Page 152 of Sweet Distraction

I’m holding her juice box while she tells me, very seriously, about something that happened to her bunny. The words are intermittent, connected by Poppy pointing to things to explain the words she’s not saying. From afar it might look disjointed and frenzied, but to me it says she’s okay now.

We all are.

In fact, never been fucking better.

Willow smiles over the top of Poppy’s head, her fingers brushing my arm in that absentminded way that makes me feel like I’ve been hers forever.

If this is what normal feels like, I want it for the rest of my life.

Then my cell rings. I hold up my finger when I see it’s Sandra, and the room stills.

Willow and I look at it and draw in a collective deep breath before I swipe the call and put her on speaker.

“Sandra. It’s Rocket and Willow.”

My pulse kicks into overdrive. Poppy pokes my cheek like what’s happening, but I can’t tear my gaze away from her name on my phone as I wait for her to tell me the judge’s decision.

“Hi, Willow. Rocket.” Sandra’s voice is calm but clipped, giving me no indication of what she’s about to say.

“You’re killing me here,” I say.

Sandra exhales. “The judge filed the ruling this morning. I just got the call from the clerk’s office.”

My chest caves in on itself. Too many words.

She’s stalling.

We lost.

I grip Willow’s knee without realizing it.

“You’ve been granted full custody, Rocket.”

The room goes silent . . . like no one knows how to breathe. Poppy stares up at me with wide eyes, clearly sensing the change in energy in the room.

Willow covers her mouth and makes a choked sound that’s halfway between a laugh and a sob.

I blink. Swallow. Then blink again.

“I got her? She’s mine? Ours? She’s . . . ours?”

“You got her,” Sandra says. “She’s yours. It’s done, Rocket.”

I laugh. Then I break. Tears come hot and fast, and I don’t care who sees them. I bury my face in Poppy’s hair and wrap my arms around her like I’ll never let go.

Willow leans in, kissing the side of my head, her hands cupping the back of my neck.

“You did it,” she whispers. “Rocket, you did it.”

Behind us, the front door swings open.

Hawkin’s voice rings out. “What did we miss? Willow said a big call was coming and to round the troops.” He holds out his arms to the whole lot of them. “So I rounded up the troops. Did we win or what?”

The guys tumble in—Gizmo, Vince, Hendrix, Quinlan, Bristol—my brothers, their wives, and their kids too.

“Yes. We won,” Willow says. “Rocket has custody.”

The room erupts. Gizmo hoots. Vince fist-pumps. Hendrix hugs Willow so hard I have to pull her off her to breathe again.