Page 148 of Sweet Distraction

And for the first time in a long time . . .

I let myself believe we might still have something left to hold on to.

CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX

Rocket

The courtroom door closes behind me, and I don’t breathe—can’t—until the latch clicks and the hum of the court is replaced by the quieter hustle and bustle of the side corridor. The business end of the court and the one Sandra has the bailiff clear to help avoid the media circus outside.

My hands are still shaking and my heart is still racing, but my feet move. Step after step, as relief and pride slowly replace the fear.

If this doesn’t go my way, I can’t say I didn’t leave it all on the field.

But it will go my way. I have to believe it will.

Sandra meets me at the end of the hallway. She nods toward the exit down the opposite way. “The media is waiting outside. It’s chaos.”

“I figured.” I run a hand through my hair. When are they not waiting? The same they that I’m trying to protect Willow from. “I just want to get to Poppy. Even if I have to wait them out or sneak out another way. She doesn’t need to be subjected to that.”

“Agreed and already on it. Working on getting you out through the underground garage.” She glances over her shoulder when the door opens and a rush of noise comes in before it shuts. “Poppy’s with the girls. Bristol and Hendrix took her out into the side atrium—less traffic. I’ll walk you that way.”

We round the corner, and I hear her before I see her—that belly giggle she makes without a care in the world, sheltered from the fact that her life is being discussed in a public forum. Hendrix is crouched in front of her, releasing her from a hug.

And just for a second, I let myself feel it.

This is mine. She is mine.

What would Willow have said if she saw me today? Would she have been proud? Told me I needed to say more?

I don’t know. All I know is I had to fix this, fight for this, before I could fix my fuck-up with her.

But I stood in front of the judge, the court, and pretended like I was talking to Willow. I didn’t let my anger speak for me. I didn’t throw punches or hide behind my fame. I gave the court the truest version of myself.

For Poppy.

For Willow.

For the life I want back.

“Rocket.”

I turn to face the voice at my back . . . and falter.

The Whitmores are standing in the hallway. Up close, it’s evident they’ve aged so much in the few short months. They seem smaller somehow, like the grief has hollowed them out.

I lift my brows and wait for them to make the first move. I’m not sure what that might be though.

Mrs. Whitmore steps forward, clutching her bag to her chest. “You meant what you said?” she asks.

I nod. “I did. Yes.”

“I don’t understand. Why say that? Why offer anything when we’ve done nothing but fight you?”

I shift my weight and swallow over the bitterness they’ve caused. I don’t want to, but I have to because Poppy’s watching me now. And I need to be the man she deserves her father to be.

“Because I know you’re hurting,” I say quietly. “And I have no intention of taking Poppy away from you. She deserves to know who her mother was. And I’m going to depend on you to give that to her.”

They look at each other, startled. Mr. Whitmore’s eyes narrow cautiously.