Page 119 of Sweet Distraction

I watched it happen.

I also watched it fade.

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.

CHAPTER FORTY

Willow

Rocket’s dressing room is quiet.

Poppy’s asleep on the couch in the corner. Her headphones are on to help block out the noise, and under each arm is tucked both her bunny and new dragon. The noise outside the door in the hallway is continuous. Crew members rushing back and forth, cases being wheeled where they need to be, management doing their thing.

So I welcome this bout of peace before the chaos of the concert starts. And as with every night, I’ll let Poppy dictate if she wants to watch it, whether she wants to play backstage in the greenroom, or if she just wants to go back to the hotel and play there.

It’s her choice. It has been the entire trip.