Page 9 of War Hope
"Keep it." I swear to god, he’s hot in that brooding sort of way, but hetakes himself too seriously.
"I'll treasure it," I shout after him. He keeps walking. "You still look like shit by theway." He lifts his middle finger over his shoulder.Smilingto myself, I turn around and head back inside the pub, inhaling on the vape as I go.
Larry'sstandingat the bar with his wide girth propped against thetatty wood. "You beenpesteringthat 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."
"Youain'tgoingto getyour knickers knocked off by that one, no matter how much harassing you do. He's an odd-fucking-duck."
Ithrowmy head back on a laugh. "Odd. That's one way of putting it."
"He'salright. He needs his space. He don't likepeople much."
"I,on the other hand,"Kyaninterrupts, popping his head up from the cellar. "I'd give youallthelikinginthe world, sugar." He grins andwinks.
"Anda caseofthe fuckingherpesand clap,too." Larry chuckles.
Ipoint atKyan. "You are ascagger. My maalways said not to talk to a boy who looks like he would lick arsehole."Ormaybeitwas: don't talktoboys who look like they're poor.Meh, same difference.
Larry cocks a brow. "Yourmommaain'tnever 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.
"Ineedto meet your mum,"Kyansays. "Shesounds likemy kind of girl."
"Stop!"I put my hand over his mouthand 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 goingto go check on Poppy,” I say. “See you guys later."
"Oh, wait," Larry says, ducking behind the bar andrummagingaround beneath the counter. He comes back up with a small bag. Inside is acuddly toyversion ofwhat I thinkis supposed to beanakedcat. I study it. Jesus, it’smadeofvelour.
"Forthelittleone."He’s smiling, but I can see thesadness swimming in his good eye. Poppy hasn't been back here sinceBrandondied.She hated the fighting.Whocanblame 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.
Itake the bag, offering him a small smile. "Thanks. I'll make sure he gets it."
"TellPoppy she's welcome here anytime."
Iturn 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 thescreenand 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. Theformerlove 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 getintoright 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.
