly. Controlled. And it sends a

sense of calm rushing through me. My face is throbbing and my ribs feel like I may have cracked one. I head straight to the fridge and take out a beer before rummaging in the freezer for some frozen peas. Pressing the cold bag to my side, I go into the living room and turn on the TV before I drop onto the sofa. This unsettled feeling creeps through my chest and, for a moment, I allow that sense of loneliness to consume me. I've been alone for what feels like forever. It's a necessary evil, a willing sacrifice, if you like. I've grown accustomed to the silence and find myself shying away from people most of the time. Even friendships are fleeting, inconsequential, because no one really cares. We say we care about other people, but we don't. I don't. The worst thing though...for a while there, I found a certain kinship with Brandon. He became my friend and as troubled and fucked up as he was, we got each other. We understood the shit show going on each other's minds, and we existed in this companionable state that didn't require words. For a second, I let my guard down. I dared to hope that there could be something beyond this lonely existence. I watched him get better. I watched him fall in love with Poppy and stop fighting at The Pit. I wanted that for him. I really fucking did and most of all, I dared to want that for myself. And then it all went to shit.

PTSD. When you're good, you're great and when you're shit, you want to hang yourself. Literally. He hurt Poppy and couldn't live with himself, but he couldn't live without her. So he ended it. I can't say I blame him. There have been times when it's looked like such an easy way out for me, too. I'm sure if Brandon had known Poppy was pregnant it would have changed his mind, made him see a way out, or perhaps it would have made it worse— knowing he hurt her while she was pregnant. That's the thing about life, you don't get a replay. There is no rewind. No

alternate ending. We make our choices and live with the consequences, so the what ifs become irrelevant, don't they? I almost resent him for killing himself when he had everything right there. Poppy was ready and waiting to give him the world, willing to ride that storm with him. He didn't know what he had. I would have given anything to have Kiera that willing. That understanding. I scrub my hand over my jaw, my gaze drifting to the photo album that sits on the bottom shelf of my entertainment system. Filled with reminders of my past: a life I didn’t deserve that was stripped away from me. I fish my phone from my pocket and pull up Kiera’s number, staring at it. I’m not supposed to call her, but I do it anyway. She’s not home from work yet. I press the button and put the phone to my ear because I just want to hear her voice. After three rings, it goes to voicemail. “We’re not here right now,” a little girl’s voice—my baby girl’s voice—comes over the line, “but leave a message and we will call you back.” Clutching the phone in my hand, I close my eyes and inhale. Brandon had no idea what he had…

3

HOPE

oppy is bustling around the kitchen, cleaning the already immaculate work P tops with Patrick propped on her hip. Poppy puts a brave front on and acts like

she's okay, but really, how can she be? After Brandon’s death, I made her move in with me. Staying in her and Brandon’s flat wasn’t good for her. It was too much of a reminder. Her and Patrick stayed with me until last month when the apartment downstairs became available and she rented it. I love her, but the squalling baby in my apartment was doing nothing for my love life. I'm surprised the old girl hasn't sealed over down there. The phone rings and goes to voicemail but it says the mailbox is full. Sighing, I chuck my phone on the sofa beside me. Bloody Finn. I feel guilty I haven't really checked in on him over the last few months, but I've been so focused on Poppy that he's barely crossed my mind. I've sent him the occasional text message which he never responds to. It is Finn though, and he's not exactly Mr. Chatty. Poppy lingers in the doorway with a small frown on her face. "What's wrong?" "Nothing." I plaster a smile on my lips. "What are we doing today?" "Hope..." she starts. I sigh and roll my eyes. "Nothing you need to be worrying about. Go. Get changed because I am not being seen in public with you like this." I wave my hand in her direction, pointing at her leggings and loose-fitting jumper. "Hope..." "No, you had a baby. You did not suddenly become a middle-aged Catholic house wife. You're starting to remind me of Mrs McCormick." Her mouth drops open. "I do not!" "Seriously, you're a pair of Crocs away from giving the fuck up. Up. Go. Jeans. And put on a bra that lifts those tits." I hold my hands out for Patrick and she reluctantly passes him to me. I swear she thinks I'm going to drop him at any given moment. "Ugh! And wash" I look at Patrick as he blows a little spit bubble. "Jesus, what is it about you that means your mother can't even shower?" I ask him. He blinks at me with wide, innocent eyes as though butter wouldn't melt. I swallow the lump in my throat that always rises when I stare in his eyes. His eyes are the same vibrant green as Brandon's. It's uncanny. I can't decide whether it

must upset Poppy or comfort her. "You look just like him, kid," I say, taking a seat on the sofa and propping him on my knee. "He was a little shit when he was younger." I smile as I think of all the trouble Brandon used to get in. He was a ripe cunt from the moment I met him. I hated him, but there was always something about him that you couldn't help but like. It was always Poppy, Brandon, Connor, and me. And now it's just me, Poppy and Patrick. Funny how people can touch your life and the ripples can be so far reaching. Patrick makes a face at me and I narrow my eyes when a little grunt slips from his lips. "Oh, you just took a shit, didn't you?" Oh god, the smell. "God, you are vile. You are Brandon's child through and through." His face wrinkles. "Oh no, do not cry about it. You can't shit your pants and then get upset about it, dude." He opens his mouth and lets out the most horrific wailing noise. Shit. What do I do? I eye the changing table. Any minute now Poppy is going to come out and think I'm completely incompetent. I mean, shit, I am, but I can do this. How bad can it be? Oh god, so bad. So, so bad. I'm standing in front of the changing table with Patrick naked from the waist down. I have one of Poppy's scarves tied around my face because I swear to god, it's like something crawled up his arsehole and died. He's already pissed on me and himself. A second wave of the smell hits me and I wretch. He's screaming blue murder, probably because he's lying on a table with his tadger out. "Look, Patrick, this is not how I wanted to spend my Saturday morning either!" I roll up the offending nappy, fighting the urge to vomit as I shove it in one of those flowery scented bags that Poppy keeps. "What are you doing?" Poppy asks from behind me. I turn to face her and her lips twitch as she fights a smile. "Do not laugh. What the fuck have you been feeding him? Jesus, Mary and Joseph." "Is that?" She points at my top. "Yes, your son not only shat his pants, he pissed on me." She laughs hard, swiping tears from beneath her eyes. "Glad you find it funny," I say acerbically. I step away from Patrick and she moves in, wiping and talcum powdering expertly. I go to her room and throw the scarf back in her closet before digging through her wardrobe and trying to find something that doesn't scream 'I've given the fuck up'. I settle on a plain tank top, because there's no helping this. I go back into the living room and fold my arms over my chest, glaring at the shitting machine. "Your wardrobe is shameful. We're going shopping." Poppy drags a hand through her hair and sighs just as Patrick rolls onto his back on the floor and inserts his entire fist into his mouth. "Hope, if you're going to drag me into a thousand designer shops..." "Hush, put the baby in the pram and let’s go." She knows better than to argue so she does as I say.

Four hours of shopping and there is an assortment of bags hooked over the handles of Patrick’s pram, making it hard for Poppy to push. She looks completely fed up, but honestly, it's nice to see her out and about like a normal person. Being a single mother is hard—or so I'm told. I try to help, but I'm not cut out for babies. Patrick and I have a good relationship as long as he doesn't shit near me. We walk back to my car and she puts Patrick in his car seat while I fold up the pram and place it in the boot—just call me Mary Poppins. I pull up outside the apartment and help her get the stuff out of the car. "I'll be back in a couple of hours," I say, on my way back to the driver’s side door. "Where are you going now?" Poppy asks, gripping the handle of the pram. "To check on Finn," I say. Her eyes drop to the ground and she nods her head once. She hasn't spoken to Finn since we told her about Brandon. He didn't choose to find Brandon. It's not his fault. I know she knows it as well but the mind isn't always rational. "I'll see you later." I slide behind the wheel and pull away, watching Poppy disappear in the rear-view mirror.

4

FINN

he warm afternoon sun beats at my back, the heat soaking through my T leather jacket until I'm sweating. I brace my forearms against the tank of my bike,

propping one boot up on the foot rest. Birds tweet in the nearby trees and the distant chatter of women drifts over from the school gates across the field. A bell rings, shrill and loud, and then there's the excited screaming of children as they pour through the front doors of the school and onto the playground. I watch the children rushing to meet their parents and then, I spot Lydia. My chest grows tight and a smile works its way over my lips. Lydia’s blonde pigtails bounce as she skips across the schoolyard, the pink ribbons tied at the ends catching in the breeze. The pink and purple backpack she has on looks too big for her tiny frame. She smiles before stepping up to Kiera’s Audi A3 that's always waiting for her. She takes her backpack off and tosses it inside and then Kiera’s walking around the side of the car to help her as she awkwardly climbs into the back seat. Kiera’s all smiles, laughing as she walks back around to the driver’s side and climbs inside. I inhale, swallowing back that familiar ache in my chest as I remember the last time I actually held Lydia.

The aroma of coffee wraps around me when I step into the house. Cartoons are on the TV and Lydia is in her rocker, a wide toothless smile aimed my way. My heart warms the same way it always does when I see her. Little tufts of wispy blonde hair stick up on her head, catching in the sunlight that’s drifting through the bay window. “Hey, baby girl.” I unbuckle the straps and pick her up, holding her to my chest. I place a kiss to her head, the sweet smell of baby lotion drifting up. “I missed you today,” I say, turning around with her in my arms. It’s then that I notice the two suitcases sitting in the corner of the living room. The floorboard in the hallway creeks and I turn. Kiera’s leaning against the doorframe, her arms folded over her chest, her gaze aimed at the floor.

“What’s going on?” I ask. Without a word, she steps into the living room and reaches for Lydia. I take a step back and frown. “Kiera?”

She looks up and all I see is a world of pain on her beautiful features. Her hazel eyes are swimming with unshed tears, her teeth gnawing at her bottom lip the way it always does when she’s anxious. “Please, give her to me,” she whispers.

Inhaling, I glance down at Lydia and my heart slams against my ribs in a fit of panic. I kiss her head once before I reluctantly hand her to Kiera. “Kiera, don’t do this.” She closes her eyes on a breath. “I love you Finn,” she looks up at me, “but you’re too unpredictable. I want to help you, I do, but I can’t do this anymore.” Her voice breaks right along with anything good that was left in me. “I have tried,” she says through tears. I clench my fist as I fight back the wave of pain that suddenly transforms into rage. I breathe in and out to try and keep it under control. She presses her palm against Lydia’s back and my gaze locks on the bruise covering her forearm. I close my eyes and exhale. I did that to her. I love her. I would never hurt her, and yet— I did. “I need you, Kiera,” I say. “Please give me a chance.” “I packed your clothes. I’ll send you the rest of your things when you’re settled.” Tears sting my eyes and I swallow around the lump in my throat. “I’m going to get help, Kiera.” I grit my teeth. “I promise. Please just…just give me that chance.” She nuzzles her face against Lydia’s neck. I step toward her and place my hand on Lydia’s head, stroking her downy hair as tears trail down my cheeks.

I cup Kiera’s cheek and I hate myself when she flinches, her eyes fluttering shut on a hitched breath. “I love you,” I whisper as I lean in and gently kiss her. “Look after my baby girl.” I brush my lips over Lydia’s cheek, fighting back the urge to completely break down. “Be good.”

And then I turn and pick up the two suitcases before I walk out of the house we bought together on the street near the school that Lydia will one day attend.

The taillights to Kiera’s car flash on, snapping me from my thoughts. Five years ago, I walked out on my whole life. On all the dreams and hopes, all the bright visions of a future with my family shattered. What war couldn’t completely desecrate, Kiera did, and I can’t even blame her. I was half a man, unfit to be a husband or a father. Now though, things are different. I’m different. I got help. I sorted my head out. I want to see her, but Kiera has done everything in her power to stop me. So, for now this is what I'm resigned to: watching my daughter from a distance, wishing I could see her smile, feel her small arms wrap around my neck. I hate the idea that one day Lydia’s going to ask Kiera about me, that she'll think I abandoned her when I never did. I'm always here. Every school day, just trying to catch a glimpse of her. I’m trying to do what I can to be able to see her.

I dig my phone from my pocket and call David Winton, my solicitor.

“Hello?”

“Hey, it’s Finn West. I was just wondering where we stand with getting my custody rights revisited?”

“Still working on it, Finn. Tons of paperwork to file, people to sweet talk. Give me another few weeks, alright? I’ll call you.”

“I’ll call you back in two weeks.”

“Sounds great.” And he hangs up.

Sighing, I roll my bike off the kick stand and start the engine. The roar of the exhausts draws the attention of everyone nearby. I pull my helmet over my head and rev the throttle, sending the tires screeching over the tarmac. By the time I get home, that same cold reality is setting in: the life I was supposed to live is so near, yet so very far. I leave my bike at the curb and head up to my flat, lost in my thoughts. As soon as I reach the top of the stairs, I groan. Hope's sitting next to the door, scrolling through her phone.

"What are you doing here?" Fucking hell, please go home.

Glancing up from her phone, she huffs and gracelessly clamours to her feet. "I came to see you, you ungrateful cunt," she says in that lilting Irish accent.

I glare at her before I shove the key in the lock, open the door, and step inside. I go to close the door, but she grabs it just before it shuts.

"Do not make me cut you, Finnley!" She shoves the door open with her hip and folds her arms over her chest as she glares back at me. Groaning, I clench my jaw. I don't want her here. I don't want anyone fucking here. "Don’t you have somewhere to be?"

She smirks, her bright red lips curling at one corner. "Nope. I'm all yours." She walks into the apartment and goes straight into my kitchen. I scowl and follow her. She's opening the fridge and going through the cupboards.

I stand in the doorway, staring at her. She's been nagging me ever since Brandon died. I guess she thinks I need someone. I don't. Especially not her annoying arse. I walk to the couch and flop back, adjusting one of the pillows under my head and closing my eyes. "I'm going to sleep."

I can feel her watching me. "You look like shit,” she says. “You know, you used to be hot. You need to eat...and sleep. Then maybe you wouldn't get your arse beat in a fight." I frown, refusing to open my eyes and acknowledge her. It may be childish but I don't care. "And I'll just talk to myself because you're all mysterious and strong and silent." I crack an eyelid and she's glaring at me with her hands propped on her hips.

"Go away." I smile and close my eye again.

"Don't make me go all ginger on you, Finn," she says, her voice trailing off as she walks away from me.

God, I want to tell her to fuck off. I feel heat threatening my cheeks and I take a deep breath, focusing on the little shred of hope I have that she'll fucking leave. There's a series of bangs before the taps cut on and the microwave whirs to life. I groan. What the hell is she doing? I've been blatantly ignoring her for a while when the clink of a dish being placed on the coffee table alerts me to her presence.

"Here. Food. Eat it, you ungrateful fuck."

I want to laugh, but I don't. I just keep my eyes closed and fake a snore. Hope groans, mumbling the word fuck and ungrateful over and over as I hear her head toward the door. The hinges creak before the door slams shut and then I open my eyes. There's a jacket potato, cut open and steaming with grated cheese melted over the top. I sit up, take the plate in my hand, and settle back on the couch before grabbing the remote and turning on the TV. Hope's nice. She means well. I just don't like people. I have my routine and she's not part of it. She’s too chaotic.

****Break****

The low mumble of conversation fills the air. Larry’s twangy American accent echoes through the speakers: “You ladies and gents are in for a good time tonight, I tell ya.” The crowd cheers and he grins. “You’re gonna see one hell of a fight tonight…” He likes to rile them up and I like it when the crowd is riled up. It gives this static electricity to the place, the kind you can feel buzzing through the air, crackling. Fighting. It makes me feel grounded. It gives me an outlet for the rage, the hate that constantly cycles through me. Sometimes I wonder if I was always like this, but I can't really remember. All I remember is my training. The war. Sniping out target after target. Kill. Kill. Kill. I can still smell the gunfire, the scent of fuel that hung heavy in the air. Hears the screams of the other men— "Finn the Iron Fist West," Larry introduces me and I snap back to the moment, my blood boiling with thoughts of war and carnage. I slip between the ropes. The crowd goes crazy the second I step into the ring. I glance out over the sea of drunk men and women packed from wall to wall. The Pit is full and I smile at that thought. I love that people come here to watch me beat the fuck out of some other guy. They cheer for the blood, the violence, and I give it to them. It's fucked up if you think about it. They shout for me to punch my opponent harder, nail him in the gut. They want pain...and so do I. I want to hurt this fucker standing across from me, fist in front of his face as he bounces on his feet. I want to hurt him for the simple fact that I can, that I like how it feels when my fist collides with his hard

jaw. Here, in this ring, I can be a monster, a beast—and it makes me a hero. It is my outlet. In some ways, it's the only thing that keeps all those other thoughts from eating me alive. The bell dings and my mouth salivates at that blessed sound. I pull my fists up, my eyes glued to the bastard across from me as we dance a circle around one another. People shout. Women whistle. The guy's blue eyes swim with aggression, and he throws his first punch, hitting me square in the jaw. It stings and I hiss at the pain, my nostrils flaring before I swing at him. Adrenaline fires through me. I pound my fists against his face again and again, stunning him. He staggers back a few steps and his hands fall to his sides. He attempts to swing again and I duck, popping right back up and nailing him in the gut. He doubles over on a grunt. The crowd goes wild. Smiling, I throw one last punch and undercut his jaw. He falls like a tree. His body lands on the concrete, blood and spit flying from his mouth. Larry claps as he shuffles between the ropes and walks to the centre of the ring, grabbing my arm and lifting it up. "The winner: Finn the Iron Fist West." I nod, glancing out over the crowd before I turn and slip back through the ropes, already unwinding the tape from my wrists. This is my life, instead of putting my daughter to bed right now, I'm wiping blood off my knuckles and walking out of a crowded basement full of gamblers and drunks. All I can wonder is why I had to fucking fail. Her. Brandon. Every-fuckingone.

5

HOPE

he basement of the pub is full of filthy men. The ring is nothing more than a T roped off square of concrete, and the entire place reeks of beer and body odour with

an undertone of piss. Dirty old men roar and heckle at the two sweat covered men in the ring. I spot Larry, Haven's dad, off to the side of the ring. He's shouting at Finn who is now his prized fighter—it used to be Brandon. That boy was chased by demons, but damn did they make him fight well. Me and Haven are at the back of the room, standing on some rickety chairs, watching as Finn and his opponent circle each other. Haven whistles. “Get him, Finn,” she shouts.

One of the men in front of us turns around and drags his eyes over me then her, a sick smile creeping over his face. I'm tempted to kick him in the nuts for staring at her because, Jesus, what is she? Eighteen? I glance at her. Streaks of purple dye are scattered throughout her blonde hair. She’s wearing an old Nirvana t-shirt that’s so thin you can see her bra through.

Finn throws a punch and nails the other guy in the cheek. Each of Finn’s movements are calculated and calm. His muscles bunch and flex under the lights. Dark and quiet, it’s hard not to find Finn sexy. Ever since I moved here, he’s been my favourite of the guys to watch fight. They’re all attractive in their own way, but something about Finn has always left me a little hot under the collar. Maybe it’s his dark hair that’s just a little too long and messy, or his brown eyes that never miss a trick.

The other guy throws a punch and misses which garnishes a smile from Finn just before he slams his fist over the guy’s face. He's always been the one I thought fought just to fight, but right now I see something else in him. I see that rage that

used to overtake Brandon when he fought and something tells me there's a storm brewing. Haven screams Finn's name and I turn to smile at her for a second, and in that second, it’s all over. Finn knocks the guy out and the crowd roars. This is when it gets hairy, when the room becomes divided between those who have lost and those who have won. Men like to gloat and that's when tempers run high, but I love it. I love all the testosterone, the element of danger, the thrill of the fight. You can practically smell the bloodlust in the air. A pair of hands grab at my hips. I'm about to knee someone in the face when I glance down to see Kyan. He's a dog and has also become one of my best friends. He lifts me from the chair, placing me on my feet before he grabs Haven. A couple of the nearby spectators pat Kyan on the shoulder and he smiles at them before turning back to me.

"What's up, ginge?" he asks, grinning. His blond hair is piled in a messy bun and he's wearing a sleeveless shirt that shows off his defined arms. His eyes twinkle as they sweep over my body and I smile, running my finger down his arm teasingly. He steps closer, pressing his chest against mine. I glance over his shoulder and see Haven walking away towards the stairs.

