Chapter 16
I didn’t sleep much that night. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw the flicker of the TV on Ty’s face, the quiet steadiness in his eyes when I didn’t know what to say.
He never rushed to fill the silence or tell me it would all be okay.
He just listened.
No fixing. No escape hatch. No plan.
For someone like me who’d built her entire life on outrunning the hard things or fixing them as fast as possible, that kind of steadiness felt terrifying. Nothing he said had been earth-shattering, but all of it together? It made me feel seen. Maybe even wanted. And that confused my brain.
When I finally drifted off, it was to the faint scent of pine clinging to his sweatshirt and the echo of his voice still threading through my head.
I’ve thought about you every day for the last three years.
By morning, I had convinced myself I was fine, or close enough to fake it. Sure, I stayed in denial longer than Violet gave me permission for, but each day it got easier to come up with another reason I couldn’t stop to grieve today.
I had to keep moving, to stay busy, running from the invisible monster biting at my heels.
Luckily, the next week in Linwood went by faster than I expected. The days fell into a rhythm—early morning coffee on Ty’s porch, the mountains pink and hazy in the sunrise, followed by the sound of Junie’s voice drifting in from the barn.
Ty had her helping with the animals, which meant she followed him around asking endless questions about feed schedules and how many chickens was too many chickens. I didn’t know the answer, but one rooster seemed like one too many.
Piggie Smalls was an eight-week-old menace with hooves and had declared herself queen of the barnyard. The little black-and-white mischief-maker followed Rowdy everywhere, who then followed Junie, making them a chaotic train of cuteness as they paraded around the property.
Meanwhile, I stayed busy outside Violet’s house. The flower beds were free of weeds and full of bright colors that screamed Colorado summer. I also swept the porch and removed the rotted boards—the front steps no longer looked like a lawsuit waiting to happen.
Every time Ty asked if he could help, I politely told him no. He was already doing plenty to save my ass; the last thing I wanted was to take anything else from him.
And yet, Thursday morning when I walked down to her house ready to work, the exact supplies I needed were in a neat pile on the driveway. I looked over at the truck where he was buckling Junie in, heading to the rink. He was staring right back.
Moments later, they rolled down the drive, stopping in front of me. Rowdy hung out of the open window, tongue lolling off to the side, and Piggie was in Junie’s arms. Ty was busy typing on his phone, then dropped it into the cup holder.
My phone buzzed in my pocket, and I pulled it out.
Ty
I’m not helping.
Below it was a link to a YouTube video showing how to repair a porch almost identical to mine.
The longer I stared at it, the easier it was to grin.
“Thank you.”
Ty just nodded, then rolled down the driveway.
“BYE DIZZY! LOVE YOU!” Junie called out the window.
“TO THE MOON!” I yelled back, blowing her a kiss.
As soon as the words left my mouth, my phone fell from my hands, landing on the grass.
Such simple words, and yet saying Violet’s and my phrase without her felt like I’d taken a blow to the chest.
Not now.
Not now.
Not now.
My hands shook as I looked at my phone, focusing on it instead.
Eventually, I breathed again, and I threw myself into fixing the porch. That was something tangible, and that was easier than unpacking my emotions.
The mismatched boards didn’t line up perfectly, and the stain I picked was a shade too bright. I didn’t realize until it was too late that I should have power washed the rest down and re-stained it all to match, but that was a later-me problem.
I couldn’t go back inside, though.
Not today.
Every time I got close to the door, my chest went tight, feeling every inch of Violet’s loss all over again.
Luckily for me, there wasn’t much time to dwell on it.
For such a little town, Linwood stayed busy.
Between Emmy stopping by with every single one of Junie’s favorite foods she just happened to “buy too much of,” Beckett showing up to talk hockey and somehow ending up grilling in the backyard, and the entire Mayhem crew making frequent appearances to see Piggie Smalls, the house was rarely quiet.
I kept avoiding the paperwork I needed to fill out and ignoring the emails from the funeral home. Junie was safe, and that was all that mattered. I could keep breathing, keep living, even though it felt like the hole in my chest was growing with each shallow inhale.
As long as I kept moving, I was okay.
Which was how I found myself standing in front of Emmy’s Pilates studio the following Tuesday night, heart pounding harder than it should have over something as simple as Girl’s Night.
