Page 81 of Made for Mayhem

I paced across the porch as Rowdy barked at my tone. “Excuse me for ever expecting you’d be nice just because. I don’t know why I expected anything more. You are, quite literally, the worst person I’ve ever met.”

“Jesus, Daisy. You don’t have to be so rude.”

A clatter from the driveway made me glance over—a hen had escaped the coop again, flapping and squawking like she was cheering me on. Cluck Norris strutted out behind her, chest puffed and ready for a fight.

“Don’t test me,” I hissed, pointing at him. “Not today, Satan.”

“Who the hell are you talking to?” Lauren asked.

“The devil incarnate!” I shouted. “You’d get along great.”

“Daisy—”

I hung up. Hard.

My pulse throbbed in my ears. I stood in the middle of the porch, paralyzed by the anger bubbling up in me, struggling to pull oxygen in and out of my lungs.

Ty’s old truck turned into the driveway, driving toward me. Dust flew up behind his tires until he stopped by the porch and walked toward me.

“What?” I barked as he studied me a beat too long.

With a shake of his head, he walked by. Before anger for his callous judgment could even surface in me, he came out again with a pair of work gloves, a mask, and safety glasses.

I blinked at him, more than a little confused.

He held them out to me. “Maybe it’s time to break some shit.”

I stared. “You’re serious?”

“You look like you’re about to explode.”

Cluck Norris crowed again, probably loving the sound of chaos and destruction.

Ty jerked his head toward Violet’s house. “Junie’s with Stevie and the kids at the library this morning. We have a few hours.”

I exhaled shakily. “Oh.”

“Ready?”

No.

Not even kind of.

But this energy bubbling inside me needed somewhere to go. I was too wired, too angry, too tired of trying to hold everything inside.

The walk down to Violet’s house felt longer than usual. My breath came out in short bursts, my chest feeling like it was about to crack. By the time we reached the refinished porch, I trembled with more than a morning chill.

Ty stopped beside me. “Do you want me to come inside with you?”

“No,” I said, but that was a lie. “Yes.”

The key turned with a familiar click. I hesitated, then shoved the door open, the hinges groaning in protest.

The house looked the same as it had the last time I’d been here—half-finished, half-forgotten. Violet’s death lingered in every corner, daring me to face it.

Ty followed me inside, silent but steady.

I tugged on the gloves, then put on the glasses and mask.