Chapter 11
Emmy’s kitchen was bright and wild—magenta cabinets, hand-painted mugs, mismatched dishes—but it was the island that stopped me short.
Three neat pyramids of subs sat on a massive platter: ham, turkey, and a third no one seemed interested in. A basket of chips, a tray of fruit, another of cookies, and a case of Gatorade rounded it out.
“That is a lot of sandwiches,” I murmured to Junie.
Apparently, the teenagers disagreed.
Miles dove in first, stacking three ham sandwiches onto his plate.
Molly swooped in after him and yanked one away. “Yeah, no.”
Delgado reached over them, grabbing two sandwiches. “Turkey’s mine.”
Jace nodded toward the untouched pile. “Veggie. Any takers?”
“No one wants that.” Miles cringed.
Delgado went in for a third sandwich, one already shoved in his mouth chipmunk-style, and Beckett narrowed his eyes. Delgado grinned, lifted his shirt, and flexed. “You don’t get this body by holding back.”
Molly smacked him in the stomach. “Good thing you’ve got brawn, Delgado. Brains were clearly out of stock.”
The kid doubled over, and I couldn’t help but smile.
Junie sat in the middle of the chaos, perched on a stool with her ham sandwich clutched in both hands. She beamed up at Jace, who split a cookie in half for them to share, looking content.
Across the room, Beckett leaned against the counter behind Emmy, arms wrapped around her waist, chin resting on her head as she talked to Ty about summer practice schedules.
I hovered at the edge of the room, acutely aware that I didn’t fit here.
This wasn’t what I’d pictured when I imagined Junie in Colorado. In my head, it had been quiet. Temporary. Just the two of us, keeping our heads down, surviving one day at a time.
But this was loud. Crowded. Full.
And my sister—
Not now.
As if sensing I needed rescuing, Emmy appeared beside me. “I hope you like Diet Coke. There might be some Topo Chico, or you’re welcome to a Gatorade.”
I took the can out of her hand and cracked it open. “I’ll take a fridge cigarette any day.”
“I knew I liked you.” She touched the rim of her can to mine in a toast. “Are you doing okay after today?”
“Yes?” I said, the answer sounding as shaky as I felt. “No. I don’t know.”
Emmy nodded, then took a sip of her Diet Coke, not forcing the conversation. We stood together and watched the kids huddled around the table, doing anything to make Junie smile.
“Delgado almost got fired when he found out Junie was here today,” she said after a minute. “Miles had to talk him out of bailing on his delivery shift.”
I blinked, staring at the goofy kid who had pretended to faint on the floor. Junie sat there and grinned down at him, giggling around a cookie.
“He was going to ditch work?”
She glanced over at me. “He and Miles both. That niece of yours has half the team wrapped around her finger. It’s a little terrifying, honestly.”
I hummed, leaning back against the wall as I watched Jace help Junie steal a second cookie when no one was looking. That used to be my job—the fun, carefree aunt—but now I’d have to be the responsible one, wouldn’t I?
“Did you know her?” I asked. “Violet, I mean.”
Emmy shook her head. “Not well. By the time I moved here last fall, your sister didn’t leave the house much. I met her a few times at the hospital.”
At the word hospital, something sharp caught in my chest.
“She never told me,” I whispered, letting loose the one thing I hadn’t admitted yet. “I didn’t even know she was sick until… until it was already over.”
Emmy didn’t answer right away. She just watched the group—Beckett ruffling Jace’s hair, Miles teasing Junie, Ty doing that half-grin at something Delgado said.
“She talked about you,” Emmy said finally. “That she knew you’d come. That you’d know how to make Junie happier than anyone. She also asked me to take good care of you. Said you might need a friend.”
A tear slid down my cheek before I could stop it. I swiped it away fast and tugged the brim of Ty’s hat lower.
Damn you, Violet. Still taking care of me.
Emmy’s shoulder brushed mine. “For what it’s worth,” she said, “I like you. I would have befriended you no matter what.”
The words shouldn’t have made my throat tighten, but they did. “Yeah,” I rasped, still half-hidden under the brim of Ty’s hat. “I think I can handle that.”
