Page 117 of Sweet Distraction

Mr. Whitmore stays frozen in place, but the way he works his throat looks like he’s swallowing broken glass.

Mrs. Whitmore reaches up and runs the back of her hand down Poppy’s cheek, and her shoulders shudder as she fights the emotion. “This is your grandpa,” she says and points to Mr. Whitmore.

Willow rocks on her heels, clearly as uncomfortable as I am. We feel weird standing here, like we’re invading their privacy, but at the same time, we need to do what’s best for Poppy.

I clear my throat. “Poppy, are you okay if we sit right there?” I point to the table and chairs about fifteen feet away.

She glances at the table and then back to me several times before nodding.

“Okay. We’ll be right there. We’re not going anywhere,” I repeat.

“Thank you,” Mrs. Whitmore says.

Willow moves to the table with me, her arm brushing mine. She doesn’t say anything as we walk, but I feel her gaze on me.

We take a seat, and I give an unsteady but encouraging smile to Poppy who’s making sure we actually sit down. Once Poppy is convinced that we’re not leaving and turns her attention back to the Whitmores, Willow reaches out to hold my hand as I struggle not to look back toward them.

“You did good,” Willow murmurs.

I don’t answer. I don’t know if I can.

Besides the guys, Poppy is the first person I’ve ever cared about. The first person to show me what unconditional love is.

It’s an overwhelming feeling.

As is what I feel for Willow. I hated but appreciated that Vince made me talk about it last night. About the woman seated across the table.

“So? You and Willow good?” Vince asks. His tone is quiet, reflective. Way different from the teasing tone the guys typically use with me.

They know Willow and I are fucking. They know I haven’t entertained anyone else in my dressing room—or elsewhere.

But his tone, the look on his face, and the bottle of beer he slides in front of me say I’m about to get a Vincent Jennings, big brother chat.

This should be interesting.

“Good? Yeah, I guess?” He raises his eyebrows at me. I roll my eyes. “You’re asking because why?”

“Being on tour can be a lot. Pressure. Togetherness. Annoyance. You guys managing that all right?”

“Yeah. There’s been none of that.”

“Huh.”

“Huh? Dude. Do you forget she lives with me at home? That she came in not thinking too highly of me, therefore, there wasn’t many more ways to go than up when it came to her opinion of me.”

“True. You were kind of an asshole. But I like this guy you are now. Poppy’s changed you . . . for the better.”

“Poppy and Willow,” I murmur more to myself than to anyone.

His eyebrows shoot up. “You included her in that statement.”

I nod slowly, trying to figure out what he’s getting at. “I did. Why?”

“No reason.”

“You wouldn’t have said it if there wasn’t a reason.”

“It’s just that when you start including a woman in the reasons you’ve become a better man, then maybe it’s time to look a little closer at that woman. At that relationship. And maybe, you know, figure out how to hold on a little tighter to it.”