Page 40 of Poison's Promise

Not with her standing right here, demanding answers with those piercing eyes of hers.

“Too bad,” she shoots back. “What’s going on? You seem really stressed out. I can see it all over your face.”

“My attorney just called me,” I reply, my voice weary. “Rachel’s trying to get full custody of Tilly.”

Polly’s eyes widen slightly, but she doesn’t say anything right away.

Instead, she takes a step closer, her gaze searching mine. "Tilly?"

Fuck. I don’t think I’ve told her about Tilly yet. I was waiting for the right time while we figured our shit out. But, I guess there isn’t really a right time.

I take a deep breath, feeling the sting of old wounds reopening. “After you and I broke up, Rachel moved to Los Angeles. We started dating. She got pregnant. I have a daughter, Tilly.”

Polly blinks, processing the information.

The silence is deafening, each second stretching into an eternity.

Finally, she lets out a slow exhale, shaking her head slightly.

“Rachel...of all people,” she murmurs, almost to herself. Then those piercing eyes lock onto mine again. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

“I was waiting for the right time,” I admit. “I was done with her.”

“Yeah, and I get that,” Polly says, her tone softer now, though still laced with that familiar sass. “But a heads-up would’ve been nice.”

“Yeah, well,” I say, running a hand through my hair again. “Life’s complicated.”

“Isn’t it always,” she replies, a hint of a sass in her voice. “You don’t have to be a dick about it though.”

“Look, Polly,” I start, standing up from the couch. “I didn’t plan any of this. But Tilly—she’s everything to me. And now Rachel’s trying to take her away.”

“Sounds like a real mess,” Polly says, her voice carrying that edge of sarcasm she’s so good at.

“Yeah,” I nod, feeling the weight of it all pressing down on me. “It is.”

Polly blinks a few times, her silver blonde hair catching the sunlight streaming through the bus windows.

She’s silent, processing what I just told her.

The way her pale skin flushes slightly tells me this news is hitting her harder than she’s letting on.

“Spit it out. I can tell something’s on your mind,” I urge, my voice barely above a whisper.

“It’s just funny,” Polly finally says, her tone sharp and bitter. “You played right into Rachel’s hand.” She crosses her arms over her chest, which only serves to accentuate her curves in that tight crop top she loves so much. “I thought you were smarter than that.”

“Polly, I didn’t know what she was doing,” I protest, feeling my frustration rise.

Her words sting, but I can’t blame her for how she feels.

“Of course you didn’t,” she retorts, rolling her eyes. There’s that sass, that fire I both love and hate. It’s what makes her, well, her.

We stand here, the tension between us growing by every moment.

The hum of the tour bus engine and the distant sounds of the crew moving around outside are the only noises breaking the silence.

I want to close the distance between us, to touch her, to make her understand.

“Polly—” I start, but she cuts me off with a raised hand.

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