Page 65 of Sweet Distraction

Was it a combination of both?

“Don’t get me wrong, I love that you’re asking all these questions. That you feel comfortable doing so when I know it’s probably super hard for you to do so, but where’s all this coming from?”

His nod is slow and knowing, and it does nothing to erase the wariness in his posture. “She looks at me like I matter, Wills. And that’s terrifying. Because what if I screw this up?”

“You won’t,” I say softly.

“You don’t know that.”

“No. But I know what she needs.”

He looks up at me then, eyes dark and open in a way I haven’t seen before.

“And that’s you.” His shoulders hitch at my words, and so I keep going. “All she wants is your time. That’s it. Time and love and laughter. She’s a kid. She doesn’t care about being perfect. She just wants to know she’s wanted. That someone’s going to show up.”

He nods, jaw tight.

“She doesn’t need a rock star,” I add. “She needs you. However messy and uncertain that is.”

“I’m definitely both of those,” he says and pulls on the back of his neck.

“Does any of this have to do with your own childhood?”

He freezes.

There’s a flicker of something in his eyes—pain maybe. Regret. A thousand unspoken things.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to pry. I’m simply trying to understand you more so that I can better help you.”

“I didn’t exactly have stellar role models,” he says quietly. “My dad wasn’t around, and my mom needed a man—any man, she wasn’t particular—to feed her self-worth at the expense of a validating relationship with her only son. Me.”

A sad smile tugs at the corner of my lips. “Well, lucky for you, Poppy just wants you to be next to her. Want her. She doesn’t care if you know what you’re doing. Color perfectly inside the lines in her coloring books. Let her put glitter stickers on your arm. It doesn’t matter. Being with her gives her confidence to brave her new world.”

He huffs a small laugh. “Is that what you had on your arm the other day?”

“The other day?” I laugh. “Try every day. I swear she’s trying to give me tattoos like yours, so there’s that.”

That gets a real smile from him. A smile that makes you feel like maybe the man underneath the guarded sarcasm and tattoos is someone still learning how to be whole. “Probably not the best thing for a three-year-old to be fascinated with.”

“We’ll take little wins where we can,” I say as he walks to the freezer, grabs a pint of ice cream, and wordlessly takes a spoon from the drawer. No bowl. No apology. Just peels back the lid and starts eating straight from the container.

I stay quiet, just watching him. What does tonight’s flavor choice say about him? “Moose tracks, huh?”

His grin is devilishly quick and lights up his face. “It says I’m basically the dessert version of trust issues. You think you’re getting plain vanilla with a few chocolate swirls, but there’s so much more within its depths. I like the surprise I get in every bite.”

“Again, that made no sense.” I laugh.

“Just like me,” he says. He takes another bite as we sit in silence for a beat before he looks back up. “I’m ready to do better, Wills.”

I nod. And I’m here to help you, Gavin Caldwell.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Rocket

“Is this a bad time?” Sandra’s voice booms through the car speaker as I merge onto I-605.

“I’m driving. It’s fine. What’s up?”