Page 38

Rocket

I don’t even get the door closed before Vince says, “So, we like her.”

I grunt and move to my office chair. They’re not here to write music. They’re here to harass the shit out of me. “You’re not supposed tolikeher. You’re supposed to meet her, nod politely, and leave without traumatizing the child.”

“Poppy loved us,” Gizmo argues, flopping into the armchair. “She gave Hawkin a rainbow sticker. That’s basically saying they’re best friends for life.”

“You scared the shit out of her.”

“She was getting snacks. I promise you, she’ll be fine,” Vince says. “Let’s talk about the real problem.”

“Nope.”

“Yes,” Hawkin chimes in. “You lied to us.”

“About what?” I roll my eyes.

“About how fucking hot Willow is.” Gizmo blows out a long, low whistle. “Like the wives told us she was pretty, but pretty in a woman’s eyes and hot in a man’s eyes are two totally different definitions.”

“He speaks the truth,” Hawkin says.

“She’s not hot,” I say automatically. “She’s—”

“Stunning,” Gizmo finishes for me. “Cool as hell. Amazing with Poppy, or she still wouldn’t be here. And she puts up with your stubborn, grumpy ass, which basically makes her a unicorn.”

She is.

“She’s not a unicorn,” I refute.

“Oh, she’s definitely magical,” Vince says and crosses his arms over his chest. “That’s why you’ve already slept with her and are hiding it from us.”

I glare at him. “What are we, sixteen now?”

“He’s dodging the question,” Hawkin says and playfully punches Vince’s arm. “He’s already sealed the deal.”

“I’m not encouraging any of this,” I say.

Gizmo grins. “So that’s a yes.”

“I swear to God—”

“It’s the walk,” Hawkin cuts in. “The post-getting-laid walk. You’ve been floating for two days. You smiled at the sunrise yesterday.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” I bark out through a laugh—even though he’s not wrong. “You didn’t even see me yesterday, and it was fucking cloudy outside so you couldn’t see the sunrise.”

“You still smiled at it,” he says. “I may not have seen you, but I know you. We know you.”

I prop my elbows on the mixing board and drop my head into my hands. “You guys are impossible.”

“No,” Vince says. “We’re observant. And invested.”

“In your sex life,” Gizmo adds cheerfully.

“In yourhappiness,” Vince corrects. “And from what it looks like, what it seems like, even with all this change that’s happened to you lately, you seem happy.”

I look up slowly.

And yeah—maybe I’m dying inside a little. Because the truth is, they’re not wrong. The house doesn’t feel like mine anymore. Not really.

It feels better. Lighter. There’s laughter in the halls and coffee cups that aren’t mine on the counter. There’s hummed lullabies and belly giggles. There’s walking down the hall in the morning in anticipation that I’m looking forward to seeing the two girls.

And yes, while that terrifies the shit out of me, it’s also different. Good.

Will it keep? Fuck if I know.

I clear my throat. “Let’s write something.”

“Nah, we just came to razz the fuck out of you,” Gizmo says.

I shoot him a look. “You’re assholes.”

“We can be even bigger ones,” Hawkin says as he turns the knob on the studio door. “We can tell Willow all about our song we made about her.”

“Sweet Distraction,” Vince says.

“Met her in a juice box haze ...” Gizmo sings as he shuts the door behind him.

I lift my middle fingers at the direction of their backs, but I’m smiling.

And I don’t even try to hide it.