Page 145 of Sweet Distraction

She snorts. “I’ll let you know she doesn’t like her time wasted and simply squeezed you in as a courtesy to me. The Whitmores are still in town as they were waiting for her decision before leaving—”

“So they could take Poppy if ruled in their favor,” I say absently.

“Yes. I assume. So all the players will be there, but please, don’t waste her time or she will hold it against you.”

“Noted.”

“So we didn’t just come here to watch you mope, Caldwell,” Hawkin says.

“Shit, man. If you nurse that beer any harder, you’re going to need to put a nipple on it,” Gizmo adds.

“What we’re here to say,” Vince chimes in, “is that you’re a fucking idiot.” He glances over to the kids but they’re far enough away that they don’t hear his cursing.

I glance up. Don’t argue. Don’t flinch. I’m exhausted, and my eyes burn from too many sleepless nights and not enough answers.

Gizmo nudges my elbow with his. “You love them. Willow and Poppy. We all see it.”

The beer bottle thuds as I set it down harder than I mean to. I can’t sit still, so I shove up out of the chair and move around the patio. “Yeah? And look where that got them. Poppy is possibly leaving and Willow is gone.”

“Willow’s gone because you forced her to go. Not because she wanted to leave,” Vince says in his low, even tone. “And look where running from them is getting you.”

That one hits. I flinch but keep moving.

“I’m not good for them. You heard what was said in court. You saw what has been said in the papers about her. She’s dealing with the ramifications of me.”

Hawkin stands and blocks my path. His face is calm, his eyebrows are raised, and there’s a hint of a smirk on his lips. “You mean like we have to every day?”

The joke is meant to be funny, to lighten the mood. I laugh. Or try to, at least. It sounds like gravel and hurts to come out. “Exactly,” I grate out.

“You’re missing the entire fucking point, Rock,” Gizmo says.

“Which point would that be?” I ask.

“Willow didn’t need saving. She’s a grown woman with a stiff spine and a strong resolve. Dating you showed that shit. What she really needed was for you to tell her to stay. To fight for her. To prove to her that by blood or by choice, you choose her.”

My throat tightens. “I thought letting her go would protect her. That it would . . .”

“Dude, family isn’t something you protect by leaving. It’s something you protect by staying. Besides, what’s been said has already been said. Can’t take that shit back, but you can make going forward better.”

The silence that follows is thick enough to drown in. It’s only accented by Poppy’s squeal and the clapping of her hands. How is it in such a short period, I fell in love with two people and feel like I’m drowning on dry land at the thought of not having them both?

Hawkin leans in, voice low and raw. “You love her? Then go fucking fix it.”

That’s it.

No frills. No hope. Just the truth like a fucking blade in my heart.

I drop my head into my hands, and for the first time in longer than I can admit, I cry.

Not loud. Not messy. Just broken silence as a tear slides down my cheek that I shove away with the back of my hand like it never happened.

Having made their point—that they’re here for me, that they’re not going to let me get away with fucking up—the guys quietly pick up their bottles, give me one last look, and leave.

Poppy climbs up onto my lap, too tired to play anymore, as the sky turns orange and the light fades. She curls into my chest, her little fingers finding the poppy tattoo over my heart.

She traces it.

Just like she did the first time.