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Willow

“W ell, that didn’t take long,” Rocket says, his voice loaded with sarcasm as he holds out his phone.

I stop walking on the tarmac and level him with a dubious look. “What?”

“See for yourself.”

Before I even look at the screen, I have a feeling I already know I’m not going to like what I see. It’s something I’ve been dreading.

It’s a picture of the three of us—Rocket, Poppy, and me—getting into the car an hour ago to head to our current location, the airport.

I’m holding Poppy’s hand, and Rocket has my backpack slung over his shoulder as he helps the two of us into the waiting car.

The way our heads are ducked down, welooklike something out of a scandalous celebrity exposé.

Funny, especially when I had no idea a camera was anywhere in sight.

The headline above it reads, ROCKET CALDWELL’S SECRET DAUGHTER AND THE NANNY HEAD TO NEXT LEG OF TOU R

I stare at it for a beat, appreciating that the picture is at least flattering while holding back the absolute panic from seeing my face on a celebrity gossip site.

Lily was right. It was bound to happen even with all the precautions taken.

Handing it back, of course, I pretend like I’m unfazed.

“Well, at least they got the headline right. Could be worse. They could’ve said I’m an escort or something who’s been harboring your secret love child.”

He snorts. “That’s probably coming next.”

“Awesome.” Sarcasm drips from the word. “Good thing I breached my boss’s unyielding NDA and gave my parents the heads-up.”

“I heard he’s a real asshole.”

“Will I be punished?” I ask playfully, which causes desire to flare in his eyes.

“Later,” he growls.

“Promise?”

I have no idea why I’m unfazed by the article and the chaos that’s about to unfold with us going on this tour. Maybe it’s because of the man beside me and the little girl he’s pulling from the car and her booster seat.

Happiness gives you a healthy dose of tolerance.

Rocket presses a kiss to Poppy’s temple as she tucks her bunny farther under her arm. “I apologize. Again.”

“We’ve talked about it. We knew it was coming. I’m surprised it hasn’t happened sooner,” I say.

“I know, but I’m not sure how they got into my neighborhood.

That place is usually sealed pretty tight.

I’ll have our PR team put out a press release to set the record straight.

That Poppy is my daughter. That you are my nanny.

It’ll cause the field day we know it will, but hopefully because she’s a minor, they’ll be more respectful of the situation.

We can hope, at least.” He snorts. “I’m sure there will be a lot of supposition, someone will offer a shit ton of money for the sordid story that doesn’t exist, but for now, they’ll assume what they want. ”

The words are easy for him, smooth and practiced like it’s just another Tuesday.

And for him? It probably is.

But me? I glance around the tarmac at the luxury jet gleaming in the late-morning sun and wonder if there are more photographers hidden somewhere, waiting to snap the next shot.

Not long ago, I was meeting Poppy for the first time, worried about how she’d adapt to the trauma of losing her mom and the enormous changes in her own little world.

Not to mention ordinary things like nap schedule, what would keep her stimulated the most, and her likes and dislikes.

Now? I’m on the other side of the gossip site, photographed as if I’m someone important and part of Rocket’s rich and famous world.

This is so far from normal I don’t even have a name for it. It’s like I’m on a different planet and yet somehow, I’m here.

Rocket glances my way and must sense the spiral happening behind my eyes. He bumps his arm against mine. “Hey. Ignore the photo. It’s not a big deal. It’ll blow over in a few days. Whatever it takes, right?”

I smile through the unsettled feeling. “Whatever it takes.”

“No doubt some starlet somewhere will do something stupid, and this will blow away sooner rather than later. I promise.”

“As we go on tour in the public eye.” I roll my eyes and chuckle.

“Point taken. So this is it,” Rocket says as we stop in front of a gray jet. It looks sleek and ridiculously expensive. I stand in front of its stairs and don’t care that I stare up at it in awe.

Rocket gestures toward the plane with his chin. “Well, no time like the present to lose your private jet virginity.”

And if I wasn’t freaking out before, I sure as hell am now.

Because stepping into afreaking Learjetwhen I’ve never even flown first class before is a whole new level of “how is this my life?”

