Page 24

Willow

I ’m halfway through the financial aid form I’m filling out online when I hear the door creak open.

I lift my gaze from the glow of my laptop to see him standing there.

Rocket.

Hair mussed like he’s been dragging his hands through it. Tattoos disappearing beneath the sleeves of a worn tee. His expression somewhere between exhaustion and something rawer. Like the kind of tired that has nothing to do with sleep.

He doesn’t speak right away. Just stands in the entryway to the kitchen like he’s not sure if he should come in.

“Hey.” I close the laptop gently. “How was the writing session?”

“Meh.” He shrugs but gets the most playful tilt to the corner of his lips despite the somberness in his expression. “Funny. What I needed.”

“That’s good then, isn’t it?”

“Yeah.” Another muted response .

I angle my head to the side and study him. “What is it?”

He shifts his weight from one foot to the other, fingers flexing like they want to grab something.

“I, uh—” He drags in a breath. “I wanted to say I’m sorry.”

That gets my full attention. I swivel on the barstool and face him head-on. “For what?”

“For not trying hard enough.” His voice is low but certain. “With Poppy. With this whole thing.”

My heart stutters.

“I’m not good at this,” he says, stepping forward. “None of it. I’ve been trying to act like I’m unaffected, but the truth is ... I don’t have a damn clue what I’m doing. She’s a kid. And I’m just—me.”

I swallow the lump building in my throat. “Rocket—”

“I keep waiting for someone to come in and tell me I don’t qualify.

That this was a mistake. That someone better is on the way.

Someone who knows what bedtime songs are supposed to sound like or what to do when she wakes up crying in the middle of the night asking for her mom.

” His voice cracks a little, just enough for the edge to fray.

“No one knows those things off the bat. That’s something you learn with time.

With trial and error,” I say, desperate to ask him what brought this epiphany on.

Was it his bandmates? Was it their wives who reported back after our pizza party a few nights ago when I didn’t have answers for their endless questions about how much Rocket participated?

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 needsyou.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 .