Page 130 of Sweet Distraction

“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, we do 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 just snapped. “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’t ask to be dragged into court battles and custody wars and scandalized headlines. She didn’t ask to be part of this family. My band. This fucking 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?”