Page 13 of Moms of Mayhem (Mayhem Hockey Club #1)

She was shivering, still wearing only those painted-on leggings and that tiny, cropped tee.

Without thinking, I tucked her into my side and started walking.

She stayed close, as if her little frame could keep me upright, and I let her.

Everywhere our bodies touched lit up like static, and suddenly, my hip pain didn’t seem quite so important.

We made it inside without another slip, and the second we crossed the threshold, Emmy pulled away like I’d burned her. Arms crossed tight under her chest, she turned away, giving me zero chance of not staring.

I leaned my crutch against the wall, tugged my hoodie off, and dropped it over her head.

“Wha—”

“You’re freezing,” I said, tugging it down until her face peeked through. The hood framed her flushed cheeks like a damn portrait.

“I left my coat in the car,” she mumbled, sliding her arms into the sleeves. “I got a little distracted when someone stole my parking spot.”

My hoodie swallowed her frame, hanging past her ass, and I turned quickly toward the concession stand before I made another bad decision. “I’ll buy you a pretzel to make up for it.”

Her stomach growled in response.

I grinned and looped an arm around her neck, rubbing my knuckles into her scalp. “Still such a menace.”

“A noogie?” she huffed, batting me away. “Really?”

“That’s what bratty little sisters get.”

“I’m not your sister.”

She glared up at me, hair wild from my noogie, cheeks flushed, lips parted just enough to wreck my focus, and damn.

She wasn’t my sister.

She was a walking complication with killer curves, eyes that could cut glass, and a mouth I was dangerously close to remembering in far too much detail.

“Mm. But you are a brat, aren’t you?” I said, my voice lower, rougher.

Her nostrils flared. For a second, I swore she was going to close the distance between us and say something that’d undo the last sliver of restraint I had left.

Instead, she spun on her heel, hips swaying, and stormed toward the concession stand.

I followed, jaw clenched, pulse pounding, and very aware I was losing the war between logic and every damn cell in my body screaming for more of her fire.

“Pretzels,” she told Tate when she approached the snack bar, holding up her fingers. “He’s buying.”

Tate’s brows rose as she grinned. “Back so soon, Conway?”

“Jace left his bike at my pond,” I said. “Figured I’d drop it off. Maybe catch practice. Kid’s good.”

Emmy’s stare was back on me, but I kept mine forward. I didn’t trust myself to meet it.

“Don’t know if there’s a practice,” Tate said. “Coach didn’t show. Again.”

Emmy tensed. “Seriously?”

Tate shrugged. “I’d help, but I’m stuck here. Concessions make more than anything else in this place.”

Well, that wasn’t a good sign.

“They can’t free skate?” I asked.

“Insurance won’t allow it without a certified adult on the bench.”

Emmy cursed under her breath and turned to stare at the ice. “We need a new coach. This can’t keep happening.”

Tate sighed. “No one wants to take on a losing team, history or not. And at the level these kids play, it’s a huge commitment for little to no cash.”

They exchanged one of those silent conversations women seem to have: raised brows, tiny shrugs, mutual sighs .

Emmy pulled at the strings on my hoodie, biting her lip. “Are you thinking about disbanding the team?”

“What?” I nearly reeled back. “You can’t shut down the Mayhem.”

Tate’s face fell. “I’m running out of options.”

I raised a hand, heart pounding harder than it should’ve been. “Okay, no. This rink? This team? It’s our past. Mine. Ty’s. Mason’s. Hell, Emmy’s. You don’t just erase that like it never mattered.”

My voice caught, chest tight. Everything I loved about growing up here—this rink, this team, the people who built me—was falling apart in real time, and I couldn’t do a damn thing to stop it.

“And I can solve one problem right now,” I said, gripping the crutch under my arm like it could anchor me. “I got certified last summer for a kid’s camp with the Yeti. I’ll take the bench tonight. And while I’m rehabbing... I’ll help. I’ll run practices.”

“What?” they both said, eyes wide.

Yeah. That definitely wasn’t supposed to come out.

But the words just kept coming. “I’ll rope Ty in too. You know he’ll do it.”

Emmy let out a sharp exhale, but Tate looked like I’d handed her a miracle. “You’ve got the bench tonight. We won’t tell the kids yet, but for now—they’re yours.”

I looked at Emmy. I didn’t know what I was searching for—approval, backup, someone to stop me before I committed to more than I could handle—but I needed something.

“Emmy?”

She had the sleeve of my hoodie pulled up over her mouth, her gaze fixed on the ice like she was trying not to feel any of it. Not the rink falling apart. Not me falling apart .

“It’s your call.”

She finally looked at me, steady and unblinking. “You disappoint him,” she said coolly, “and I’ll bury you. Got it?”

A grin tugged at the corner of my mouth. God, I loved her fire.

“Crystal,” I said, not even a little afraid, just completely, utterly gone for her.

We walked side by side toward the bleachers, our arms brushing briefly as we split—she veered left, I went right. I shifted my crutch under my arm again, the cold metal biting into my side, grounding me in the chaos of it all.

The kids hadn’t noticed me yet.

So, I whistled—loud and sharp, two fingers in my mouth like I had a hundred times before—and every head turned.

I shoved open the bench door with my free hand and stepped inside. “Playtime’s over, Mayhem. Time for sprints.”