Page 135 of Meant for Mayhem

I grabbed the diaper bag from the backseat where I’d left it earlier. “Go get her checked in.”

But Mikko didn’t look back. He didn’t even wait for me. He walked through the doors with Leena pressed against his chest, unaware of anything else going on around him. I stood there and watched them walk inside, feeling out of place for the first time since Mikko and I had said I do.

“I’ll go park the car, then come find you.” Beckett wrapped his arms around my shoulders. I didn’t even fight the hug, putting my arms around his torso and holding on while everything felt like it slipped through my fingers.

“She’s okay, Shannon,” he whispered. “Let’s go in there and be tough for them, alright? This is his worst nightmare.”

Tears welled up in my eyes, because Leena hurt and Mikko pulling away was my worst nightmare, too. “Yeah. I can do that.”

The emergency room was relatively empty on Christmas Eve, only a family huddled in the corner around a teenager on crutches. Mikko sat at the intake counter with a pen and paper, Leena in his arms. I walked over to them, and Leena looked up at me, eyes red-rimmed from crying.

“Hi, baby.” I brushed her hair off her forehead. “I’m here.”

She leaned toward me, then cried when it jostled her arm.

“Let’s get her back for x-rays,” a nurse said from the doorway across from us. “Mom, would you like to bring her back while Dad finishes up paperwork?”

Mikko glanced up at me, looking as wrecked as his daughter.

I shook my head. “You go with her. I’ve got the forms.”

He stood without a word, holding Leena like she might break if he breathed wrong, and followed the nurse down the hallway.

I dropped into the chair he’d left, reading through the clipboard he’d left behind.

“Relationship to the patient?” the clerk asked, fingers typing quickly on her keyboard.

“Mother.” I didn’t hesitate, but it wasn’t exactly true. But Leena was mine, and I was hers.

I answered the rest of her questions—insurance, allergies, emergency contacts—while my voice stayed steadier than I felt. When I signed the last form, Beckett appeared at my side.

“All done?”

“Yeah.”

“Come on. Let’s find them.”

We walked the same long hallway, the lights too bright and the air too cold. I kept waiting for the version of myself who knew how to handle a crisis to show up, who knew how to go numb when everything hurt too much, but it was like that version of me had disappeared.

Mikko was waiting outside an exam room at the end of the hallway, leaning against the wall and staring at the space in front of him. I wanted to throw myself into his arms, to take this pain and worry from him, while he also took it from me. But the bridge between us felt too wide, too fragile to cross.

Beckett didn’t feel the same, crossing the room and pulling Mikko into a hard hug. My husband stayed rigid for a long second, arms hanging uselessly at his sides. Then a rough sound escaped him—half breath, half broken cry—and his hands came up, fisting in the back of Beckett’s hoodie.

“We’re good,” Beckett said quietly. “She’s fine.”

Mikko didn’t answer, but he didn’t pull away either.

I stayed by the door with my arms crossed, watching the two of them and wishing I’d stepped into that space the way Beckett had.

A few minutes later, a nurse wheeled Leena toward us in a small crib-like bed, her injured arm propped carefully on a pillow. Her cheeks were still blotchy, but she was much calmer. Mikko moved before the bed even stopped moving, already reaching for her.

“Careful with her left arm,” the nurse said once we all went inside the exam room. “Let’s keep it elevated.”

“I’ve got her.” Mikko gathered Leena against his chest, settling her so the hurt arm rested safely between them. She whimpered once, then tucked her face into his neck.

The doctor followed a moment later—a woman in her forties with a tablet tucked under her arm.

“Hi everyone, I’m Dr. Patel. You must be Mom and Dad.” She glanced between us, then focused on the tablet. “X-rays look good, all things considered. I can see a green-stick fracture of the radius, which is common in toddlers, especially active ones like Miss Leena here. Their bones are still soft, so they bend and crack on one side instead of snapping clean through.”