"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

“I

t 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 wives 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 loudmouthed 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

he smell of chocolate fills the kitchen and I grab at a cookie from the piping T 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 stairs, 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.” “I do not have crabs,” he says, flopping back on the sofa and throwing an arm over his face. “Yeah, alright Sebastian.” “What?” “Dear god, watch Disney, you uncultured fucker.” I try and point towards the DVDs but fuck, the room is spinning. Kyan doesn’t reply. He’s probably passed out. I go into my room and flop down on the bed. I’m drifting into unconsciousness when my boob starts vibrating. Frowning, I lift my head and dig in my bra, pulling out my phone. I swipe the screen, squinting against the bright backlight. "Hello," I croak. "Hope." The sound of his voice makes my heart race and the hairs on the back of

my neck stand up even as heat unfurls throughout my body. My head instantly clears, all traces of my alcoholic haze diminishing. "Silas," I whisper, his name getting stuck in my throat. "I need you," he slurs. His voice breaks on the words. He's drunk. I squeeze my eyes shut and press my lips together as I pull the phone away from my ear and clutch it in both hands. I should hang up. I should always hang up when he calls, but he's like my chosen brand of heroin. He's nothing but pain and heartache and he leaves me a trembling, broken mess every time I give in to my twisted addiction, but the high—fuck. He's like no one else. I press the phone to my ear again, fully aware of the drill. "What do you want?" I ask. His heavy breaths blow across the line. "I'm so fucking lost without you, baby." My heart clenches. God, if I could rip the treacherous thing out of my chest I would. It will always trip over itself for him though. He's my first love. My first kiss, the first guy I ever slept with, and the first guy to break my heart. No, he didn't break my heart, he pulverised it, shattered it and ground it into dust and yet, here I am: barely able to breathe at the sound of his voice. That familiar mixture of longing and crippling hurt swirls through my chest and I feel like that pathetic, heartbroken teenager that he managed to epically fuck over all those years ago. "You're fine, Silas. You're just drunk." "No. No." There's a pause. "I'm never fine without you." I can picture him sat in his apartment in Dublin, dragging his hand through his black hair, clenching his fists over and over the same way he always does when he's having a moment like this. My pitiful heart loves to think that he means what he says, that he really needs me. But tomorrow he'll sober up, he'll pull his shit together and then I won't hear from him for months, until the next time he feels like his life is spiralling out of control. Then he'll call me, and I'll tell myself not to answer, but I always will. As a woman, I always want to be strong, to tell him to go fuck himself. Any other guy and I would, but he is my exception, the gaping hole in my chest that can never be filled. "Silas, it's late. You're drunk. Go and sleep it off. In the morning, you'll forget we even spoke." It's the painful truth. "You always say that," he says. "I never forget you, Hope. Never forget what you say, not a single fucking word." Dangerous, dangerous, dangerous. That word rings through my mind on repeat. I dig down deep and find some lady balls. "Silas, I'm hanging up and I'm going to sleep," I say. There's a beat of silence and, for some reason, I wait for his response instead of just hanging up the phone like I should. "I miss you," he says quietly. "I always fucking miss you." His voice trails off until it's nothing more than a hoarse whisper. I scramble to hang up the phone before tossing it on the bed with trembling hands. My heart races in my chest as a lump settles in my throat. This is what Silas

does to me. He inflicted a wound that I've come to think I will never fully recover from. At just the sound of his voice, the scab comes off and I start bleeding out all over again. Years. This has been going on for years. I should block his number, reject his calls, but I never do because I know just how fucked up he is. Silas could make Brandon look like a trip to Disneyland some days. The difference is, Brandon never set out to hurt Poppy, emotionally or physically. Silas would never physically hurt me but emotionally...emotionally that boy has cut me a thousand times. And yet I keep taking his calls because the part of me that will probably forever be in love with him fears what will happen that one time I don't. It's this fucked up cycle that damages only me. I feel like I'll constantly be pulled into his chaotic orbit. I hate him. I love him. It's absolute fucking shit. I flop back against the pillows, but I can't sleep. All I can think of is the pain of his betrayal and my subsequent heartbreak. And then, somewhere in all the rehashed shit show, Finn pops into my mind. I have no idea why but I'll take any distraction from Silas, no matter if it is Finn with his foul moods. I worry about him. I don't want to see him turn into Silas or Brandon. He can be saved, I know he can. I just have to try harder.

8

FINN

awake with a gasp. Fucking dreams. My pulse hammers so fast I can barely I jolt catch my breath. My entire body is covered in sweat, the sheets beneath me

drenched. I instantly get up and start stripping the sheets like a ritual. I throw the bedding in the hamper and go to the bathroom, shoving my boxers down my legs. I clutch the edge of the sink and glance in the mirror for a second. My eyes land on the array of thick silver lines neatly criss-crossed down my sides. I spend every day trying to forget the things that haunt my mind and fail miserably. I climb into the shower and allow the hot water to wash over my tense muscles, but it does nothing to wash away the nightmare. I don’t go back to bed, instead I sit up, playing my guitar while shitty late night TV flickers in the background. It’s here, as night transitions into the early hours of the morning that it seems you may be the only person in the world. The impending sense of loneliness wraps around me, and then my phone beeps. I lean forward, glancing at the screen. Hope: We’re going to the fair tomorrow. Don’t bitch about it. I promise to bring you food. 

I find myself smiling as I sit back. I guess I’m not the only person awake at 3AM. But what could possibly plague Hope enough to keep her awake? Surely the Irish princess can’t have a care in the world?

It’s nearly 4:30 by the time I get home from the school run and park my motorcycle against the curb. The sun is sitting low in the sky, the last of its warmth touching my skin. A few stray leaves skip down the pavement, autumn declaring

itself. I open the front door of my building, climb the stairs to the first floor, and unlock my door. The second the door opens I hear the TV. It instantly jolts me. The only person who has ever had a key to my apartment was Brandon. Pushing the door wider open, I round the corner of the hallway and find Hope sprawled on my couch, her red short black dress she’s wearing rides dangerously high on her thighs, exposing the pale skin between her skirt and the tops of her over the knee boots. She laughs at something on the TV before flicking her gaze to me, a grin plastered on her face. "How did you get in here?" I ask.

"Through the door." She flashes me an incredulous look.

I sigh and eye the key on the coffee table. I move to take it, but she sits up and swipes it, shoving it inside her bra. "Hope," I sigh. She's annoying as fuck. I just want to be left alone to do my own shit. I don't know how many different ways I can say I'm fine. Poppy may need Hope but I don't, so why the hell she insists on coming here... "You got a key cut?"

"What do you take me for? A fucking stalker? No, Poppy had it. If you have a problem with me turning up here perhaps you should have opened the door when I knocked all those times. I knew you were in here. I could hear the TV." She glares at me. "That's just plain rude."

Most normal people would take a hint. "You can't just break into my apartment." "It's not breaking and entering if you have a key." I stare blankly at her and she rolls her eyes. She slaps playfully at my chest. "Oh, come on, Finnley, lighten the fuck up. It's not like you found me wandering around the place naked like some psycho ex."

I shake my head and walk into the kitchen. I don't even know what to say to her half the time.

"What do you want for dinner?" She shouts from the living room and I groan, dragging my hands down my face.

I take a beer from the fridge and go to my bedroom, closing the door behind me. I don't have a lock because I live on my fucking own! But if I did, I'd bolt it. I take my phone from my pocket and stare at it, wondering who the hell I can call to come and save me. I just want to be on my own, to live my life the way I want. I don't like change. I don't like the unexpected. I haven't always been this way, but it's necessary. Control and predictability are my greatest allies now. I sit here, hiding in my room from the crazy ginger chick in my apartment. I just want an easy life. Is that too much to ask for?

"Dinner, Finn!" Hope screams. "Either we eat here or you're buying me candy floss."

I get up and throw the door open, walking back apartment until I find her in the kitchen with the fridge door open.

through

the

"What are you talking about?" I ask, frowning, even as I stare at her arse. I can't help it. She's bent over, head practically in the freezer as she rummages through things. With every movement, she makes, her skirt inches up her long, toned thighs. I inhale and force myself to look away.

"Pizza?" she asks.

"I don't eat pizza," I say.

She turns and stares at me. "Who the fuck doesn't eat pizza? You've got issues, Finn." She brushes past me. "Serious issues."

I frown. I have issues? "I don't eat shit." Why won't she leave?

"You only live once." She grabs her purse from the floor. Thank god. "Fine, a hot dog and candy floss it is." And then I remember her text about the fair. Fuck. She

narrows her eyes at me, and grabs my arm, yanking me forward. "Come on. Live a little, Finn. We'll be there an hour, we'll ride the Ferris wheel, and I'll whip you on the bumper cars." I'm struggling to think of anything worse than the fair. All the noise, people, flashing lights...and Hope, who is hard work at the best of times. "You owe me a massive cuddly toy. Come on, you might have fun." She smirks at me.

Jesus-fuck. This is going to be awful. I should tell her no but she did bring me food, so I just follow her to the door and down the stairs to the car. She's annoying as all fuck, but she does most of the talking, which is fine by me, and something about her—I find entertaining I guess.

9

HOPE

he scent of cheap meat and onions drifts across the fairground. I love the fair. T I always have. My father was always busy with his work but would always take time out to take me and my sister, Teagan to the fair. I've always loved it. Finn trails behind me, looking completely out of place and uncomfortable. His fists are clenched and his jaw ticks with the tension. His eyes dart around, his body twitching with every noise. A couple of screaming kids run past him and he darts out of their path, glaring at them. I reach out and grab his hand, threading my fingers through his. His expression remains set in that deep scowl while he stares down at our now linked hands.

"Come on," I say, dragging him towards the bumper cars. He allows me to pull him through the crowds and I know he's probably sulking about me holding his hand, but if it keeps him from jumping on some unsuspecting child, I'll hold his damn hand. I glance at the house of horrors, but quickly decide against it. I can only imagine what he'll do if something or someone jumps out at him, but I can't help but smile at the thought of how annoyed he'd be. Bumper cars. The cage. The Ferris wheel. I pull him over to the booth for the bumper cars and buy two tokens. He stands with his back to the booth, inhaling on his vape pen with his free hand shoved deep in his pocket. His shoulders hunch slightly as he sulks. He looks so far out of his comfort zone.

"This way Finnley." I jerk my head to the side and he pushes off the booth, following me to the side of the rink. Loud music blares and lights flash as kids and adults both whiz around in little sparkly bumper cars. I glance at him and his eyes are narrowed. "Are you okay?" I ask, wondering if I've pushed him a little too far. He nods.

"Yeah. I just don't like noise." Well, shit. It doesn't get much noisier than this place.

"Why not?"

Slowly, he turns his gaze to me. I expect him to come out with some gnarly remark, but instead his eyes just lock on mine, like he’s debating on what to say. "The noise dulls the senses. You can't hear an approaching threat."

"It's the fair, Finn, not a war zone," I try to reassure him. He turns, facing straight ahead as he brings the vape pen to his lips.

"Everywhere is a war zone."

It's times like this when he reminds me of Silas, of Brandon. They all have their own set of issues, but fundamentally they're all just a little bit broken, irreparably so.

The claxon sounds out and all the bumper cars come to a stop. People climb out and there's a flurry of people pouring from the sides of the ring to claim a car. I jump in a blue one and point at a pink glittery one next to me.

"Get in," I say to Finn. He looks from me to the bumper car and back again. "Quickly. Before someone else gets it." I fight a smile. Perhaps it's mean that I find his grouchy ways so amusing. He sighs heavily, his chest rising and falling with the effort, and then he's folding his enormous frame into the little pink bumper car. I try not to laugh, I do. I try. It's when he scowls at me with his legs folded up around his ears that I lose it. I laugh until I can't breathe and tears stream down my face. The claxon goes off again and the disco music starts, but I'm literally incapacitated from laughing. Bang. I'm jolted forward with such force that I sprawl against the little steering wheel. I glance over my shoulder and see Finn smirking as he reverses and then slams into me again. "That's not fair!" I shout, pressing my foot down on the accelerator. My bumper car spins in erratic circles. I do a three sixty, passing Finn. "You can't catch..." I

spin again, “a girl when she's unaware." Another circle. When I pass Finn, he's laughing. "Mine is broken!" I shout.

"Turn the wheel!" he yells over the music.

I turn the wheel and it stops spinning before shooting forward. Finn whizzes off and I start laughing again. He looks so ridiculous. I accidentally drive into a kid and the little fucker flips me off.

"Little cunt," I mutter under my breath.

Finn makes it his mission to smash into me as many times as possible. He also gets flipped off by the ASBO child and his raised eyebrows crack me up.

By the time we get out of the bumper cars, my face hurts from laughing. A smile graces Finn's lips as he takes my hand and helps me down the steps, to the worn grass. His eyes linger on my face and I feel a hint of a blush creep into my cheeks. "What?" I say.

"Nothing.” He looks away. “I guess I have to buy you your gross candy floss now?"

I hook my arm through his, smiling wide as we walk through the crowd. He's still twitchy, but he makes more of an effort to ignore me. I keep him talking, focused on me instead of everyone around him. I have no idea whether it's working, but fuck it.

I wait beside the ball toss stand while he queues for candy floss. He towers over everyone around him, his stance rigid and making him look unapproachable. My phone buzzes. I glance down at the screen: Text Message Silas. My stomach knots and I quickly shove my phone in my pocket, refusing to read it now. I glance up just as Finn walks over to me, his nose wrinkled as he hands me an enormous ball of pink candy floss on a stick. "You realise that is literally just sugar and e numbers, right?"

Forcing a smile, I take it from him. "Yep."

His brows pinch together and he squints at me. "What's wrong?" I pause, my heart picking up for a second. I feel like a rabbit in head lights. How does he even know anything is wrong? "Nothing. I'm fine," I attempt to brush it off, but his face doesn't shift. I spin a piece of candy floss around my finger and shove it in my mouth, slowly sucking the sugary goodness from my finger.

His eyes drop to my lips and he is, without doubt, distracted. "Let's do the Ferris wheel,” I say as I point at the ride towering over the entire fair. And, here comes the scowl.

I take off towards the Ferris wheel. When I glance over my shoulder he's just standing there. "Come on, Finnley. I'll share my candy floss with you." I wave the pink puff through the air, laughing at his grouchy face.

"I'm not putting that shit in my body." He huffs.

"It's okay, big guy. You can keep your muscles." I pat his bulging arm as he walks beside me. He shakes his head just as we come to the back of the line. The pikey at the Ferris wheel swipes his sweaty palms down his tracksuit bottoms, grinning at me and staring at my tits. Finn clears his throat and slides an arm around my waist. My gaze snaps to his, but he's focused on the pikey, glaring at him. Jesus, what's gotten up his arse? I hand the guy a fiver, being sure to drop it into his waiting palm to avoid making physical contact with him. The next bucket comes around and he grabs it, holding it still.

"In ya get, sweetheart," the guy says. I skate around him and climb in. Finn drops onto the seat next to me and the bucket swings precariously. He has to hang his arm over the edge in order to fit in and not have his body pressed

against mine. I pinch off pieces of candy floss and pop them in my mouth. "Sure you don't want any?"

I thrust the pink cloud in his face and he swats it away before he folds his arms over his chest. The wheel starts moving and Finn groans, trying to adjust himself in the small space. He looks like a sardine.

"You know, if you ate more of this shit and less of..." I wave my hand in his direction. "Whatever the fuck you're eating to look like that...you wouldn't be bitching."

"I wouldn't be bitching if you hadn't drug me here. I'm not the fair kind of guy." He huffs again, staring straight ahead. He's such a grouch.

I shrug. "What kind of guy are you, Finnley? I mean, you fight in a spit and sawdust pub, and stay in your apartment..." I swear, I think he just rolled his eyes. "Well?"

Finn arches one of his brows. "What?"

I groan. "God, you're impossible."

"You're the one making me impossible." A short-lived chuckle slips through his lips.

"Honestly, Finn. I swear, conversation with you is like trying to draw blood from a stone." He responds with his preferred silence. "Oh, I'll just talk to myself, riding on the Ferris wheel with the strong, silent one—k eating my candy floss." I ramble on and he pulls his vape pen from his pocket, placing it between his lips. Nothing, he says nothing. Glaring at him, I snatch the vape pen and inhale on it, dragging the sweet smoke deep into my lungs. "You know, you're stressful," I say as I slowly release the smoke. He takes the vape pen back from me. "You're pushing me to smoke." Again, nothing. Jesus-fucking-Christ.

We’re near the top now and I swing my legs, smiling as I cram more of the candy floss inside my mouth. Finn's staring out over the horizon, he looks well annoyed so I pinch off a piece of the pink fluff and, when he's not looking, shove it in his mouth. His tongue whips out, licking the dissolving sugar from his lips and he glares at me.

"It's good, see? Can't come to a fair and not have candy floss, Finn, it's a cardinal sin."

He wipes the back of his hand over his face, sweeping any remnants of the floss away. "You are a cardinal sin."

"Aw," I laugh, "Finnley made a joke." I pat him on his huge bicep. "I'm proud of you."

Another huff and he tosses his head back and closes his eyes. "How many times does this thing go around?"

I shrug. "I'm not the fair expert, Finn."

"Well, you're a pikey..." I gasp, pressing my palm to my chest. "You did not..."

A small grin works over his lips and damn, he's hot when he smiles. I mean, he's hot anyway, but undeniably so when he smiles. "You're Irish,” he laughs. “You're pikey. It's okay, embrace your roots." I sniff and face forward. Brandon fucking O'Kieffe was a pikey. Trailer and everything. I don't say that though because, you know, way to put a fucking damper on the night and thrust us into an awkward silence whilst stuck on a Ferris wheel. "I am about as far from a pikey as it gets."

"Yeah, sure thing, queenie."

When we hit the top of the Ferris wheel it jerks to a stop, The bucket rocks back and forth and I let out a little squeak. My hand lands on Finn's thigh, my fingers digging into his leg as I slam my eyes shut. He laughs and I flip him off without looking at him. "Scared of heights?" he asks.

"No, I'm scared of the fucking thing swinging like an old man's ball bag," I snap. "How many old men have you fucked?" He smirks and I want to punch him.

"You try growing up with a pikey for a friend, and you'll see plenty of drunk old fucker's nut sacks. I'm telling you, I was scarred from the age of twelve."

There's a small flicker in his eyes and a slow smile creeps over his lips. He shifts his weight back and forth and the bucket starts to rock. "I can't get comfortable..." He laughs as he continues to shift his weight.

"Finn. Stop."

"My arse is going to sleep."

"Finn!"

He chuckles. The hinges on the bucket creak and groan and I'm certain we are about to fall to our deaths. I grab onto his arm, digging my nails in as I close my eyes. "Fuck you. You're such a cunt." I keep my eyes closed, trying to block out the cold wind blowing across my face. "You know that fair pikeys built this, right? It can't take your fat arse rocking it like that." The bucket continues to swing. "Oh god, I feel sick." I shouldn't have eaten my body weight in candy floss.

"Hurl over the edge if you're going to."

"No, I will throw up on you because you fucking made me sick," I say, gripping the bar in front of me so hard my knuckles turn white.

"Nah, the candy floss did that. Told you that shit's not good for you."

I rest my arms along the bar and brace my forehead on them. "Not helping!"

He snorts before he grabs me and yanks me against his side. His arm wraps around my shoulder and he holds me tight, the clean scent of his cologne alleviating a little of my panic. "We're not going to fall, don't worry, queenie." He laughs. "Jesus, you're like a child." I turn my face into his chest.

"I am not," I mumble against him.

"Really?" The wheel starts to move again. "The fair. Candy floss. Scared of heights...sounds like a kid to me." He leans away from me just enough that I can see a small smirk touch his lips.

I poke him in the ribs and he grunts. I bet they’re still bruised from the fight a few weeks ago. "Everyone loves the fair, arsehole. And I'm not scared of heights. I just don't like it when you rock the thing. As for candy floss...Maybe I'll give you that. I feel sick."

He keeps his arm wrapped around me and digs in his pocket, taking out his vape pen again. The sweet scent of cherry drifts on the air and mixes with his cologne. "Want some?" He holds the pen just in front of my face and I take it, inhaling a lungful.

Eventually the Ferris wheel comes to a stop at the bottom and the pikey holds the bucket still while Finn helps me out. That was not one of my better ideas. I can practically feel how smug Finn is.

"You ready to go yet?" Finn asks.

I glare at him over my shoulder. Say no. Say no. Suck it up. I glance around at all the spinning rides, the flashing lights and blaring music. I really think I might throw up.

"Fine," I huff, folding my arms over my chest. A triumphant smile touches his lips and he turns, walking off in the direction of the car park. Is it too much to ask the guy to try and have a good time? The second I get in my car my phone beeps. I glance down at the screen and see another text from Silas. I shouldn't read it, but of course I do.

Silas: No one will ever love you like I do. X

I drop the phone into my bag like it's burned me. My stomach rolls, and that horrible feeling settles in my chest. He knows me so well, and he uses that to his advantage. My biggest fear is that the love I had with Silas can never be replicated, that he's as good as it gets for me. I grip the steering wheel with both hands, squeezing my fingers tightly as my mind drifts. I jolt when something touches my arm and glance at Finn who’s sitting silently in the passenger seat. His eyebrows have risen and he's looking at me like I've lost it.

"I'm fine," I whisper, starting the engine and pulling away. I never take my eyes off the road as I drive to his apartment, and when I pull up outside, I sit patiently, waiting for him to get out. "Hope," he says quietly. I glance at him. "Are you okay?"

I nod and look away from him. I'm never okay where Silas is concerned. He's the worst kind of guy; one who can make you fall so hopelessly in love with him that you lose yourself. I lost myself somewhere in the depths of Silas, and once he'd chewed me up and spat me out, I found myself wandering, lost. Each time I'm in danger of finding myself, he reminds me that I will always be his, because doesn't he own pieces of me that no one else possibly can?

The car door opens and Finn quietly gets out. I lean forward and rest my forehead on the steering wheel, wiling this sick feeling to go away. It doesn't.

