Page 44 of Made for Mayhem

My nephew glanced at the back door into Emmy’s kitchen. “Yeah.”

“Rook!” Miles shouted from the grass, still pinned under Delgado. “Come tickle him!”

Junie sprinted across the lawn, and Delgado let out a high-pitched squeal the second her little fingers hit his ribs.

“Go for the neck,” Molly drawled from her chair, sounding bored.

Miles wriggled free, flipping positions and holding Delgado down by the shoulders while Junie kept tickling the poor kid like a pint-sized agent of chaos. Smash laughed so hard he started snorting, and it set Junie off too.

Damn, I loved this.

After I retired, there’d been a hole in my life I couldn’t seem to fill. I’d come home expecting to work alongside my dad at the hardware store, fixing what had frayed between us by meeting him where he’d always been happiest.

Instead, Dad had a heart attack and left the store to me, packed up his life, and moved to Arizona with Mom. Just like that, I went from son to caretaker—of the business, of the legacy—without ever getting the chance to be either alongside him.

I should have known they didn’t need me. Didn’t want me.

But then Beckett came home last fall and signed us both up to coach the Mayhem. These loud, chaotic kids stormed in and gave me more purpose, more joy, than I could ever repay.

Coaching them, watching them grow, being a part of something again—this was my home. My family. My legacy.

When Daisy didn’t come forward, I glanced back at the truck. She stood by the passenger door, my hat still perched on her head, watching the whole circus with wide eyes.

I raised a brow. “Last time I checked, daisies weren’t wallflowers.”

Every head in the driveway snapped toward her like I’d just dropped a puck. Delgado propped himself up on his elbows, grass in his hair and a grin spreading across his tan face.

“Oh, shit,” he said. “Coach brought a little Ten to practice.”

In unison, Beckett and I said, “Language.”

Daisy’s eyebrows shot up at “Ten,” but the corners of her mouth twitched. She shoved her hands into her back pockets and gave me a look that was equal parts unimpressed and amused.

Junie sprinted toward Daisy to wrap her in the same rib-crushing hug she’d given me. “This is Dizzy!”

Miles fixed his glasses with the back of his hand, leaving a streak of bright green grass smeared across the bridge. He wiped his palms on his jeans, then lifted a hand in a sheepish wave.

“Hey,” he said with a crooked grin. “I’m Miles Claussen, but they call me Pickles. Cuz of my last name. Claussen Pickles? Everyone has nicknames. Jace is Juice, and Delgado is Smash, and Molly is uh… Molly.”

Molly groaned, shaking her head at his awkward introduction, and I fought to keep a straight face as Pickles’ ears turned bright red.

Before Daisy could react, Delgado popped to his feet, brushed grass off his shorts, and spread his arms wide. “C’mere, Ten. I’m a hugger.”

I stepped in and shoved him in the chest before he got too close. “Dial it back, Fabio.”

“Coach,” Delgado laughed, stumbling a step but not losing the grin.

From her lawn chair, Molly didn’t even look up. “You’re all idiots.”

“Beckett,” my best friend said, hand out to shake. She took it, and Beckett’s grin widened, staring at me over her shoulder before looking back at her. “You must be Daisy. Welcome to Linwood.”

The moment he released her, Junie grabbed Daisy by the hand, tugging her toward the group.

Jace, however, didn’t join the chaos.

My nephew hung back near me, arms crossed, his gaze flicking between me, Daisy, and Junie. That look on his face wasn’t just teenage attitude—it was the quiet wariness you learn when people leave. His dad was a piece of shit, and Jace had learned early not to count on anyone sticking around. Beckett had been working to repair that over the last six months, but I knew Jace loved Junie like she was his sister. I could see it written all over his face: the fear she might get pulled away.

Damn, I felt it too.