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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"How have you been, Poppy?" I ask. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Thanks." And with that, she leaves. 

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

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

"Yeah, I'm fine." 

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

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

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

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

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