Page 41 of Sweet Distraction

“Rocket?” Willow calls after me.

“I’ve gotta finish what I was doing,” I mumble, embarrassed that I can’t keep my emotions in check. Uncertain when it seems like that’s where I’ve lived the past two weeks. “I have to—yeah—you know . . .”

And like a goddamn coward, I retreat into my house.

Why? Why has a garden rock, a giggle, and bouncing curls brought me to my knees? Why, after all these years of success with BENT, am I only able to focus on the thought that I’m a failure? That this—being good at being a dad—is something I’ll never be able to do?

Why can’t I accept this? Accept her? “Why the fuck not?” I grit out as I shut the door behind me.

Sure I’ve failed in the past. But that failure only ever affected me.

If I fail this time around? The consequences would be so much greater. Would affect more than just me.

Fuck.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Willow

Poppy’s quiet time stretches longer than usual. And I’m afraid to jinx it, but it’s peaceful for the first time since I’ve come into her life.

The sunshine and our outdoor adventure worked.

She’s curled up in her blankets, bunny tucked under one arm, hair damp from the sprinklers earlier, and cheeks flushed from the sun. I press a kiss to her temple, ease the door mostly closed, and walk barefoot into the kitchen.

The house is quiet. Still. Rocket must have left again. If that fear in his eyes earlier is any indication, he’ll probably be gone the rest of the night like he’s been wont to do. I’ve noticed his pattern over the past few days. Watch from afar, try to engage, engage, and then get spooked when he realizes he’s curious and wants to know more.

But today she laughed with him. Today Poppy bypassed looking at all the colorful ink she seems so fascinated with and stepped up to him to play with the damn rock.

Baby steps.

I can only hope this is the first of many interactions. Of Poppy starting to look at Rocket as more than just the guy in the background and as Rocket starting to trust himself and who he is. What he can be for her.

And if he doesn’t? Fuck. That would be brutal. Poppy would have no one, and I know CPS would have no other choice than to put her in the system. She’d fall only deeper into her own mind and that little bit of sunshine I’ve gotten to see in her would be erased completely.

No. It’s not going to happen. I won’t let it. I have to do everything in my power to help facilitate Rocket to see that he can do this. That this little cherubic girl is the best thing that’s ever happened to him.

I meander through the great room, taking it in. Everything looks placed professionally. Sure there are photos of Rocket with people, but I doubt he’s the one who put them there. And the few personal touches that are about, seem to all be with his bandmates or revolving around them.

There are no pictures of people who look like family. No older woman or man to whom I can see a resemblance in.

For a man in the public eye, there’s so little about his early life online. A single mother. A youth spent pushing the limits of trouble. A chance meeting at a party with Vince and Hawkin that changed the direction of his life.

I find my way outside to the back patio and curl into the corner of the outside patio furniture. The couch is just outside of the sliding doors so I can hear Poppy if she needs me, but so I can enjoy a different aspect of this incredible house in my downtime.

Plus, the idea of getting my master’s degree has stayed front and center in my mind since Alan suggested it. That and with the extra cash coming in from Rocket unexpectedly paying me double what I’d agreed to, to begin with, the idea is becoming more of a reality. So maybe I’ll look into getting into a program.

But for now, I soak in the welcome silence and the moments without being needed. I keep thinking about the pictures inside and how lonely that might be.

Without thinking, I pick up my phone, scroll to the name I’m looking for, and hit call.

She answers almost immediately. “Willow?”

“Hi, Mom.”

“Oh, baby. You sound tired.”

“I’m good. Just . . . busy.”