Page 47

Willow

P oppy’s curled up in the back seat, wrapped in the soft blanket she never sleeps without, bunny tucked under her chin, one chubby arm flung above her head.

She’s out cold—so peaceful it makes me smile.

The nightmares haven’t completely gone. I feared that seeing her grandparents today might conjure up more thoughts about her mom, about what happened, but for now, she sleeps.

I had questioned whether she’d be able to understand who the Whitmores were outside of the context of her mom. But I don’t think she did.

For now, she seems at peace.

And then there’s the man beside me ...

We’re parked on a quiet overlook just outside the city, headlights off, the sky overhead a wash of smoky twilight. Down below, a runway glows in the distance, blue and red lights marking the stretch of tarmac where planes roar into the air every few minutes .

One takes off now. Rocket sits watching it, tracking its ascent from one side of the runway until it’s up and gone.

I huff a small laugh. “Don’t you get enough of airplanes with all the travel?”

He shrugs. “It lets me think.”

I haven’t seen this expression all day. I wouldn’t exactly describe it as calm, but more like the closest thing I’ve seen to that.

He’s been tense ever since we pulled up to the coffee shop. Since Poppy’s tiny hand twisted in his shirt, and her grandparents spent time with her. Since the weight of what he thought they’d say, what they’d take, what they might judge—all of it—landed like a brick on his shoulders.

I watched it happen.

I also watched itfade.

Not all at once. But slowly. After Poppy climbed into her grandmother’s lap without fear.

After her grandfather crouched down to show her an old photo of Olivia.

After Rocket sat at the table a few feet away, silent and tense, holding his breath as he waited for the other shoe to drop . .. that never actually dropped.

And now, here we are. A car full of quiet space. No more tension, just leftover adrenaline and exhaustion. Maybe something else, too.

I study him for a second, the slope of his shoulders, the way his hands sit loosely on his thighs now instead of clenched like they were earlier. There’s still worry around his eyes, but it’s not sharp anymore. It’s softer. Reflective.

I reach over and slide my hand into his and link our fingers together.

He looks down like he wasn’t expecting it, but he doesn’t pull away. It’s his way of letting me in. It’s his way of welcoming me into the quiet with him.

“Do you feel okay?” I ask softly. “About what happened?”

He nods, staring ahead at the next plane lining up to take off. “Yes. No. It went better than I thought, I guess. They didn’t try to take her—new fear unlocked. Didn’t try to turn her against me—which is always a bonus. It was just ... weird, but I can’t explain why.”

“They love her. She’s all they have left of their daughter.”

“I know. But those things scare me.”

I squeeze his hand. “It would scare anyone.”

“I didn’t want them to see me as the guy Olivia used to know. The one who partied too hard and couldn’t commit to anything longer than a tour cycle. ”

“You’re not that guy anymore,” I whisper.

He doesn’t answer, doesn’t disagree, but he squeezes my hand back.

“It’s okay to be scared. To have irrational fears about the silliest thing hurting her. That’s just part of being a parent—or so I’m told.”

“It’s weird. I went from caring about no one but myself to feeling like more of my thoughts than not are about you and Poppy and if you’re okay or have what you need or ... it’s ridiculous.”

It may be, but the comment makes me smile. Makes me feel so much a part of his world and center to know he cares like that about me.

“It must be maddening,” I tease.

He presses a kiss to our joined hands but doesn’t look my way as he chuckles. “I kind of like it ... when I’m not worrying .”

Another plane rumbles past, climbing fast, disappearing into the clouds, as I rest my head on his shoulder.

He doesn’t move. Doesn’t react. We just sit like this—fingers tangled and thoughts unspoken—but not alone.

And then I realize something.

Rocket Caldwell has made me like the quiet, too.