Page 96 of Sweet Distraction

“Or maybe I didn’t hear it.” He shrugs. “It was so soft, almost like she didn’t mean to. But I swear it was there.”

He doesn’t look at me, just watches the chicken sizzle in the pan, and I wonder what that felt like for him. I don’t have to wonder long because he looks back over to me, our gazes holding, and says, “It was cool.”

The pride in his expression guts me. So does the surprise and the vulnerability tucked in behind it, like he’s still trying to believe he deserves the title she gave him.

And as I watch him now—this man who spent years living loud and recklessly, quietly falling into the role of something steady and real—I realize something.

Maybe Poppy’s not the only one healing here.

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

Willow

I know something’s up the second Rocket walks into the kitchen mid-mug of coffee and freezes when he looks at his phone screen.

He groans and then looks over at me. “I apologize in advance for whatever is about to happen.”

“What—”

BANG. BANG. BANG.

It’s not a polite knock but more of a kick-down-the-door, open-up-we’re-the-police kind of knock.

Rocket winces seconds before the door opens.

Three men stride in like they own the place. Three men who a majority of the world would know by sight but who have caught Rocket on his heels.

“Caldwell. Brother. We’re here,” the one in front—Hawkin Play—yells. He’s tall and lean, with dark blond hair and a smile that screams trouble. He cuffs the side of Rocket’s shoulder gruffly and then clocks me immediately and grins. “Well, well, well. You must be the one he’s been hiding from us.”

The one behind him—dark hair, gorgeous eyes, and a grin that could light up a room—Vincent Jennings stops just inside the threshold and lets out a long whistle. “Damn, Bristol was right. You’re real. He was making excuses why we couldn’t meet you.”

“I wasn’t making excuses,” Rocket says and pushes Vince’s shoulder playfully. “I was protecting her from you and . . . from this.”

“You’re such a fucking liar,” Gizmo says as he clears the doorway before walking up to me and holding out a hand. “Jase Gizmodo. Nice to meet you, Willow.”

“Nice to meet you too,” I say, feeling a little overwhelmed.

“That’s Hawkin.” Hawkin salutes. “And Vince.” Vince steps in and presses a kiss to my cheek. “And you met Giz,” Rocket says. “And whatever they say, they’re full of shit.”

He says the words, he sounds exasperated, but Rocket came to life the minute his best friends walked in the room, and that makes me smile.

“Full of shit? Us?” Vince mutters as he grabs a banana from the fruit bowl like he lives here. “What were the bets we had?”

“Secret girlfriend.”

“Witness protection.”

“A new fetish.”

They call out faster than I can keep track of who’s saying them.

“None of those,” I say. “I’m just Willow. Just the nanny. None of the dramatics needed.” I look at them all, chuckle, and say more to myself than anyone else, “And you’re the infamous band.”

“Infamous and underappreciated,” Gizmo says, already walking around the living room like he’s casing the place.

I glance over at Rocket. His expression seems to be switching between hatred and love as his two worlds crash together.

“You’re here, why?” Rocket asks.