Page 67 of Sweet Distraction

My exhale is long and slow. “She doesn’t even know them,” I whisper.

“She didn’t know you, either,” Sandra says softly.

“Fucking hell.”

Because isn’t that the truth. An even bigger truth is how she’s been in my house for three weeks, and we’re still fucking strangers.

She didn’t know you, either.

Her words wreck me because she’s not wrong.

What is best for Poppy?

“Well, lucky for you, Poppy just wants you to be next to her. Want her. She doesn’t care if you know what you’re doing. Being with her gives her confidence to brave her new world.”

Like the boys were for me, would it be enough if I was simply in her corner, helping her be brave?

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Rocket

Hawkin: Thought of some more lyrics.

Me: This isn’t helping our next album get written.

Hawkin: No, but it’s making you laugh. Here’s a verse:

It started with snack time, ended in sin,

One minute she’s reading, the next she’s all in.

She’s got bedtime vibes and after-dark plans,

Who knew the nanny came with such great hands?

I sit in my driveway and shake my head. The smile’s there, but the stress of Sandra’s phone call lingers like a hangover after a long bender.

“Thanks, brother,” I say to no one as I rest my head against the headrest and stare at my house. The lights are on in the family room and kitchen. All I want to do is go inside, but how the hell can I when this fucking storm cloud is hovering over my head?

How do I fight for something I only just started believing was worth fighting for?

Having the money and means to take care of someone doesn’t always mean you’re the right person for the job. It doesn’t make you qualified.

Maybe it won’t end up how Sandra thinks. Maybe Olivia’s parents are just desperate to have a piece of their daughter in their life and want visitation rights. Nothing more. Nothing less.

And maybe I’ve never sold out stadiums night after night before.

Fuck, man.

This is what you wanted, Rock. Your freedom back. Your ability to choose if you want to be responsible, depending on the situation. A house void of sippy cups and stuffed animals stuck between couch cushions. Not having to think of anyone other than yourself and what’s best for your bandmates.

The thoughts swirl and nag. This invisible war that started before I even knew I had skin in the game, and now I’m just . . . I don’t know what the fuck I am.

All I know is that the old me would have taken the easy way out. Hands up. Hands off. Walked away.

But the new me?

New me? What the fuck, it’s been a month, dude. There’s no way you’ve changed that much.