Page 131 of Sweet Distraction

She chose me. Us.

And now she’s the one who’s going to be sacrificed because of it.

The panic creeps up my spine like it’s ready to devour me. Months ago, the only person I wanted to or knew how to fight for was myself, my band, and now I’m being asked to pick Willow or Poppy when I want to pick both.

How did this happen?

I see something move in my periphery, and I look up. Willow’s standing there, and my chest constricts.

Her hair is still wet from the shower. One of Poppy’s toys is in her hand like she was mid toy pickup. Her eyes are wide, her mouth is slightly parted, and she’s seemingly completely oblivious to what I just heard. To what my lawyer just offered as an option.

To sacrifice her.

To win at all costs.

My stomach pitches. The need to tell her owns me.

I open my mouth to tell her, but then I see the way she looks at me—like I’m her anchor. Her safe place. And the words catch in my throat and die.

It won’t come to that.

I won’t let it come hell or high water.

“Rocket, I need to show you something,” she says and holds up her phone.

“What is it?” I ask but already know.

She holds up her phone. It’s the same headline. The same bullshit photo.

“Someone saw us at the tattoo parlor. The story’s out.”

She doesn’t say what else it says. All of the cruel bullshit about her. She neglects to tell me that it trashes her and her reputation and paints her in a horrible light.

She doesn’t need to. I already know.

“I’m sorry.” Her brow furrows. “I didn’t think. I kissed you in public. I just . . . the moment, what your tattoo meant to you. I let it all get to me, and now the moment is ruined.”

The moment when I told her I loved her. She sees her name tarnished, dragged through the mud because of me, and she feels the need to apologize? Fuck that.

“Please don’t apologize. You don’t deserve this. I never meant to pull you into this.”

And she doesn’t know it yet, but I’m not just talking about the picture.

I’m talking about what Sandra said. About what the courts could do. About what circumstances might force us to do.

“This is on me. I’ve jeopardized—”

“No. You didn’t. This is on me.”

Tears well in her eyes. “You know I’d do whatever it takes to make sure you get Poppy. The last thing I want to do is risk that.”

I reach out, take her hand, and pull her into my lap. Instantly she curls against me like she belongs there.

Because she does.

I bury my face in her shoulder and breathe her in.

“I know you would. But you need to make sure you take care of yourself first.”