Page 3 of Made for Mayhem

I stepped back, turned away from the truck, and started walking instead. Past the painted lines. Past the exit sign glowing red against the concrete.

No plan. No destination.

Just movement.

Cold spring air hit my face the second I stepped outside, sharp enough to make me inhale. The noise followed—crowds spilling onto the sidewalk, voices layered over each other, the city loud and alive.

A knot of people stood at the corner waiting for the light, most decked out in jerseys. I slowed, keeping my hat low over my brows, trying to stay unnoticed.

The walk sign flashed, and the crowd surged forward, filling the crosswalk in one noisy wave, there and gone like a receding tide.

I waited for the sidewalk to clear, but it didn’t. Not entirely.

My steps faltered, eyes catching on the woman in front of me—bright and unmoved, like the city had left her behind just for me.

Long wavy blonde hair hung loose around her shoulders, lifted by the wind in a chaotic halo. She tugged at the edges of a thin long-sleeved pink shirt, underdressed for the bite in the April night air. Ripped jeans hugged her hips in the perfect silhouette as she ran the toe of one patterned sneaker over the top of the other, staring at her phone.

That tightness in my chest eased the longer I looked at her. The noise dulled. The spiral I’d been stuck in all evening loosened its grip just enough to breathe.

“Huddy!”

The sound yanked me back to the sidewalk. A kid stood to my right, tugging hard on his dad’s sleeve, eyes lit up with excitement.

“That’s him,” the kid said, loud and certain. “That’s Huddy.”

The dad followed his gaze and smiled, a little apologetic. “Sorry—he’s a huge fan.”

Of course he was.

The familiar reflex slid into place, smooth as muscle memory. I bent at the knees, softening my voice and face. The version of me everyone expected.

“Hey, buddy,” I said. “What’s your name?”

The kid told me, and I listened like it mattered—because, to him, it did—and grinned at the right moments, acting like I wasn’t holding on to my emotions by a fucking thread.

“Any chance we could grab a picture?” the dad asked, already pulling out his phone.

I stood and slung an arm around the kid’s shoulders. The smile came automatically, practiced and convincing.

The phone clicked. Once. Twice.

“Thanks, man,” the dad said, genuine. “You have no idea how cool this is.”

“No problem,” I replied, giving the kid a quick fist bump before they moved off toward the curb as the light changed.

The second they were gone, the smile slid right back off my face, too hard to hold in place.

I turned back to the street and she was watching me. Our eyes met, and the corner of her mouth tipped up.

The light changed again. Someone bumped into me from behind, shoving me forward, my chest brushing her shoulder. Instinct kicked in—I put a hand out, shielding her from the press of bodies, resting it lightly on her back.

She sucked in a breath, blue eyes snapping up to mine, and I immediately pulled my hand back, lifting it where she could see.

“Sorry,” I said.

“No.” She shook her head. “You’re good.”

The crowd thinned until it was just us again on the corner, my feet refusing to move. When the silence stretched, I tipped my chin toward her phone, the map glaringly obvious on the screen.