We carefully climb the stairs. My first impression when I peek inside the door is that it’s sleek and bright and smells like leather and expensive aftershave.

And of course, sitting in that lush leather at the far end of the cabin is the rest of BENT: Hawkin Play. Vince Jennings. And Jase “Gizmo” Gizmodo.

I falter those first few steps inside the jet when I see them there. Sure, I met them at the house, but seeing them again in their private jet about to blast off on tour adds a whole different element to my current situation. One that seems so bizarrely removed from the life I had two months ago.

Poppy has no idea she’s in the presence of rock royalty and is currently too busy dragging her rolling unicorn backpack behind her to care.

“Willow!” Hawkin calls out when he looks up and sees me. He rises from his seat and steps forward to offer a kiss to my cheek in greeting. Then, as I’m in the midst of doing the same with all the rest of the guys, they’re giving high fives to Poppy.

“Welcome to your first tour,” Vince says with a wink and then ushers me to an open seat.

Gizmo looks at me, then back at Rocket, and then back at me. “Fuck, man. I stand by the fact that you’re still way too hot to be his nanny.”

I cough over my next breath of air. “Well, I’m not technically his nanny,” I joke, which causes a bout of laughter to ring out.

“Shh. We have baby ears here,” Hawkin says, and as if on cue, Poppy scrambles up in the seat beside Hawkin’s.

“Another female in love with Hawkin. Exactly what we don’t need,” Vince mutters.

A laugh rings out, and Gizmo tugs on one of Poppy’s pigtails. She giggles. “Are you going to be my new backstage troublemaker?”

“You don’t need any help,” Rocket says.

Our laughs combine, and just like that, we all fall into this weird normalcy that only cements itself further as we buckle in our seats and take to the sky. They’re warm, funny, andclearly ready to fold Poppy into the band family like she’s been here all along.

I accept the glass of wine the stewardess hands me. Hawkin holds his up across the aisle to mock toast me.

“We’re glad you’re coming with us,” Hawkin says. “Touring’s crazy, but there’s nothing in the world like it. Just keep your headphones charged to protect your ears—and tune us out—and don’t ever, under any circumstances, eat the chili the venue provides.”

I laugh. “Noted.”

“Small spaces and chili don’t go together,” Vince says, to which everyone makes some kind of agreement. But Rocket rolls his eyes almost as if he’s embarrassed that they said that in front of me. It’s adorable.

“And”—Gizmo holds up his finger to make his own point—“don’t believe anything Hawke says after midnight or before coffee.”

“Those are life and death timeframes,” Hawkin jokes.

“Moving on to Rocket’s idiosyncrasies,” Gizmo says.

“Nope. Not going there,” Rocket says, waving his hands. “Let’s not scare Willow off just yet. ”

“Because you need the nanny,” Vince says but gives me a look that says he knows more than he’s letting on.

Did Rocket tell them we’ve hooked up?

My cheeks flush red, and I cringe at the thought. Then again, all three are married men, so maybe they’re just living vicariously through their brother and his exploits.

Exploits ? Jesus, Willow.

While I’ve been in my own head and coloring absently with Poppy on the table between us, the conversation has carried on. They’re all joking back and forth, but it’s Rocket I focus on. He taps his wine glass against mine and smiles.

“See? We’re all just normal guys,” he says but then shifts his gaze over to Poppy.

I watch Rocket watchingher.

Earlier today, he was standoffish. He seemed tense, and his words were clipped like maybe he was nervous about this. About bringing us here. Yes, he said this is what he wanted, but saying it and seeing it happen are two totally different things.

It worried me. I thought maybe we’d bitten off more than we could chew too fast. That this might be a bad idea.

But now as I watch him, he’s leaning back, relaxed and grinning.

Poppy babbles something and throws her rabbit into Vince’s lap.

The guys cheer like she just won a Grammy.

I don’t think I’ve met a more resilient three-year-old in my life. She only just lost her mom, has had her life uprooted, living with strangers, and yet here, she’s simply adapting. Thriving. She’s incredible.

And Rocket?

He finally looks like he’s where hebelongs.

With his bandmates. With his daughter. And heading to do what he loves.