Page 153 of Sweet Distraction

Bristol lifts Poppy in the air and spins her like she’s the center of the whole damn universe, which, for us, she is.

“All right, all right,” I say, wiping my face and pretending I haven’t cried like a baby. “Time to celebrate.”

“Popsicles for the kids. And some drinks for the adults,” Willow says.

We pass around drinks, and then someone turns on music. The band is sprawled across my living room like they always belonged here. Willow disappears for a second and returns with a tray of snacks, and I swear I’ve never loved anyone more in my life than I do watching her pass out tiny bowls of pretzels. She’s looking after my people . . . because they’re her people now. Fuck, I love this woman. Funny how my interpretation of sexy has changed.

Eventually, the conversation turns to how wild it’s all been—the trial, the press, the public disparagement.

“By the way,” Willow says. “A podcast called Strong Voices wants me to come on for an interview.”

“About me?” I ask, narrowing my eyes.

“About advocacy. About this journey I’ve been on. About fighting for what’s right and how easily people believe what’s posted online without checking facts. About public perception and private truth.”

“You gonna do it?”

She lifts one shoulder. “Maybe. I think it’s time people heard my voice and how this all affected me. How keyboard warriors, with their malicious and merciless vitriol printed from behind their screens, can cause genuine pain for others. It’s so wrong.”

I grin and kiss her cheek. “Look at you. Master’s student—”

“Soon-to-be,” she corrects.

“Speaker. Influencer. Advocate.”

“Careful,” she says. “I could start charging appearance fees.”

The guys laugh, and I lean back, arm slung across the back of the couch.

“You know,” I say, eyes still on Willow, “it’s funny how fast the headlines change when you stop giving a shit about them.”

Vince raises his beer. “To not giving a shit.”

“Cheers,” I say. “To finding something better to live for.”

Eventually, everyone winds down. Poppy crashes first, curled up on the couch, head in Willow’s lap, one hand still clinging to my sleeve like she’s afraid I’ll vanish. It takes us some finagling to get her into her bed without waking her.

“Thank you,” I whisper to the guys and their wives when we return. “For everything.”

“Anytime, brother,” Hawkin says, and then he and Quinlan lean in for quick hugs.

“You know we’ve got your back,” Gizmo says, kissing Willow’s cheek and then punching me playfully in the arm.

“And we’re always here. Even when you annoy the fuck out of us,” Vince says and laughs, cuffing my shoulder and then pulling in Willow for a hug.

“Same goes here,” I say as I hug Hendrix goodbye.

And within seconds, they’re gone.

The house settles.

The silence is different now—it’s . . . not empty. Just full.

Willow closes the door behind them and turns to me, leaning against it with a slow smile.

I step toward her.

She tilts her head, eyes soft. “You okay?”