Page 30 of Made for Mayhem

I hesitated for half a heartbeat, then stepped forward, not wanting to be rude to the people Junie loved. Her arms closed around me without a moment’s hesitation, warm and solid and real. When her hand smoothed over my back in a motherly embrace, the weight of it all hit.

Every mile I’d driven.

Every hour I’d spent convincing myself this wasn’t real.

The job I didn’t care about, the eviction I probably should’ve seen coming, the call that cracked my world in half.

All of it stacked up, heavy and undeniable.

My sister wasn’t going to be the next car to pull into the drive, the next one to hug her daughter.

Not now.

I sank into Emmy’s hug, letting myself feel it—the first embrace from anyone other than Junie since the world tilted sideways.

For a second, it was too much.

Too warm.

Too kind.

“I’m so sorry about Violet,” she said, her voice soft but sure.

“Me too,” I managed, my voice rough. I stepped back, blinking fast, trying to patch myself together into something that didn’t look like their next pitiful rescue animal unraveling on the porch.

Emmy Hudson wasn’t the image I’d built in my head. She was better. Genuinely nice and impossible to hate. And that fucking sucked.

Over her shoulder, Ty stood on the porch, hands still shoved in his pockets, watching me. His expression didn’t soften, but something flickered there when he saw my smile falter.

“C’mon,” Emmy said, brushing a hand over Junie’s head. “Did my brother make you pancakes? After that last Pilates class, I’m starving.”

Brother.

My gaze snapped back to her, then to Ty, whose jaw flexed just enough to confirm it. All that imagined perfection—the slow-dancing, llama-fostering, apron-wearing wife? It cracked down the middle, leaving me feeling off balance.

Emmy wasn’t his wife.

She was his sister.

And somehow, that might have been worse.

8

My sister led Daisy into my house, the two women chatting as if they’d known each other far longer than the three minutes we’d been standing on my porch. Meanwhile, I stood there trying to reconcile the last thirty minutes of my life, because what the fuck.

Junie slipped her hand into mine and looked up with a grin I’d wanted to see so damn bad only an hour ago. It loosened something tight in my chest, even as everything else threatened to strangle me.

Once we stepped inside, I pointed to the bathroom off the entryway. “Go wash your hands for me.”

She nodded, then skipped down the hall. Her little footsteps echoed against the walls as I walked toward the kitchen.

Daisy and Emmy were already sitting at the table side by side. Emmy had her hand over Daisy’s, leaning in, her voice warm and easy as Daisy told her about driving through the night to get here. My sister had that effect on people—she made them feel at home before their shoes were even off.

“Where’s your stuff?” I asked, and both women turned toward me.

From the way Emmy’s mouth pressed into a flat line, I could tell I’d bulldozed straight past tact. But tact wasn’t in my wheelhouse right now. Sorry your sister died. I’ve thought about you for three years, never regretting anything more than walking away. Please don’t take my kid away from me, didn’t fit into any conversation starter I knew.

Daisy tucked a piece of pale hair behind her ear. “Oh. Just one bag. I can unload it at Violet’s house later when I take Junie home.”