Page 43

Rocket

W illow and Poppy are running through the grass in front of me.

For a second, I don’t move. I forget the chaos in my head that the call I’m expecting is creating. The distraction allows me to just sit on the bench, elbows on my knees, and watch them like my life’s on the other side of a movie screen.

Two people who weren’t part of my every day ... hell, my life, not long ago and now who ... I don’t know what.

Who I don’t see living my life without.

The thought is there. It’s subtle. It’s terrifying.

At least, Poppy, right? Because I’m not ready to be thinking shit like that about Willow.

And yet . . .

I scrub a hand over my face. This is fucking crazy talk. Crazy talk expedited by unusual circumstances like living in the same house, the same hotel, as the woman you’re sleeping with.

But Willow’s laugh draws me back. She’s barefoot, holding Poppy’s hand as they chase bubbles blown from some tiny wand she pulled from her damn tote bag of tricks she carries around that seems to solve all problems. Poppy shrieks, her rabbit’s tucked under one arm, her curls bounce with every step, and determination is written all over her face like she’s on a mission to catch every single one.

They’re beautiful.

And beautiful in a way that makes my chest ache and constrict simultaneously.

Willow turns and catches me watching. She grins and winks.

Yep. I’m fucked.

And not just in the way that makes my balls tighten and wants to fuck. It’s as though the something that’s been missing from my life seems not to be missing anymore.

Yeah, I’m definitely fucked.

My phone rings and yanks me from my thoughts.

“Hey, Sandra.”

“Gavin.”

I already hate her tone. “Why do you sound like that?”

“It doesn’t exactly look good, bode well, what-the-hell-ever you want to call it, that you’re fucking the nanny.”

I wince as I glance back at Willow and Poppy, “Who said I was?”

“Rocket,” she says and sighs. “It doesn’t matter whether you are or you aren’t. It matters what public perception is. Not that it’s any of my business, but are you?”

I stare down at my boots, scuffed and half-buried in mulch. Fuck .

“Your silence says it all.”

“I have a daughter. I have a nanny. Both are on tour with me.”

“So your PR team has told the world, but how do you think that’s going to look on the stand when Willow goes to vouch for you in the custody hearing? Do you think her word is going to hold any weight? The young nanny dazzled by the rock star?”

I clench my jaw. “Why does there even have to be a hearing? Olivia stated that I was Poppy’s father. The paternity test proved it. She also listed me as legal guardian to our daughter. Why do her grandparents get to even file for custody?”

“Because they’re claiming you’re not fit to parent.”

“Fuck that.”

“Hence, the nanny and her word needing to hold weight.”

“Are you asking me to lie? Asking her to lie?”

“So it’s true,” she says, and I don’t respond. “And, no. I’d never ask that.” She pauses and then exhales like she’s gearing up for something worse. “You’ll be in Des Moines soon, right?”

“Yeah. Don’t ask me the day, though. They’re already running together.”

“I know your schedule.”

“And?” I drag the word out. For some reason, I hate where this is headed.

“Olivia’s parents live an hour outside the city. I think it would go a long way if you met up with them. Let them spend time with Poppy.”

The words slam into me harder than I expect. “Wait. What?”

“You heard me. I think you showing cooperation by meeting them halfway here shows that you’re willing to share her with them, let them see her, not shut them out ... it might go a long way with the judge.”

“As opposed to what?”

“As opposed to the hundreds and thousands of pictures on the internet of you partying hard.”

“All done before I knew about Poppy. Plus, who says being a parent means you can’t let loose every now and again?”

“Right now it’s about optics.”

“Why can’t it be based on the here and now?” I’m getting irritated.

“Agreed, but I think this would be a good move on your part. They’ve requested an opportunity to see her, and rather than go through the courts for this like your hand is being forced, it might look better if you agree to it.”

“You want me to justgiveher to them?”

“I want you to let them see her. You can stay in the same room, sit at a different table, I don’t know .

.. but no, I’m not saying to hand her over without supervising.

They probably want to— need to—grieve the loss of Olivia through her.

They never knew they had a granddaughter.

Maybe let that love soften whatever they’re holding on to.

It might help the case. More than that, it might helpthem.

It might be good for Poppy when she’s older to know more of her family. ”

I hear what she’s saying, but I don’t have to like it. I get to my feet, needing to move. “They could take her.”

“Rocket—”

“They could walk off with her and then what?”

Her breath is stuttered. “They won’t.”

“You can’t promise that.”

“You’re right. I can’t, but we have to believe the best in people. Otherwise, you spend your life not trusting people.”

I grunt and stare at Willow again. She’s crouched beside Poppy now, blowing a new round of bubbles, letting her fall backward into the grass with a delighted shriek.

Fuck, man.

“Just think about it. Let me know in the next day or two.”

The call ends, and I barely remember sliding the phone back into my pocket because I’m jogging across the grass.

And then I dive next to the two of them in a purposely clumsy, dramatic flair. Poppy shrieks and puts her hands on both of my cheeks.

“Swings?” I half-shout, half-wheeze the word before blowing a raspberry on Poppy’s cheek.

Willow raises an eyebrow, breathless and smiling at the same time Poppy shrieks and points to the swings before taking off in a toddler-speed sprint toward the playground. I’m on my feet in seconds, running after her. As I get close, I scoop her up and spin her in a circle.

She emits her addictive belly giggle as I lower her into the toddler swing and begin to push her gently.

Her curls lift and fall with the movement. Her eyes are wide and her smile is ... it’s incredible.

Willow slides into the swing beside her, and for a second, the two of them are in rhythm.

Back and forth—the sun on our faces—Poppy’s giggles the music I never knew I needed.

Because if I hear it, that means I’m doing something right. That means I’m not messing up yet.

Something in me cracks open. It’s the weirdest, most foreign, most gratifying feeling that I couldn’t put words to if I tried.

This is what it’s supposed to feel like.

This weightlessness .

This connection.

Did my mom ever feel this way about me? Did she ever swing beside me in some forgotten park and feel like she might actually be enough?

Nah. I didn’t matter to her. I was a burden. A responsibility she hid.

Never.

Poppy will never feel like that. I’ll never let her.

When she swings forward, she lifts her head up so that she can look at me. Our eyes meet. Fuck me. She’s absolutely adorable.

And . . . mine .

And I’m not sure I’ve ever felt more whole.