Page 132 of Made for Mayhem

“What if she sees this finished and it hurts too much? What if this is her sign to leave?”

Beckett clapped a hand on my shoulder and squeezed. “Or she looks at the guy who made it happen and decides it’s her sign to stay.”

I didn’t answer.

Couldn’t.

Because all I could see was the most beautiful exit ramp imaginable.

And if she took it, she’d would take my whole damn heart with her.

31

The door creaked open, light spilling into the room and dragging me up from a sleep that felt thick and endless. I blinked awake, cotton-mouthed and disoriented, the world swimming before the familiar scent of pine and woodsmoke grounded me again.

Junie stood in the doorway wearing one of Ty’s old Hudson Hardware T-shirts, the faded navy fabric hanging past her knees like a dress. Her blonde hair was damp, curling in little ringlets around her ears the way Violet’s used to. She looked so much like her mom, it stole my breath.

“Hi,” Junie said with a smile that looked as fragile as I felt. She carried a wooden tray balanced in both small hands.

Ty stood behind her, broad shoulders filling the doorframe. He hesitated, just long enough to scan the room like he was taking inventory of what grief had rearranged, then nodded once. “Can we come in?”

I pushed myself up, the sheet sliding to my waist. At some point, I’d changed out of my clothes and into Ty’s old hoodie, but I didn’t remember doing it. My eyes felt swollen, my cheeks tight with salt, but I scooted over and patted the mattress. “Yeah, cutie. Come here.”

Junie set the tray down on my lap with exaggerated care, then climbed up like a little mountain goat—knees and elbows everywhere. She settled cross-legged in the middle of the bed, the hem of the hardware shirt pooling around her like a security blanket.

“I made you mac and cheese,” she announced proudly. “Well, Ty helped with the stove part because I’m not allowed yet. But I stirred the sauce.”

Behind her, Ty shrugged. “She’s a pro at the cheese-to-noodle ratio.”

“Thank you, Junie.” My voice cracked on her name. I leaned over and kissed her forehead, breathing in the smell of my strawberry shampoo she liked to use. “That was so nice of you.”

Junie studied me over the rims of her glasses, waiting for me to take a bite. When I didn’t move fast enough, she asked in a small, careful voice, “Are you sick?”

The words landed like a fist to the sternum.

How many times had Junie been the only one there when Violet couldn’t get out of bed?

How many times had she carried trays just like this one?

“No, sweet girl.” I set the tray to the side and pulled her into my lap. She came willingly, all long limbs and warm skin, curling into me like she was still the baby I remembered. “I’m not sick. I’m just sad. I miss your mom a lot today.”

Junie nodded against my shoulder, small fist twisting in my hoodie. “I miss her too,” she whispered into my collarbone. “Sometimes I forget for a little while and then I remember and it hurts again. Do you think it will ever stop?”

This kid.

My body had wrung itself dry hours ago but my face burned with unshed tears anyway. I pressed my lips to her hair. “I don’t know, cutie. I hope it gets quieter. I think it will.” I pulled back just enough to look at her. “And on the days it’s loud again? That doesn’t mean you’re doing anything wrong.”

Ty still hovered near the doorway, watching us with that steady presence he had. Knowing he’d be better at this than me, I patted the empty side of the bed.

He crossed the room and climbed up on Junie’s other side. The mattress dipped under his weight. He lay on his side propped on one elbow, leaving a careful few inches of space between us, like he still wasn’t sure he was invited into this moment.

But Junie had no such reservations. She wriggled until she was the filling in our sandwich—head on my chest, feet kicking lazily against Ty’s shins, one small hand reaching across to rest on his forearm like she needed to touch both of us to be comfortable.

None of us said anything for a moment, and the silence felt heavy.

I cleared my throat. “You know what Vi would hate most in the universe?” I said, surprised at how almost-steady I sounded. “Us sitting around being sad and quiet. She always said sad was okay, but quiet was a waste of perfectly good air.”

Junie tilted her head up, glasses slipping down her nose. “So what do we do instead?”