Page 10

Rocket

I don’t remember driving here.

I needed to escape. Needed fresh air and distance from this new reality that I haven’t been given any time to accept.

She was just thrown squarely in my face.

Somewhere between slamming the front door and getting behind the wheel, my brain just.

..blanked. Went quiet. Like maybe it’s protecting me from myself.

Or maybe it knows I need backup.

So I called the only people who have ever showed up when everything else in my life went to shit.

The band. My brothers from other mothers. What feels at times like the only family I have.

And now I’m inHawkin’s backyard, sitting around the fire pit with a beer in my hand and a heart that won’t stop hammering against my ribs like it’s begging for someone else to carry the weight.

Vince is here, his legs stretched out and his bottle of beer resting on his thigh. He’s got that same unreadable expression on his face he always wears before he says something that’ll either destroy you or save you.

At this point, I’m not sure which I’d prefer.

Gizmo’s sprawled in a lounger, hands tapping idly on the armrest to a beat he hears in his head. His time here is limited because of plans he’d previously made with his wife.

And then there’s Hawkin himself, the resident but loyal-as-hell shit-stirrer—well, at least when I’m out of commission like I seem to be now—leaning back in an Adirondack chair and looking at me through the flames like he owns the night.

They’re the only family I’ve ever trusted. As much as I hate to admit it, I need them more now than ever before.

That’s why I came here, isn’t it?

“So,” Giz says, his fingers still tapping as he speaks. “What’s with the urgent group text? You sounded like someone important died, and yet all you fuckers are here so clearly that isn’t the case.”

I chuckle, but it’s not a good sound. It’s hollow and sharp and so very similar to the sound of Gizmo’s about this time last year when his life was turning to shit.

And everything turned out okay for him.

Remember that, Rock . It all turned out okay.

I glance at each of them, then drag a hand over my face. “I have a kid.”

Silence. Then—

“Funny, Rock. You’re the last fucking guy here who needs a kid,” Gizmo says and then takes a sip of his beer.

And on a normal day, I’d laugh with him and agree. But it’s not any fucking day. It’s today, and my closest friends are laughing because they think I’d be a joke of a father stings. It shouldn’t.

“Jesus. I thought you were serious for a second,” Hawkin says and barks out a laugh.

Vince studies me over the neck of his beer, his eyes quiet but assessing. “He is being serious.”

One of them snorts and another chokes on the sip he just took, but I’m too busy holding Vince’s stare.

“Rock?” Gizmo asks as he sits forward until I have the courage to look over at him .

I nod. That’s all I give them, but I sure as fuck have their attention now. For the first time in days, I feel like I can finally breathe.

“Like...a real one?” Hawkin asks, brow lifted. “Not the ‘I might have knocked someone up’ kind?”

“She’s three.” Fuck, those two words sound as shredded as I feel. “And she’s at my house. Right now.”

Gizmo spits out the sip he’s taking. “Three? Dude . What the fuck?”

“You left a three-year-old alone at your house?” Hawkin says, eyes widening but tone playful. “Pretty sure that will get you a call from CPS.”

“It’s crossed my mind,” I say.

“That’s one way out of this for sure,” Gizmo says. “But seriously, let me repeat myself. What the actual fuck, dude?”

“I found out last week. Was waiting for the paternity test to disprove what it proved.”

“And now your silence makes sense,” Hawkin says, meeting my eyes and nodding. “You could’ve told us.”

“I know. I just...I’m here now,” I say, realizing I probably hurt their feelings by not saying shit. That wasn’t my intention. “Found out last night she’s mine. She showed up on my doorstep today. Well, CPS, her nanny, and her.”

“Fuck,” one of them sighs out.

“That about sums it up.” I chuckle.

“Wait. Showed up at your house? Where is her mom?” Vince asks.

“Passed away in a car accident. That’s why Poppy’s here.” Acid churns in my stomach, and I feel like a dick for saying it so nonchalantly.

“Poppy?” Hawkin asks. He’s sitting forward now with his knees on his elbows.

“Yes,” I say.

“Okay.” Gizmo holds his hands up. “We need details because you know the minute we get home the wives are going to say we neglected to ask the right shit. But first, before you say all that”—he pats a hand on my leg—“you okay? How are you doing?”

