Page 48 of Made for Mayhem

“So,” I said, leaning back against the seat, “youth hockey, huh?”

Ty flicked his gaze toward me. “Beckett roped me in last fall. The team was going to fold.”

“Of course.” I smiled. “Injured puppies, one-eyed llamas, foster kids, homeless aunts, and now entire youth hockey organizations. So much to save. So little time.”

His mustache twitched like he was fighting a grin. “You’re hilarious.”

I rested my elbow against the window, turning just enough that our knees brushed. “Yeah, well. That and my winning personality are all I’ve got going for me these days.”

He glanced at me again, the corner of his mouth tipping up just enough to make my stomach flip. “Pretty sure you’re underselling yourself.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah.” His jaw worked as if he was choosing his words carefully. “You’re⁠—”

He stopped.

I turned my head toward him. “I’m what?”

His grip on the wheel tightened a fraction before he seemed to notice and loosened it.

“…Not just funny,” he said finally.

The odd compliment shouldn’t have warmed me the way it did, but I liked that, for once, it wasn’t me who was off-kilter.

“That’s a very safe answer, Coach.”

“Don’t call me that.”

I blinked. “Coach?”

“Yes.” His jaw flexed. “Please.”

“Why?”

A quick breath of laughter left him, and then he glanced at me again. His eyes traced my face, lingered at my mouth, then dipped lower before his gaze snapped back to the road.

“Because,” he said, voice rough around the edges, “I can’t be thinking of you when I hear that word.”

The air in the cab went tight and charged all at once.

“Oh,” I managed, the smile dropping off my face.

He cleared his throat, eyes fixed forward with exaggerated focus. “Yeah.”

“Okay.”

He nodded once. “It’s Ty. Just Ty.”

I nodded. Anything more might tip the moment into something neither of us was ready to touch.

“Okay,” I said again, softer. “Ty.”

He didn’t look at me this time, but the corner of his mouth lifted just enough to tell me he heard me.

The road wound out of town, headlights slicing through the dark as the river ran low and steady beside us. Junie’s breathing evened out in the backseat, her rabbit tucked snug beneath her chin.

Above us, the stars stretched wide and sharp, unfiltered by streetlights or city glow. I’d forgotten how big the sky felt here—how it demanded your attention whether you were ready for it or not. As a kid, Violet and I used to lie on our backs in the wildflowers and make up stories for the constellations, convinced they were maps to somewhere better. Somewhere happy. Somewhere safe.