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Rocket

S andra’s sigh is heavy. The kind that sounds like it’s dragging the whole damn world behind it. “This is the worst timing for this to come out.”

My thumb hovers over the screen of my phone, but the image burns brightly. Me and Willow in the tattoo parlor with my hand on her ass and her lips against mine.

A private moment, twisted, framed, and fuckingsold.

It’s not just the photo, but rather the headline beneath it that has dread filtering through my stomach. It’s clickbait trash designed to shred reputations and smear everything it touches. And what it says about Willow, abouthercharacter and her motives behind being with me, makes me see red.

“This is bullshit. Total and utter bullshit. Willow’s never dated other dads she’s nannied for.

Her boyfriend in college was well-off, but she wasn’t with him hoping for the money.

She didn’t get laid off from her teaching job due to inappropriate behavior with a supervisor.

This makes it sound like she’s some Lolita gold digger who goes from job to job to fuck the husband.

” I shove up and out of my chair to contain some of my rage.

“How do we do damage control? How do we fix this for her—”

“I don’t think we can. And honestly, I wouldn’t put it past the Whitmores to be behind this. Perfect timing. Public leak the day before the hearing? It’s strategic. Calculated. Damning.”

I pace my office like a caged animal, one hand tugging through my hair as I fight the urge to break something.

“I told you—”

“I know what you told me. I know you said anyone knowing would mess with her credibility. But ... Sandra, we were in a private place of business.”

“You were, but you know better than anyone that everything is on the table these days. Private or not private. Was the door locked after you went in? Did other customers happen to arrive and wait for an opening after you? Could’ve been a PI working for the Whitmores.

Could’ve waited for you two to drop your guard. ”

“Then this is more about discrediting Willow than it is me. Her word. Her character. Her ... fucking livelihood.”

“That would seem so.”

“So what do we do? How do we fix this?”

“There is no fixing this once it’s in the public like this.”

Her words hit and make me feel even more helpless than I already feel. Willow is as pure as pure can be. Until she met me. Until my shadow just fucking tainted her.

“Rocket—”

“Just ... I need a minute to think.” I pace the office, potentially wearing holes in the carpet. C’mon brain. See past the rage. Try to focus . I draw in a deep breath. “Do we need to adjust our strategy?” I finally ask.

“No. We stick to the plan,” she says but doesn’t sound as confident as she wants me to think she is.

Fucking great. Just what I need to hear right now.

“Okay. So stick to the plan, but then what about Willow? Can we release a statement? Can we paint the correct picture?”

There’s a pause. Too long.

“We do nothing.”

Her words hit like a fucking battering ram. “What do you mean, wedo nothing ? ”

“We do whatever it takes to ensure the judge rules in your favor,” she says, her voice lacking all emotion. She clears her throat. “Even if that means sacrificing her.”

I stop pacing. My synapses misfire. The music I usually hear in my head goes silent, because it feels like something inside me justsnapped. “No.” I shake my head. I love her. I can’t lose her or fuck her over. “We can’t do that.”

“I understand your immediate refusal. I’m not saying we will, but Rocket if it comes down to Willow or Poppy, Poppy is who we’re fighting for.”

“I didn’t agree to this,” I say.

“There are no rules here. Nothing to agree to. If they’re going to play dirty, then we might need to as well.” She clears her throat. “I suggest you put on some boots and prepare for the mud fight because that’s what it just might be.”

“Uh-huh,” I murmur.

She chatters on a few minutes about what to wear tomorrow and what time to show up. About how she’ll contact Willow about what to expect.

And by the time I hang up, I’m still not processing what this has turned into.

“You gotta be fucking kidding me,” I mutter and scrub a hand over my face as I stumble to my office chair and sit.

The quiet in the room is deafening. Fuck . I grip the arms of the chair, jaw locked and lungs burning.

She didn’t ask for this.

Willow didn’taskto be dragged into court battles and custody wars and scandalized headlines. She didn’t ask to be part of this family. My band. Thisfucking circus .

But now it’s her circus too.

Fuck.

Her words from the tattoo parlor run through my mind.

“I’m here and I’m head over heels in love with you too. Have been for some time. And as to what happens next? We just keep doing what we’re doing. Laughing. Talking. Taking care of Poppy. Cheering on each other’s successes. Making memories together. Whatever it takes, right?”

She chose me. Us .

And now she’s the one who’s going to be sacrificed because of it.

The panic creeps up my spine like it’s ready to devour me. Months ago, the only person I wanted to or knew how to fight for was myself, my band, and now I’m being asked to pick Willow or Poppy when I want to pick both.

How did this happen?

I see something move in my periphery, and I look up. Willow’s standing there, and my chest constricts.

Her hair is still wet from the shower. One of Poppy’s toys is in her hand like she was mid toy pickup. Her eyes are wide, her mouth is slightly parted, and she’s seemingly completelyobliviousto what I just heard. To what my lawyer justofferedas an option.

To sacrifice her.

To win at all costs.

My stomach pitches. The need to tell her owns me.

I open my mouth to tell her, but then I see the way she looks at me—like I’m her anchor. Hersafe place. And the words catch in my throat and die.

It won’t come to that.

I won’tletit come hell or high water.

“Rocket, I need to show you something,” she says and holds up her phone.

“What is it?” I ask but already know.

She holds up her phone. It’s the same headline. The same bullshit photo.

“Someone saw us at the tattoo parlor. The story’s out.”

She doesn’t say what else it says. All of the cruel bullshit about her. She neglects to tell me that it trashes her and her reputation and paints her in a horrible light.

She doesn’t need to. I already know.

“I’m sorry.” Her brow furrows. “I didn’t think. I kissed you in public. I just ... the moment, what your tattoo meant to you. I let it all get to me, and now the moment is ruined.”

The moment when I told her I loved her. She sees her name tarnished, dragged through the mud because of me, and she feels the need to apologize ? Fuck that.

“Please don’t apologize. You don’t deserve this. I never meant to pull you into this.”

And she doesn’t know it yet, but I’m not just talking about the picture.

I’m talking about what Sandra said. About what the courts could do. About what circumstances might force us to do.

“This is on me. I’ve jeopardized—”

“No. You didn’t. This is on me. ”

Tears well in her eyes. “You know I’d do whatever it takes to make sure you get Poppy. The last thing I want to do is risk that.”

I reach out, take her hand, and pull her into my lap. Instantlyshe curls against me like she belongs there.

Because she does.

I bury my face in her shoulder and breathe her in.

“I know you would. But you need to make sure you take care ofyourselffirst.”

Because if this gets worse, if they come for her harder than we can protect her, I need to be strong enough to carry us all.

“Promise me, Wills.”

She just buries her head into the crook of my neck and holds on instead.