Page 134 of Sweet Distraction

“Judge, this is out of line,” Sandra says.

“I’m simply establishing a precedent here to imply why Ms. Adams’s opinions can’t be seen as credible,” the Whitmore’s lawyer says.

“What social media and gossip sites write have no basis in this argument. It’s hearsay. For Mr. Sally to ask these questions based on those articles is irresponsible, inflammatory, and shouldn’t be allowed.”

“Noted and agreed with. I’ll allow the answer to this one question to see where you intend to go with this, but you’re on a tight rope, here, Mr. Sally. Get to the point,” the judge says.

“Of course.” Mr. Sally turns back to me. “You were saying, Ms. Adams. About why you’re here?”

My body’s shaking violently, and I break out in a sweat. I’m flustered, struggling to sound coherent when I answer. I glance to the gallery and see several people shaking their heads, and that only adds to my torment.

“Ms. Adams?” the judge urges.

“I did nothing in return for the letter of recommendation my employer wrote the admissions office.” I try to explain away his lies with the truth but fear it hasn’t done any good. The judge may get to rule on the outcome, but the hundred or so people in the gallery who are probably posting on their social media channels right now just got more food to feed the fodder.

“No?” Mr. Sally suggests that he knows something no one else does.

I don’t know what he’s asking, and I can barely hear him over my own heartbeat. “I’m not here to lie for Mr. Caldwell. I’m here to tell the truth. I’m here for Poppy’s best interest.”

“Of course. Because you’ve been very . . . well taken care of. Haven’t you?”

There’s the scraping back of a chair as Rocket stands up. It’s the first time I’ve looked at him. Devastation. Rage. Disbelief. Sandra puts a hand on his arm, whispering fast. No doubt begging him not to take the bait and look like the unhinged, unqualified parent they’re trying to paint him out to be.

I look away as quickly as I look at him. One second longer, and I’ll crumble.

My chest heaves. I blink too fast. My fingers curl into the fabric of my pants.

“Tell me, Ms. Adams, did Mr. Caldwell ask you to testify here today?”

What’s the trick in this question? What is the best way to answer?

I don’t know.

I don’t want to make this worse.

I swallow over the lump in my throat. “No. I volunteered.”

“Of course. It’s only normal to want to protect one’s lover.”

All the breath leaves my lungs and I struggle to reinflate them. I straighten my spine.

“Like I’ve said several times, but you don’t seem to hear. I’m not here for Mr. Caldwell. I’m here for his daughter and what’s in her best interest. The little girl who knows more love in his arms than she’ll ever find anywhere else.”

Mr. Sally’s smile is smarmy. “No further questions, Your Honor.”

CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

Rocket

I don’t remember getting back to the house.

One minute I’m sitting in that courtroom watching them gut Willow on the stand, staying after for a debrief with Sandra while Willow rushes home to get out of the limelight and back to Poppy, and the next I’m here, at home, pacing the floor like a fucking caged animal, my palms still damp and my pulse refusing to settle.

Fucking hell. Her voice. I hear it in my head on a loop. “I’m not here for Mr. Caldwell. I’m here for his daughter and what’s in her best interest. The little girl who knows more love in his arms than she’ll ever find anywhere else.”

Strong. Brave. Shaking. And I just sat there. I didn’t stop her. I didn’t protect her. I fucking couldn’t and felt so goddamn handcuffed.

I scrub my hands down my face and sit on the edge of the bed. But the second I close my eyes, I see her on that stand with her wide eyes and heart on her sleeve, bleeding for everyone to see.