Page 18 of Made for Mayhem

My breath caught, the meaning behind his words landing all at once. Not a joke. Not a throwaway line.

A reach.

“Dare,” I said, echoing our very first conversation—back when I’d been the one asking him to stay.

“Watch the sunrise with me,” he said, one hand braced on the doorframe, like he was steadying himself.

I didn’t answer right away.

The silence stretched, my heart pounding so loud I was sure he could hear it. Inside, every alarm bell I had was ringing, trying to get my attention—not because of him, but because of how much I already cared. How easily he’d slipped past my defenses.

He shifted, jaw tightening. “You know what—never mind,” he said, backing off just as quickly as I had. “I’ll take you home. Driver?”

His retreat was careful, protecting me even now, but I hated the sadness on his face more than I hated the idea of how much this would hurt tomorrow.

I grabbed his hand before he could pull away, lacing our fingers together. “I’m not about to lose now.”

His hazel eyes snapped back to mine, surprise flickering across his face. Uncertainty, too. Good. If I was going to be standing on unsteady ground, he could join me.

I scooted closer and reached past him to open the door myself. “Come on.”

He got out first, then turned to help me out, his grip firm but questioning, like he was still waiting for me to change my mind.

But I couldn’t now.

The cold lake air hit my face as my shoes sank into the sand, the sky just beginning to bloom with pale color. I tightened my fingers around his, anchoring myself to the moment. The beach was quieter than I expected, the sound of the waves softly lapping against the shore. The lake stretched in front of us, dark and glassy, the horizon brushed with pale pinks and blues that looked almost unreal. I knew Lake Michigan was big, but standing here, it felt like an ocean.

I slipped my arm through his, tucking myself closer for warmth. He was only in a short-sleeve shirt now, hands shoved deep into his pockets, but his shoulders were still relaxed like the cold didn’t bother him in the slightest.

“What the heck,” I said, tipping my head back to look at him. “Why aren’t you freezing?”

He chuckled, the sound vibrating through his chest. Before I could say anything else, he pulled me in. One arm wrapped around me, solid and sure, holding me against him like it was the most natural thing in the world.

When he rested his chin on the top of my head, I melted. There was no other word for it.

“I played hockey for a very long time.”

“That explains the thighs,” I said, and his chest rumbled with another laugh.

When the wind picked up again, I looped my arms around his waist, fitting against him like I’d always belonged there, my cheek pressed to his chest. He hugged me back, and I tried and failed to remember a time when a hug had felt this grounding. This safe.

We stood like that as the sun broke free of the horizon, light spilling across the water, turning the lake molten gold. A new day, quietly demanding we take notice.

It was both a beginning and an ending, symbolic in a way I didn’t want to acknowledge.

Eventually, we walked back toward my place in silence, fingers laced, shoulders brushing. The lobby was warm and bright compared to the outside, the elevator humming as we waited.

He pulled me in for one last hug, slow and deliberate. When we pulled apart, he brushed a loose strand of hair away from my face, studying me like he was committing me to memory.

“I’m proud of you,” he said. “For being brave. For starting over, even when it’s scary. You’re going to do so many wonderful things, Daisy. I know it.”

My throat tightened, his words soothing every fear I hadn’t even spoken aloud.

“And you, Huddy,” I said, the words tumbling out before I could overthink them. “You are such a good man. It is so easy to care about you.” I swallowed, my eyes burning with tears I refused to let fall. “Just—make sure whatever comes next is what you want. Not just what everyone else needs.”

Something shifted in his expression, like I’d hit a truth he didn’t hear often enough.

He nodded once. Then he stepped back.