When I finally lifted my head, Ty’s gaze was already on me from across the room.
He didn’t come over. Didn’t ask if I was okay. Just stayed where he was, watching me like he’d clocked the moment my shoulders tightened.
For a split second, I wished he was close enough to take my hand like he had earlier today—that steady, grounding touch that asked nothing of me.
But he didn’t move. And somehow, that felt just as intentional.
I wasn’t running from reality. I was getting through today.
The courthouse.
The paperwork.
Junie.
There would be a moment I couldn’t outrun the fact that Violet was gone.
Just… not yet.
And Ty didn’t seem to mind waiting.
By the time the food was demolished, the kitchen quieted down. The teens drifted out one by one—Miles muttering something about an essay he needed to finish for summer school, Delgado promising Beckett he wouldn’t skip work again, and Molly rolling her eyes like she’d heard that lie before.
Junie leaned against the counter, heavy-lidded and yawning, the crash from the long day catching up to her. Jace ruffled her hair before heading upstairs, and she smiled after him, slow and sleepy.
“She’s toast,” Ty said from behind me, and the warmth in his voice slid straight under my skin.
We said quick goodbyes, and then the three of us stepped out into the cool night. Ty opened the passenger door of the truck and helped Junie climb into the back, buckling her into her booster seat with a practiced ease that said he’d done this before.
Her stuffed rabbit waited for her, propped neatly in the corner. Junie sighed when she saw it, and she tucked it into the crook of her arm. Within seconds, she sank against the seat, already half asleep.
As Ty shut the door, I whispered, “You planned that.”
He shrugged. “She’s cranky when she’s tired. I value my life.”
I chuckled, the sound easing some of the tightness in my chest. We climbed into the cab, and as he pulled onto River Street, the lights from the shops reflected across the windshield. Linwood at sunset belonged on a postcard, pinks and oranges sinking over the mountains.
“So,” I said, leaning back against the seat, “youth hockey, huh?”
Ty flicked his gaze toward me. “Beckett roped me in last fall. The team was going to fold.”
“Of course.” I smiled. “Injured puppies, one-eyed llamas, foster kids, homeless aunts, and now entire youth hockey organizations. So much to save. So little time.”
His mustache twitched like he was fighting a grin. “You’re hilarious.”
I rested my elbow against the window, turning just enough that our knees brushed. “Yeah, well. That and my winning personality are all I’ve got going for me these days.”
He glanced at me again, the corner of his mouth tipping up just enough to make my stomach flip. “Pretty sure you’re underselling yourself.”
“Oh, yeah?”
“Yeah.” His jaw worked as if he was choosing his words carefully. “You’re—”
He stopped.
I turned my head toward him. “I’m what?”
His grip on the wheel tightened a fraction before he seemed to notice and loosened it.
“…Not just funny,” he said finally.
The odd compliment shouldn’t have warmed me the way it did, but I liked that, for once, it wasn’t me who was off-kilter.
“That’s a very safe answer, Coach.”
“Don’t call me that.”
I blinked. “Coach?”
“Yes.” His jaw flexed. “Please.”
“Why?”
A quick breath of laughter left him, and then he glanced at me again. His eyes traced my face, lingered at my mouth, then dipped lower before his gaze snapped back to the road.
“Because,” he said, voice rough around the edges, “I can’t be thinking of you when I hear that word.”
The air in the cab went tight and charged all at once.
“Oh,” I managed, the smile dropping off my face.
He cleared his throat, eyes fixed forward with exaggerated focus. “Yeah.”
“Okay.”
He nodded once. “It’s Ty. Just Ty.”
I nodded. Anything more might tip the moment into something neither of us was ready to touch.
“Okay,” I said again, softer. “Ty.”
He didn’t look at me this time, but the corner of his mouth lifted just enough to tell me he heard me.
The road wound out of town, headlights slicing through the dark as the river ran low and steady beside us. Junie’s breathing evened out in the backseat, her rabbit tucked snug beneath her chin.
Above us, the stars stretched wide and sharp, unfiltered by streetlights or city glow.
I’d forgotten how big the sky felt here—how it demanded your attention whether you were ready for it or not.