“Fucked in the head. Not believing it when there’s proof. Trying to figure out how the fuck to go from here when it feels like I’m staring down shit I never wanted to stare at.”

“Understandable,” Hawkin says.

And then I give them the details. How Sandra called me out of the fucking blue a week ago. The shock. The denial. The waiting game for the paternity test, and now Poppy sitting in my house somewhere right now while I sit here like a chickenshit.

“Should we remember Olivia?” Vince murmurs as if he’s trying to place her.

“I hate to sound like a callous prick, but not more than any of the others. I mean—”

“We get it,” Gizmo says. “We’ve been doing this a long time. Hard to remember every face we meet and every woman who’s occupied our beds—”

“Or dressing room,” Hawkin says.

“Or tour bus,” Vince adds.

“Or basically any-fucking-where .” I shrug and chuckle, grateful for the levity. For them knowing what I need. “It is me, after all.”

“Especially in those early years,” Hawkin says, and we all laugh as he lifts his beer to his lips. For a moment, it seems as if each one of us see reruns of those freshman years in our heads. “Fuck, man. A kid ?”

“Yeah,” I say quietly as everyone stares at the fire lost in their thoughts over the news. As they accept that I’m a dad. Me. Rowdy, nonstop, life of the fucking party, Rocket .

And maybe that’s what I needed. To be among the people who I know would accept me—mistakes and all.

Vince clears his throat and is the first to speak. “What do you need?”

I blink. “What?”

“You didn’t call us because you wanted to relive your greatest hits with Olivia. You called us because you’re spiraling. We know you.” His eyes lock on to mine. “So, we’re here. What do you need from us?”

I exhale and hate that tears of frustration are burning the backs of my eyes.

And then the fact that they’re threatening makes me even angrier.

“To turn back time to four years ago and tell me not to sleep with Olivia Whitmore.” The words are out and even though they are true, it bugs me that I said them.

Huge green eyes and bouncing curls flash through my mind.

A little mini-me.

“What-the-ever-loving-fuck am I going to do?” I ask.

“It’s rubber meets the road time,” Vince says, voice level.

Gizmo coughs out a laugh. “Clearly Rocket doesn’t know much aboutrubbers.”

“Fuck off.” I flip him the bird. “I always use one.”

“Clearly not well enough,” Hawkin jokes.

I laugh, but it dies a quick death.

“If there’s one thing I know from my own experience,” Vince says, referring to finding out he had a son with his high school sweetheart he didn’t know about, “is that you can’t run from this.

Jagger was the last thing I ever wanted but fuck, Rock, now I can’t imagine what my life would be like without him. ”

He has a point, but Jagger’s mom—now Vince’s wife—has always been the one for him. He’s loved her since high school. This whole thing with Oliva is nowhere near the same scenario. “This isn’t the same.”

“So, what?” Gizmo asks with a judgmental lift of his brows.

My stomach twists. “She’s got my damn eyes,” I whisper. That sucks the air out of the backyard.

“Let’s hope she doesn’t have your stubborn streak, or you’re fucking screwed, dude,” Gizmo says.

“Look,” Hawkin, our problem solver, says matter-of-factly. “It’s simple. You adapt and adjust. The upside is you have a nanny already to help.”

“Willow.” All three heads turn my way. “The nanny.”

“Oh. Right. Willow ,” Hawkin continues and shrugs like how were they supposed to know that. “You have her to help you so that’s a start because you’re being thrown directly into the fire. And then you take this break between legs of the tour to figure shit out.”

“It’s not that easy,” I say.

“No one will ever say parenting is easy,” Vince says through a self-deprecating laugh. “But it’s more of a plan than you have. Three, you said?”

I nod.

“Tough fucking age, but like Vince said, you have the nanny who she knows and who will do everything you need her to do to help out,” Hawkin says.

“She’s not talking,” I blurt out. “Because of the trauma of seeing her mom, you know...I don’t know why I felt the need to say that.”

Gizmo nods. “Because you already care about her.”

I start to protest but Vince holds up his hand. “Don’t,” he warns me. “She okay otherwise?”

I startle at the question. One I should know the answer to but don’t. Willow would have told me otherwise, wouldn’t she? “Yeah. I think so.”

“Okay. So you go from there,” Hawkin says. “One step at a time. One minute at a time. One hour at a time. That’s all you can do.”

