Page 128 of Sweet Distraction

I want to cry. I want to laugh. I want to stay right here forever.

“You were never my mistake, baby girl. You were my beginning,” I whisper to myself before gritting my teeth as the needle digs a bit deeper.

As I let it brand me with a representation of the one thing I’ve spent my whole life trying to believe I could deserve. A family.

Poppy.

Willow.

Us.

And fuck if that thought doesn’t start my spiral of thoughts all over again. I finally have something I never thought I wanted, deserved, and . . . what if I lose it?

The hearing. The custody battle. The possibility of losing Poppy. The thought of never having had Willow in my life.

I don’t want to imagine my life without either ever again.

The artist finishes shading the stem, wipes the skin, and starts lining the petals.

I close my eyes because I’m not just getting a tattoo.

I’m getting marked.

By them.

For them.

Forever.

CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

Willow

The poppy flower over Rocket’s heart is both delicate and bold.

Soft orange petals. Slender green stem. A flower that grows wild, that comes back year after year, and that looks like it could be blown away with one wrong breath yet still refuses to bend.

It’s such a different tattoo from the rest he wears, but this one suits him. The pop of orange brightens all that dark.

He’s not just wearing it. He’s owning it.

Poppy squirms in my lap, fascinated by this place. She must be able to feel the vibrations of the buzzing or something because it’s nap time and she’s completely awake. Rocket lifts her up gently, careful of the plastic wrap that’s been put on his chest to protect his new tattoo, and points to the spot.

“See, Popstar?” he says. “You’re always with me now.”

Poppy grins. That sweet smile that owns my heart. She reaches out to trace the outline through the wrap—like she’s done to so many of his other tattoos before—almost as if she’s sewing herself to him. He guides her finger gently over the plastic and lets her trace.

My heart both swells and explodes.

Because this tattoo wasn’t for show. It wasn’t to post on social media to brag about. It wasn’t to pull up his shirt to show a judge in court.

This one was strictly for him.

This is Rocket Caldwell saying, “she’s mine.”

It makes me wonder, will he one day say that I’m his too?

The tattoo artist leaves us in the back room while he runs the bill through the register. Rocket stares at Poppy as tears flood his eyes. He catches me noticing, clears his throat, and blinks them away as his cheeks turn red.