Page 12 of Moms of Mayhem (Mayhem Hockey Club #1)

The second I saw the name flash across my screen, I cursed under my breath.

I hit accept and braced myself. “Coach.”

He didn’t waste time. “Before we get into anything else—how’s your mom?”

That question hit harder than I expected. My throat tightened. Not because I had an answer, but because I didn’t.

“Honestly?” I stared straight ahead, the mountains a blur outside my windshield. “I don’t know.”

It was the truth. I’d just found out about the Parkinson’s diagnosis myself—something my mom had been hiding for God knows how long—and the words still felt foreign in my mouth.

“Gavin mentioned the diagnosis,” Coach said after a beat. “I’m sorry to hear it.”

“She fell last week. Broke a couple ribs. ER visit, hospital stay. Recovery at home’s not an option, not without help. She shouldn’t be living alone. ”

“I’m sorry,” he repeated, a little gruffer this time. “That’s a tough one.”

I grunted in response, my hands locked tight around the steering wheel. What else was there to say?

“I can’t say I’m thrilled about the way this all went down, Conway. The front office has been in meetings all morning combing through your contract for a breach.”

There it was.

My stomach knotted, and I pulled the car over, needing solid ground under me.

“I’m in your corner, though,” Coach added, voice steel-edged but solid. “Hockey’s not forever. You’ve paid your dues. You’ve thrown a wrench in the recovery plan, yeah, but?—”

“You know me. I’ll be back as fast or?—”

“I wasn’t done,” he snapped. “You’d think by now you’d have learned when to shut up.”

I clamped my mouth shut. “Yes, sir.”

“I do know you, Beckett. You’re reckless, but you’re smart about it. Calculated. You push the edge harder than anyone I’ve ever coached, but you always know the line. That’s why I’m going to fight for this. Because I believe you’ve still got more to give.”

I let out a slow breath, some of the weight lifting off my chest. “Thank you.”

“Don’t get soft on me now. This isn’t going to be an easy sell. Management’s pissed you left without clearance, missed appointments, blew off check-ins. But I told them—family’s family.”

“I know I handled it wrong. I’m sorry, Coach.”

“I’m not your priest. I don’t need an apology. I need you to remember that we’re a team, and you matter—to this franchise and to me.”

My jaw clenched, emotion burning hot behind my eyes. I dropped my chin to my chest and tried to breathe it down.

“I watched Mason light it up in Dallas last night,” he said after a pause. “Guessing he’s not with you?”

“No, sir.” I’d watched the highlights too—my little brother’s hat trick in the third. “Didn’t make sense for both of us to miss games. I told him to stay.”

“Alright.” Another sigh, one I could practically see as him pinching the bridge of his nose. “Sit tight. I’ll be in touch with next steps. And Beckett?”

“Yes, sir?”

“Answer your damn phone.”

A laugh slipped out despite everything. “Will do.”

The line went dead, and I sat there a minute longer before pulling back onto the road. Each mile forward felt just a little lighter. Maybe I wasn’t done yet.

Getting Mom settled at the rehab center didn’t take as long as I’d planned, so I’d gone home. Before I even made it inside, I noticed Jace’s bike still parked by the garage. Without much thought, I’d carefully loaded it into the bed of my truck, ready to hunt down the kid to return it.

My first stop was the hardware store, but Ty’s SUV Emmy had been driving wasn’t parked on the street anymore. I didn’t know where she lived, but my first guess was one of the little row houses she’d always loved as a kid.

Trying not to be a total creeper, I cruised down River Street looking for her car and a Mayhem Hockey Club sign in the yard—she seemed that type of mom—but struck out. I’d forgotten just how many kids in this community played for the Mayhem, so that didn’t narrow it down at all .

Next stop, the rink. My phone rang again, and I rolled my eyes at the sight of Gavin’s name.

“It’s bad,” he said as soon as I answered.

“Could be worse,” I replied, mostly to annoy him. “Just hung up with Coach.”

“Oh, good. He’s still speaking to you, then. Management isn’t on the same page.”

I bit the insides of my cheeks, turning into the rink’s crowded parking lot. “Make it work, Gavin. This is what I pay you for.”

“Not enough. Not fucking enough, Beck.” Gavin sighed, and I waited him out. “You can’t argue any of their plans. You understand? This was the only ask they’re going to allow.”

Snow crunched under my tires sounding an awful lot like my back teeth dissolving with this tension. “I get it.”

“Alright. Going to go get you not-fired.”

