I wake up to the smoke alarm going off, the shrill sound piercing my ears. I 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 knowing." 

* * *

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.