10

FINN

wo days with no call from Hope. No kissey face emoji texts. No food...I hate to T admit it, but I kind of miss her annoying me. The way she was the other night...whoever texted her upset her. It was like a switch was flipped. One minute she was laughing and the next it's like she wasn't there. I stare down at the phone in my hand. My index finger hoovers over the keys. It shouldn’t be this hard to type out a text. To ask her if she wants to do something, but then that makes me seem fucking vulnerable. And I refuse to be vulnerable again. I was with Kiera and look where the fuck that got me—nowhere. Anyway, what's the point in hanging out with her? She's a woman, and there is only one reason guys become “Dear friends” with a girl and that’s because he wants to fuck her—even if he swears he doesn't, that little idea is floating around in the back of his head from time to time. I toss the phone down onto the table and grab my guitar from beside the couch, strumming over the strings. I pluck out a few chords and then someone knocks on my door. I hope it's lasagne again...I wipe the smile from my face before I open the door. "What did you make this time, Ho—" I stop midsentence when Kyan's ugly face pops through the open doorway. "Expecting someone else?" he asks as he shoulders his way inside and heads straight to the couch. "No..." "Not what it sounded like to me." He picks up the guitar and drags his finger over the strings. "Finny..." He cracks a smile. "You're banging the redhead, you dog." "I'm not sticking my dick in something you've torn up like a meat grinder." "Fuck off, I haven't fucked her." "Bullshit." "Look," he strums over the strings again. "I tried. I fucking tried and I thought she'd be an easy lay with the way she talks and walks and all that shit, but that one..." He closes his eyes and shakes his head. "She's not what she seems. Not even a fucking blowie." I glare at him. Kyan is a gifted sweet talker, the player of all players and the

proud holder of at least 15 V-cards, so how in the ever-loving-fuck he hasn't been able to get Hope's knickers off is beyond me. "That's shocking." I snort. "Isn't it?" He places the guitar beside the couch and leans back. "We went out last night." He frowns. “I think I might have tried to kiss her…and smacked into the wall. My head hurts like a bitch today.” She was with Kyan? I shift on my feet and rub my hand over the back of my neck. It bothers me that she was over there and it shouldn't. What the fuck? Kyan could fuck her for all I care..."Want a beer?" I ask, heading into the kitchen. "Yeah. Who you fighting tomorrow?" "Will Dawson." "Ah, he's a cunt. Bust his bloody nose open. He fucked my sister, you know?" I cock a brow and peek around the corner. "Everyone's had a go at your sister." Kyan shrugs. "Still don't like the twat." I open the door to the fridge. " Larry's got me fighting that pikey shit from up north. O' Malley, that little shit Brandon hated," he says with a laugh. I hold the door to the fridge open, staring inside at the neatly lined row of beer. Brandon... "We got to celebrate afterwards, you know?" Kyan says. I grab the beers from the shelf and close the door, making my way back to the couch. I hand Kyan a bottle and pop the top to the other. "Celebrate what?" "My 100th fight. I'm going to knock ole' Donald clean out and we're all going to go to The Showboat to see some titties." I take a sip of beer and drag my hand over my face. "A strip club? God..." "What better place to celebrate my manly achievements than a place with naked women?" I stare at him as I tip my bottle back again. "I'll pass." "The fuck you will." He punches my arm. "Loosen up, would you. You're too uptight, Finn. It's going to give you a bloody coronary if you don't knock it down a peg or two, besides, you've only got a few more years before you'll just be some old pervy man sat at the titty bar. Live it up while you can." He smiles and lifts the beer to his mouth, taking a swig. "And Hope's coming." He lifts his eyebrows. "Great." I can only imagine what kind of fun Hope is at a strip club. Kyan stays for about an hour and it's him talking and me listening. He goes on about some blonde girl he's screwing around with, and every once and a while he tosses Hope's name into conversation, grinning like a fucking idiot. If he's trying to play matchmaker, he best just move on with that shit. By the time he leaves, I've polished off 6 beers and am damn near shitty. I flip through channels on TV, stopping when I see a commercial of a little girl holding a man's hand a walking through a field. Her hair's the same golden blonde that Lydia's is, and it sends my thoughts spiralling down a deep, dark tunnel. I've lost my purpose and the two most important people in my life over something stupid. Something I had to learn

to control. I flop back on the couch and bunch the pillow underneath my head. I wonder what Lydia's doing. I wonder that a lot and it hurts, I'm not going to lie, but then I remind myself I thought I was doing what was best for her. Back then, when I first got back from Afghanistan, I was like a ticking bomb. Kiera never knew what would set me off. Some days I'd come in and the house would be a wreck, and it didn't bother me, and then some days...all that disorder and chaos just tipped me over the edge and sent me into a rage. I learned to control it, but not until after it got so bad I couldn't come back from it in Kiera's eyes. I don't blame her, I don't... Sighing, I grab my phone and scroll through the lists of names. I don't have many in here. Kiera. Larry. Kyan. Brandon—I can't seem to delete his yet—and then there's Hope's number. No name. Just her number. Sometimes it helps take the burn off the loneliness to be around someone... I type out: What are you doing? And press send. A few seconds later Hope responds. On my way to see you, you useless fuck. I laugh and shake my head as I set my phone down and sit up on the sofa. She's a gem, that's for sure...

11

HOPE

on Finn's door and wait. One…two…three seconds. I knock "Don't make me use my key!" I shout.

I hear footsteps on the other side of the door and smile. When the door swings open, I'm met with Finn's scowling face. "It's not your key,” he says as I shoulder past him. "You know, you're like a broken record." I whip around just as his eyes snap up from my arse—granted, I am wearing a short skirt. I cock a brow and his glare intensifies. He's like a gnarly old bear and I just love poking him with a big old stick. I brush a piece of lint from the corner of his shirt. "Bingo." "What?" "We are going to Bingo, Finnley. Get dressed. Mrs Arnold likes a man who knows how to dress." "I'm not going to Bingo." I glower at him and stab my finger into his chest. "I have fed your scrawny arse for nearly two weeks. Without me, all this..." I wave my hand at his body. His hard, muscular, very large body. "...would have gone to shit. So—" "I didn't ask you to do that." "Well, I didn't see you turning it down. So, Poppy has Patrick, Doris is busy tonight, and I want to play Bingo. You are coming with me. Don't worry, you won't die if you venture outside of your flat or that bloody pub." He presses his lips together. "I swear to god, I will never feed you again, Finnley. You need to leave this flat and I need a bingo buddy." His lips curl ever so slightly in a ghost of a smile. "A bingo buddy? What are you, eighty?" "I'm just cultured, Finn. It's fun. You know, the ability to enjoy one's self..." I grab his arm and try to shove him towards the bedroom, but moving him is like trying to move a brick wall. "Go, get changed." "I'm not getting changed." His brows pull together again. "Careful, the wind will change direction..." I say on a smirk before walking out of his apartment, half expecting him to slam the door. He follows me and thrusts a

helmet into my hands, a twisted smile pulling at his lips. "I am not riding your fucking bike," I say, shoving the helmet back at him. "No bike, no bingo." "I'm wearing a skirt, Finn!" His eyes drop to my thighs. "Your choice." "You don't know where the bingo hall is," I say, placing my hands on my hips. "Hope, you can't miss the huge fucking sign next to the cinema that says: BINGO." He shoves the helmet towards me. "Oh my god." I snatch the helmet from him. "When I'm going down the road with my vag out and the cops pull us over, I'll be sure to tell them why." I turn and stomp my way downstairs, Finn chuckling behind me. When I open the door and step outside, his black crotch rocket is parked at the curb. Huffing, I shove the helmet and walk straight to the bike, not hesitating before I throw my leg over the seat. Finn’s making his way across the yard and I fold my arms over my chest, smirking underneath the helmet. He stops just short of the bike and drags his hand through his hair. Damn him with his brooding ways and his mysteriously sexy hair flick going on. His eyes glide over the length of my bare leg. Good, let him see just how much is going to be on show. He pulls his helmet on, and I can’t help but to notice the way his shirt lifts with the movement. His tan skin and perfect abs are on full display for the briefest of moments. He may be moody, but he sure is pretty. He doesn’t even acknowledge me when he climbs on and I slide my arms around his waist, pressing my palms to his hard stomach. If he objects, he doesn't say so. He revs the throttle. The engine snarls and crackles, the seat vibrating beneath me. Without warning, we launch forward. The tires squeal and the bike wobbles. I close my eyes and bury my face into Finn’s back as the cool wind whips around me. These things are fucking ludicrous. He goes faster and I dig my nails into his back, bunching his shirt inside my sweat-slicked palms. Fifteen minutes later and we pull up in front of the bingo hall. Finn cuts the engine and climbs off, standing next to the bike. "Close your eyes,” I say as I pull my helmet off. “You'll see my vag." He shakes his head and I huff. He steps close to me and places his big hands on my waist. "What are you doing?" I say, holding my hand out as if to shield me from him. He lifts me and I press my thighs together as he pulls me from the bike. My hands instinctively land on his shoulders before he lowers me to the ground. The second my feet touch the pavement, I step back, trying fruitlessly to yank my skirt down skirt before I straighten and point at him. "Smooth, Finnley. Smooth." He sighs, his expression completely blank. I know his game. I glare at him before hooking my handbag over my shoulder and walking straight through the front doors of the bingo hall. It’s crowded tonight and I search the room for a place to sit. The door opens behind me. “You have got to be kidding me,” Finn groans.

“Oh, I see a spot.” I point to an open place at a table and hurry across the room. “Come on, Finnley,” I shout. Another groan comes from behind me and I snicker. This should be entertaining to say the least. Finn’s surly arse and bingo, I imagine it’s about as contradictory as the Pope at a strip club. Chapter Twelve Finn "I-77..." Fuck this. I roll my eyes as I sink down in the metal chair. There's all these old-fuckingpeople sitting around us. The man next to me is slouched in his chair, head thrown back, mouth open. I stare at him for a minute thinking he's dead and then he snorts, waking himself. He sits up and wipes the drool from his chin before smiling at me. I nod and look away. This entire place smells like moth balls and potpourri and cheap wine. Hope's hovering over her fifteen bingo boards she has spread out on the table. "N-64. N-64." The announcer calls out. "Bullshit," Hope huffs. "Fucking bullshit, Finnley." God, I wish she'd stop calling me that. She drops her little stamper thing and bends over to pick it up. I can't help but stare at her arse. That fucking skirt is short and damn—she bends a little lower—fuck my life I can see arse cheek. My cock jumps a little and I adjust in the seat as I drag my eyes away from her. She may be annoying as all fuck, but she has an arse on her. That's for damn sure. "B-16. B-16." Hope stamps one of her squares, hissing Yes under her breath. I lean over my card, place my elbows on the table, and drag my hands through my hair. Before I know it, Hope's swatting my arm away. "Did you even check your bingo card?" she asks, staring at the crinkled laminate. "No." She rolls her eyes and shakes her head. "Fuck's sake," she says with a groan before she stamps three squares. "B-16. N-44. And G-69." She glares at me. "How the fuck are you going to miss G-69?" I glare at her. How and why in the hell does she even like this shit? Listening to some old croon hacking out some numbers, stamping a little red dot on numbers and for what— "Bingo!" A woman shouts and Hope throws her head back on a groan. "Fucking hell." Hope shakes her head as she eyes the old woman shuffling to the front of the room with her walker. Her little bingo card raised in the air like a trophy. "I swear, Opal sold her soul to the devil. She always wins." I watch as the announcer hands the woman one of those plaques with the animatronic fish tacked to it—the one that sings that god awful song. "Of course, Billy the fucking fish. Of course fucking Opal would win that prize." I cut my eyes over at Hope. "What would you want with that shit?" Her eyes widen and she clutches her hand to her chest like I've just broken

her heart. "That is art. Why wouldn't you want it?" "You can't be serious." She lifts an eyebrow and grins. "I was going to give it to you." "Yeah, no thanks." I swipe my hand over my face and push back from the table. "Can we go now, have I paid my dues for the lasagne?" "You're boring, you know it?" I scowl at her. "You're annoying." "You know, you're a bit of a dick." I stare down at her and she grins. "All quiet and mysterious and a raging dick." I can't deal with her. She's loud and fucking brash. I stand up and she scowls at me. "Finnley, where do you think you are going?" "I told you to stop calling me that." "I know, but I like it." She grins. "It suits your charming disposition." "And I like sitting at home. That suits my charming disposition." "Look, you're going to become some social recluse. You're old before your time, Finn," she says without looking up from her cards. She’s concentrating on her cards so hard her forehead wrinkles. "Really," I chortle. "I'm old before my time and yet..." I glance around at the geriatric patients. "You are all butthurt over not winning Billy the Fish. Don't think I didn't see the way you eyed that poor old lady." She looks up and glares at the woman again. "You don't understand. She's the antichrist, I'm telling you. Doris thinks she's a devil worshipper. Margaret said so." Hope leans in close to me. "Apparently,” she whispers, “she had away with Margaret's first husband back in the day.” Smiling, she bounces her eyebrows. ''Oh my god..." I just stare at her, because is this really happening? "Queenie, you do realize you are getting all hot and bothered over the love affairs of people four times your age? Wait, don't tell me! On Wednesdays you and Doris have a round of curtain twitching, don't you?" I laugh at the thought of Hope and some old lady with their noses pressed to a window, staring out at the neighbours and gossiping. Fuck my life. Hope is something else... She holds up her finger as she dabs her pen over the three thousand fucking bingo boards in front of her. When she's done she looks up at me and lowers her finger. "No, Doris and I do happy hour on Wednesdays, actually." She folds her arms over chest, bobbing her head from side to side like some shit out of the Kardashians or something. A man in a motorized scooter whirs up to the table, his wheel nudging my chair. "Where's Doris at?" He asks Hope. "Aw, she's on a date." The old man's eyes narrow. "With who?" There's an edge to his tone. "Bobby." "What a wankstain." The man coughs. "She can go to hell too. Running around with Bobby..." he mumbles, jerking at the handles of his little scooter.

"Aw, come on now Eddie," Hope says. "Don't be all hurt over it." He huffs and his motor hums as he yanks the wheel to the left, pushing my chair out of the way as he goes. "What the..." My eyes trail over his motor and I see the bag of piss hung on the side. "Oh my god, what is this, a fucking nursing home soap opera?" "Viagra does wonders for an old peen, evidently. Doris says it's better now than ever." Hope smirks and a touch of acid hits the back of my throat at the thought of old wrinkly asses and saggy tits. "This is exactly how I envisioned spending my Thursday night, talking about old men and their erectile dysfunction." Another number comes crackling through the speakers and she dabs her pen over her boards again. She glances at my card, dabbing a square. "Oh, bingo! Bingo! Say bingo, Finn!" I lift a brow. "No." She leans over the table, placing her palms flat on the table, her little stamper clasped underneath one hand. "Fucking say it," she says with a growl. "I'm not encouraging this shit. It's not healthy." She glares at me before stabbing me on the forehead with her pen. "I swear to god, Finnley. Say. Fucking. Bingo." I swat at her arm, grabbing her wrist. "You did not just bingo stamp my face." She lifts one perfectly plucked eyebrow. "Say it," she says on a snarl. She has issues. "I am going to go so ginger on your arse." My nostrils flare. "Bingo," I whisper and her eyes flare. She points at me, standing up. "Bingo! He said bingo!" Hell, she looks like she's about to jump up on the seat and flash her damn tits. And I'd half expect her to have BINGO sharpied across them. Fuck my life. "Bingo!" Someone else shouts. Hope turns around and she looks like she's about to stab someone. "Fuck you!" she shouts, pointing in that general direction. Dear god, she is swearing at someone in a bingo hall. The sam from earlier stands up. "Oh no, Opal, not this time,” Hope snarls. “I will cut you." "Okaaay." I stand and grab Hope's shoulder, turning her towards me. "Is bingo getting a little much for you?" I ask, trying not to laugh. She's fucking crazy. "I swear to god, Finn." She snatches my card off the table and all but sprints to the front, passing Opal in her walker with tennis balls on the bottom. I half expect Hope to trip the old woman, but thankfully she doesn't. I wait, swiping my hand down my face and a few minutes later, she comes back holding a plastic green bird feeder above her head like a trophy. "Wow..." I say on a laugh when she stops next to me all smiles. "You won a birdfeeder." "Damn right I did, fucking Opal." She cuts her eyes back in Opal's direction. Hope's eyes are all wild with excitement, her cheeks flushed, her chest rising in ragged swells.

"I think..." I push back from the table and place my arm around her shoulder. "I think we should go before you get banned from the bingo hall, queenie." "They'd never ban me." "Of course not," I say as we walk toward the exit. Opal's standing at the end of the aisle, glaring at Hope. The second we walk past the old woman slowly lifts her hand and shoves her gnarled middle finger in the air with a grimace as she mouths fuck you. "Well, people sure do take bingo seriously, don't they?" "It's a way of life, Finn. You just don't understand." “No, you’re right. I don’t.” I push the door open and we walk out onto the sidewalk, Hope still mumbling under her breath about Opal. The one thing I can definitely say: Hope McGrath is full of surprises. A sexy redheaded heiress to a whisky fortune who just so happens to be a bingo addict extraordinaire. Not one ounce of predictability. Total tornado of chaos. Everything I don’t need, but fuck, I think I may just be starting to want it.

12

HOPE

across from Kyan throwing punches at the pads he's holding up. I stand "It's my one hundredth fight tomorrow night," he says.

I lift both eyebrows as I stare at him. "I'm not sure whether to say well done, or offer commiserations on having been in that shithole for a hundred fights." He laughs. "Well done, ginge. Say well done." "Okay then,” I throw another punch and feel a drop of sweat roll down my back, “well done. Are we celebrating?" Pausing, I swipe at a piece of hair sticking to my neck. He grins. "Of course. We're going to the titty bar. I already told everyone you're coming." I shrug one shoulder. "You know I like a pair of average looking tits as much as the next girl." "That's the spirit. And…” a smirk dances over his lips. “I managed to get Finn to come." I fight a laugh. "Fuck me, you managed to get the troll to leave his cave?" "Yeah, well, he's a moody fucker but he's alright really." Is he though? I think that's half the problem with Larry and Kyan—even Finn. They all know they each have problems, but they brush it off, overlook it, and pretend it's okay. They did it with Brandon and look where it got them. Finn hides in his apartment and comes across super calm, but no one can want to remain that isolated and really be happy. Hell, anyone who wants to get the shit kicked out of them in a dirty basement has clearly got some shit to deal with. And it's the look in Finn’s eye sometimes, like he's got a nasty storm raging just below the surface, but he keeps it locked down so damn tight it can never get out. That calm, quiet, mysterious thing he's got going on, I know it's a front. I have to wonder, what's beneath that well practiced veneer? Who is Finn really? I shouldn't care, but I want to know. I can't help myself. "Abs next?" Kyan asks, his eyes flicking to my bare stomach. "Ugh! I hate it," I groan. "No pain no gain, treacle. You lose that hot body of yours and you're done for," he says, grinning. I punch him in the gut. "Mean,” he grunts.

"You're a cunt." Shrugging, he moves behind me. His hands span my waist as he lifts me. I hear the door open and shut just as I clamp my thighs around the heavy bag. Kyan releases me and I lean back until I'm upside down and Finn's scowling face comes into view. I wave before pulling myself up with a sit-up, my abs screaming. "I hate you," I tell Kyan. Down. Up. "You're a cunt." Down. Up. "An arsehole." He laughs. "If you threw less insults at me, you might get more done." "I don't want more done." Down. Up. "I just want to eat all the cake and stay hot." I drop down and pause for a second. Finn is now standing next to Kyan watching me with his arms folded over his chest. My gaze shifts to Kyan’s shirtless chest. I'll give it to the boy, he's got a body on him. "Less perving and more working, treacle," Kyan says, smiling. I roll my eyes. Down. Up. "Put a shirt on, you slut." "This is the only reason you train here.” He snorts. “Don't lie." "Finn, can you punch him please?" "What are you doing here?" Finn asks. I roll my eyes and sit up, grabbing the strap at the top of the bag and dropping to the floor. My chest heaves as I drag in air. "Well, Finnley, I'm working out.” "In my gym?" "In Larry's gym, with Kyan." I check my watch. "And you're a whole two hours early,” I say. “Did you shit the bed or something? I know how you love your routine." Kyan snorts. Finn glares as he yanks his shirt over his head, leaving his dark hair in disarray. "I have a fight later,” Finn says, dropping his bag on the floor and bending over to pull out some wraps. Finn hands them to Kyan and holds out his hands for Kyan to wrap them. As soon as his hands are wrapped, he’s shadow boxing. Kyan picks up the pads and holds them out. Finn hits them, decidedly harder than I did. I bite my lip as I watch the two of them. I watch the way every single muscle rolls and tenses, delivering raw power with each punch that Finn lands on the pads. That pub is a shithole but there's a reason I go and watch the fights. All that man is like a drug to my hormones. "Told you that's the only reason you come here," Kyan says. My gaze snaps from Finn's rippling abs to Kyan's face. "Careful, you'll chew your bottom lip off." A grin plays over his lips and I glare at him before giving him my middle finger. He shakes his head and turns his attention back to Finn who hasn't broken stride, or paid us the slightest bit of attention. "Yeah, well,” I sigh, “this does look like the start of a really fucking good gay porno." Now Finn looks at me with a scowl pulling his brows together. I laugh and pat his shoulder. His skin is sweaty and hot and I allow my fingers to linger longer than they should. Hey, can't blame a girl for getting her kicks where she can. "It's

okay, Finnley, you'd be the top." I smile. "The fuck?" Kyan says, dropping his arms to his sides and yanking off the pads. "That's just not nice, ginge. What did I ever do to you?" I cup Kyan’s face and smoosh his cheeks together until he's pouting. "But you're just so pretty, princess." I flick his hair. "Rapunzel, Rapunzel..." He glares at me. He's too easy. "Are we training or not?" Finn snaps. "Calm yourself, Finn.” I say. “Now, I know you so love my delightful company, but I'm going. You can punch shit and grunt away." Nothing. "I swear to god, Finn, you are going to need Botox by the time you're thirty-five." I lean in, studying his face closer. His scowl deepens. I glance over my shoulder at Kyan. "Seriously, is he scowling at me, or his face just set like that? I can't tell." Kyan throws his head back on a laugh and grabs my hips. Finn’s gaze drops to Kyan’s hands on my hips and his lips press in a tight line. "Go, treacle." Kyan moves me to the side. "We have man shit to do." I pick up my hoody from the bench and tug it on, fastening the zip over my bare stomach. "At least she's fucking dressed now," Finn mumbles under his breath. "Aw, Finnley, you didn't appreciate an eyeful of the girls? Maybe you should be concerned about that bottom situation, Kyan," I tease. Kyan’s blonde eyebrows shoot up. "No shit." He looks at Finn and puts his hands on his hips. "The fuck is wrong with you? You never tell a girl she should put more clothes on." Shaking his head, he gives Finn a disappointed look. He points at me. "That shit is a good reason to come to the gym." I snort and scoop up my car keys and phone. "Have fun, boys,” I wave as I head out the door. “I’ll see you tomorrow for those average tits.”

13

FINN

he cold air stings my cheeks as I walk to the front of the little black club. I T don't fucking like going places, but special occasions call for me sucking it the fuck

up. And tonight, Kyan won his 100th fight. Kyan pats me on the back as we step to the back of the line. "We're gonna take one of the lovelies home tonight." "A stripper?" "Yeah..." A sleazy smile curves across his lips. "They ride your knob like no one else." "I'm not fucking a stripper." "You ain't lived till you've poked one of 'em in the bum." I shake my head. That's about all you can do with Kyan. He's an immature fucking twat. "Fuck my life..." I wince when I hear Hope's shrill voice. "You couldn't go to the high-end strip club. Had to come to this shitty fuckhole." I turn around and look at her. She's wearing this tight black dress and silver heels. Her red hair falls in messy waves around her shoulders and she has this fuck-me smoky eye thing going on. She's vulgar as shit, but something about her is endearing. It could be that the way she looks tonight is like she's begging to get fucked, shit. Since when did I want to fuck Hope? Just don't talk to her. Don’t get drunk and don’t talk to her. Do not think about fucking her. "Fuckhole?" Kyan asks, turning around with a shit-eating grin. "I swear, treacle, we're soulmates." He brushes his fingers over her arm and she swats at him with her clutch. "Oh, fuck off with you, you slut. Anything with a gapping hole could be your soulmate. Don't take much." Her green eyes cut over to me and one side of her lips tilt up into a sexy smirk. "Bet he didn't have to bring you lasagne to get you here, did he?" Swiping my hand down my face, I groan. "Lasagne?" Kyan says, glancing at me. "Yeah, fucking lasagne," Hope says. "I take the ungrateful fuck food and he can't even play bloody-fucking-bingo without whinging." "Are you two fucking?" Kyan asks, his gaze shifting between us.

