Page 141 of Made for Mayhem

And I was in love with him. I didn’t ever want to let him go.

I brushed Junie’s hair off her forehead, kissing her one more time. “Why would we need to leave when we’re already home?”

34

Junie was asleep before I even lifted her out of Daisy’s arms, her cheek pressed to my shoulder, fingers tangled in my shirt like she’d fused herself there. Piggie trotted behind us, snorting as if she knew to stay close, and by the time we crossed the porch, the storm had blown itself out.

I carried Junie back to the house, then down the hall, and tucked her into her bed. She didn’t stir. Not when I smoothed the hair from her forehead, not when I checked and double-checked that the window was locked, not when I stood there in the doorway long enough for my eyes to sting.

She was home. Safe. Breathing.

The moment Daisy stepped into the room behind me, everything inside me unraveled.

I backed into the hallway to give her space. She leaned over Junie, kissed her cheek, and whispered something soft only she and the sleeping girl would ever know. And when she stepped out and pulled the door closed to leave just a crack how Junie liked⁠—

My legs gave out.

I slid down the wall before I even realized I was falling. My hands shook so hard I had to brace them on my knees, and my breathing came in sharp, uneven gasps.

I’d been strong all summer. Strong when Junie cried for her mom at the hospital. Strong when the judge said I might lose Junie in six weeks. Strong when the house fell apart and when Daisy did too.

But the sight of Junie’s empty bed—the open window, the rain, the fear⁠—

It broke me clean in half.

My shoulders shook, silent and raw. Tears hit my knees before I even realized I was crying. I pressed the heels of my hands to my eyes as if I could stop the shaking by force.

Then Daisy was there.

She said nothing at first. Didn’t ask. She just slid down the wall beside me, her hip brushing mine, her warmth seeping into my shoulder. Then she put an arm around my shoulder and pulled my head into her lap.

I didn’t fight it.

Couldn’t.

Her fingers threaded through my wet hair, slow and steady. I let my forehead rest against her thigh, letting myself be small for the first time in years.

“It’s okay,” she whispered, voice cracking with its own exhaustion. “Ty, it’s okay.”

It wasn’t—not in my head. Not in my chest. Not in whatever part of me was still trapped back in that bedroom, staring at an open window and an empty bed.

But she kept going, voice soft but sure.

“Junie’s okay.”

Her hand slid down to the back of my neck.

“We’re not leaving.”

She brushed the hair from my temple.

“I love you.”

Everything in me went still.

I lifted my head and turned to look at her. Her eyes were red. Her face was blotchy from crying. Her hair was damp from the storm. And she was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen.

“What did you just say?” I asked, voice hardly more than a breath.