I turned into a new row just as a car began backing out, right next to Emmy’s SUV. Even from a distance, I could see her glaring at me through the windshield, her blinker ticking an irritated rhythm.

Remembering how mad she’d been Friday night, I flipped on my own blinker, a grin tugging at my lips for the first time all day.

The Subaru slowly began to angle out, its bumper swinging in my direction. From this side, I had the advantage. Emmy gave a sharp honk, then pointed two fingers at her eyes and one directly at me.

I laughed and waved, enjoying her attention more than I probably should.

I’d been thinking about her all day—about our conversation this morning, how close I’d come to kissing her.

That wasn’t like me. I wasn’t exactly celibate, but I’d quit chasing women years ago.

Hockey had always come first, second, and third.

Hell, I hadn’t even noticed my own mom’s health slipping, let alone had time for a relationship.

Especially not with my best friend’s little sister.

She crept her SUV forward and I matched her, both of us crowding the poor Subaru like wolves circling prey. The driver looked terrified, his head swiveling between mirrors as he eased out at a glacial pace.

The second he cleared the space, I slid forward and blocked the spot.

Emmy’s window rolled down. Her eyes were slits of pure fury. “That was my spot.”

I glanced at the empty space, then back at her. “Weird. I didn’t see your name on it.”

Her nostrils flared. I grinned and then pulled forward just enough to let her have it.

She pulled in and parked, then hopped out of the car, stomping through the slush toward my truck. Her brown hair was pulled back in a little ponytail, bouncing with each step she took, and damn, I liked it too much.

Without hesitation, she yanked the door open, shivered once, and climbed in.

The second it shut behind her, her eyes widened, like she was just now realizing how close we were. Barely a foot between us. Her mouth opened, then closed again, and all I could do was stare at it like it held the answer to every question that had been rattling around my head all day.

Seconds stretched. I tried not to look at the way her chest rose and fell behind that white cropped top—tight and ribbed and clinging in all the right ways.

The layers she'd worn outside had kept her curves a secret, but now?

Now, I was screwed. Pink cheeks. Heaving chest. Eyes locked on mine like she was daring me to do something stupid.

My brain short-circuited into territory it had no business being in.

“You can’t just steal parking spots like that.”

She crossed her arms under her chest, and Jesus—nope, that didn’t help. My gaze snapped to the dashboard as I shifted the truck into gear.

She shifted too, angling toward me. “Where are you going?”

“To park.”

I pulled into the nearest open space—handicap right by the front doors—and threw it in park.

Then, because apparently, I was a glutton for punishment, I reached between her legs to pop open the glove box.

My shoulder brushed her thigh, and she sucked in her stomach like it would give us an extra inch of space.

Unfortunately, all it did was make both of us painfully aware that if I turned my head just slightly, I’d be face-first in her lap.

I didn’t, but it was a near-death experience for my self-control. Instead, I grabbed the hang tag, sat back up, and clipped it to the mirror.

“Coming, Peach?”

Her blush deepened from irritated pink to a slow, burning crimson, hazel eyes locked on mine like she wasn’t sure if she wanted to slap me or kiss me.

And holy hell, I was gone.

She scrambled out of the car and stomped up onto the sidewalk, snow catching in her dark ponytail under the streetlights. Her shoulders were hunched against the cold, and I couldn’t stop watching her.

“Why are you even here?” she snapped, waving a hand toward me as I eased out of the truck with one crutch under my arm, the other still in the backseat.

“Shouldn’t you be back in Denver for doctor’s appointments and trainers?” Her eyes dropped pointedly to my hip brace, strapped over my joggers. “And are you even supposed to be down to one crutch crutch yet? Recovery after a labral tear isn’t a joke, Beckett. No way are you cleared.”

I braced a hand on the truck and stepped up onto the curb beside her. “You sure do know a lot about me.”

Then, naturally, my foot slipped on an icy patch.

Emmy moved before I could catch myself, her arm wrapping around my waist, steadying me. My hip flared with pain as I righted myself, and I groaned.

“Are you always this stupid?” she muttered, breath visible in the frigid air.

Her hand landed on the sliver of skin between my hoodie and waistband, and nope, I could not remember a time I’d ever been quite as stupid as this.

“Five-week appointment is tomorrow,” I said, voice lower than I meant it to be. “I didn’t say I was cleared.”

She tilted her face up toward me, snowflakes dusting her lashes. “So, you’re just out here risking re-injury in a snow-covered parking lot, because...?”

I didn’t have an answer. Not one I could say out loud.