Page 31 of Made for Mayhem

A low grunt rumbled out of my chest. “She’s staying here.”

“Ty.” Emmy’s voice was all warning, carrying a whole world of meaning behind just my name. Like that was all she needed to put me back in line. Normally, it would have worked. But this was Junie we were talking about, and her warning barely made a dent.

Sure, Daisy and I had shared our deepest, darkest secrets with each other three years ago. From those few hours together, I probably understood her better than most people. But I didn’t know her.

Even more so, this was Junie we were talking about, and fear of the unknown had a chokehold on me. Gut-wrenching terror that tomorrow, a judge would say that little girl didn’t belong with me, and they’d both disappear forever, just like Daisy had when she’d gotten on that elevator.

I leaned my hands against the counter, grounding myself on the cool marble. “The caseworker said she’s staying here with me until the hearing,” I said, quieter now but still firm.

Daisy opened her mouth to argue, and I held up a hand.

“I’m not kicking you out,” I said. “But the court granted me temporary custody. She’s my responsibility. If you want us to go down to Violet’s house, fine. But I’m staying with her until I’m told otherwise.”

Daisy’s brows lifted, sharp against the mess of pale hair framing her face. She leaned back in her chair, arms crossed over her chest. “Is this how it’s going to be? You’re going to fight me on this in court tomorrow?”

“I’m going to do what’s best for Junie,” I said, mirroring her posture and crossing my arms. “And right now, I still think that’s me.”

For a moment, something flared between us, her exhaustion meeting my fear right in the middle of the kitchen. Then Daisy let out a disbelieving laugh and looked out the big picture window behind her.

Junie’s feet slapped against the floor a second later, breaking the tension.

“I’m clean,” she announced, holding up her hands as evidence. “Are there more pancakes?”

I ruffled her wild blonde hair as I walked to the oven. “Of course, there are.”

I’d made extra on purpose—even on good days, Junie’s eating was hit or miss. Berries? Yes. Anything green? Hard no. Only one brand of chicken nuggets was allowed in the house, and pancakes were her current obsession. I’d learned that over months of scraped plates, early mornings, and sitting at this same kitchen counter convincing her to take one more bite.

I knew these things not because a caseworker told me, but because I’d been here. I’d been her safe place for months of headaches and hospital stays. I’d been the one waiting with open arms to hug her after she said her last goodbye.

Daisy didn’t know those things. Not yet.

I slid a pancake onto Junie’s favorite purple plate and set it in front of her at the counter. She climbed onto her stool, ripped off a corner, and dipped it into the little syrup cup. The world might implode if any sauce touched her food before she deemed it worthy.

The weight of Daisy and Emmy’s eyes prickled against the back of my neck, and I knew they were noticing everything.

How relaxed Junie was with me.

How she’d made this house hers months ago.

How none of this was temporary for me.

“She spends a lot of time here,” Daisy said quietly.

Junie nodded around a mouthful of pancake. “I like Ty’s house. I have my own room, and the bathtub is huge.”

I finally turned to face Daisy. She wasn’t looking at me anymore, but at the space around her—the big farmhouse kitchen I’d redone two years ago, trying to erase the bad memories of my childhood that clung to the old wallpaper. Wide windows facing the mountains. Warm wooden cabinets I’d installed myself. The hand-scraped floorboards that told a story of decades of Hudsons before me. Ones I had hoped to share with Junie for the next ten years.

Standing here now, anxiety crawled up my spine; every plan I’d made seemed too fragile to examine.

Tomorrow, it could all disappear.

Tomorrow, I might lose her.

Once Junie finished her pancakes and walked her plate over to the sink, the energy seemed to fade out of her. She grabbed her stuffed rabbit, then curled up on the couch. Rowdy followed her as if he too could feel the moment the weight of everything came crashing back down on my girl.

I stood at the kitchen sink, washing the last of the dishes until Emmy came and hip-checked me out of the way. “Go,” she said in a low whisper meant only for me. “I’ll do that, and you deal with”—she waved a hand at my whole body—“whatever this is.”

“You just pointed at all of me.”