“Holy shit, you’re here!” a woman I hadn’t met yet shrieked as I walked through the glass doors into the studio.
Her dark blonde hair was in a high ponytail, and she wore bike shorts and an oversized tee that said World’s Okayest Mom.
She bounced on her socked feet, clapping her hands in front of her chest in excitement, then shoved her hand forward to shake.
“I’m Stevie, and I have been waiting patiently to meet you. ”
“Patient?” another woman said from behind the front desk, her black hair covering most of her pale features. “You got here two hours early and have mentioned Daisy twenty-seven times.” She pointed a long, black fingernail at a tally on a piece of paper, then slid it across the desk.
Stevie’s shoulders dropped, and she rolled her eyes. “You’re so dramatic, Shannon.”
“Facts don’t care about your feelings,” Shannon said dryly, the corners of her dark-painted mouth twitching. She wore ripped black jeans, a Slipknot tee, and enough gold jewelry to set off every airport scanner in the state.
“Wait,” I said, looking at her more closely. “Did you grow up here? You look so familiar.”
Shannon stared at me for a beat, her grey eyes focused on me. “I did. Did you?”
“Only in the summer.”
She slapped the desk, then gave me a crooked grin. “Yes. Holy shit, Daisy. Why didn’t I put that together?”
“Wait,” Stevie said, “You know each other?”
“Summer between my junior and senior year of high school, we worked at—”
“Slice N Spice,” we said together.
“The year it opened.”
“That’s right.” I grinned. “We ate at least three za-cos a day that year.”
“I still can’t look at them without gagging,” Shannon said. “Pizza, sure. Tacos, okay. I do not need both at one time, ever again.”
I couldn’t help but laugh, remembering how much fun I’d had that summer.
It was the only summer I came to stay with Aunt Maggie without Violet, and the entire drive from Missouri to Colorado I’d been dreading a long, boring summer alone.
Instead, I got a job and chopped more tomatoes than any one human should ever touch.
“This is so fun!” Stevie’s hands were clasped under her chin as she smiled at me, then at Shannon. “Who knew Shannon had friends?”
Shannon snorted. “I have friends. You’re just not one of them.”
Stevie leaned down and squeezed Shannon in a bone-crushing hug, all while Shannon swatted at her arms. A little girl with bouncy blonde curls appeared from behind them, clinging to Stevie’s thigh like a barnacle.
“And this is Harper,” Stevie said when she let go of a now-rumpled Shannon. “She’s two, and has decided Shannon is her emotional support goth.”
Shannon’s mouth quirked. “That’s right, little bestie. We’re friends, aren’t we?”
Before I could respond, another voice joined the chaos. “If you’re not careful, Stevie will rope you into making friendship bracelets.”
I turned to see a tall redhead with the calmest energy of the bunch. She was stretching on a mat just beyond the front desk, her long hair braided down her back.
“That’s Tate,” Emmy said from the far side of the studio, where she was setting up a reformer.
She looked put-together in green leggings and a matching cropped tank, her short brown hair tucked behind her ears.
“She owns the hockey rink, and she pretends not to like us, but don’t let her fool you.
Tate is just as invested in this weird little bunch. ”
Tate smiled, then straightened her grey and green Mayhem Hockey Club tee. “I’m easily bribed with snacks and sarcasm.”
“Here, here,” Shannon said.
I glanced around at the group. “So, are you all moms?”
Stevie lit up. “The Moms of Mayhem.”
Shannon and Tate groaned in unison.
“We are not moms,” Shannon said, pointing back and forth between Tate and herself.
“And I still don’t know how I got roped into a group chat titled Puckin’ Exhausted,” Tate added.
Emmy grinned from her mat. “Because you love us.”
Tate stretched her legs out in front of her. “I said I tolerate you. There’s a difference.”
The four of them broke into overlapping chatter and laughter, speaking of familiarity and deep-rooted friendship.
I watched them, amused and a little in awe.
They didn’t make sense together—Stevie with her toddler mom chaos, Shannon looking like she’d fit better in a mosh pit than a Pilates studio, Tate giving off calm mountain-yoga energy, and Emmy glowing like the sun—and yet somehow, it worked.
I had no idea how this mismatched group of women had become friends, but as I stepped farther into the room, I wanted to be a part of it.
Following the sound of laughter, I walked past the front desk and around the half-wall that divided the lobby from the studio.