Page 151 of Made for Mayhem

“Have you seen your brother’s jersey?”

“I have it,” a deep voice said from the stairwell that led to the new second story of our home. “Ty laid it out for me before he left for the rink this morning.”

“Of course he did,” I muttered under my breath. “What time is your game again?”

“Puck drop is at 6:30,” June said in the tone of a girl who had decided she was running the show until I was no longer pregnant or breathing—whichever came first. She was thirteen now, and insisted on being called June. Not Juniper. Not Junie. Not cutie. Bug was still allowed, but only from Ty. But Little Huddy was the nickname I heard most often these days. “We need to leave in three minutes if we’re going to make it to the rink on time.”

Right on cue, the baby monitor crackled to life; Zara waking up from her late afternoon nap.

“Can one of you—” I groaned, pressing a hand to my belly as I finally got the boot on. Seven months pregnant was not the time for snow boots, but it was December in Linwood, and the world outside looked like a snow globe.

“I’ll get her,” Micah said as he walked by.

I smiled up at my teenage son—broad-shouldered, impossibly tall these days, dark curls brushing his forehead. When he first came to us three years ago—quiet, guarded, and clutching a duffel bag with everything he owned—he was supposed to stay for a weekend. He didn’t unpack. He didn’t ask for anything. He kept his things lined on the dresser like he was waiting to be moved again.

But that weekend passed, and he helped June with her farm chores. Skated with Ty. Ate dinner beside me as if he’d always belonged. And little by little, he let us in.

There wasn’t one moment he became ours. Just a hundred small ones that added up before we even noticed.

A weekend turned into forever, and the day we signed his adoption papers was just as celebratory as the day we’d signed June’s.

Micah disappeared down the hall, and a minute later returned with Zara—our newest placement—propped on his hip. Three months in, and we all adored our little toddler, and she us. Her little hand fisted in the collar of his hoodie, dark braids squished against his chest, blinking sleepily as if she wasn’t sure which universe she’d woken up in.

Being a foster family was beautiful and brutal in equal measure. You opened your door knowing you might have to say goodbye, and you loved them anyway. But knowing you were choosing to show up when they needed you most? That made it worthwhile.

“Hey, cutie,” I said, taking her from him and settling her on my hip. “Long nap?”

She yawned so big that her whole body trembled. Answer enough.

The front door opened, cold air sweeping in as Ty stepped inside, cheeks pink from the wind. Rowdy trotted in behind him—older now, grayer in the face, but still determined to greet every member of this household as if they were the best part of his day.

“Are you ready?” Ty asked, leaning down to kiss me, then Zara’s cheek, then my belly, warm and full under his palm. He held out his fist, and June and Micah each bumped it—June’s accompanied with an eye-roll—but she knew he wouldn’t leave her alone until everyone felt his attention.

“Define ready.” I tugged at Ty’s Mayhem hoodie that barely stretched over my growing belly. “For a cheeseburger? Yes. For hockey season? Debatable.”

He smirked. “Fair.” Then he nodded at Micah. “First varsity game. Big night. Are you nervous?”

Micah shrugged, but June snorted. “He’s got the highest defensive zone recovery rate on the team, but only when he doesn’t panic.”

“Shut up,” Micah muttered. “I don’t panic.”

“Oh, you definitely panic,” June corrected, doing an excellent job of taking on the role of little sister these last three years. “Let’s just hope Skylar isn’t there to see, because then you’ll really panic.”

“You’re one to talk.” Micah knocked June on the back of the head, just enough to mess up her braid. “What time is Roman’s game this weekend?”

June blushed, and I chuckled at the mention of June’s first crush. Roman played on the middle school hockey team, and June’s interest in the sport had taken on a whole new meaning.

It hurt that Violet wasn’t here to witness her daughter in the sassy, awkward teenage years, but I felt her in every reluctant hug. Saw her in every eye-roll. Heard her in June’s quick comebacks.

Ty gave them both the Dad Look. “Enough.”

They quieted, muttering identical “sorry”s under their breath. As much as it didn’t sound sincere, Micah and June loved each other just as much as any siblings I’d ever known. And God, I loved them so much it made my ribs feel too small.

“You on the bench with me tonight?” Ty asked June, who grinned back at him.

“Yeah, Dad.”

He looped an arm around her, kissing the top of her head before she ducked out of his hold, and I leaned my head down on Zara’s. “Someday you won’t want to hug us anymore either, and I’ll be sad, but it’ll be okay. I’ll know it’s not because you don’t love me anymore.”