Page 140 of Made for Mayhem

A pale glow.

A single light burned in the window of Violet’s house down the drive.

The house I had turned dark earlier.

The room Junie hadn’t dared set foot in all summer.

The walls that held everything she’d lost.

My breath hitched, and I ran.

Feet slipping on wet gravel, rain needling my skin, wind whipping my hair into my eyes. Rowdy bounded beside me, barking, as the light grew brighter, closer, realer.

I slammed through Violet’s front door, breathless.

The living room was empty, quiet except for the storm battering the windows. But a soft line of yellow light glowed under the door to the bedroom Violet and Junie used to share.

My heart squeezed.

I pushed it open.

Junie lay on the bed with her eyes closed, clutching a picture of her mom against her chest. Her cheeks were streaked with dried tears, her glasses crooked. Piggie was curled at her side, snout tucked against her arm.

She looked so small.

So young.

So tired of being brave.

I climbed onto the bed beside her, and the mattress dipped just enough to stir her awake.

Her eyes blinked open, glassy and swollen. “Dizzy?”

“I’m here, cutie.” My voice broke. “I’m right here.”

“I miss her,” she whispered, lip trembling. “I don’t want to move. What if I can’t feel her anymore?”

I pulled her into my arms, pressing my cheek to her damp hair. “Oh, sweet girl,” I breathed. “You’ll always feel her. She’s always with us. In your heart. In your memories. In everything she loved.” I kissed the top of her head. “She’s not going anywhere.”

Junie nodded against me, a small, shuddering sound escaping her.

“And listen to me…” My voice steadied, somehow. “We’re not moving. We’re not leaving. We’re staying right here.”

A floorboard creaked in the hallway.

I looked up just as Ty stepped into the doorway, hair plastered to his forehead, rain dripping onto the floor. His chest rose and fell as if he’d run the whole valley. Fear and relief warred across his face.

“So, we’re not going to Chicago?” she asked, arms looped around me in a vice grip.

“No,” I whispered, then turned to look at Ty, making sure he heard me too.

The truth didn’t hit me all at once. It clicked into place like a puzzle piece I’d been holding upside down.

Ty’s love wasn’t loud. It wasn’t dramatic or overwhelming. It didn’t burn hot and bright like the lightning outside.

But he was my lighthouse in the storm, the beacon calling me home.

He didn’t flare or vanish, drifting in and out depending on the weather. He just stayed, no matter how much I threw at him, ready to pull me back in, time and time again.