"God," I groan and toss my head back. "No. He's too surly to be jabbing me in the vag." The line moves forward and I gladly take the opportunity to get away from that shit. I walk through the doors, Kyan and Hope behind me. I'm barely three feet inside the door before I hear Larry's twangy American accent. He's at a table right by the stage, a few of the other guys from The Pit and Lou, his wife, right next to him. This is going to be grand... "Aw, look, Lou's so fucking cute, coming to the cooter club with Lars," Hope shouts and I keep on walking. Sometimes if you just ignore her, she'll eventually shut up. "Cooter club?" Kyan says and Hope laughs. Larry lifts a glass of ale, smiling when he sees me and Kyan and—"Weedoggy, red, look at you!" Larry whistles and Lou swats him. I place my hand on the back of the wooden chair and pull it away from the table before I take a seat. Kyan sits on one side of me and, of course, Hope sits on the other fucking side. The lights dim and a low bass begins to thump through the speakers. "Welcome to the stage,” the announcer’s voice echoes through the sound system, “for her first time, Crystal Chandelier." "Aw, hell-fucking-yeah," Kyan says. "Popping her stripper cherry." "Jesus, he's a fucking delight," Hope whispers by my ear. "Yeah," I laugh because, well, Kyan is a fucking dog. A waitress in spandex shorts and tittie tassles trots up and stops at our table. "Red Bell and vodka for all these fucks," Larry shouts with a jovial chuckle. I divert my attention to the curvy blonde strutting out on the stage, watching as she wraps her hands around the silver pole on the middle of the platform. She whips her hair around before hooking her leg on the pole and swinging around. Strobe lights flicker. The music thumps, and I settle back in my seat as I check my watch. An hour. I told myself an hour would be sufficient. Have a few drinks. Tip a few strippers and then book it the fuck out of here and back home to my routine. My control. My life. I feel a warm finger brush over my arm and my muscles tense. "You like the looks of that one, huh, Finnley?" She's such a creep. I don't say a word. Just stare at the stage. A drink's shoved in my direction. I glance over and Hope's holding my drink out with a smile. "Toss it back, you ungrateful fuck." I take the glass from her, watching as she sucks most of hers back in a single gulp. "That's Redbull..." "And," she shrugs. Jesus, the woman's going to have a fucking heart attack if she slams those back like that. She smacks me on the arm just as I bring my glass to my lips. "Don't be a vagina, suck it back." A vagina? Shaking my head, I snort into my glass before taking a sip.

I watch Crystal finish her dance and toss a few quid on the floor of the stage for her. When she bends down to pick them up, tits out and all, she glances up at me and winks. "Aw, see," Hope places her hand on my shoulder and leans in close to my ear, "the ladies like you because you don't look like you'd be ungrateful. You look all sweet and nice and muscley..." She takes the last swig of her drink and slams the glass on the table in front of me. "Another round, Lars, this one's on me." "You aren't going to be able to walk out of here, and I'm not carting your arse out of here either." She throws her head back, laughing. "Oh, Finnley, you're cute." She grins. "I'm Irish." I lift a brow. "I grew up on whiskey. Hell, I've skinny dipped in straight whiskey. Who the hell can say that?" "Why did you—" "Brandon." She sighs and then smiles. "He always was a ripe cunt. Hell, he even got Poppy in that whiskey vat." Nodding, I take another swig of my drink and focus on the stage. I don’t want to focus on him or the fact that he’s gone. "Seriously, Lars. Another round," Hope shouts. Larry nods just as another girl struts out onto the stage. "Ah, look at that one in her sparkly shoes. I'd have a go at that one..." Hope snickers and I cut my eyes to her. "What? A little girl on girl never hurt anyone." The club lights bounce off Hope's face and her shiny lips. Kyan says something and she laughs, tossing her head back. The vodka must be getting to me, because for a split-second, all I can think about is grabbing those red locks of hers and running my hand through it. Two hours later and I'm shitfaced. Kyan's slobbering and Hope...Hope is, fuck, she's hot when I'm drunk. She's hot when I'm sober, but she's dangerously hot when I can't see straight. The song fades out before another, slower song starts. Hope slams her empty shot glass onto the table, falling against me. Her hand lands on my arm and her fingers spread out over my biceps, gently squeezing. "Shit, I'm hammered," she mumbles, covering her face with her free hand. She leans into me a little more and the top of her head brushes underneath my nose. She smells like...like...I take a deep inhale, my eyes closing for a moment. She smells like a fucking woman: soft and sweet and goddamn— "Finn!" Kyan shouts from behind me and I lazily turn to glance at him. "You two coming or what?" It's now that I notice it's only me and Hope still at the table and my hand is on her thigh. On her warm, bare thigh. I quickly snatch it away. Kyan's standing by the table with his jacket on, watching us. "Yeah," I mumble, rubbing my palms over the leg of my jeans before I stand. "Yeah, we're uh—I'm uh..." Hope staggers to her feet and grabs her purse from the table. There's this drunk glaze to her eyes and she wobbles a little as we stand here. She starts off toward the

exit, stumbling and shoving men out of her way. I can only imagine she's mumbling cunt under her breath. Kyan punches me in the arm. "I'm going to get laid. Make sure treacle gets home okay, huh?" He smirks as he nods toward Hope, and then he walks off. I groan as I stumble toward the exit and throw the door open. The cool night air wraps around me and I shove my hands inside my pocket, wishing I'd brought a jacket. Hope's leaning against the outside of the building, one eye closed and jabbing at her phone. I walk over to her, grab her free hand, and drag her away from the building. "What are you doing?" "Taking you home." "Well, Finnley, that's a lot more forward than I expected from your surly arse." "Shut up, Hope." I laugh. Leaning into me, Hope wraps her arms around me and presses her cheek against my chest as I flag a taxi. "You smell good. Like Cherry and...man." I fight a laugh and wait for the taxi to come to a halt before opening the door. "Get in, Miss ‘I'm Irish’." She gets in and crawls across the back seat on all fours, flashing me her arse and her pink lace underwear. "I am Irish, you cunt," she mumbles, her arse still on full display. I try not to look, I do, but fuck, there's only so much a guy can do. All I can see is her long, toned thighs, my hands on her hips with that view. My dick twitches and I slam my eyes shut. She's crazy Hope...crazy, really fucking hot Hope. "Miss I skinny dipped in a vat of whiskey,” I taunt. She falls back in the seat and glares at me, slamming one hand over an eye. "There, now there's only one of you. I can't manage two cunts right now." I get in and shut the door. "Look," I say, pointing to a sign in the front of the cab. "There's a hundred quid fine for vomiting in the taxi, so if you think you're going to spew, swallow it." Her mouth drops open and she holds up her hand, placing the other on her chest. She closes her eyes, swaying in her seat. "On my honour, I have never vomited from drinking." I fight a smile. "Never?" "Never!" She sounds a little like Golem with the precious. "Well then..." "And you’re taking me to your house." "Excuse me?" "Yep, I've got three flights of stairs and I'm not scabbing my knees up crawling up the fuckers." Dear fuck. "Besides, I like to cuddle when I'm drunk. I'll be the big spoon and you'll be the little spoon." "We are not cuddling," I tell her. She laughs, her body going limp as she falls against my side. "They always say that..." She hiccups. "You'll see, I'm going to spoon you, Finnley and you shan't do a thing about it."

I'm not fucking spooning her. I've gotten a little attached to Hope in the same way you find yourself attached to a scabby stray cat that won't leave you alone. You feed it and pet it, but you don't let it sleep in your bed. Then again, the cat doesn't look like one of those chicks in a titty magazine. The taxi rolls to a stop in front of my flat. I pay the driver and open the door, dragging Hope across the backseat. "Come on, queenie." Hope groans something about dying before I finally get her out and somewhat to her feet. She leans against me, stumbling as we walk. "Don't drop me." She clings to my shirt and I can't help but to laugh. "Hope, I can't drop you. I'm not carrying you." "Well, look at me walking." And then she pats herself on the back. We manage to make it up the stairs and I prop her against the side of the building, holding her steady with one hand as I unlock my door. The second the door swings open, Hope's stumbling through, banging into walls on her way to the bathroom. I shut the door behind me and drop my keys on the counter. I hear her swearing, things dropping. Jesus, did she just fall into the tub? Then the toilet flushes and she comes wobbling out, not even bothering to look at me as she heads to my bedroom. "Wait!" I shout and she flips me the bird. By the time I get to my room, she's already under the covers all snuggled up to my pillow. "I'll just sleep on the couch," I sigh. "What? Why? You can sleep here, too. I won't rape you," she says, laughing to herself. "Cross my heart." She hiccups and waves her hand around in a pattern I think that was meant to be a cross. I can't even remember the last time I shared a bed with anyone. Normally I'd say I don't trust myself, but I'm drunk. Drunk enough to sleep like the dead. "Come on, Finnley. Climb in." She pats the bed, a drunk smile spreading over her pink lips. Her red hair is sprawled across my pillow and the duvet is pooling around her waist. She's still fully dressed, but that black dress leaves very little to the imagination. All I can see is her cleavage straining against the tight material, her milky skin rising with every breath. I drag my hand over the back of my neck and scrape my teeth over my bottom lip. I know I should walk my arse back out to the living room and sleep on the sofa, but I find myself sitting on the edge of the bed and then lying back on the pillow. "You sleep in all your clothes?" she asks between hiccups. I glance at her. She has got to be kidding. "I think it's best we keep our clothes on," I mumble. This is why I live the life I do, controlled, mapped out, the same shit every day. This...this feels complicated and strange, like something that could blow up in my face at any moment. "You can sleep in your clothes, Mother Theresa," she says, sitting up and shimmying her dress over her hips. She pauses to hiccup, then continues lifting the material inch by inch. It shouldn’t be sexy because she’s sloppy drunk and her movements are all jerky, but the second the dress pulls over her tits in that pink

lace bra, my dick stands to attention. Huffing, she slumps over with her face still hidden behind the tight material. She sits back up and throws her arms in the air. Her boobs jiggle in her bra and my dick twitches again. “Help. Me.” she groans. Sighing, I grab the dress and yank it the rest of the way over her head, smearing her lipstick. “For fuck’s sake,” she mumbles as she falls back on the bed. “You want a shirt?” I ask, but she just waves me off, half attempting to flip me the bird. I allow myself one more peek at her perky tits before I turn the lamp off and roll over on my stomach to hide my raging hard on. Now I’m no better than fucking Kyan. I watch the headlights from the intermittent car bounce off the wooden headboard. Hope's breathing heavy next to me, the smell of vodka permeating the air. This feels weird. It feels really fucking weird having her next to me. She shifts and I don't move a muscle. She lets out a little groan and rolls over, hooking her leg over mine. Fuck me. Her arm snakes around my waist, her fingers trailing along my side. I glance over and she's still out. I roll over to my back and attempt to shift away from her, but she just tightens her hold on me. Her leg brushes against my already hard dick. Groaning, I roll my eyes. This is just fucking great. The harder it gets, the more uncomfortable it is. It ends up slipping out of the hole in my boxers and rubbing against the damn zipper and I hiss in a breath. She shifts again and I freeze as her hands slip beneath the hem of my shirt, her fingers playing over my stomach. Every muscle tenses under her touch and then she scratches her nails over my chest. My breath hitches and chill bumps work over my skin. And my dick gets even harder. She snuggles her face against my arm. I lie here, completely rigid with her warm breath washing over my bicep. My dick is aching and her thigh is so fucking close, barely an inch away from my cock. I need her leg off me. I go to move it and my fingers spread out over her warm, soft skin. I close my eyes and swallow hard, allowing my hand to inch up her thigh for just a second. Fuck, she feels good. She wiggles against me and I slowly move her leg away from me, and then she rolls back over onto her side, facing a way from me. I release a breath but my body remains tense. I can't go to sleep like this, I'll wake up fucking her. Carefully, I roll out of bed and stumble through the dark into the bathroom. I quietly close the door behind me and flip the lights on. I should feel ashamed, but I don't. It doesn't take much to get a guy's dick hard and a half naked redhead in a man's bed is definitely enough to do it. I drop my jeans and boxers to the floor and lean against the sink, the cold tile biting into my skin. I fist my cock in my hand and close my eyes and, I'll admit, I think about Hope and her smooth legs and her pretty lips. Guilt drowns me. I haven't touched a woman since Kiera, but every time I've beat one off, it's to the memory of her. I always picture what Kiera looked like beneath me, the way she'd throw her head back in

pleasure, but now that image that’s so fucking engrained in my mind is blurring and distorting. All I see is red hair cascading around pale shoulders. Full lips parting on a breathy moan. I imagine what it would be like to have Hope’s thighs clamp around me with her moaning and squirming underneath me. I wonder what she tastes like, feels like. I frantically chase my release, my body jerking when the heat seers through me and I give into the fantasy, the feeling. Opening my eyes, I stare at the floor, panting. I give myself a second to come down from the momentary high before I grab a hand towel and wipe the come from the floor, balling the towel up and tossing it in the hamper before I go back to bed. When I crawl in beside her and that feminine smell of hers hits me, the guilt sets in. I just went into my bathroom and beat one out over Hope McGrath. Over a friend...over my stray cat. Shit. I adjust myself on the bed and, like a fucking magnet, she's right up against me again. She tosses her leg over me and moves to lay her head on my chest. She inhales and sighs, and all I can do is lie here wondering when in the hell I started looking at her like someone I wanted to fuck instead of someone that is tolerable at best. Inch by inch, she’s worming her way in and there are things about me I don’t want her to know. Things about me she’ll never understand. But for right now, I’m just going to lie here and pretend that this could work. Because at this moment, it feels right. She gives me hope… ironically enough.

14

HOPE

woken by my phone buzzing. I groan and grab a pillow, pressing it over my I 'm head. My ears are ringing and I swear to god the bed is moving. I think I might

be dying. Fuck hangovers. This is bullshit. My phone stops vibrating and I sigh in relief. I shift and my hand brushes over smooth, hot skin. Slowly, I lift the pillow away from my face and squint. Tanned skin, hard chest. Finn. The titty bar. His bed. Aw, shit! He moves and his thigh presses between my legs. All at once I become very fucking aware of him, his broad body and tight muscles. His hand is resting on my thigh and my skin tingles under his touch. I shift slightly and I feel the sheets rub against my side and my bare stomach brush against his skin. I try to pull my thigh away, but all I manage to do is cause his leg to move right up against my vag. Even with my hangover, I still get hot for him. I mean, Finn is Finn. All hot and surly, and his body is like a work of art. My phone rings again and he lets out an agitated groan. Okay, this doesn't need to be weird. Just play it cool. I sit up and look around for my phone. Of course, it’s on the bedside table on his side of the bed. Leaning across him, I brace my elbow in the middle of his chest and reach for my phone. I refuse to even look at him and flop back onto the mattress. I swipe the screen and press the device to my ear. "What?" I snap. I feel the bed shift, and in my periphery, I see Finn sit up, swinging his legs off the bed and keeping his back to me. I feel like an ocean of awkwardness filled with awkward fucking turtles stretches out between us. "Hope," Poppy says. There's a rustling then a bang. "Did you die?" I ask, pressing my fingers against my eyelids to block out the sunlight drifting past Finn's curtains. 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 this 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 fairyfucking-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

atrick's asleep in my arms and I can't stop looking at him. I never cared much P 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

straight home after I leave Finn's. I debate stopping I intogoPoppy's because 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. "Silas." His name barely makes it past my lips. His eyes drop to my lips as he steps inside, his hand immediately wrapping around the back of my neck before he pushes me against the wall. I turn my head to the side and breathe hard. "What are you doing?" I whisper. "I miss you, baby." He inches closer and my heart goes haywire, thumping and pounding against my chest. His warm lip brushes mine and then he kisses me, his

soft lips and distinct taste of cinnamon all too familiar. My legs go weak for only a moment before I'm able to snap myself out of this fog. Placing my palms against his hard chest, I shove him away. I squeeze my eyes shut, willing my heart to slow. "What the fuck are you doing here?" I try to force an edge in my voice, but I sound weak. I'm always fucking weak with him. I hate myself right now. "I don't know what I have to do to convince you I'm sorry." He stares at me and too many memories flood my mind. I loved him. I did...but sometimes, no matter how much it hurts, you have to know when to let go. And I let him go. I think of him and Teagan and that cold rage returns in an instant. Two years disappear in the blink of an eye and I'm right back in that room with him ripping my heart out. "You fucked my sister, Silas." I grab the edge of the door, holding it open because he is leaving. "There are some things so shameless, sorry won't touch it." I mean, really? Sorry I stuck my dick in your sister. God it hurts, this deep ache squeezing my heart like a fist. I don't need this today. His chin drops to his chest on a sigh and then he drags his hands through his hair. "I fucked up. Hope," he glances up and steps toward me, "you know I'm fucked up. Broken. I try to—" "Stop. Having issues is not an excuse for being a fucking prize dick." I know he's broken, I always knew. As a naïve sixteen-year-old I found the hot older guy irresistible. I wanted to stick it to my daddy by having Silas stick it to me. I was so easily led. He made me fall for him and, as with all first loves, I fell hard. I truly believe the heart never really recovers from that. Poppy never got over Brandon even when she was happily married to Connor. The heart wants what the heart wants. And my heart is like a sick junkie begging for a fix. "Two years, baby...two years. Can't you forgive me?" He trails his fingers over my cheek and I have to fight not to fall into his touch. Silas has always been like a fire that has no hope of being put out completely. "You know we were right for each other." He steps closer and I back up until my shoulder blades are against the cool wall. I close my eyes and swallow heavily. I can feel the heat from his body. He's so close to me. His fingers sweep from my cheek to my throat, dancing along the top of my breast. My skin breaks out in goose bumps and I fight a shiver. Goddamn him. Hot breath washes over the side of my face and I turn my face to the side in an attempt to move my lips away from him. All it does is expose my neck. His warm lips press against the spot just below my ear and his tongue sweeps over the skin. "Baby, please..." he murmurs against my ear. Images flash through my mind and I remember how good he used to make me feel. His hands glide over my waist and it's all so familiar, soothing in a twisted way. He makes it hard to push him away because before he broke me he was my everything and we were perfect. I thought we had a love to rival the greats. How quickly he tore down my childish dreams. Just like that, the torturous images of

him fucking my bitch of a sister spring to mind. I can never forget it. That memory is like a bucket of ice cold water being thrown at me. "Stop," I say, pushing against him, my nails digging into his stomach. His lips pause before he slowly pulls away, his eyes meeting mine. His dark brows pull together in a frown, his eyes searching mine. Suddenly, he looks confused and it allows me a moment to gather myself. "Don't look so surprised, Silas. I got over you a long time ago. You need to leave." His hands drop from my body, but he doesn't step back. "You'll never be over me, and I'll never be over you," he says. I tilt my head back to look at him. "Leave." "Hope, I flew all the way here to see you." I roll my eyes. "So fly all the way back to whatever rock you crawled out from under." His lips curl slightly at the corner, sinking that dimple into his five o' clock shadow. Why couldn't he have gotten fat and ugly? "Well I can't fly out right now and I have nowhere to stay." "There's a great hotel around the corner. If you're lucky there might be an available hooker on the corner on your way over there." He takes an exasperated breath. "Hope...come on. It's gone eleven at night." I cling to my brash façade because he will not fucking dig the knife in any further. I fold my arms over my chest. "Exactly. Only one reason a guy comes calling at this time," I accuse. He stares at me for a few moments, his shoulders slightly hunched and his eyes pleading. "Jesus, fuck. Fine. You can stay on the sofa. I'm going to go and rig up a drip from this bottle of wine and face plant the wall repeatedly so, I'll be hung over in the morning. Leave before I wake up." Turning, I walk away from him before he can say anything else. I snag my bottle of wine from the coffee table and go to my room. The second the door closes I slide down it, pull my knees to my chest, and cry. I sit with my back against the door, drinking wine from the bottle as I cry over my ex-boyfriend who I'm so pathetically weak for that I let him stay in my apartment...after he fucked my sister. My life is such a fucking shitshow, it's a joke. I'm a joke. Pity party for one, please. Fucking hell. The worst thing about it all—even after two years, even after he hurt me so fucking badly—I'm still in love with him and I hate myself for it.

17

HOPE

in the morning and stagger into my en-suite, wincing as I stare at I wake my reflection in the mirror. My eyes are all puffy and swollen with dark circles

below them. Fuck this. I get in the shower and hope that the hot water will miraculously improve my face. It doesn't.

I throw on a tank top and a pair of leggings, leaving my hair loose and wet down my back. When I step into my living room I find the sofa just as I left it—no sign of Silas. Good, I think even as a small fissure of disappointment takes root. Every girl wants a guy who's going to fight for her, even if he is a ripe cunt. I guess I want Silas to love me as much as I loved him. I want him to hurt as much as he hurt me, but it's not possible. He doesn't have enough of a conscience or he wouldn't have done it in the first place. I still remember the way he fucking stared right at me as shoved my sister’s face into the mattress and ploughed right through her. She'd always wanted him, always been so bitterly jealous of me. He only had to look in her direction and that spoilt bitch was game.

In the two years since, I've heard how he was in a bad place, how he was depressed and angry, fucked up from his tour in Afghanistan. He told me over and over how he was trying to push me away but I always remained loyal, no matter what he said or did. So, he did something truly unforgiveable. I finally walked away from him, clutching the broken pieces of my heart in my hands. Yes, I want him to hurt. I want him to fucking bleed. I go into the kitchen and busy myself. It's done. He's gone. I need to forget it and push all thoughts of Silas from my mind.

