Page 149 of Stay Wild Darlin’

Poppy didn’t flinch.

I took a slow step forward, trying not to draw too much attention, trying not to set Brooke off. From behind her, I caught Poppy’s eyes and mouthed, “Are you okay?”

She gave a tight nod.

Brooke saw it and snapped.

In one sharp movement, she lunged—fingers clawing for Poppy’s shirt like she was trying to rip it clean off her. “Give me my baby. Now.”

Harleigh didn’t hesitate. Her hand cracked across Brooke’s wrist with enough force to echo through the air.

Brooke stumbled back, eyes blazing. “Mama?” she spat, reading the blocky letters printed over Poppy’s heart. “You think you’re Cora’s mom? This is a fucking joke. A fucking delusion.”

Poppy’s voice sliced through the chaos, sharp and calm in a way that scared me more than if she’d screamed. “That’s enough. We’re not doing this in front of her.” She took one step forward, never breaking eye contact. “Let’s go up to the house. You want to talk? We’ll talk. But you’re not laying a damn finger on her. Not again.” She looked over her shoulder, eyes locking with Maribel and Kline. “Can you two hold onto Cora for us?”

They both nodded without hesitation.

“That’s right, Brooke. Let’s take this inside,” I encouraged.

Brooke scoffed, stumbling slightly as she turned to face Poppy. “You know he always wanted me, right? Every time. He’d fuck around, play the good guy, and then crawl back to me. Every single time. This time is no different.” She spat the words like poison, aiming them straight at Poppy.

Poppy stood tall, spine straight, voice calm. “Let’s go to the house, Brooke.”

Brooke laughed bitterly. “Fine. I’ll go, but the baby’s coming too. I ain’t leaving her.”

Poppy’s eyes flicked to mine, and without a word, I reached out and gently took Cora from her arms. “She’s staying down here,” I said. “We’ll be right back, everyone.”

I turned to Beau. “You, Harleigh, and Fable wanna come with us?”

All three nodded, already moving.

Beau stepped up beside Brooke, gripping her arm to guide her. We headed toward the house, the six of us walking together.

This conversation was about to change everything.

52

Poppy

The last thing I had on my bingo card was Dalton’s ex stumbling onto the patio, high or drunk—maybe both—demanding to celebrate the daughter she hadn’t seen in ten months.

It wasn’t even the shock of her showing up uninvited. It wasn’t the slurred words or the sharp little digs she flung my way like we were fighting over a man in a high school hallway.

It was the audacity of it all.

She didn’t cry when she saw Cora.

She didn’t fall to her knees, overwhelmed by how much her baby had grown. She didn’t look heartbroken. She didn’t even look remotely moved.

She looked entitled.

I was supposed to feel small and embarrassed and maybe even unsure about where I stood in all this, but I didn’t.

I felt . . . bad for her.

Because while she was off wherever she’d been, chasing whatever numbed her, we had been here—growing, building, loving this little girl through every single messy, beautiful moment.

She missed it.