Page 144 of Sweet Distraction

But when I blink again, it’s just headlights and reflections. Just a man with a camera leaning against a streetlamp, already creating a headline to disparage me.

Just me, alone in the quiet, praying Rocket hasn’t already decided he’s not worthy of the love we have.

CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR

Rocket

The beer in my hand is warm.

I can’t remember the last time I took a sip. I’ve just been holding it, letting the label peel beneath my thumb while the guys talk around me.

We’re in my backyard. It’s late afternoon, and the guys showed up without warning. They waltzed in like I’d invited them, loaded my fridge with beer, and brought pizza with my favorite toppings. Vince and Hawkin brought their youngest kids so that Poppy would have someone to play with.

I know what they’re doing. It’s a circle-the-wagons approach to make sure I’m okay. I appreciate it, know they have my back, but it doesn’t help.

The best part? They know I’m in a shit mood and don’t expect much from me in return. There’s something to be said about old friends.

I glance over to where Poppy’s in the grass, giggling as Vince’s youngest son shows her how to race matchbox cars down the patio steps.

I sit and watch, absent when I’ve been anything but that with her this past week. It’s almost as if I’ve been hanging on for dear life instead. Present and trying to pretend I don’t feel like I’m bleeding out on the inside.

The wives have been helping as much as they can outside of their own lives. The new nanny interviewing process has been happening—but I don’t like anyone . . . because they’re not her.

So I haven’t pulled the trigger on hiring a new one. Just been relying on Quinlan, Bristol, and Hendrix and borrowing their nannies and backup nannies in the interim. Poppy has ramped up the meltdowns, so most nights have ended in sobs that have almost broken me. I hate that I pushed a person she loves out of her life. I hate that her tears are because her little heart is broken . . . again.

So, it’s messy, hard, and confusing but it’s what’s working. Sort of. However it only serves to prove to me how perfectly Willow fits her.

In my house.

In my life.

So that’s why the guys are here, showing up unannounced, and circling me like wolves that know I’m wounded. They’re not loud. Not aggressive. Just here. Drinking their beers, waiting for the moment I stop pretending I’m fine.

I’m not fine.

Willow isn’t here.

My chest hurts constantly. The music has stopped in my head.

And I have to face the judge in twenty-four hours’ time.

“I was able to get her to grant it,” Sandra says and then sighs in exasperation while relief slowly finds its way through me. “Now do you want to explain to me why you just demanded I call the judge and ask for another appearance with the court before she gives her final decision?”

“I’d rather not.”

“What do you plan on saying?” she asks.

Like a song that’s begging to be written, the things I want to speak in front of the court have run circles in my head, but I haven’t found the right words to say them yet.

One last plea before she rules.

“Sandra, I need you to trust me. I’m going to do what’s best for Poppy.”

She makes a noncommittal sound that says she doesn’t exactly trust me or what I’m going to say. “I’m not a fan of surprises, Rocket.”

And I’m not a fan of throwing people under the bus to save my own skin.

“Well, I’ve learned to get used to them.”