I'm flipping through the latest issue of Tatler and sipping on my coffee when I hear my front door open. What the fuck? I glance up, a frown on my face as Silas rounds the corner clutching a bag from the local bakery. My stomach clenches

uncomfortably, the same way it always does when he's around. I pick up my half-drunk mug of coffee and take it to the sink, turning my back on him. I need a second.

"I told you to leave," I say without looking at him.

"I went and got breakfast. We need to talk.”

Whirling around, I grip the edge of the kitchen counter behind me. His eyes trail over my body and I feel like he just set me on fire. The plain white t-shirt he’s wearing clings to his massive shoulders and cut waist. Tattoo's wind down both arms and up the sides of his neck. Dark and dangerous. That's what he is, and it's what always made him so attractive to me. My mother always hated him and the more she hated him, the more I wanted him. Now, I see exactly what she saw: a military guy four years older than her teenage daughter who looked like trouble with a capital T.

"No, we don't. There's nothing to talk about, Silas."

He braces his palms against the breakfast bar, hunching his shoulders forward as his dark eyes lock with mine. "I've let you run for two years, baby." His lips tip up in a small smirk and my heart skips a beat. "I'm done letting you run."

I roll my eyes and walk past him. His hand darts out, grabbing my wrist. "Let go of me," my voice shakes, emotions bubbling to the surface.

His eyes search my face. His jaw clenches. "No."

"Silas," I say quietly. I can't do this. I feel weak and exposed and the wound I promised myself I wouldn't open is gaping, bleeding and raw. I feel myself waver and try to swallow around the lump in my throat.

"I love you, Hope," he whispers.

The dam breaks and I squeeze my eyes shut trying to fight back the inevitable tears. He yanks me forward, enveloping me in his arms and crushing me to his solid chest. Tears track freely down my cheeks and I bury my face in his shirt in a bid to hide them. It's pointless. The scent of his cologne surrounds me, soothing and taunting me like a dream that morphs into a nightmare. His hand presses against the back of my head. His fingers thread through my damp hair as he holds me close. The very man who causes me the most pain is now the one consoling me. That irony is not lost on me. Neither is the fact that, after all he's done, he insists on torturing me, on playing with my emotions.

I sniff. "I can't do this with you," I mumble, pushing away from his chest. He cups my face and swipes his thumbs below my eyes.

"I hate to see you cry."

I huff a small laugh and close my eyes, unable to look at him. "Silas, I have shed more tears for you than I could possible count."

"I can fix it, Hope.” His lips press against my forehead. “You loved me once."

Opening my eyes, I step back from his reach. "Once." I still do. Love. It's such a stupid uncontrollable emotion, and yet, don't we all seek it, crave it as though it were the ultimate and most unattainable high? I guess, in a way, it is. After all, there's nothing quite like it, is there? The euphoria, the safety, the sense of just belonging. Maybe that's why I wanted Silas so much, because I loved him and he loved me, and I thought I'd managed to find my place in this world. I wasn't the daughter of Jerry McGrath. I wasn't the girl in the big house or the loud ginger. I was just his. Yes, belonging can be powerful and if I'm honest, I haven't belonged anywhere since the day he betrayed me.

Silas places his thick finger under my chin, forcing me to look at him. It's something he used to do to me all the time right before he'd kiss me. "Give me a

chance. My flight goes back on Monday. Let me start over. You're not the same crazy ginger kid I once met, and I'm...I'm better now." He takes a deep breath. "Please, baby. You're my biggest regret, and...and I know I'll never love anyone the way I love you. No one will ever want you or love you the way I do. It's impossible." He's slowly battering away at my defences and I don't know how long I can stand in the face of this siege. "Two days," he pleads.

His thumb swipes across my bottom lip and his eyes drop to my mouth, desire flashing through them. "Okay," I hear myself whisper. "Two days." I'm making a mistake. I know I'm making a mistake, but it's a little bit like watching a car crash. You know it's going to be horrible, but the morbid curiosity won’t let you look away.

18

FINN

ny word on my case being seen? I text just before the school bell rings. The A sound of kids screaming and laughing fills the air and my phone buzzes with a

reply. Nope. Not yet. I sigh. Kids scatter across the schoolyard, but my eyes are trained on my baby girl as she skips down the school steps, over the yard, and up to the Audi parked at the curb. I watch Lydia hop into the car with Kiera. After they pull off, I crank my bike and speed down the road into the city, finally pulling over in front of the Thai restaurant I love. I pull my helmet off as I make my way to the entrance. A couple comes walking out, hand in hand and staring at each other like love-sick puppies. They are so into each other they nearly bump into me. "Sorry," the guy mumbles brushing the girl’s hair out of his face. I nod and walk through the doorway. The hostess grins and grabs a menu as she rounds the wooden stand. "I don't know why I give you this thing," she says as she leads me through the restaurant. "You probably have it memorized." I smile because it’s the polite thing to do. She shows me to a table by the window and I take a seat, placing my helmet on the floor beside my chair. The waitress comes by and pours my water before taking my order, even though she knows what I have every time. Sometimes I wonder what she thinks of me. Always coming in here alone. I lean back in my chair and pull my phone from my pocket, scrolling through the Facebook. There’s some video of a cat that keeps me distracted until the waitress sets my plate down. I set my phone down and glance out the window just as a redhead in tight jeans and a leather jacket goes strolling past. I do a double take and realise it's Hope. A smile touches her lips as she walks down the pavement...with a guy. Hope didn't come by or text yesterday, or the day before that. Nothing so far today. I kind of feel bad just telling her to leave the way I did. I shouldn't, but I do. You never know how someone will take something and, as much as she does my fucking head in…I narrow my eyes, watching her. Her red hair catches in the wind and I find my gaze straying down to her arse. Stop it. The steam rises from my plate, drifting in front of my face as I continue to stare

at her. Watching them, trying to figure out what they are. I shouldn't care if she's seeing someone. I don't care...I don't. I watch the two of them disappear down the street before I take my fork and scoop up a pile of noodles. Good. Maybe she'll leave me the fuck alone now. Stop just popping in and harassing me and sleeping in my bed...Fucking stray cat. I stare at the date on my cell phone and my chest grows tight. Today is Lydia's birthday. She's 6 which means it's been five years since I left. Five years since I lost my shit. Since I went to jail. Since Kiera asked me to get help. She said I was a basket case and that she couldn’t trust me. That she was afraid of me. Kiera and I had grown up together, she was my first love, the person I trusted more than anyone else, loved more than anyone else, the mother of my child, and she was afraid of me. Shaking my head, I shove my phone in my pocket and stare up at the navy-blue door before I knock on it. The door almost immediately opens. Kyan looks like he's half asleep, his blond hair is sticking up in every direction. "You okay, mate?" "Yeah, I just uh..." He opens the door and steps to the side to let me in. "I just was out and thought I'd come by. See what you're up to." "Not much, just drinking, watching the fight." "Oh shit, I forgot about that." Kyan shakes his head as he shuffles back to his couch and flops down. I glance around his apartment and anxiety creeps around me like a vice. Disorder is every fucking where. His place is worse than Brandon's was before Poppy, if that's even possible. The couch has a hole in it. There's cereal scattered over the carpet. Clothes are strewn everywhere. A condom wrapper—an opened condom wrapper is on the coffee table right next to an open bag of crisps. "How the bloody hell are you gonna forget about this fight? These guys are brutal. Fucking cauliflower ear for days on that one." He points to the TV. There's two sweaty men, bloodied already and circling each other. Kyan leans over, and I notice a dirty plastic cooler next to the sofa. He lifts the lid and digs around in the ice before bringing out two beers and tossing one to me. I catch it and sit down in the chair against the far wall. "You keep your beer in a cooler next to the couch?" I ask. He shrugs. "Yeah, don't have to get up and walk to the fridge that way." "Wow..." "Hey, at least I get up to piss. My old man used to just take a piss in an empty bottle of ale." Dear god. People are filthy. "Fucking punch him in the face O'Brien. Fucking nail him!" Kyan shouts, leaning over his knees with the beer half-raised to his mouth as he stares at the screen. "You talked to Hope?" "No." "Hmm."I want to ask what the fuck that Hmm is about, but I don't. "She likes

you." "Okay." "You hurt her feelings." "What the fuck?" He shrugs and takes a sip of his beer. "Kicking her out the other day. You should be ashamed of yourself, Finn." Kyan glances over at me and grins. "Since when have you become a gentleman courter?" "I may be a dog, but I at least have some manners about me." I toss my head back against the chair and drag my hands down my face. This is why I don't get involved with girls. Drama. I didn't fucking kick her out. I told her to leave and then she runs off and cries on Kyan's fucking shoulder. Dear fucking god. I can't deal with it. I tilt my beer back and down half of it and then I think about the guy I saw her with yesterday. "She's seeing somebody anyway." "What? Who?" "I don't know. I just saw her with someone yesterday." "And...I was with her the day before. Doesn't mean she's seeing some bloke." I stare at the screen watching O'Brein's fist pound into the other guy's cheek again and again. "It's okay to like her." "We're just friends." "Yeah," Kyan laughs. "That's exactly what it looked like the other night at the titty bar. You were watching her more than you were that SJ girl with the massive tits." I don't look away from the TV. Just keep watching and sipping on my beer. O'Brein beats the shit out of the other guy. I pop another beer. "Want to go down to the pub?" Kyan asks. "There's this blonde girl with legs for days I'm trying to cop onto." He grins. "You'd be a great wing man." "I'm just going to go home. It's late." "Late? What the fuck is wrong with you? It's not even gone 10 yet you old fart." Shaking his head, he stands up and heads down the hall. "I'm taking a piss and then we're going. It'll do you good to get out." Three hours later and Kyan's found the blonde and I'm pretty sure he's fucking her in the toilets. I'm paying our tab when he comes strutting out, zipping his fly. I take the receipt from the bartender and shake my head on a laugh. "Did you really just fuck her in the bathroom?" "Nah," he swipes his beer from the counter and downs it in one gulp. "She just gave me a blowie. She's too classy to be bending over the toilet." "But not too classy to get on her knees in a puddle of piss?" Kyan smirks. "You do have a sense of humour after all, don't you?" He winks as he heads toward the door. "Come on, mate." I follow him out in a beer haze. Kyan cat calls at a little brunette standing by the corner. She turns around, dragging her eyes over him before she leans through the

window of the car stopped next to the curb, engine running. "Nice arse, treacle," he shouts, stumbling into a garbage bin. "Fuck's sake, Kyan. That's a hooker." "Well," Kyan snorts, "I ain't never seen a hooker with an arse like that." "Jesus." I grab onto his arm and yank him to the other side of the walkway. "Come on." "I know,” he slurs, “let's go see Hope." "No." "Yes." "Why?" I groan. "She's pretty." "I'm not going to see fucking Hope." To be honest, I do want to see her, which is all the more reason for me to go the fuck home. "And besides. She lives right up there." He points to a set of red brick flats, squinting an eye. "Ah, look. Hope!" he shouts. "Treacle!" "Shut up, would you?" I shove him. "Well, she's outside on her balcony. Hope, it's me and..." he laughs, "him— the fuckface." "Fuckface?" He glances at me with a smile. "Yeah, that's what she calls you." I stare up at a balcony and see a figure move along the patio. "We're coming up, treacle," Kyan yells again. "She's not even answering you." "Well," he shrugs, "might not be her. Maybe that old lady that lives next door. I don't fucking know." He bolts across the street without so much as a glance and I roll my eyes. I should just leave him, but god knows I'd end up bailing him out of jail. I jog across the street myself and follow him up the metal stairwell. He's winded by the time we reach the top and he goes right to the first door and pounds his fist over it. "Ah, treacle," he sings. "We've come to see you." "You sound like a fucking perv." "Thank you." He smiles. The door opens and Hope stands there, her eyebrow raised as she looks at Kyan, sparing me a fleeting glance before deliberately looking away again. "What are you doing here?" she asks. "I don't know. Finn wanted to see you." "What!" My gaze drifts over to Hope whose leaning against the door with her arms folded. "Kyan," I reach for him, but he manoeuvres away from my grasp. "I doubt that,” she snorts. The annoyance in her voice bothers me. "He's drunk," I say. "I'm—" "And just who the bloody fuck are you?" I hear Kyan say. Hope rolls her eyes and turns around, opening the door the rest of the way. There's a man standing in the middle of her living room, his head only a few inches away from the ceiling. He's in

a pair of jeans, his steroid pumped muscles on full display. It's the same guy she was walking with earlier. "Who the fuck are you?" He asks, eyeing Kyan with a volatile glare. "Jesus, fuck, Silas." She turns around, her hands on her hips as she looks at the guy. "Don't be talking to my friends." She turns back to us, stepping into the hallway and pulling the door nearly closed behind her. "You're fucking the hulk?" Kyan asks. "No." She clips him across the side of the head. "He's my ex." Her eyes flick to me, her expression tight. Her usual teasing self is completely absent and I don't like it. That's what makes her Hope. She looks...sad. "It's complicated," she mumbles. My gaze locks with hers and I can't seem to tear it away. "Come on, Kyan," I say. "Ginge, you're breaking my heart," Kyan says, clutching at his chest. "I thought what we had was special." I roll my eyes. "Come on," I say more impatiently. Suddenly I need to get away from here, from her. Nothing about this should bother me, but it fucking does. I have absolutely no right. Kyan stumbles back down the hallway with me and I have to grab the collar of his shirt and yank him back to stop him from falling down the stairs. "I'm sorry, man," he says when we get outside. Yeah, I think maybe I am too.

19

HOPE

tossed and turned all night and all I can picture is Finn's face. He looked I have so betrayed. I shouldn't care because Finn and I are friends. Just friends. I can

only imagine what he must think of me—about Silas. I swipe my hand down my face and gulp a mouthful of coffee. Silas staggers into the kitchen wearing nothing but a pair of tracksuit bottoms. His hair is sticking up everywhere. I swallow hard when he stretches and drags his hand through it. We went out in London yesterday and at times it was nice, but my mind is like a war zone and every time I allow myself to slip into that familiar, safe place with him, it instantly reminds me of what he did. Could I ever get over it? Should I try to forgive him? I've always said if a guy cheats on me, I'm done, but people make mistakes, especially when they're dealing with shit. Silas was in a bad place. He did something fucking stupid...but what if this is it? What if he's my one and I miss out on an epic love because I'm too proud to forgive? What if I think I can forgive him but end up haunted by that constant feeling that I wasn't good enough? I wasn't good enough to help him, wasn't good enough to keep him. I just wasn't enough, and in the end Silas destroyed not only himself, but me in the process. But…here he is and what if I am enough now? I place my hand against my stomach trying to rid myself of this sick feeling. This is what he does, he raises questions, uncertainties, insecurities that I just don't need. I'm fine without him. He moves to the sink, stepping up behind me and trailing his hand across my waist as he does. Closing my eyes, I release a shaky breath as his lips brush the side of my neck. My fingers clench so tightly that my nails cut into my palm. As his hand tightens on my waist, all I can think of is how it's not his touch I want. Finn's hurt expression pops into my mind again like an alarm on repeat. "I have to go," I whisper. Silas pulls away and I quickly duck for the door. "What? Where are you going?" he asks. "I have to go and see a friend." I grab my handbag from the chair and practically run out the door, fumbling with my car keys as I go.

I take a deep breath, knock on the door, and wait for a second. Of course, he doesn't answer. Arsehole. I dig around in my bra until I find the key and unlock the door. I step into Finn's apartment and he glances up, frowning at me from his spot on the sofa. His guitar is in his lap, his fingers lingering over the strings. "I did knock, but you're a cunt, so I used my key." He strums over the guitar again and cocks a brow. "What do you want?" What do I want? "I came to see you, you ungrateful prick." He strums out a soulful little melody. "Well, you're seeing me." I sigh. "Fuck me, Finnley. Are we really doing this?" Huffing, he sets the guitar by the edge of the couch and combs his fingers through his hair. "Doing what, Hope?" I want to cut him. "Okay, cool. Nothing to see here, all fine. You didn't kick me out of your apartment for no fucking reason last week..." "I told you to leave. I didn't kick you out." He smirks. "But I guess little queenie doesn't know the difference. What, am I the first guy that's actually asked you to leave?" "Fuck you, Finn!" I lift my middle finger at him for good measure. "I have been nothing but nice to you and what do I get? Your sulky, brooding shit. You kick me out, and then you turn up at my place and look at me like some traitorous whore because you saw Silas..." "Again, I did not fucking kick you out. God, you are so fucking annoying." He stands up and crosses the room. "I don't care what you do with Silas." I narrow my eyes at him. "So you don't care if I fucked him?" "Who haven't you fucked?" My mouth falls open before it snaps shut with a click. "At least I fuck someone. Must get awful lonely in this apartment, you and your hand..." I lift one eyebrow, a small smirk playing over my lips. He shakes his head. "I was just fine by myself. I'm not the one who is following someone around like a sad little puppy." I swallow heavily, remembering Silas' parting words. No one will ever want you or love you the way I do. Maybe that's the truth. "Why do you keep coming over here, Hope, huh?" He takes another step toward me, backing me against the wall. He's so close I can smell the cherry smoke on his breath. I blink and all the fight leaves me. "I don't know," I whisper. Something shifts, tension charging the air. Finn's dark eyes drop to my lips before lifting back to my eyes. I stare at him as he places one hand on the wall above my head and leans in until his forehead rests against mine. "Why do you let me?" "I don't know either," he whispers. I can't breathe. "I should tell you to leave." His warm, sweet breath washes over my face and I crave it. I crave him, for reasons I can't possibly begin to explain to myself. Maybe it's just simple need, a fundamental want but I don't think so. He makes me feel safe.

My chest constricts and I tilt my chin up until my lips brush his. I expect him to pull back, but he doesn't. I press my palms flat against the wall. I feel like I'm walking on thin ice, waiting for him to put a stop to this. There's a moment, a pause and all I can hear is my own heart pounding in my chest. And then his hands land on either side of my face as his lips crash over mine. I don't know what I expected from Finn. Gentle, sweet maybe, but not this. His kiss is demanding, his lips soft yet brutal as his fingers dig into my face and his hard body crushes me against the wall. My lips part on a gasp and his tongue slips inside my mouth, caressing my own. My hands leave the wall, fisting his shirt and pulling him closer. He makes me feel possessed and wanted because he's losing control. For me. This man who is so controlled in every aspect of his life, so calm and collected. His hands slip from my face and he grips my arse, yanking me hard against him, against the firmness of his crotch. Just as quickly as it starts, it stops. He pulls back and we stare at each other, both breathing heavily. My lips tingle with the taste of him: cherry and smoke. "I, uh..." I swallow and reach behind me, feeling for the door knob. "I should um, go. I should go." He stares at me. My heart is pounding and I can't read his expression. I find the knob and twist, pulling the door open and slipping out without another word. Why do I have to make things so complicated for myself? I walk back into my apartment and Silas is sitting on the sofa, his elbows resting on his knees as he leans forward, focusing on the TV. His eyes flick to me. He must sense that something has shifted. I don't even know what, but it has. "You need to go," I say. He frowns, pushes to his feet, and crosses the room. "Hope.." I shake my head. "This will never work." I look up at him. "I can never forgive you. I can't forget." He takes a step closer and I can see the determination on his face. My temper snaps. Finally. "Fuck, Silas. Just fucking go! I don't love you anymore." The words shock both of us, but what's even more surprising is that I think they might be true. I'm in love with the memory of what we once had. I'm sad at the loss of it, but I don't love Silas. He closes the space between us and I shuffle backwards. He stops, his brow furrowing in frustration. I expect a big argument but instead, he simply turns and scoops up his bag, hooking it over his shoulder before he leaves the apartment. The door bangs shut behind him with a heavy finality. I release a long breath and sit down on the sofa. My heart is racing and my hands tremble, but he's gone. Silas is out of my life again and I wonder if it's for good this time?

20

HOPE

he coarse ropes that line the ring brush against my exposed stomach. Kyan is T bouncing on his feet in front of me as I wrap his hands for the fight.