“I have no idea how to be a dad,” I blurt out. It’s the one thing that keeps circling in my head. “I never had one. I don’t have a clue how to be or what to do or how to not fuck her up. ”

“It’s a valid fear,” Vince says.

“But you’re not going to fuck her up,” Gizmo says. “We wouldn’t let you.”

“Use us,” Hawkin says instantly.

“Yep. Use us.” Vince taps the neck of his beer against mine. “We’re basically the gold fucking standard when it comes to fatherhood.”

“You mean chaos and bribery?” Giz teases.

“Hey, my kids are still alive and moderately polite,” Hawkin says.

“Never mind. Don’t use us as examples”—Vince shrugs and laughs—“we were barely functioning humans five years ago—”

“Speak for yourselves.” Giz raises his hand. “I’ve been emotionally stable since...well, at least since last Tuesday. Just ask Hendrix,” he says, referring to his wife.

I grin despite myself, and the knot in my chest eases slightly. This is what I needed. My brothers. Their banter. Their levity. Their understanding. Their unconditional support .

It’s not going to make what’s ahead in the days to come any easier, but that suffocating, isolating feeling I felt yesterday has lessened.

“You don’t have to do it alone,” Vince says. “Seriously, bro. We’ve got you.”

“Thanks. I . . . just thanks,” I say.

“And Willow?” Hawkin asks, eyebrows lifted and smirk widening. “You didn’t mention much about the nanny.”

I know these guys better than I know myself and can already guess where this conversation is headed.

I roll my eyes and take a long pull from my beer. “What about her?”

“She hot?” Hawke continues.

No. Yes . Christ if I can even really remember, because I was so goddamn focused on Poppy.

That’s a lie.

A flat-out, bald-faced lie.

Willow is pretty in the girl-next-door way. Natural. Unassuming. Completely not my type at all.

“He’s not answering,” Gizmo says. “That means she’s definitely hot.”

“Road trip to Rock’s house to check her out,” Vince says, no doubt because he knows it’ll get under my skin.

I hold my hand up before the other two agree. “I was a bit preoccupied meeting my kid for the first time. I didn’t notice,” I lie, to which a roar of protests go up .

“You’re so full of shit, Rock, you stink,” Vince says.

“Tell me what other time you’ve been in a room with a woman and haven’t noticed her?

” He levels me with a look. “I distinctly remember that time you had to get stitches in your ass. You were drunk as hell and could tell me what every single nurse in that emergency department looked like. So, uh, try again.”

I roll my eyes and set my empty bottle down with a thud and downplay. “She’s...okay, I guess. Just not my type.”

“You mean her tits weren’t up to her neck, and she didn’t immediately run up and grind herself against you, begging for your time?” Hawkin says to a round of laughter.

“Fuck off.” These assholes . “No. More like she has zero interest in me. Wasn’t fazed by who I was in the least.”

“So, she’s perfect for you, then?” Giz asks around a mouthful of pretzels.

“Exactly your type,” Vince adds, grinning. “Not being fazed means she’d humble you and that giant-ass ego of yours real quick.”

“Don’t you guys have anything better to do?” I ask.

“You’re the one who got on the bat phone and called this emergency meeting, so nope, apparently we don’t have anything better to do than bust your balls over how you’re going to fall head over heels for the hot nanny,” Hawkin says.

“Jesus, wait until the wives figure this one out. You won’t be able to get them and their matchmaking out of your house.” Vince chuckles.

And he’s right. I know my texts will be lighting up within minutes of them finding this out.

“I appreciate you guys trying to make me laugh, but you’re batshit crazy. Besides the fact that she’s taking care of a toddler for me I never even knew existed. Pretty sure she has a less than stellar opinion of me.”

“That’s how you know it could be real love.

” Hawkin pats his chest and sighs. “Already pissing her off before she’s even met you.

Talk about starting with a good foundation.

Something you can build true feelings off.

” I flip him off, and everyone laughs. “I mean, if she were just here for your abs and your complete dysfunction, then we all know it would never last. But hatred? Now that’s something you can rally around. ”

“Bite me,” I say, but I’m laughing now. For real this time.

Willow will be Poppy’s nanny for as long as I need it. There will never be anything more than that. Of that I have no doubt.