As a kid, Violet and I used to lie on our backs in the wildflowers and make up stories for the constellations, convinced they were maps to somewhere better. Somewhere happy. Somewhere safe.
Now, I focused straight ahead, trying not to look.
We slowed as Ty turned onto the gravel drive, tires crunching beneath us. The road split ahead—one curve leading toward his house, the other disappearing into shadow at the front of the property.
I knew what was there without looking.
Not now.
The truck rolled past, headlights sweeping the trees instead, and I closed my eyes to keep my emotions in check.
When Ty killed the engine, I finally opened them again. Junie didn’t stir.
Rowdy waited for us on the front porch, his dark shape curled on the mat. He lifted his head and thumped his tail once, slow and satisfied we were home.
Without a word, Ty climbed out and opened the back door, unbuckling Junie with practiced care. She slumped against his chest, her rabbit dangling from one hand, and he carried her up the steps with ease.
Rowdy and I followed, feeling like I’d stepped into a routine I didn’t know existed.
Inside, Ty didn’t turn on any lights. He moved through the house as if he knew every creak, every shadow, straight down the hall and into Junie’s room.
Last night, exhaustion had blurred the details of her bedroom. Tonight, I noticed.
The walls were a soft, pale blue—her favorite color. Black-and-white frames hung above her bed: Rowdy mid-leap, eyes crossed; Uno’s tongue lolling to one side; Dolly caught mid-acrobatics, jumping down from the barn rafters.
This wasn’t just a cute kid’s room someone had thrown together in a hurry.
This was hers.
It was warm, intentional, and full of everything she loved.
Ty lowered her into bed and tucked the blankets around her in one smooth motion. She rolled onto her side, the rabbit clutched tight.
He leaned down and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Goodnight, bug.”
Her reply came thick with sleep. “Night, Ty.”
He clicked on a small nightlight by the dresser, soft purples and blues spinning across the ceiling in a galaxy of soothing colors. Junie sighed once and gave in to sleep.
When he turned around, I still stood in the doorway, watching him.
“You love her,” I said softly.
“I love her,” he answered. No hesitation. No qualifiers.
My chest squeezed at the admission, and the truth settled heavy and undeniable.
Violet hadn’t chosen Ty as Junie’s guardian because he was convenient. Or close. Or safe on paper.
She’d chosen him because Junie deserved to be loved like this—without conditions, without uncertainty.
And standing in this room, it was impossible to argue with her.
Ty pulled the door mostly shut, but left it cracked. He jerked his chin toward the kitchen, and I followed on quiet feet.
Neither of us said anything while he filled the kettle, set it on the burner, and pulled down a jar of loose tea. I just watched him move, noticing the tense set of his shoulders, the tic of his jaw.
Steam curled between us as he poured the water, then slid a mug across the counter.
“Chamomile,” he said. “Figured you could use it.”
I wrapped my hands around the mug, grateful for the warmth. “Thank you.”
He leaned against the counter across from me, not crowding, but not retreating either.
The kettle clicked, the sound small in the quiet kitchen. We both drank our tea in silence, but the set of Ty’s shoulders told me he still had something he needed to discuss.
His gaze dropped to the floor, then lifted again. Finally, he looked at me.
“You’re staying,” he said. Not a question. Not quite a statement.
“The judge didn’t give me much wiggle room,” I said. “And if the renovations are as extensive as they said, I don’t have the funds to find an apartment while I fix up the place. So, yes, if the offer still stands, I guess I’m staying here for the next six weeks.”
His jaw tightened. “And after that?”
I stared down into the tea, watching the steam rise. “I don’t know yet.”
This time the silence didn’t feel empty. It pressed in, weighted with everything neither of us said.
“I just want what’s best for her,” he whispered.
I nodded. “So do I.”
Six weeks stretched between us, undefined and heavy.
Too long to pretend nothing would change.
Too short to pretend everything wouldn’t.
He nodded once, then drained the rest of his tea and set the mug in the sink.
“Goodnight, Daisy.”
I watched him disappear down the hall, Rowdy padding after him, and stood alone in the kitchen—Junie asleep, grief waiting in the dark, the stars still burning overhead.
Not now.
But soon.