"Good and tight, ginge." I roll my eyes. "I know how to wrap, fucktard." His gaze is fixed over my shoulder and I twist, following his line of sight to Haven who is taking bets next to her dad. "You like to live dangerously, princess," I say to Kyan. A devious smile works over his lips. "Oh, I think little Haven might be game." I laugh. "Larry is going to rip your dick off and feed it to you if you go near his eighteen-year-old daughter." "Ah, ginge,” he looks at her again, “some risks are definitely worth taking." "You're impossible." I glance up when someone shifts to step beside me. Finn has his permanent scowl fixed in place. I quickly drop my gaze away from him. I don't know why. I'm not one for being anything less than balls to the wall about everything, but I'm not sure there's any way not to feel a little awkward right now. The last time I spoke to him we had a fight, then we kissed, and I left, because that's always the mature way to handle situations like that. "Gotta check your wraps," Finn says, raising his voice over the growing crowd spilling into The Pit. Kyan holds his hands out and Finn inspects them. Ever since Brandon got sliced up by a guy with razor blades in his wraps one time, everyone gets checked. "Okay, you're good." Finn slaps Kyan on the back and Kyan ducks through the ropes into the ring. The other fighter still hasn't come out. "You okay?" I ask as we stand shoulder to shoulder, facing the ring. He releases a heavy sigh and turns to face me. "Yeah. You?" God, could this be anymore awkward if we tried? What are we fourteen? Jesus... "Yep. I'm great," I say with far too much enthusiasm. The cringe worthy silence reigns on for several moments before Finn clears his throat. "Can you wrap?" He holds two rolled wraps out to me and I take them, tucking one between my legs as I take his outstretched hand. I focus on winding the material around his outstretched fingers, up his wrist. I can feel his eyes on me as my fingers brush

over the tight muscles of his forearms. I finish wrapping him and pause, pulling my hand away slowly. The crowd roars around us, but all I can feel is the silence between us. "Sorry," we both blurt at the same time. I smile and finally look up at him. His dark eyes study mine. "I’m sorry I kissed you," he says. My heart drops a little. "Are you?" His lips press together. "Are you?" He waits for my reaction. I narrow my eyes and step closer to him until my breasts rub against his bare chest. He doesn't move away, only looks down at me. I reach up, lightly running my fingers along his chest. His taped hand meets my hip, but he doesn't pull me closer. I watch the slow path of my manicured nails over his tanned skin. I tip my head back and lift my eyes to his lips. The air fills with this tension pausing as though holding its breath. Pushing up on tiptoes, I press my lips to his gently. His arms wind around my back and he tugs me closer to him. The kiss is short and sweet, but full of possibilities. "I have to fight," he says, against my mouth. I nod. "Okay, go kick some arse." A small smile pulls at his lips before he releases me, his hand slowly gliding over my back. The bell rings signalling the end of Kyan's fight. I don't know whether he won or lost. "And next in the ring..." Larry’s gruff voice rumbles through the speakers announcing Finn. I can't stop smiling as I turn away from Finn and glance into the crowd, but the smile quickly falls when my eyes land on Silas. He's standing far enough back so as not to be easily seen. I guess hoping he’ll be hidden behind the cheering, drunk men. I glance at Finn quickly. "Good luck in your fight." I squeeze his forearm before disappearing into the crowd, bee lining for Silas. He stands like a rock, his arms at his sides, his muscles rigid tense. He looks hard and dangerous and I can practically feel the anger rolling off him in waves. I've never feared him and I'm not going to allow myself to right now. Besides, we're in a room full of people. What is he going to do? "What the fuck are you doing here?" I say with a snap when I reach him. He grabs the top of my arm, his fingers digging into my skin hard as he drags me across the room and roughly pushes me against the wall. His hands land on the wall either side of my head, caging me in. Suddenly, the room full of people that felt like a security blanket a few moments ago now fades into the background, irrelevant and inconsequential. It's just me and a very pissed off Silas. His jaw ticks repeatedly and his nostrils flare. I know him well enough to know he's about two-point-five seconds from losing it. "What do you want?" I ask, quietly this time in a bid not to agitate him. A humourless laugh slips from his snarled lips. "You're fucking the fighter?" I glare at him. "It's none of your business who I'm fucking Silas. You were

supposed to leave. Why the fuck are you following me?" His gaze slips down my body. "I always knew you were a whore, just like your sweet sister." He smirks, and I lose it. My temper spikes, my fist curls and I punch him in the face. His head snaps to the side before his gaze shifts back to me, his eyes ablaze with a whole new level of anger. Oh, fuck. "Fuck you, Silas." Yep, I can't help myself. His teeth grit and he flexes his neck to the side, the movement causing tension to wind through my body. "You are fucking mine, Hope!" he says with a roar. He pulls his fist back and I flinch, throwing my hands in front of my face. His fist slams into the wall next to my head and I choke on a breath. He brings his face inches from mine in an attempt to kiss me. I shove against his chest, trying to move away from him, but it's pointless. I turn my head to the side, and that's when I catch sight of Finn storming towards me. Relief fills me just before Silas is ripped off me. And then all hell breaks loose.

21

FINN

L

arry introduces me and I step into the ring, the crowd yelling. I glance around and see Hope moving away from the ropes and through the crowd. She shouldn't be up by the ropes alone. It gets rough up here. My opponent, Dan Smith, is bobbing up and down on his heels. The bell dings and he throws a punch but misses, falling forward a few steps and stumbling. I shift my weight and hurl my fist at his face. It makes a loud smacking sound when it lands against his sweaty cheek. The packed room erupts in cheers. He falls down but manages to lift himself to his hands and knees. I glance back at Hope and see fucking Silas standing in front of her. His arms are braced on the wall behind her, the side of his face that I can see is red. Hope's shaking her head. There's a loud pop and pain explodes along my jaw, my ear ringing. I stumble a few feet, a little dazed but my vision is still locked on Hope and Silas. I back away from Dan, giving him a quick glance as I jump away from his next swing. I look to the back of The Pit again just in time to see Silas punch the concrete wall behind Hope. Heat floods my face. My nostrils flare. And I throw myself out of the ring. A path clears as I start to the back of the room. Sweat drips down the bridge of my nose. My pulse hammers in my ears. His face in only an inch or so away from hers and all I want to do is beat his motherfucking arse. She shoves him back a step, her face twisted in rage. He just steps right back up, crowding her, intimidating her. Hope sees me. Relief fills her eyes just before I grab Silas' thick shoulder and jerk him back. I don't say a thing. I don't even take a breath. The second he spins around I slam my fist into his face, his nose crunching underneath my knuckles. He staggers and I grab his neck, holding him as I pound my head against his.

"Finn." I hear Hope screaming. I feel hands on me, but I'm gone. It's all black; tunnel vision that leads right to this fucker right here. I thread my fingers through Silas' hair, gripping his skull as I repeatedly slam his head against the concrete. I hear people shouting, still pulling to try and get me

off of him, but I can't stop. I don't want to stop. I'm trained to kill and that is one instinct I've yet to learn to turn off once the switch is flipped. He groans and attempts to fight back, punching me in the gut. I bring his face to my knee. Warm blood splatters over my skin. An arm wraps around my neck from behind, yanking and squeezing, but I'm still swinging. The next thing I know, I'm on the floor, staring up at the ceiling. My ears are ringing. My body is drenched in sweat and the entire basement is empty except for Kyan and Larry.

"Jesus Christ," Kyan says. "What the fuck was that about?"

"I..." I sit up, my head spinning. "Where's Hope?"

"Oh hell!" Larry groans as he pushes to his feet. "Should've known it was over a damn woman. You boys and your goddamn testicles. I'm done with the bunch of you. Next time one of you wants to go beating the ever-loving-shit outta some poor fucking Nancy, you're own your own. You hear?" And with that Larry heads to the stairs and disappears.

Hope appears over Kyan's shoulder, a worried frown set on her full lips. She presses her hand to her chest. "Jesus, Kyan, I thought you killed him, you stupid fuck."

Kyan stands to face her. "Did you want me to let him kill the guy?" He points at me. "Because that fucker was going for full blown manslaughter."

She folds her arms over her chest, hugging herself as she glances at me. I swipe a hand over my forehead, wiping the sweat from it. "He was being an arse."

"You can't kill a fella just because he's an arse,” Hope sighs.

Kyan throws his hands up in the air and walks away. "He's all yours, ginge."

And then it's just me and Hope. She lingers a couple of feet away from me and I push to my feet. I stretch my neck from side to side, working out the stiffness.

"Look," I say. "I can't handle that shit, okay?"

She glares at me. "Define: 'That shit'…"

I groan, tossing my head back and scrubbing my hands down my face. "Fucking, just...."

"Thank you," she blurts in a rush.

And I just....grab her. I take her face in my hands and slam my lips over hers. My hands work their way down her throat, her chest, until my fingers are skimming the waist of her jeans. Her hands go to the back of my head and she pulls me in closer. Her warm tongue dips inside my mouth and I grab at her pussy through her jeans, which coaxes a low groan from her. "Jesus fucking..." I breathe into her mouth before she kisses me harder, deeper. I sink my hand underneath her jeans, my finger swiping over her. Fuck, the slightest touch of her warm skin, the slick, wet feel of her…every last bit of me threatens to become unhinged. I yank my hand away and fist her hair, jerking her head back as I stare into her eyes. "Let's leave," I whisper as I step away from the wall, my hand trailing down her arm and to her hand.

22

HOPE

he second the door to Finn’s apartment closes behind us, he T grabs me. His hands slide beneath my top as his lips crash over mine. I kiss him

like I'm trying to crawl inside him and maybe I am. It's like the floodgates have opened. I want him. Perhaps I've always wanted him like this and have just been denying it to myself. His lips break away from mine and he tears my tank over my head, throwing it to the side. Next go my shoes and jeans, until I'm standing in nothing but my underwear. I rake my nails over his stomach before I tug his t-shirt over his head. His redhot skin presses against my stomach, his teeth clamp down on my lip, and I tremble, my breath hitching. Clamping his hands around my thighs, he lifts me, wrapping my thighs around his narrow hips. It's a frenzy of hands and lips laced with desperate breaths. The next thing I know, my back hits the sofa. Finn presses between my thighs, hot and heavy and demanding. I scratch my nails over the back of his neck and his lips drop to my throat, working over my skin until I'm burning up for him. I throw my head back against the sofa cushions. He nips and licks over my neck. Hot breaths dance over my skin as his greedy hands grab at my breasts. His tongue traces the lacy edge of my bra and my chest heaves desperately. I just want him to touch me. He groans against my throat and the sensation of his lips, the vibration of that noise sends a flood of heat throughout me. “Fuck,” he says, his hands skimming along my waist. My hands glide over his defines biceps, over the large bulge of muscle covered by his warm, smooth skin. He glances up, his dark eyes setting on my face and there is a primitive want dancing behind his eyes. This is absolute lust, unbridled passion. Something that probably shouldn’t happen because we are friends and I know once that line is crossed there is truly no coming back. I can tell he’s hesitating, possibly mulling over the same thought in his mind. But, as wrong as it may be, I just want him. I want this. The need, the kisses and touches. A tight pull forms between my thighs and I find myself grabbing his hand and shoving it between my legs. “Ah, fuck, Hope,” he breathes as his fingers slip beneath the edge of my thong, playing over the wet mess he’s made of me.

“Shit.” I fidget underneath his weight and he plunges his fingers in hard and deep as he nips at my neck. An unrestrained groan rumbles next to my ear as he buries his fingers deeper inside me, twisting and rubbing in ways that have my eyes slamming shut on a laboured breath. Finn sits up on his knees and adjust himself. He takes he’s free hand and pulls my thong to the side as his finger work inside me. His thumb goes to my clit, pressing and rubbing as he watches himself touching me. There’s the slightest smirk of satisfaction that works its way over his defined features before he subtly chews at his bottom lip. “You’re so fucking wet, Hope. So beautiful,” he exhales a long, hard breath as he slowly leans down and swipes his tongue over me. “Shit…” I grab at the arm of the sofa in a desperate attempt to ground myself because this…him…his tongue, his fingers, it’s almost too much. With each thrust of his hand, his tongue works over me and his thrust grow harder, more determined to take me to that brink and hurl me over the edge. His tongue circles my clit, sucking. His fingers slam into me with such force he scoots me to the end of the sofa. My heels dig into the cushion; my breaths grow shallow and uneven. Heat builds in my stomach and that slow tingle turning to a gradual burn. One last lick and thrust and everything explodes. Bliss shoots through me like an angry hit of heroin and I moan, my hands flying to his head and lacing through the thick strands of his hair. “Shit,” I pant, forcing his face away from me as I try to catch my breath. “Finnley. Just, shit…” And just like that, the desire masking his face fades away and confusion wrinkles his brow. Finn quickly pulls his hand away from me and hops to his feet, backing away from the couch like I’m some infested, mangy mut that just bit him. “Fuuuuuuck,” he groans, swiping a hand through his hair. I sit up, reaching for my clothes and quickly dressing. I feel soiled and tainted and shit…why did I let him do that? As soon as I pull my shirt over my head, I’m sliding my feet into my shoes, and then I glance up at him. His back is to me and he’s standing still enough to pass as a statue. Then his chin falls to his chest and he exhales. “You need to leave, Hope.” I don’t say a word. I simply push to my feet and brush past him, sucking back all the nasty things I want to say to him as I open the door, but I do slam it shut behind me. And hard. I walk straight to my car and hop in, starting the engine and peeling away from the curb. I don’t know why I’m upset. Guys are fucking guys and Finn is no fucking different. At least with Kyan, he’s upfront with it. Finn’s just….I groan and turn the radio up as loud is it will go, belting out the lyrics to some Royal Blood’s song. On my way up to my apartment, I stop in front of Poppy’s door, debating on whether to knock or not. I glance at my watch and it’s too late. I don’t want to wake Patrick up, so I head up to my apartment, grab a bottle of wine, and crawl in the bed. Story of my fucking life.

23

FINN

he door slams behind her so hard the picture next to the doorframe sways on T the hook. Motherfuck! My dick is still hard as shit and the guilt. Fuck me, the guilt of having taken advantage of her—or whatever the fuck that just was—I can’t stand it. She’s had her ex staying with her. I just kicked his arse and finger fucked the living shit out of her. I shake my head before I fall back onto the couch. I told her to leave…oh, for fuck’s sake. I freaked and told her to leave. I stand up and pace. We’re friends or…something and I had no business doing that, but damn did I want to. I grab my keys and leather jacket and head out the door and straight to The Pit in search of Kyan because he’s well-versed in fuck-ups like this. Within ten minutes, my bike is leaned against the side of the building and I’m walking through the doors and into the smoke-filled bar. Kyan’s leaning over the bar, talking to Haven. She grins and winks at him. Holy shit, if he’s fucking Haven, he’s going to get his arse beat to hell and back. Haven notices me and that smirk falls right off her face. She grabs a bar towel and pretends to wipe at a spot and ignore Kyan. I walk up behind him and place my hand on his shoulder. “Hey, I need to talk to you.” “Aw, shit, what did I do?” “Nothing. I just need…advice or something.” His eyes widen and a sick smirk wiggles over his face. “Ah, you fucked a friend, didn’t you?” He winks. “Told ya’ the two of you weren’t friends.” “I didn’t fuck her, Kyan.” He glares at me. “Really?” “Yes, really—” “Boy,” Larry shouts as he comes out from behind the bar. “You better not be causing no more ruckus like that in here. Those damn redheads are like she devils.” I stare at him and Kyan laughs. “I’m telling you, sonny. She devils. Those ginger’s ain’t got a lick of a soul.” I nod at him, watching as he swipes at his glass eye that’s gone crooked. “Sure

thing, Lars.” He points at me. “Red in the head, fire in the hole and a whole lot of fucked up shit to come right along side it.” “What the fuck is he on about?” Kyan whispers through a grin. “I don’t know.” “Alright, Lars,” Kyan says as he stands up. “We’re heading out. Send Lou my love.” He nods and Kyan slaps his hand over my back, leading me to the exit. “So, if you didn’t fuck her, what’s the problem?” “I finger fucked her.” He stops midstride and glares at me, lifting a single brow. “Finger fucked her?” “Yeah.” He covers his mouth with his hand and snorts out a laugh. “Did you finger fuck her right before or after you dry humped her?” “Oh, fuck off, would you?” He holds his hands up and shakes his head. “I’m just saying. How old are you?” “Never mind,” I say and push through the door, immediately heading to the side of the building and grabbing my bike. “Wait a second, fucktard. I’m just taking the piss. Look, you like her.” I stare blankly at him. “You. Like. Her.” I grab my helmet and shove it over my head. I don’t even know why the fuck I came down here to talk to him. “She likes you. What is the fucking deal with the two of you? I mean, honest to god, Finn. You both act like a pair of confused adolescents. Finger fucking and all the fucking angst. Give it a rest. Sink your dick in her and be done with it.” The fact that he thinks I could treat Hope like a slut irritates the fuck out of me. I lift the shield to my helmet. “Sink my dick in her and be done with it?” I ask. Kyan tosses his head back and groans before he drags his hands down his face, the rough motion causing the bottom of his eyes to stretch down. “Not like that. Just fucking date her, for fuck’s sake. No wonder you’re single. Jesus in heaven, you’re doing my fucking head in and I’m not trying to fuck you. Poor ginge, I wouldn’t put up with your arse for anything.” “Thanks, Kyan.” I go to crank the bike and he steps forward, placing his hand over mine. “Tell me you didn’t tell her to leave?” I drop my chin to my chest and sigh. “Ah, fuck, mate.” He shakes his head. “You hate me, don’t you? I’m never gonna hear the end of this shit. Look, call her. Tell her you’re an arsehole, a rancid dick dribbling fuck face, tell her you have fucking Tourette’s or some shit and that when you say ‘leave Hope’ you actually mean, put your pussy on my mouth.” I just stare at him. That’s all I can do. A group of women strut past the alley, giggling, which, of course, catches his attention. He glances to the sidewalk and whistles. They all stop and stare at us. “Fancy fucking a fighter?” he shouts. That gets another fit of girly laughter. I’ll

never understand why any girl would want to be within five-hundred meters of his dick. “Look, tell her you’re sorry,” he says, slowly backing toward the sidewalk. “I’ll talk to her, okay?” “Thanks, mate,” I say and crank my bike, watching as he hurries over to the group of girls waiting for him. Tell her I’m sorry. Is it really that fucking simple? Because it never has been before…

24

HOPE

someone knock on my door early in the morning but I refuse to get out of I hear bed. Whoever it is goes away and I slump back against my pillows, wanting to

bury myself in my duvet and never come out. My life feels like this eternal shower of shit raining down on me. In fact, no, it’s not. It’s just men. They can all go fuck themselves. I’m going to turn lesbian and live out my happy vag loving days without a single penis in sight. A few hours later and someone is banging on the door again. I check my phone and see four missed calls from Poppy, one from Kyan. Fucks sake. I’m about to call Poppy back when I hear the hinges on the front door squeak open. A few seconds later and Poppy is standing in my bedroom doorway, her hands on her hips and judgment pouring off her. Of course, she has a key. “It’s one o’clock. Why are you still in bed?” she asks. I groan and sit up, dragging my hand through my hair. “And you’re still wearing what you went out in last night,” she comments. “Look, just…can we delay this caring little chat.” I know I’m being a snippy bitch but I just want to be left to sulk. Dear god, I sound like Finn. Maybe he’s rubbed off on me already. Poppy sighs, flicking her long, dark hair over her shoulder. “What’s happened?” “Nothing.” “I know you, Hope, so cut the shit,” she says on a sigh. I groan and pitch forward, face planting the duvet. “Finn and I—” “About time!” she cuts in. I sit up again and stare at her blankly. “He went down on me and then asked me to leave.” Her eyes go wide before she schools her expression. “Oh, well….that’s…” “Yeah, that’s something. That’s a load of shit is what that is. God, why am I so hopeless with men?” I flop back against my pillows with a huff. “It’s like they see me and just want to take a giant shit on me.” “Did he say why?” “Nope. Just freaked out. What is wrong with me?” I groan. Poppy comes and lies on the bed next to me the same way we used to when we

were teenagers. “There’s nothing wrong with you, Hope. You’re the best person I know and if Finn can’t see that, then he’s a dick.” I swallow the lump in my throat and emotions swirl around me in this volatile haze, not because of Finn. It’s him and Silas and just everything. Poppy wraps her arms around me and rests her head on my shoulder. “Where’s the kid?” I ask. “In the front room. He’s in his pram asleep.” She lifts her head, those blue eyes locking with mine. “You sure you’re okay?” I nod and plaster a smile on my face. Fuck, look at me sulking about shitty boys to Poppy of all people. “I’m fine.” She nods and kisses my cheek. “I have to go take Patrick swimming, but I’ll stop in later. Unless you want to come?” I wrinkle my nose. “I am not getting in a pool full of babies dropping every bodily fluid known to man in a swimming pool.” She just rolls her eyes, smiling as she gets up and leaves. I hear the front door click shut behind her and once again I’m alone. I manage to wash and feed myself at some point, and I’m chewing on a piece of toast when there’s a knock on my front door again. “Poppy, I’m fine,” I say, opening the door. I pause when I see Finn standing there. He slowly lifts his gaze to mine. His hands are shoved deep in his pockets and his shoulders are hunched forwards. “What do you want?” He takes a deep breath. “Can I come in? We need to talk.” I consider slamming the door in his face for a moment, but I don’t because my stupid, hurt little feelings need consoling. He steps inside and I close the door behind him, leaning my back up against it. I refuse to move into the room or offer him a seat. He can say what he has to say and leave. “I’m sorry,” he says, running a hand through his hair. “Great, was that all?” I turn to pull the door open again, but he grabs my arm, his fingers lingering on my skin. He frowns as he stares at that one point of contact. “Hope, please. Just…” He lets out an aggravated breath and squeezes his eyes shut for a second before they flash open again. “I shouldn’t have done that to you?” I laugh humourlessly. “Are we referring to you making me come, or you kicking me out?” “Fuck! Both!” he snaps. I glare at him. His eyes slowly rise to meet mine. “I like you, but I can’t offer you anything. I’m not good at this. Can we forget this happened and be friends again?” And here I am again, stuck between a rock and a hard place because in that moment when his lips were on mine, his hands, his tongue…he made feel like someone special. And now I feel worthless. I want him though, I like him but would

I rather keep him as a friend, or not have him at all? Honestly, I worry about him and even if he won’t admit it, I think that he needs me. I take a deep breath and force down the foreign feelings that seem to be gravitating towards him. “Okay.” He studies my face, his lips pressing together. “Okay?” I nod, forcing a smile onto my face even as tears threaten. “Just don’t be attacking my vag anytime soon.” I open the door and duck my head so he can’t see my face. I’m not in love with Finn. I’m not. But just once I’d like to be the girl that’s good enough to date, rather than the girl who’s good enough to fuck or be a friend. It seems Silas was right. He may truly be the only person who will ever love me that way. Finn passes me in the doorway and pauses, hesitating for a long moment. I see his hand reach towards me before he clenches his fist and retracts it. “Bye Hope,” he says, and then he leaves. I close the door. “Bye, Finn.” I agreed to stay friends with him, so why does it feel like I just lost him?

25

FINN

our days without a word from Hope and fuck, I miss her. This morning bit the F bullet and texted her to invite her over for dinner. I don’t often cook, but here I am —cooking for Hope. Fucking women. Steam rises from the pot of boiling pasta. I lean over, watching the bubbles for a second before I take it of the eye, drain it over the sink, and dump the noodles into the sauce. On my way out of the kitchen, I grab a bottle of wine and take it to the dining room table, filling the two glasses before I place the bottle in the middle of the table. I inhale as an uneasy feeling creeps through my stomach. Why the hell am I nervous? This is Hope. The doorbell rings. The doorbell rings? Since when has Hope used a doorbell? I wipe my hands over my jeans and walk to the door, pulling it open to reveal Hope in a dress that clings to every fucking curve. My eyes drag over her body, my dick swelling with every inch of her skin my gaze passes over. “Finnley,” she says as she walks past me into my apartment. "It's good to see you, queenie." She cocks a brow and a little smirk plays over her pretty lips. “Careful. Stop being a miserable bastard and I might start to worry about you.” "Uh-huh." "What is that smell?" She tilts her head back, sticking her nose in the air. "Food. I cooked dinner." She whirls around, narrowing her eyes at me. “Cooked?” I grin. “Yes, cooked without burning.” She puts her hands on her hips. “You mean to tell me all those times I was bringing you food, you could cook?” I shrug and she huffs. “Well, that’s just extortion.” “If it makes you feel better, I don’t cook as well as Poppy.” “Touché,” she mutters. I go to the kitchen and dish up the spaghetti, taking it to the dining room table nestled in the corner of the front room. Hope sits down, glancing at the food in front of her before looking up at me with her eyebrows raised. "What?" I ask. "Nothing. I'm mildly impressed. It normally takes at least a dick pic to impress me."

