Page 14 of Moms of Mayhem (Mayhem Hockey Club #1)

“Mom, Beckett Conway coached us tonight,” Jace said as he threw himself into the passenger seat of my car. “ Beckett Conway. ”

Even though he’d showered, his hockey bag sat in the trunk smelling like a gym sock married a wet dog whose diet consisted solely of rotten cheese and they honeymooned in a landfill.

I plugged my nose, then cracked the windows before backing out of the parking lot.

Who cared if it was snowing—I could not sit in this car with the stench wafting through the air.

“That’s so exciting.” I tried to keep my voice light, tamping down how nervous this whole thing made me. The last thing Jace needed was another male role model to fall flat in his life. “But it was just for tonight.”

“Still.” Jace tipped his wet hair back on the headrest, looking at me with a huge grin. “Did you see the pointers he gave me? He said I was weak on my left cuts, and he was right. ”

I chuckled, driving carefully down the winding road back into town.

A black truck tailed me home, and I looked in the rearview mirror at Beckett behind us.

“So, you like being told you’re not doing something good enough?

Because for the thousandth time, your clothes go in the hamper, not on the floor in front of it. ”

Jace rolled his eyes. “Mom. Stop.”

“If I had Beckett tell you to do it, would you?”

A slow smile spread over Jace’s face. “If he told me it’d help me make it to the NHL, sure.”

I reached across the center console and slapped his belly that was far harder than I remembered from my little boy. “Where’d you learn to be such a smart ass?”

Jace looked at me pointedly, and I shoved a finger in his face.

“Don’t answer that.”

“I said nothing.”

With a shake of my head, I turned off River Street and into the narrow driveway behind my little row house.

Jace was out of the car before I came to a full stop, rushing toward Beckett’s truck as it pulled in behind me.

I stayed put, hands on the wheel, heart thudding like I’d just sprinted the last mile home.

I didn’t know what made me feel so pulled to him—like I was stuck in his orbit without realizing I’d started drifting. Maybe it was old familiarity, a comfort I didn’t know I’d missed. I’d known Beckett Conway since I was six years old.

But whatever this was now—it didn’t feel familiar.

It didn’t feel safe.

It definitely didn’t feel like harmless teasing with my brother’s best friend.

I parked under the carport and grabbed my water bottle, coat, and bag from the backseat, watching Jace roll his fat- tired bike down the snowy driveway with a grin that nearly knocked me over.

“He said I can come skate at the pond tomorrow morning.”

I squinted against the headlights of Beckett’s truck. “You have school in the morning.”

“Before school,” Jace said, already bargaining.

“It’s dark before school, bud. I don’t want you riding your bike in the dark.”

“I’ll pick him up,” Beckett called from the truck, his voice cutting clean through the still night.

I straightened, pulse jumping as I looked between my son and the man I barely recognized anymore. His voice was warm, easy, like this was all so simple. But it wasn’t.

“Besides,” he added, “I could use the help setting up some gym equipment being delivered this weekend. We’ll call it a trade.”

“Come on, Mom.” Jace clasped his hands together like a prayer. The way his bottom lip popped out nearly undid me—it was the same look he’d given me when he was four and wanted a puppy. “I promise I’ll finish my homework.”

I pointed a finger at him. “No more skipping school.”

He looked back over his shoulder toward the truck. “Okay, Brutus.”

“I didn’t call her.” Beckett leaned out the window with his hands up in mock surrender. “But don’t keep secrets from your mom, kid. Bad move. They know everything.”

I tugged at the sleeves of my shirt, trying to stay grounded. “You remember what I told you earlier?”

Beckett laid a hand over his heart like he was reciting a vow. “Loud and clear, Mama. I got it.”

The smirk on his face made my stomach flip— and I hated that it did. Hated that I liked the way he said Mama like a nickname, not just a title. Like it meant something more.

“Fine,” I said, even though it wasn’t fine at all.

Jace whooped, then darted to my trunk for his hockey bag, lugging it toward the shed to let it air out.

I walked to Beckett’s truck, the gravel crunching under my boots, and leaned in close so Jace wouldn’t hear me. The scent of him—pine and spice and winter air—hit me like a sucker punch.

“You get one chance. Understood?”

His blue eyes caught mine, and it wasn’t just the cocky gleam that got me—it was how much he meant it when he said, “Pinky promise,” holding up his hand like a goofball.

I batted his hand away before I could do something even dumber than I already had, then turned and marched back to the house.

