Page 138 of Sweet Distraction

“I know you do.” There’s nothing anyone can. Not Rocket. Not his PR team. Not the kind words his bandmates have given to the press. Not my silence.

“Just remember that none of it matters. Not really. The people who love you know who you are.”

My eyes sting. “I appreciate the sentiment, but it doesn’t exactly feel like that.”

There’s a pause, then her voice softens even more. “How are things with Rocket? You haven’t even mentioned him.”

I swallow hard and hate that that one question from my mom has all of my insecurities and worries and heartache that have been building day after day since the hearing bubble up. “Strained, I guess. Distant. It’s like we’re the same but I feel like he’s pulling away.”

“Because of what happened in court or . . .”

“Maybe. Maybe not.” I’m so sick of thinking about it. Of worrying about it. “He’s never been a relationship guy so maybe all this press has spooked him into realizing that’s what we actually are even though we haven’t actually defined it. Maybe he’s afraid of losing Poppy, and since our whole relationship started and has been defined by her, maybe he thinks that means I’d leave too. Or maybe he just realized this is too much . . . I don’t know, Mom.”

“Why don’t you talk to him about it? From what you’ve said, he seems to be a good listener.”

The thought has crossed my mind a million times only to be shoved away by not wanting to add more stress to any of our plates.

“It’ll work itself out,” I say and beg myself to believe it.

I hear her inhale like she wants to say something but then pauses only briefly. “Do you love him?”

“Yes.”

The door creaks behind me. I turn, and Rocket stands in the doorway, Poppy’s beloved rabbit in his hand. His eyes flick from me to my phone, then back again.

Exhaustion emanates off him, like the weight of the world is on his shoulders.

“Mom, I’ll call you later,” I say.

She says something, but I don’t hear it. I’m too busy setting my phone down and trying to hear over my pulse pounding in my ears.

Rocket crosses the room in a few strides, and without a word, he pulls me into him. I collapse into the warmth of him and just simply hold on.

We stand like that. No words. Just breathing. Just me holding on.

But his grip says it all. It’s too light, like he’s afraid of crushing something fragile. Like he’s already started letting go.

I bury my face into his chest and hold on tighter, desperate for something to say. “Poppy matched the crowns today.”

His lips press against the top of my head, and I can feel it spread into a smile. “She’d make a damn good queen.”

I nod against him, the lump in my throat stealing my voice.

Something in his stillness, something in the way his hands don’t wander, or the way his eyes don’t meet mine, tells me what he won’t say.

This is the start of goodbye.

And I don’t know how to stop it.

CHAPTER FIFTY

Willow

He comes to me later.

In the quiet of the night, in the dark of my room, he walks in, sits beside me in the bed, and brushes his lips against mine.

There’s a strange, unsettling to the silence. A resignation in the space. Neither are relayed with words but rather reinforced by the look in his eyes and intensity of his touch.