Unfolding my napkin, I glare at her. "You are so classy; you do realise this?" She smiles. "My mother would agree with you." I laugh. "So, class runs in your family?" She snorts and picks up the glass of wine in front of her. "I'm Irish, Finnley." "Right..." I twist the noodles around my fork. "Pikey," I mumbled under my breath before I shove the spaghetti inside my mouth. "Fuck you.” She smiles innocently and shoves some noodles into her mouth. "Oh my god," she says between chews, holding her hand in front of her face. "You can cook." She swallows. "Damn, if we weren't friends I'd bag and tag you faster than a rat up a drain pipe." I laugh and accidentally suck food down my throat, choking. I grab at my throat, trying to force the lob of noodles down. Hope's not even paying attention, just cramming her face with more spaghetti. "Don't die, Finnley. I need you," she says smirking. "Doris had to cancel bingo tomorrow night. Her glaucoma got bad." Shaking my head, I manage to swallow the food. "Nope. Not happening." She folds her arms over her chest. "You owe me, Finnley." "What for?" "You know what!" She grits her teeth. I swear to god, she looks like she's going to kill me. "I am not going to fucking bingo again. I said I was sorry and that's a site more than most people get." "Sorry doesn't cut it, sweet cheeks. I need actions not words. And actions include bingo." She sips on her wine, eyeing me over the rim of her glass. Huffing, I spoon more spaghetti into my mouth, hoping maybe I'll choke again. "No, bingo," I say around the noodles. "Ask that old man with the urinal attached to his chair. "You'll need a urinal attached to a chair if you don't fucking come," she says, smiling and twirling a strand of hair around her finger like a raging psycho. "Threats?" I shake my head. "You fucking redheads have issues." "Don't think I won't cut you, Finn." She sniffs. "I will take you for Thai food first though. Because I'm really fucking nice," she adds. Glaring at her, I lift my wine glass to my lips and take a drink. "I'll think about it." "I don't know why you fight me, Finnley. Just go with it. It's like drunk sex." "And you would know what that's like..." She lifts her middle finger. "And your hand might know what that's like," she says, grinning. After we finish dinner—and the bottle of wine—I clear the table. I don’t want her to leave yet. I enjoy her company. We stand by the living room in an awkward silence and I rub my hand over the back of my neck. "Want to watch a movie," I ask. "I'm not watching any porn, unless It's Colby Keller. I'll watch that man say,

'Give me that tight arsehole'," she says with a smirk. "What. The. Fuck..." "Don't tell me you've never watched Colby?" Her jaw drops. "Oh my god, Finn. Every guy needs to witness his holiness just so he can have fucking aspirations." I flop back on my couch, eyeing her as I turn on the TV. "You watch porn?" "Babe," she snorts, "please." She takes the remote from me and fiddles with her phone for a few seconds. "I'll just skip to the good bit." Okay, this is not the shit you do with a friend whose pussy you’ve been knuckle deep in. Shit. This is going to end with me and a massive hard on. "Uh, I'm not watching porn with you. It's kind of a personal—" An angry grunt rips through the surround sound, the unmistakable smack of skin slapping skin rings out. "Get him Colby. Get him," Hope heckles, snatching the remote from me just as I go to grab it. What. The...another deep groan and I can't help myself. I glance at the TV and immediately wish I hadn't. It's a close up of a massive dick slamming into a gapping arsehole, lube dripping all over a pair of loose balls swaying from the sheer force of the intrusion. Retching, I slam my hand over my eyes. "What the actual fuck is wrong with you? Is that..." I shake my head. "Fucking two men. Arse sex? You put on gay arse sex for me to get inspiration from? That—" I point at the screen but won't look, "is what I am supposed to aspire to?" Hope laughs so hard tears stream down her face. The slapping and grunting grow louder and then...."Give me that tight asshole," one of the men growl. I point angrily at the TV. "Off. Turn. It. Off or no bingo." I grit my teeth and glare at her. "Ever." "Look, ignore the fact that it's a guy..." "I fucking can't! His balls are right there." "They're shaved," she says as though shaved balls are half-way to a pussy. Fuck me. "Turn it off." I go to grab the remote from her and she yanks it away. "Not until you watch the face Colby makes when he comes." "I am not watching him come. For fuck's sake. What is wrong with you?" "And the sound. Jesus, I'm wet just thinking about it." She bites her lip and I'm not sure whether it's hot that she's turned on, or really, really disturbing. A long drawn out moan sounds through the speaker and the unmistakeable grunt of a guy coming. "Jesus, look at it, it's like an ocean of come. So hot," Hope breathes. "An ocean of come. Did you just say an ocean..." I take a breath and slap my hand over my forehead, dragging it down my face, "…of come?" "He hit the back of his fucking head, Finn! Look!" The noise cuts off for a second. Thank god, she turned it off. I glance at her and she's looking at her screen, and then it starts all over again. That long drawn out groan sounds out and a sick grin forms on Hope’s face. "Look, Finnley," she growls like a horny beast. "Hope," I try to grab the remote, but she snatches her hand away. "Not until you look." She grabs my face and turns it toward the screen, and

before I know it, she's climbing onto the arm of the sofa and throwing her legs around my waist as she climbs on my back, mounting me like a fucking horse. "Look. At. It." She digs her fingers into my face and pries my eyes open, forcing me to look at the screen "I swear to god..." I swat at my back, trying to get her off. "Respect the spunk fountain." Oh dear god. She can never have wine again. Never. Never. Never. Never... I finally manage to get her hands off my face and she leaps from my back, running around the room. The groaning and ball smacking is still going full force. "Give me the remote." "Nope." She rounds the corner of my coffee table and I jump at her, grabbing her ankles and yanking her to the floor with a thud. "Oh, my god," she whines. "I think..." She moans and sits up, clutching her arm. "I think I broke my wrist. Fuck..." "What!" Oh shit. Way to go fucking Finn...I hop to my feet and crouch beside her as a wild smile flickers over her face. "You're such a pussy." She stumbles to her feet and runs away. I storm over to the TV and yank the plug out of the wall, the sex noises ceasing. "Pussy!" she calls from the hallway. She comes back into the living room, the moaning still playing on her phone. "You have issues," I say. She rolls her eyes and taps on her phone, cutting that terrible porno off. "No shit. Anyway, what film are we watching?" "Not that shit,” I say. She scrolls through her phone for a second before tossing it to me. "You pick something then. If anal's out, I'm at a loss." "Dear god..." I look through the movies on Netflix and stop on The Ring. The credits start rolling and she shakes her head. "No." She scoots next to me. "Don't do this to me." "What, you don't like scary movies?" "Not really, but this one…." she closes her eyes and crosses her chest, "it's possessed by the devil." "God, you are so dramatic." Look, it scares the shit out of me." "Well," I lean back in the couch and turn the volume up with a grin, "just make sure you don't shit on my couch." "Cunt," she mumbles under her breath. "You're abusive as fuck..." She slaps my arm. "See!" I say. "I'm ginger. Don't act like you didn't know what you were getting. Besides..." She sniffs. "I'm a fucking delight." Ten minutes into the film and Hope has slowly crept closer to me. I try not to laugh as her wide eyes fix on the screen, her body growing more tense with each passing second. When the part where the video plays and the girl answers the

phone comes on, I carefully take my phone out of my pocket on the other side of Hope and dial her number, trying not to laugh. Her phone rings and she screams. I fucking lose it, laughing so hard I'm afraid I may piss myself, and she, of course, punches me in the ribs. "I fucking hate you!" I swipe tears from my eyes. "Payback's a bitch." She’s basically crawling into my lap now and when the part with the kid crawling out of the TV comes on, Hope buries her face into my chest. "I hate this fucking film," she grumbles. "Why? Why would you have a film about an angry kid that got thrown down a well? It's messed up. Fucking wrong. And then they make a second because the first wasn't fun enough! Fuck me," she rants against my chest. I laugh and she punches me again. "I'll protect you from the freaky child," I tease. "You fucking better. I'm not going home tonight." I tense slightly. "You'll be fine." "I am not sleeping on my own. This is your fault. Fuck, I swear I can feel it watching me." She shudders. "So basically,” I sigh, “I've scarred you with a freaky fucking child and you scarred me with a gapping arsehole. Great." "Don't even think this is even. What you've done to me is way worse." The credits roll and she still has her face buried in my shirt. “Cartoons,” she says. “You have to put on a cartoon now to wash that evil out of my mind.” I toss my head back against the cushions and groan. “Hanging out with you is seriously like babysitting a nine-year-old.” She doesn’t move, just keep clutching to my shirt. “Fine,” I say and turn on Spongebob Squarepants. The theme music stars and she slowly peeks up from my chest before she sits up. “Thank you.” I make it halfway thorugh the first ridiculous episode before I doze off. When I wake up, Hope’s head is in my lap and she’s asleep. I stretch for a second before carefully sliding out from underneath her and placing a pillow underneath her head. I toss the blanket from the back of the sofa over her and go to bed. Not two minutes after I’ve gotten in bed, the hinges to the door creak. I open my eyes and see Hope’s shadow as she tiptoes across the room to the end of the bed. She gently climbs onto the bed, slipping underneath the duvet. "Really?" "You fucking left me. Why would you do that?" "You are such a child," I whisper. "Look, the TV is out there. I can't sleep in the room with the TV." "Dear god, just keep your clothes on this time, would you?" "You should be so lucky," she says, turning away from me. The last thing I need is Hope in my bed, but I can't deny that a huge part of me loves having her there...even if we are just friends.

When I wake up in the morning, I'm spooning Hope. My arm is wrapped tightly around her waist, my hand just brushing her boob. And my dick is pressed against her arse in a very unfriend like way. Fuck.

26

HOPE

into the car park I pull over at Finn. "We're here."

and

cut

the

engine,

smiling

as

I

glance

He ducks down and glances out the window. "Oh, fuck, Hope, really? I told you, no bingo. That’s what you get for showing me a guy’s arsehole being ploughed.” “Fuck off. You made me watch that fucking film. We’re even.” He huffs and folds his arms over his chest. “I thought we were getting Thai food anyway.” "And, we will, right after I make Opal my bitch." "Dear god...she's pushing ninety, Hope." "And?" I open the door and climb out. "And..." Finn clamours out of the car and points at the billboard. "It's fucking bingo." I glare at him. "You're so uncultured." "Yes, because playing bingo whilst necking prune juice is so cultured?" I start walking towards the building and Finn follows. "Don't let them fool you, they all smuggle the hard stuff in that shit." "Dear god..." He just shakes his head and heads to the front of the bingo hall. I hook my arm through his. "We're gonna win. I can feel it." "Uh-huh." He lets out an exasperated sigh. This is pretty much how it is with us, me constantly trying to drag him out of his apartment and him never knowing quite what I'll do next but tolerating it. It's because I'm ginger. He can't get enough of that shit. We round the corner of the building and I see Opal staggering in with her walker. She sees me and glares at me through her bifocals. "Jesus, it's that serious, is it?" Finn says, amusement in his voice. "I'm gonna fuck her up." "Again, Hope. She's ninety..." "She's a saggy fucking cunt." He stops dead in his tracks and stares at me. "It's true..." "What's true?" I ask, narrowing my eyes at him before losing focus and

dropping my gaze to his thick biceps and chest. Damn, he's too hot to be in here. The ladies from the book club are going to want to ride him like a pack mule. "That redheads have no soul. You just called someone's Nan a saggy fucking cunt." I smile. "Aw, you say the sweetest things." I wrap my arm around his waist. He grabs the door and opens it, the smell of the laminated cards hitting me and sending me into a high. "Jesus fuck." He looks around the bingo hall, a scowl set on his pretty face. "I need a drink to get through this shit again." I take a seat at one of the tables. "Can you get me a red bull. I need extra focus if I'm going to beat her." It’s taking Opal three hours to get from her walker to her seat, and I glare at her the entire time she shuffles across the floor. Finn just walks off shaking his head and mumbling. I whip out my bingo cards from my handbag and dig around until I find my favourite pink dabber. The game starts before Finn gets back so I dab his numbers for him. The second he sits down, I shove his cards in front of him without looking up from my own. "What's the prize tonight?" I glance up briefly. "A hundred quid," I say, dabbing another number. "What?" He scrunches his brow. "A hundred quid?" "I-42," the announcer calls. "Friday and Saturday nights are cash prizes." I check his squares for I-42. He snatches his bingo cards from me. "Where's a fucking stamper?" He holds out his hand and wiggles his fingers, scouring over the numbers. I stare at his waiting hand for a beat and cock a brow. "Welcome to the life, Finnley." I dig in my handbag, find my purple dabber, and hand it to him. "N-75. N-75" He pounds his stamper over his card. "That's right mother fucker. N-75!" Sipping on my red bull, I glance at him. "I've created a monster," I whisper. We keep going until someone shouts bingo. "Fuck!" Finn chucks his pen down on the table and I groan while trying to spot the culprit. "Fucking Opal," I hiss as she hoists her rotting arse out of her seat and wobbles up to the front. Finn shakes his head. "You're right, Opal is a cunt." I think he might be my soulmate.

27

FINN

up to the smoke alarm going off, the shrill sound piercing my ears. I I wake hop out of bed, losing my balance as I rush to the door. There's a thick cloud of

smoke creeping along the ceiling and I can hear Hope swearing in the kitchen. "Fucking cunt bacon." "Queenie, what the fuck are you doing?" I round the corner and find Hope standing at the stove, grey sweatpants on and a tight t-shirt that clings to her tiny waist. "Well, I was frying bacon.” I stand, dumbfounded in the entrance to the kitchen. “You were frying bacon?” “Look,” she turns around. “I wanted bacon. I didn’t have bacon and your house is closer than the shop. Anyway, the grease caught fire and I had to put that shit out. I burnt the toast and the eggs..." she glances to the only frying pan not smoking, "the eggs are fine." "Well one in three is..." I drift off. Jesus she can’t cook. Hell, I don't think I've ever seen her eat anything that wasn't take out or made by Poppy, and for some damn reason, I find it endearing. She glances around. "Fuck this, I'm going to the bakery." I snag her around the waist as she goes to move past me. She stares up at me and this awkward tension thrums between us. My gaze drops to her full lips and fuck; I want to kiss them. I swallow and my fingers twitch over her waist. Inhaling, I wet my lip with my tongue, debating on slamming her against the wall and kissing her, fucking her on the counter. Jesus, Finn. This is a disaster. We are not friends, no matter how many times we say we are. She’s staring at me, her chest rising in uneven swells before I release her. “Bakery sounds good.” She slowly nods and turns around, walking out of the kitchen. I hear the front door open. “Be back in a few she says.” “Okay.” The door closes and I let go of the breath I was holding, immediately reaching down to adjust the ever-present hard-on I’ve come to develop around her. I swipe my hands down my face and grab the skillet with the charred bacon, dumping the mess into the trash. I get the kitchen cleaned up and back into order just as Hope

comes bustling through the door, clutching a bakery bag in her hand. She takes out a croissant and holds it up to my face. “I don’t—” I literally choke on my words as she shoves half the greasy croissant down my throat. Smiling, she nods her head. “Delicious, I know.” She takes the croissant and bites into it, her eyes fluttering closed on a moan. “Fucking amazing.” She licks her lips. I can't help but stare at her tongue swiping over her lips. My dick swells again at the thought of her mouth and… "It's okay Finnley." She drags her thumb over my bottom lip and then licks her thumb. "I'll let you play hunter-gatherer." I nod. "Uh-huh.” Some of the filling falls from the croissant, landing on her tight, white top. My eyes automatically fall to her chest. She rubs her hand over her shirt, smearing the stain over her chest. That shouldn’t be hot, but it is. Does she not understand what she’s doing to me? Dear god. She must. I don’t know how much longer I can be around her like this. Alone. Horny. Fuck. "What do you want to do today?" she asks. I frown. "The same as I do every day." "Ugh!” She rolls her eyes. “No, we are going out." "Going out where?" I'm not overly fond of Hope's random excursions. She shrugs one shoulder. "Who knows? That’s what makes life fun, Finnley, not k The little bell to the shop jingles and the Asian man glances up from the front desk. He smiles at Hope and ushers us both to some leather recliner looking chair. Hope plops down, kicking her flip-flops off as she swings around into the seat. He motions at me to take my shoes off. "No," I say and start to stand. Hope points at me. "Sit, Finnley. Or no more bingo." I glare at her and fall back in the seat, quickly kicking off my trainers and peeling my socks from my feet. The man sits on a wheely chair and rolls in front of the basin to my chair, turning the taps. He glances at my feet and wrinkles his nose shouting something in Asian to another worker. They both laugh. "Ah, you got little hobbit feet," Hope snickers. "And you have Fred Flintstone feet." I glare at her. She sniffs. "My feet are perfectly formed. Cunt." "You are trying to emasculate me, aren't you?" "No." The man taps my foot and I stare down at him. He points to the water then my foot and I sink my feet into the warm water. I can't believe I am doing this. What the fuck am I doing in a damn nail salon? Jesus-fucking Christ. It can’t get any worse. It can’t. Hope glances over at me and smiles. Fuck my life, she knows she’s breaking me

and she likes it. Larry was right. She-fucking-devil. The man grabs my ankle and hoist my foot out of the tub, placing it on the little towel folding over the edge. He glances up at me and shakes his head. "Very dry," he says, running his hand over my heel. Hope laughs and I glare at her. "This is wrong, you realise that, right?" "What, pampering yourself? God, Finnley, break out of the stereotype, would you? I hear David Beckham gets pedicures." "Fuck David Beckham," I say and the little Asian man shakes his head on a sigh before he grabs something that resembles a cheese grater and goes at my heel with it. "Look at that," he says and points to the foot shavings scattered all over the towel. "All that dry skin." Bingo and pedicures. What's next, fucking church? “After this we can go visit Poppy or something.” “No, I have somewhere I have to go this afternoon.” The second I say it, my stomach knots and sweat beads on my brow. I don’t want her to ask me where I’m going, but it’s Hope and she’s nosey as shit. “Where are you going?” she asks and I turn to look at her. She’s all smiles. “Somewhere.” “Of course, somewhere, how stupid of me.” She rolls her eyes and grabs a magazine from the side of the chair, popping it open as she sinks down in the chair. “Dark and mysterious…” she mumbles. And this is why, even though I want Hope, I know I don’t need her. There is too much to my past. Too many skeletons. Things that she doesn’t need to get involved in. I cut the engine to my bike and kick the stand down. The bell rings and a flurry of children scurry out of the schoolhouse doors. Skipping, jumping, laughing. Lydia walks out with a friend. Her blonde hair spills over her shoulders in ringlets. I watch her smile and giggle. I don't even know what her laugh sounds like. Sighing, I wonder what Kiera has told her about me—if she's told her about me. It's fucking hard to watch her like this. Just watch her grow, day after day, imagining what she likes...ponies and fairies, or what her favourite story is. She's my flesh and fucking blood and I don't have the faintest idea about her at all. She skips across the yard, running right into—who the hell is that? I stand from my bike and narrow my gaze, staring at the man in a business suit who is wrapping his arms around my baby girl. My face heats, tension ripples throughout my body. I watch as he takes her by the hand and leads her to a white BMW SUV. He opens the door, kissing her before she crawls inside. Wave after wave of jealousy beats through me. That man is living my life and it's enough to make me hate him. The engine to the BMW roars to life. The taillights flash. And then, he's pulling out onto the street with my little girl in the back. When I go to crank my bike, I notice how

hard I'm gripping the handles. My knuckles are white, my fingers tense. The motor growls and I swerve out onto the street, following a few cars behind them. He eventually turns down a side road, stopping in front of the building I once lived in. The building I once had a family in. I brake by the stop sign at the end of the street, watching as he helps her out, carrying her back pack as they walk up the steps and disappear inside. It shouldn't bother me. He could be a great guy. A great role model, but selfishly, all I can think about is that she is my daughter. I don't know why I'm still standing here, straddling my bike and just staring at that apartment door. I just don't want to leave. It's a sick feeling knowing another man is taking better care of her than I am—I send Kiera money every month and she sends it right back to me. She won't even let me have that little bit of dignity. I pull my phone from my jacket and dial David’s number. It goes straight to voicemail. “David, something has to happen with my case. I’m wasting time. Fix it or your fired. You’ve got a week. You hear me? A fucking week.” I hang up and just when I'm about to start the motorbike, I see Kiera's Audi pull up. I know I should start the bike and leave, but the anger won't let me. It keeps me grounded right here, heart pounding, jaw clenching. Her blonde hair catches in the wind as she steps out of her car. Her scrubs cling to her curves and before I even realize it, I'm marching up to her. "Kiera," I shout. She stops, but doesn't turn around. I keep walking until I'm so close to her I can smell her perfume, the warm smell of amber and vanilla wraps around me. "What are you doing here, Finn? I thought we had an understanding and I'd hate to—" "Who is that guy with Lydia?" Her shoulders rise on a hard inhale. "It doesn't matter who he is." "The fuck it doesn't. He's with my goddamn daughter!" I can feel a fire scorching through my veins and I close my eyes to try and rein it in. "Kiera..." "Finn. Stop!" She turns around. Her blue eyes land on mine, dredging up feelings I'd rather not be reminded of. "You need to leave." "I know. I know. I need to leave before Lydia sees me and asks about her piece of shit father, right?" I turn around and head back to my bike, but stop. "What have you told her about me, Kiera, huh?" Inhaling, she slowly shakes her head. "She's never really asked about you, Finn." I swallow. I don't believe that. "Don't lie to me. She has to wonder who her father is." "No, she doesn't. She knows who he is because he tucks her into bed every night," she says and my chest seizes, a slow burn of hurt radiating down to my very core. Without another word, she turns around and walks toward her door. I stand by my bike in a daze, staring off into the nothing. I don't know what I expected her to say. I've thought about the possibilities over and over, that she'd

tell Lydia I was a bad person. In jail. At war. That she didn't know me. That I was dead and gone. I never imagined Lydia wouldn't even wonder because she has a man she thinks is her father. I don't even exist to the one person who is my world. She's part of me and not one part of me exists to her. I shove my helmet over my head and straddle my bike, taking one last glance at the building before I crank the engine and drive off. I wind through the London traffic on autopilot, not even aware of where I actually am until I stop in front of Hope's flat. She's has an armful of groceries and smiles when she sees me. I take my helmet off, tucking it under my arm as I walk toward the door. "I didn't expect to see you," she says. I take the shopping bags from her and she lifts a brow as she steps away. "You alright?" "Yeah, I'm fine." She glares at me before turning around and heading to the stairs. I follow her inside and put the groceries on the counter. "Oh, my god. Do you know what Doris told me?" she asks as she takes the milk out and puts it in the fridge. "God only knows." "She said that Eddie and Bobby got into a fight. Over her." She pops her head out from the fridge and smiles. "Wow..." "Yeah, Eddie tried to run him over with his scooter at the bingo hall. You see what happens when I miss a week?" She closes the fridge and shakes her head. "I miss all the good stuff." I smile, swiping my hands though my hair. All I can think about is that Lydia doesn't even know I exist, that I never really lost her because since the day I left she hasn't been mine. She's somebody else's baby girl. Hope comes closer and trails her fingers over my arm. “I’ve been thinking,” she says, biting her lip. I try to focus on her, but I can't. I can't do this. Everything is closing in, my heart's pounding. I need air. I need out. I need away. "I uh..." I take a step back and swallow. "I gotta go." I turn and open the door to leave. "Finn! Where are you going?" "I just need to drive." "What is going on with you?" She grabs my shoulder and I tense under her touch. I want to tell her, but what in the hell will she think of me? What does that sound like: I left my daughter. I have a restraining order because I let my temper get the better of me. It makes me sound like a piece of shit. It makes me sound no better than the piece of shit that broke her heart. Fuck! "Hope, I just, I need to be alone." “Well, then why did you come over here?” She inhales and narrows her eyes. "One day Finn, you'll tell me what's riding you so hard." "There are some things about me you don't need to know."

