Page 67 of Made for Mayhem

Junie sat on the floor to feed Piggie from the bottle, the piglet’s snout making wet snuffling sounds as she drank.

Daisy sat beside her, hair falling over her shoulder, a soft smile tugging at her lips. She played with Junie’s hair absently, looking like the most natural thing in the world.

“You know, my mom died,” Junie said as she brushed a hand over Piggie’s face. “And Dizzy’s mom died when she was little too.”

Daisy’s hand stilled, but she didn’t interrupt.

Junie tipped the bottle a little higher. “That doesn’t mean you don’t have a family.” She glanced up at Daisy, then down at the piglet. “We can be your family.”

The words hit me low and hard.

Daisy leaned down and kissed the top of Junie’s head, tears glistening in her eyes.

I leaned back against the doorframe, arms crossed over my chest. Between helping my sister rebuild her life and stepping into caring for Junie, I’d spent the last year holding everyone together with sheer stubbornness.

I wasn’t the flashy forward. Never had been. I was the defenseman—the one who held the line, took the hit, and made sure everyone else stayed standing.

Protecting my sister. Junie. Daisy. Hell, this whole chaotic little world.

That part I understood.

But how did I protect people from the pain that didn’t come with an opponent I could see?

Their grief wasn’t something you blocked or absorbed—it was something you lived with. I couldn’t take it from them or carry it for them, no matter how badly I wanted to. And that hurt me, too.

Together, the three of us got Piggie settled for the night, then it was Junie’s turn for bed. Daisy helped her through bath time, then lay in her bed next to her, making up stories better than any children’s book I’d ever read. Their soft laughter drifted down the hall to where I sat in the living room. I soaked it in, already dreading the day the house would be silent once more.

The living room was quiet, bathed in the soft glow from the TV. Rowdy was curled up in front of it, chin resting on his front paws, eyes half-lidded.

Daisy tiptoed down the hall after changing for bed, barefoot and sleepy, her hair tousled from lying beside Junie. The cushions dipped when she sank onto the couch, and for the first time all day, everything felt still.

“Baseball, huh?” She gestured toward the TV, where I had the volume turned down on the game. “I played softball as a kid.”

I glanced her way, surprised. She’d never said much about her childhood aside from her brief mention in court. “Shortstop?”

“Yeah.” She nodded, then looked over at me. “How’d you guess?”

“Impulsive. Optimistic to a fault. A little reckless, right?”

Her lips curved. “That’s right. Guess you were listening, hm?”

If she only knew how many times I’d replayed that night in my head—her nervous chatter, the way her laugh hit me harder than a slapshot. I’d told myself it was nothing, timing gone sideways. But I’d never stopped hearing her laughter in the back of my mind.

Daisy tucked her legs under her, turning toward me. Even in the dim light, her eyes caught the flicker from the TV, crystalline and curious.

“I don’t get you, Ty Hudson. Are you this nice all the time?”

My mustache twitched as I tried not to smile. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“No,” she said, shaking her head. A loose wave of hair slid forward, brushing her cheek. “It’s just a lot. You’re the animal rescue, hockey coach, foster dad superhero. Doesn’t it get exhausting being that good?”

I shifted toward her, one arm resting along the back of the couch. The movement drew her in too—close enough that her knee brushed against my thigh. The touch was nothing, but it still sent a low hum through my chest.

When her hair fell forward again, I reached up and brushed it back. My fingers grazed her skin, warm and soft, and she inhaled—barely audible, but enough to wreck my focus.

“I like those things,” I said, forcing the words out. My hand lingered, thumb tracing a faint arc against her temple before I dropped it. “I like taking care of the people I love.”

She held my gaze, the dim light catching in her eyes. “But who takes care of you, Ty?”