Page 68

Rocket

T he backyard looks like a damn Pinterest board exploded.

Twinkling lights strung from the trees. White tablecloths with black graduation caps in every variation as decor.

A photo wall with blown-up pictures of Willow—a nerdy middle schooler in braces and glasses.

An undergrad with her nose buried textbooks.

A Poppy asleep on her chest with her laptop beside her as she studies.

Hendrix helped organize all of this. The flowers. The food. The old school pictures from Mrs. Adams. Gizmo, no doubt, spiked the punch, which has been moved to a different counter so the little ones don’t accidentally dip into it.

This party?

It’s hers. Willow’s.

Because today she walked across a stage in a cap and gown and was handed a diploma that saidshe finished what she set her mind to. She checked off one of the last major items on her to-do list. Finished her master’s degree .

How fucking insane and incredible is that?

The woman who wants to make the world a better place, just got even better at it—if that’s even possible.

God, I’m so in love with her ithurts.

“Rocket.” Bristol taps my arm. “You ready?”

I nod.

Poppy’s at my side wearing her own tiny graduation gown and cap. We got it custom-made in purple with glitter, which I’m sure we’ll be trying to get out of the cushions months from now. She’s practically bouncing with excitement.

I kneel beside her. “You remember what to do?”

She nods. “Yes.” And then grins before saying, “Love you.”

“Love you too,” I repeat.

It still hits me in the chest—in the best way—no matter how many times she’s said it to me.

“Okay,” I whisper. “Go find Hendrix.”

She takes off toward the little stage we set up by the pool.

I find Willow near the drink table, laughing with her mom. She’s swapped her graduation gown for jeans and a soft white blouse. Her hair is twisted back, and her smile is as alive as her eyes.

“Speech time,” I say, sliding an arm around her waist. “You promised.”

She groans. “Maybe I lied when I said I’d do that.”

“You’re the woman who made it through hell and earned her master’s with a toddler in her lap. Come on. The people demand it.”

She eyes me suspiciously. “You better not have something jump out of a cake or some weird embarrassing thing up your sleeve.”

“No idea what you’re talking about.”

Lie. Big lie.

“You know I hate surprises.”

I shrug like I have no idea what she’s talking about.

But she lets me lead her anyway.

The partygoers cheer as she climbs onto the stage.

She takes the mic with a nervous smile. “Okay. I wasforcedinto this, so no judging because this type of shit makes me nervous.”

A few laughs. A few cheers of encouragement.

She glances around, visibly touched. “I just want to say thank you. To everyone here. For believing in me, for rallying behind me, for being there for Rocket and me during every step of the way.”

Her eyes flick to me. Fuck, I’m a lucky man.

“While I’m a firm believer in chasing your dreams. I never imagined I’d be standing here with my master’s and as part of a family that feels bigger than anything I ever dreamed. I am so grateful and humbled by your love and support and—”

The mic cuts. She blinks and looks around, but I can see when it dawns on her that this isn’t a technical error.

But more like perfectly planned.

The music starts.

A soft acoustic version of the lullaby I used to sing to Poppy starts, and on cue, Poppy walks out from the side of the stage.

The crowd applauds her. Her little hands are shaking, but she says the first line, “You don’t need words to know you’re mine. My hands can tell you every time ...”

Willow’s hand flies to her mouth.

And that’s when I step out behind our daughter—because she is our daughter—with a ring in my pocket and my heart in my throat.

Willow doesn’t move. She just stares at us, at me, like she can’t breathe.

I crouch to kiss Poppy’s forehead, then turn back to Willow.

“Willow Adams. You ... you are something else, you know that?” I chuckle nervously. “You taught me what rhythm feels like when the lights go out. You showed me that there’s music in silence. That there’s peace in the quiet. That ‘safe’ isn’t just a sign, but rather it can be a promise.”

I step closer.

“You taught me that home isn’t a place. It’s a feeling. And I want to carry that feeling with me for the rest of my life. Every stage. Every night. Every morning after.”

Tears stream down her face as her smile widens and her eyes own mine.

“And yes,” I add, “I had help with this plan.” I gesture to Poppy. “She picked out the ring box. There’s a reason it’s glittery and in the shape of a star.”

Everyone laughs as I pull it from my pocket, drop to one knee, and then open it.

The laughter in the backyard fades to murmurs. People shuffle and lift to their toes to get a better look. The sound of cell phone cameras clicking go off intermittently .

“Willow ... marry me. That’s my plea. I won’t promise that I’ll always be perfect—because we all know I’m not.

” Laughter flows through the guests. “And we’re always going to be a work in progress, but that’s okay because it means we’ll never stop trying.

But what we have is ours, and I will protect it always. Whatever it takes.”

She nods before I even finish the sentence. “Yes,” she whispers and then says louder, “ Yes .”

Our family and friends erupt in a fit of cheers.

I forget about the ring in my hand and pull her into my arms. I kiss her like I’ve waited years for this moment—because I have.

Poppy’s around us, twirling in her sparkly gown because she knows the whole world just shifted.

And maybe it just did.

Poppy came to me scared and shattered—much like I was but in a totally different capacity. We both needed healing, patience, someone to ground us ...

And Willow did just that. She brought us together. She held us together. She showed me how to fight for us when I wasn’t sure I was worth fighting for.

Forever used to seem like such a daunting word.

Until Willow. Until Poppy.

Now, it feels exactly right.

They’re my forever. Always will be.

Whatever it takes . . .