She shakes her head. "If you can’t tell your friends then who can you tell?" "We aren’t friends, Hope,” I say and walk off. That was harsh. I know it. But it’s the truth. We aren’t. We are dancing this dangerous line, fucking tiptoeing with feelings neither of us our ready to handle. We’re both vulnerable, and I just snuffed out any possibility for it to be anything because I’d rather her hate me for being a dick than for hurting her like I inevitably will.

28

FINN

went to the shop and while she’s been gone, I’ve picked up her mess of H ope an apartment. Shoes and clothes were everywhere. Lipstick and tampons

were just lying on the coffee table. The mail was strewn about the counter. Half of it unopened. I’ve just finished sweeping when I hear the lock click. Hope steps in, her arms full of groceries. She glances and smiles. "You tidied my apartment?" "How in the hell do you find anything in here?" I ask. "Well, I just know." She glances around. "Although, I won't now." She pulls her hair off her neck and ties it in a messy knot on top of her head before walking toward me. "But thank you for cleaning,” she says as she walks to the kitchen and sets the bags down. I follow her into the kitchen, stopping to give her a kiss. It seems foreign and natural at the same time to just kiss her, to be able to touch her. “Oh, so I have a friend that said he could get you a job. It’s basically yours, all you have to do is call him.” She smiles as she pulls a carton of eggs from one of the bags. "Really?" Fuck me. "What kind of job, queenie?" I force a smile. "He runs a boxing school for kids." She puts the eggs in the fridge and turns around. "It's nothing flash, but Ryder, the guy who runs it—we go way back—he’s nice and the kids...well, their mostly little hellions but they're okay." I silently stare at her. I’m trying to figure out what to say exactly. Thank you would be a good start, but… "I'll make you a deal," she says. "What kind of deal?" "If you take the job, then I'll get a job." I frown. "Why would you do that?" "Well,” she shrugs, “you were right. I am a spoilt princess and live off my dad's money..." "No." I tuck her hair behind her ear and tilt her chin up, forcing her to look at me. "I didn't mean that. I was being a dick." She smiles softly. "No, it's fine. You're right. I can't keep shunning my family because of my sister, but taking their money regardless. Plus, I do have a master’s in marketing and advertising," she shrugs.

What can I say to that? A job with kids...I can do that. For Lydia. "Okay." I kiss her, allowing my lips to linger for a second. "Is that a yes?" She narrows her eyes, biting at one side of her bottom lip to try and supress a grin. "Yep." Fuck, I hate the idea of a normal job, but I can't crush her and I need to do this. I know I do. She leans in, bringing her lips to my ear. "You can still fight in The Pit. You know I find it hot when you beat the shit out of those guys." Her teeth scrape over my ear and her nails scratch through my hair. Fuck, I missed her. My dick presses against my fly and my blood heats. I yank her hair tie free and fist her long hair, tugging her head back as I swipe my tongue up the length of her throat. A gasping breath leaves her. "Fuck, I’m one lucky bastard," I say with a growl, wrapping my arms around her tiny waist and lowering her to the couch. Hope McGrath is a pain in the arse, but she's a hot, sexy, and unfailingly loyal pain in the arse. Despite every effort to keep her at arm’s length, I think I might be falling for her. I brush my fingers over her forehead and down her cheek. "What?" she asks. "You're something else, queenie" I kiss her softly. "You really are." She shrugs. "I'm ginger." “Red in the head, fire in the hole,” I laugh and she flips me the bird.

29

HOPE

weat drips down my nose and I adjust the gloves on my hand and head toward S the mat, and there’s a slight twinge between my legs when I walk. A constant

beacon sounding an alarm in my head: I fucked Finn. I fucked Finn… "Fucking hit me!" Kyan says. Propping my gloved hand on my hip, I tilt my head to the side. "Bit unnecessary, dickhead." He lowers his pads. "Babe, this ain't holiday camp." He nods towards my bare stomach. "Keep eating pizza every night and that little pooch isn't going to be so little." My mouth falls open. "You did not just call me fat!" He grins and holds the pads up. I move to punch his stomach, chest, face, but he always blocks it. "You're a fucking cunt, princess." His head falls back on a laugh and I kick him in the ankle. When he goes down, I trip on his long legs, falling on top of him. His hands wrap around my upper arms to stop me head butting him in the face. I’m pressed against him and all I can smell is the scent of sweaty man. "Ew, you're gross!" I say. He grips the back of my neck and smooshes my cheek into his slick pec. "Take it, ginge." "Kyan!" I scream, thrashing against him. "You are fucking disgusting." My thighs end up either side of his waist as I attempt to push off him. I grab his nipple, twisting it hard between my thumb and forefinger. "Motherfucker!" He lets me go and I roll away from him landing on my back on the matt next to him. I'm spitting, swiping my hand over my mouth. "I have your sweat in my mouth, you gammy fuck." I hear a throat clear and I look over to see Finn leaning against the wall, his arms folded over his chest as if he's been there a while. "Finnley." I smile, curious how well he’ll tolerate mine an Kyan’s interactions now. "Your friend is gross." "My friend?" he says, his expression unreadable.

"Yeah, come on, ginge. I thought we were besties." Pushing to my feet, I glance down at Kyan. "Besties do not have to taste each other’s sweat." I flick my hair over my shoulder and he laughs. Finn's eyes narrow as I approach him. I take a swig of my water, trying to wash the salty taste from my lips. He pushes off the wall and reaches for the hem of his shirt before yanking it over his head in what feels like a deliberate move. I mean, why else would you do that to a girl? That shit is not fair. My eyes drop to his chest before flicking up to his eyes, then his lips. My mouth goes dry and my fingers twitch with the urge to touch him. He moves closer to me. "You looked like you were having fun," he says. My mouth opens on a gasp before I smile. "Finnley, are you jealous?" I whisper. All he does is stare at me. "You are!" I bite my lip to tame the grin trying to break free. He's so fucking cute. I move closer to him until our bodies are aligned. He looks down at me and I focus on his chest, gently trailing my fingertips up the centre of his stomach and over his pec. "I do prefer the strong, silent type." "Dear god. So you are fucking!" Kyan says from behind me. Finn glares at him and I spin on my heel to face him. "Look, you are getting enough vag that there is no way you need to be concerning yourself with who is jabbing mine." "Eloquent as ever, queenie," Finn mumbles behind me. "And pet names so soon?" Kyan touches his hair then rests his hand on his hip, blowing out a sharp breath. "Oh, don't get bent out of shape. It's not like you're losing a wing man. It's fucking Finn!" "Hey, look, he is the perfect wing man. He watches my beer while go bust a nut in the toilet," Kyan rolls his neck to the side. "So when some chick Rohypnol's my arse, it's your fault, ginge." "Chick?” I cock a brow. “I keep telling you that you'd make a perfect bottom, princess. If I see you walking funny...." "Fuck off," he groans. Finn laughs behind me and his hands land on my hips. "I'm going to train. No fucking in the gym," Kyan says, pointing at us before he walks off in a huff. "He's such a diva," I say, facing Finn. I go to move past him, but he snags my waist, spinning me as he presses his lips to mine. Grabbing his face, I kiss him back, moaning against his lips. "Fucks sake, ginge!" Kyan shouts. "Toilets are that way." I raise my arm and give him the middle finger without breaking away from Finn. “I’ll come to your place tonight, but I’m cooking. You burn bacon, remember?” Rolling my eyes, I push away from him and head to the punching bag, a little pep in my step. I feel like a giddy-fucking-school girl. I get a quick workout in and go to harass Finn one final time before I leave. I find him on a bench, pressing heavy weights above his head. I stop at the side of the

room and watch him for a moment, admiring the way the dim lights dance over his strained muscles. “I can see you in the mirror perving,” he says before he drops the weights to the floor with a thud. I smile and walk over to him, leaning down and pressing my hand on the centre of his chest. He grabs the back of my neck and pitches off the bench, slamming his lips over mine. My heart flutters in my chest as his tongue brushes over mine. “I’ll see you tonight?” I ask against his lips. “Sure thing, queenie.” He gives me one final kiss and lies back, picking up his weights again. I leave him to work out, because that body is all kinds of good.

30

HOPE

3 weeks later

I stroll into the boxing gym and spot Finn working with a group of teenage boys.

He smiles briefly at me and they all turn to follow his gaze. One of them wolf whistles and his friend laughs. Finn smacks him up the back of the head with his boxing pad on and the kid flinches, turning back around. I grin because he's so cute. He's been in a really good mood recently. The case against Kiera is really strong and it's moving quickly. He loves his job here, and I think it gives him a sense of fulfilment. He walks up to me and kisses my cheek and the kids all make gagging sounds to which Finn promptly turns around and scowls at them for. “Drop and give me fifty!” he shouts. They all groan but do as he says. I cover a laugh. He turns back to face me, his scowl melting away. “Five minutes, queenie, and I can go.” "It's bingo night," I say and Finn groans I hold my hand up. "I swear to god, Finnley if you are about to even consider the possibility of not coming to bingo...no lasagne for you." "It's Poppy's lasagne, though." I narrow my eyes. "I will ice you." "You have issues." “You say that a lot.” I smirk and smooth my palm over his broad chest. “You love it." “I kind of do,” he says. “How are you finding it?” I ask. He’s only been here a few days, but he seems to like it. He nods, glancing over his shoulder at the kids who are all groaning and complaining through their press ups. A small smile touches his lips. “Yeah, I like it. They’re good kids. Robert says this job will look really good when the court sees my case.” Smiling, I loop my arms through his. “Good. You look hot in these shorts.” Thirty minutes later and we have our bingo cards spread out in front of us. Finn

has his lucky purple stamper gripped in his hand and he glances over to where Opal’s sitting. “She’s not winning tonight.” “Is that a fact?” I ask, smiling. “Fact. Three hundred quid? She has her pension to pull from. She doesn’t need that.” I pat him on the shoulder. “You see now, don’t you, and yet you piss and moan about coming.” He laughs. “Three hundred quid is three hundred quid, queenie. Plus, I have to try and defend my manhood.” I slip my hand underneath the table and grab him through his jeans. “Oh, your manhood is just fine.” Finn glares at me and rolls his eyes. “Don’t distract me.” I pull my stamper from my purse. “And I have issues,” I mumble under my breath. Ten minutes in and fucking Finn jumps up from the table, raising his arms above his head and shouting. “Bingo. I’ve got fucking bingo!” He points one finger at Opal. “Take that and shove it.” She scowls at him and grips her walker, standing up and shuffling to the restroom "Motherfucking cunt!" I say, huffing as I toss my bingo cards to the side. Finn has a shit eating grin on his face as he makes his way to the front of the room. Three hundred quid! He doesn't even like bingo. Bastard. He takes a small bow as he takes his prize and then he makes the way back over to the table. "I'll share my winnings with you," he says on a grin. "It's the fucking principle, Finnley!" He chuckles. "I swear to god,” I say, “you're going on my shit list with Opal." He’s still laughing as he leans in and swipes a strand of hair from my face. "Aw, queenie. That's mean." I swipe his hand away. "Shit list, Finnley." He takes my hand and pulls me to my feet. “Come on, let’s go home.” I grab my purse and follow him to the exit. As soon as we step outside, he grabs my hips and pulls me tight against him, placing a warm, soft kiss below my ear. I shiver and lean into him as his hands drift to my arse, forcing me against his hard crotch. "Bingo does it for you, Finnley, huh?" I say, my bad mood rapidly dissipating. "No, bingo does it for you," he chuckles, kissing along my neck. "You do it for me," he says. "Flattery will get you everywhere." My voice comes out breathy and strained. "I don't need words, queenie and you know it." He pulls away, dragging me to the car. “As soon as I get you home I am fucking the shit out of you.” "Sex will not make your bingo betrayal any better," I say, attempting to sound stern. "I mean...you're welcome to try, but I don’t think it will."

EPILOGUE FINN FINN6 MONTHS LATER

6 months later Money and influence sure go a long way. I've spent thousands over the past two years on a shitty solicitor who couldn't get my case heard and then here comes Hope McGrath, and in a matter of three months I've had my case heard. She's sitting next to me at the long conference room table. The dress shirt and slacks she insisted I wear make me feel out of place and I keep shifting uncomfortably in the stuffy chair.

Hope places her hand on my bouncing knee to still it. "It's okay, Finn." She smiles and I lean in for a quick kiss. The door behind us opens, a waft of cool air blowing inside. The solicitor and a group of other people, Kiera included, walk in and take seats around the table. Kiera won't even look at me. I glance at Hope and she gives Kiera a fleeting glance before setting her gaze on the solicitor. Hope reassuringly squeezes my leg. It's moments like this that really show you how much you need a person, how nice it is to have someone who will stand by you, how much you really don't want to be alone. Kiera finally looks over at me. Her gaze drifts from me to Hope and back. Tears are brimming on her lash line. This is the first time I've been around Kiera and it's not hurt. This is the first time I've had the thought that maybe it wasn't just me who wasn't good for her, but maybe she wasn't good for me. Sometimes, I think, we focus too much on the things we expected to make us happy. I think we lose ourselves in the things we think should have been when really, happiness is sometimes found in the most unexpected of places. Kiera shoots an angry glare in my direction before turning her attention away. Hope leans in by my ear.

"I'll cut her if she looks at you like that again," Hope whispers and I fight a laugh.

"Mr. West," the solicitor says and my heart immediately goes into a galloping sprint.

"Yes."

"We've been able to come to a decision regarding your custody and visitation rights of Lydia West." He takes a breath and opens a manila file set on the table. "You've held down a good job, no arrest—"he glances up with a narrowed gaze—"aside from the one violation of your restraining order which has since been deemed to have been unnecessary." I inhale. Sweat is building under the collar of this stiff shirt and I find myself pulling at it in an effort to get a good breath. "From here on out, you will be awarded visitation every fortnight. For the first six months those visitations will be supervised, but if all goes well, within the next year you may be awarded regular weekend visitation." I grab Hope's hand and squeeze, fighting the tears welling in my eyes. "Do you have any questions?" he asks as he closes the file.

"When can I see her?"

"This weekend will be your first visit."

I smile and when I do the movement forces the tears free from my eyes. I've lost five years with Lydia, but I don't have to miss any more time, and that's all thanks to Hope. "Thank you," I say.

Kiera gets up, storming from the room with her solicitor in tow. I turn to Hope, sitting there in her tight blouse and her pencil skirt. "Thank you, queenie."

She reaches for my face, trailing her fingers along my jaw. "Anything for you, Finnley," she says on a smile before kissing me. "You can thank me in other ways though." One eyebrow lifts and her teeth sink into her bright red bottom lip.

"That can be arranged." She stands up, giving me a view of her arse in that skirt. Yeah, that can definitely be arranged. Hope comes stumbling into the living room clutching her cup of coffee. She plops down next to me on the couch. Her red hair is a holy mess. "Is waking up at this ungodly hour really necessary?" she groans.

"It's Christmas, queenie, of course it is."

She stares at the tree and sips her coffee. "Well, Santa is a cunt. Why can't he come at lunch and leave presents? That way we wouldn't have to wake up at six-fuckingam."

Laughing, I lean toward her to give her a kiss and she grabs my jaw, narrowing her gaze at me before her eyes drop to my lips. "Have you brushed your teeth?" she asks.

"Yes."

She kisses me then pulls away and smiles. "I haven't." She exhales. "Look at all those presents the fat man left." She grins as she snuggles up next to me, leaning into my side

"Yeah, seems Santa went a bit over board.” I smirk at her.

"Look, I like buying presents..."

The light at the end of the hallway cuts on. "Daddy?" Lydia's sweet voice floats into the living room.

"We're in here, baby girl," I say.

Lydia comes stumbling into the room, her pigtails lopsided from sleep. She grins with wide eyes before she runs to the tree and picks up a doll. "Santa came," she whispers as she turns and looks at me. "Santa came, daddy."

"You must have been a good girl, look at all those toys," I say. Lydia grabs a present from under the tree and skips over to me and climbs into my lap. I wrap my arms around her and hug her. "This one's for you, daddy," she says. "From me and Miss Hope."

"Oh, is it?" I grin as I take it and carefully peel back the wrapping paper. "Wonder what it could be?" She giggles and wiggles in my lap. Underneath the paper is a white box. I open it and move the tissue paper to the side. It's a silver frame with a picture of me and Lydia, the words: I'll Always Be Your Baby Girl engraved on the top.

My chest goes tight and I hug Lydia tighter. "Thank you, baby girl."

She squeezes my neck hard. "I love you, daddy."

"And I love you." I kiss her cheek.

"Come on, shortie. Those presents won't open themselves," Hope says, tickling Lydia's sides. Lydia squeals, giggling as she flops off the sofa. Hope catches her and places her on her feet. Lydia runs to the tree, the lights illuminating her rosy cheeks. I swear, Hope is more excited about her opening the presents than Lydia is. She tears into a present, shredding the paper before she opens the top to a box.

"Look, Miss Hope,” she runs up to Hope clutching a stuffed animal that she shoves in Hope’s face, “I got a Unicorn," Lydia says, her eyes wide with excitement.

Hope gasps and grins. "Oh my goodness, what's he called?"

"It's a girl!" Lydia says, frowning at her.

"My bad.” Hope laughs. “What's she called?"

"Princess Sparkle," she says before running back to her pile of presents.

Hope leans into my side. "I don't think there's any chance of that one being a Tom boy," she says. I look at her and my chest swells. Hope is crass and loud and has an unnatural obsession with bingo, but I love the way she is with Lydia. I love everything about her crazy arse.

"I love you," I say, pressing my lips to her forehead.

"Aw, Finnley." She grins. "Don't make me blush. I'm ginger, it's not hot."

I shake my head. "Of all the scandalous things you come out with..."

"Colby Keller?” she whispers and I shake my head. She grabs my chin, pulling my lips to hers. "I love you too," she says against my mouth. Her hands cup my face and she deepens the kiss, holding me to her.

"Babe, you really need to brush your teeth," I tease.

She swats at me. "Just for that, I'm not dressing or washing all day."

"Pyjamas all day?" Lydia asks, excited.

"Yep, shortie. You and me are having a pyjama Christmas."

"Poppy is coming over later," I remind her.

She snorts. "And? Her kid peed on me. She does not get to judge." Jesus Christ, I don't stand a hope in hell with these two, but I wouldn't have it any other way. The End (Bingo!)

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

There are always so many people to thank when it comes to publishing a book. So, here it goes. Thank you to Max Ellis for doing the cover. Indie Editor Jones, thank you for your amazing editing. Kerry Fletcher of Nutty Squirrel PR…best PA ever, and you deserve a medal for putting up with our little squirrel selves. We have to give a massive shout out to our boo, confidant, beta, bestie…Jen Lum. You are the shit! Christina McCormick Franco, your input meant so much with this book. Your real life experience of living with PTSD made you the perfect person to read this for us. Thank you so much. There are so many blogs who post and review for us, and we are so grateful that you take the time to help us promote our work. There are far too many blogs to mention, but know that without you, this industry would not be what it is. And to our readers; You are amazing. We love you. Thank you for being you and reading our words.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Nicole Lynne is the author name of LP Lovell and Stevie J. Cole. LP Lovell is an indie author from England. She suffers from a total lack of brain to mouth filter and is the friend you have to explain before you introduce her to anyone, and apologise for afterwards. She's a self confessed shameless pervert, who may be suffering from slight peen envy.

Stevie J. Cole likes to write realistic stories with raw, gritty characters you should hate but can't help but to love. She's obsessed with rock music, loves sloths, and has an unnatural obsession with British accents.

ALSO BY NICOLE LYNNE Pre War is the tale of Poppy, Brandon, Connor and Hope. Follow their humorous tale of childhood in Pre-war.

War Poppy is Poppy and Brandon’s heartbreaking love story.