Page 135 of Sweet Distraction

Because of me.

Sandra’s words echo louder now than they did the first time. “Even if that means sacrificing her.”

I should’ve said no, fought harder against it. I should’ve stood up in court and defended her from that fucking prick of a lawyer.

But I didn’t.

Fuck.

I glance over at the bathroom door. Willow’s in there, giving Poppy a bath. I hear the soft sound of water splashing. Poppy giggling. Willow’s voice sounds exhausted, spent, and still somehow soothing. She’s still taking care of Poppy after what she went through today, and I’m sitting out here like the world’s biggest asshole.

It kills me because I know what’s coming.

She doesn’t.

Not yet.

But I feel it rising like a swell I can’t stop. The thought I can’t unthink. The truth that no one would dispute. Willow’s never going to be safe as long as she’s with me.

Not from the bullshit accusations. Not from the stain the ones today will leave. Not from a world that eats women alive simply to spit out headlines.

Because the guy is never at fault. The male is always untouchable. But the woman . . . she’s always to blame in their world.

Another round of giggles comes through the door, but they’re only Poppy’s when usually they’re both. That hits me hard because I know, however hard she’s playing off the ramifications of what happened today, of social media that is afire with it all, it has truly affected her.

Restless, I stand and move toward the window. I look out at the dark night beyond and question who is out there, watching? Who tricked their way past the guard shack and is out there waiting to catch a random photo that they can spin to further along the fucked-up story?

And when did I stop trusting the world?

Motherfucker.

I shut the blinds, but still stand there, lost in thought. Sure the PR spin is already underway, trying to discredit the photos, deflect the rumors, and repair Willow’s public image.

But none of it matters. I know from my own experience. From those of my bandmates. The damage is already done, and Willow’s at ground zero.

All because she loves me.

Fucking hell, I love her too, and that’s what makes this whole situation ten times worse. Because I know now, deep down, that I’d walk through fire for her. That I’d do anything to protect her.

And after today, I think I might have to.

Just not the way I want.

The bathroom door creaks open, and she steps out. Poppy’s wrapped in her bunny towel that has a hood and ears that flop over. Her damp tendrils of hair curl around her face that’s red from the warm water.

Willow meets my eyes. They’re hesitant. Gun-shy. And the sight of it fucking kills me.

Poppy asks for a snack, and Willow agrees way too quickly. She’s trying to escape from having to face me. From having to relive that her presence here fucked her over.

They move to the kitchen, and I follow right behind. She looks over her shoulder at me, and everything inside me hurts. Is her expression one that says she’s glad I’m here or one that says she’d rather be left alone?

I follow anyway because that one look did show she’s already unraveling. It said the thread is pulled taut, and one more tug might snap it.

Maybe I can at least prevent that.

“Hey,” I say.

She looks up at me as she peels and begins cutting a banana for Poppy.