Page 76 of Made for Mayhem

“I’m helping her,” I said, maybe a little too fast. “We both love Junie. That’s it.”

His chair creaked when he leaned back. “Uh-huh. Not awkward at all? No tension? No late-night ‘oops, our hands touched reaching for the milk’ moments?”

A deep sigh escaped me, and I tapped my cards on the table. As ridiculous as Beckett’s question was, I couldn’t help but replay Daisy’s and my conversation from a few nights ago.

Maybe I shouldn’t have admitted I’ve thought about her every day for the last three years, but damn, it was true.

Since then, she’d been polite. Careful. Always busy with Junie or Piggie or something that needed doing—never alone with me as we had been that night.

Maybe this was just what parenting looked like—everyone too tired to poke at feelings, too focused on surviving the day.

Or maybe I’d said too much, and she was already pulling away.

That thought pissed me off. “Do you want to play cards, or do you want to get punched?”

Beckett chuckled. “Buddy, I’ve been punched by you before. You don’t scare me.”

I grabbed my hat, readjusting it on my head. “I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.” He grinned. “But thanks for confirming I’m right. Something’s going on here.”

I flipped through my cards—unicorns, mermaids, and a dolphin wearing sunglasses—and decided I was too damn tired for this conversation.

Over the last several months, I’d thought about becoming Junie’s guardian logically, preparing my house and my life for a child. But nothing had prepared me for the emotional toll of being responsible for a little person.

Sure, I’d dealt with physical exhaustion as part of my job for years, but this was a different tired that sank all the way to my bones.

My brain was tired from overthinking every smile, every sigh, every shrug of indifference Junie had tossed out lately.

My heart was tired from worrying about her non-stop.

And my soul was tired from imagining a day she wouldn’t be mine to worry about.

But the laughter drifting through the house tonight was genuine, and I relaxed a fraction at the sound. We weren’t out of the woods, but I wasn’t failing yet either.

“Do you have any mermaids?” I muttered, and Beckett’s laugh filled the kitchen as he tossed a glittering mermaid my way.

“I like that Daisy girl,” Lori said from where she sat in the living room. “She was always a nice child, too. Maggie adored her.”

I looked at Beckett’s mom as I slapped the two mermaids on the table. “Nope. You’re not allowed to chip in to this conversation, Mrs. Conway.”

“It’s Lori.” She shook her head. “We’ve discussed this. I’m old. You’re old. We’re all on a first-name basis.”

Beckett brushed a hand over his beard. “Got any flamingos, Boomer?”

“Shut the fuck up,” I muttered. “Go fish.”

Lori came to join us at the table, her cane tapping on the wooden floor as she walked. Beckett hopped up to pull back the seat next to him and helped her into the chair. Her chin-length white-blonde hair framed a face still sharp with humor and command, even if her hands trembled when she brushed it from her face. It was hard to see the untouchable, unshakable Lori Conway battle Parkinson’s disease, but she was still the same tough-as-nails woman I remembered.

“I swear, you boys and your dirty mouths,” Lori said once she sat down. “Like I didn’t teach you better.”

“Yeah, Ty,” Beckett said with a smug grin, right before his mom slapped him upside the back of the head. “Ow! What was that for?”

“Please, I heard you two at the grill earlier talking about the rink expansion. I just couldn’t get out there fast enough to slap you then.”

I looked down at my cards, glad the brim of my hat was hiding the amusement I was having difficulty holding in. “Have any unicorns?”

“Which color?” Beckett asked, staring at his cards. “There seems to be a lot of f—un unicorns in this deck.”