“See you in the morning, Jace!” Beckett called. “Goodnight, Peach.”

I flipped him off without turning around, because it was that or let him see the smile that was tugging on my lips.

Inside, Jace collapsed dramatically on the couch, replaying every second of practice like it was the best thing that had ever happened to him. And maybe it was.

That thought twisted something sharp inside me.

Because he already had a father who let him down at every turn. The last thing he needed was another man who’d vanish when things picked up again—especially one who was only in town because of a blown hip and a ticking clock.

I brushed my fingers through Jace’s shaggy hair. “He’s only here for a little while.”

“Duh, Mom.” Jace rolled his eyes, then walked toward the kitchen. “The Yeti don’t stand a chance without him. I know he won’t be here forever. But he’s an NHL star—I’d be stupid to pass up this chance.”

I smiled, but it was tight.

“You do remember your uncle played in the NHL too, right?”

“Yeah, but Ty played defense,” Jace said, his voice muffled as he rooted through the fridge. “Beckett plays right wing. Like me.”

“Finish your homework,” I said, peeking over the banister.

“I know , God, Mom.” His arms were full of sandwich ingredients.

I climbed the stairs slowly, the warmth of the house doing nothing to ease the chill that had settled in my chest.

Once in my room, I closed the door behind me and leaned against it like that would keep the panic out. Like it would hold everything in place just a little longer.

But the buzz of Beckett’s voice still echoed in my ears. The fire of his gaze didn’t fade. And I was starting to think this might be the worst idea I’d ever had.

With shaky hands, I fished out my phone from my leggings side pocket.

Emmy

Send me Beckett’s number?

Ty

… why?

Emmy

Jace is skating with him tomorrow morning at the pond. I just need to confirm plans.

Ty

Before school?

Conway’s getting up that early?

Emmy

Hence the need for me to confirm this.

Another text came through with Beckett’s contact card, which I saved.

Emmy

Thank you. Also, he volunteered you and him to take over coaching the Mayhem.

My phone rang, and Ty’s picture lit up the screen. “Beckett’s going back to Denver tomorrow. What do you mean he volunteered us to coach the Mayhem?”

“I know about as much as you do.” I sat on my brightly patterned duvet. “He said he’s here for the winter and wanted to help. Also, did you know how bad the rink’s finances are?”

Ty sighed. “I’ve asked Tate about it a few times, but she doesn’t seem interested in my help.”

“And that has stopped you, when?” I chuckled, leaning back on my hands and stretching out my sore calves. Between Pilates this morning and being on my feet all day, I was ready for bed.

“I’ll talk to her,” he said, and Rowdy started barking in the background. “I gotta go—someone’s at the door.”

He hung up, and I stared down at my phone, unease settling in over all the unknowns in Jace’s world right now.

With no coach and no hockey team, I was terrified of what Jace’s after school life would look like.

It was just about all he cared about, and his only dream was to make it to Juniors, then the NHL beyond, just like Ty and Beckett had.

I threw myself back on the bed, staring at the ceiling.

Everyone warned you that the newborn years would be exhausting, and the toddler years filled with frightening adjectives, but no one talked about these later years.

I wasn’t worried so much about my son choking on a stray toy or jumping off the roof anymore—though that one wasn’t completely out of the realm of possibilities either.

Now, what kept me up at night was worry that even when I’d done everything I could to make sure my kid turned into a mature, kind, and happy adult, it wouldn’t be enough. That the beating the world around us dealt was out of my control, and he'd end up damaged because of it.

I grabbed my phone, firing off a text before I could think twice about it.

Emmy

I need to set some rules before you’re allowed to spend time with my son

Beckett

Wow, confident move texting me with no name

Emmy

Hanging out with many other women’s sons lately?

Beckett

Alright, so you’re a woman. Thank you for narrowing that down. Maybe a selfie would help jog the memory.

Emmy

Does that work for you? Do women actually send you selfies?

Beckett

Sometimes. Maybe you’re lying and are actually a man. Before I get too flirty, best to find out how to tailor my approach. Like should I lead with complimenting your beautiful eyes or your Adams apple?

I snorted a laugh and grabbed my phone, headed for the bathroom to change. A yawn slipped free, so I hit his number to call him, too tired to type.

“It’s me, you idiot,” I said as soon as the phone stopped ringing.

“Miss me already?” Beckett asked. “It’s only been, what, 15 minutes?”