Page 58 of Sweet Distraction

“What?” His voice cracks in disbelief.

I shrug. “You heard me. When are we going to talk about the hard stuff? When does Poppy become the priority rather than every other thing in your orbit?”

He blanches at the comment and shakes his head. His breath stutters—barely there, but enough to catch. His eyes narrow, not in anger, but hesitation. Then he shakes his head. “We’re not talking about Poppy. We’re talking about this, here, us. The kiss that never should have happened.”

“Noted,” I say and try not to feel the knife twisting. No girl wants to be seen as an opportunity to be used. “But, Rocket, just like you can’t kiss me one minute and have an excuse for why it can’t happen next, you can’t have a daughter living under your roof and keep her at arm’s length because your fears are greater than your hopes. And the fact that the kiss is what you’re addressing and not what you need from me to help you bridge that gap with your daughter speaks louder than anything else.”

“That’s a low blow.”

“It’s the truth, though, right? Later when you’re replaying this conversation in your head, that’s the part that will be repeated the most.”

“Fuck.” He takes a few steps away and runs a hand through his hair, but he doesn’t refute me. Doesn’t even try. At least there’s that. “I meant what I said, okay? I don’t want this getting in the way of you staying. You’re good for her. And she needs stability. She needs more than me.” He looks at me again, and this time the flicker of pain in his eyes is real.

That’s it, isn’t it?

“You’re more than enough for her,” I say, needing him to hear that. Needing to chase away that vulnerability that’s wavering in his voice.

“Like I said, thank you for staying.” Blasé. Matter of fact.

I fold my arms over my chest and lift my chin with defiance. “I’m not staying for you.”

A twitch at the corner of his mouth, not a smirk, not a smile, but more of an understanding. “Noted.”

We stand there, locked in a moment where I feel like he wants to say more.

Then a soft sound breaks it.

We both glance over toward the chair where Poppy lies curled in a ball, fast asleep. The noise was from the books piled on her lap that slowly slid off and fell to the floor with one soft thump after another. She has one arm flung over her bunny, and her mouth is slightly open but curled up in a soft smile, much like the one Rocket just gave me.

I watch him watch her. His eyes soften, and so many muscles in his face flicker but don’t fully commit to the expression. It’s like he wants to but isn’t allowing himself to.

“Do you want to move her to her bed?” I ask quietly.

He watches her for a long time. His expression softens, but his mouth is pulled tight as he struggles internally with his flood of emotions. “No. That’s okay.” He takes a step back. “She knows you better. I’d startle her.”

My heart falls. It’s a valid comment, and yet, I’m disappointed. “You can still try. It’s not like you’re a stranger.”

“I—uh . . .” His Adam’s apple bobs. How he looks at her contrasts his words and I’m holding tight to that. “I don’t want her to be scared of me.”

It’s an admission at best and an excuse at worst. “Rocket,” I murmur.

“You can’t undo fear. I know that for a fact, okay? Call me callous. Call me distant. Tell me I’m struggling and need to do a better job . . . but don’t make me do something that’s going to make her afraid of me.”

His words hit me hard. The conviction behind them even more so. I struck a nerve—clearly—but that nerve also allowed me a glimpse of what drives Rocket’s distance. What stops him from closing the distance. What drives him to that realm of indifference where he has one foot stepping closer and the other pointed out the door.

This, I can deal with. Honesty. Truth. Fear. That, I can build from.

“I hear you and appreciate your honesty.” I nod.

“Have a good night,” he says. Our eyes meet as he nods and then closes the door he so desperately wanted open a few minutes ago.

Click.

And I’m alone again. Just as I should be. In the silence of a room accented by Poppy’s soft snores.

That sound, along with the ones of his footsteps going down the hall, is the only reminder I need that this isn’t about me. Poppy comes first.

I sit on the edge of the bed and stare at her. I’m here to do a job. I can ignore that lingering sense of attraction and chemistry. I don’t need to add that to this already tricky and sensitive situation.