Page 16 of Moms of Mayhem (Mayhem Hockey Club #1)

The sun was just beginning to rise over the mountains when I pulled into Emmy’s driveway. I sat in the idling truck, eyes fixed on the soft glow behind the upstairs curtains of that little blue house. Just hours ago, I’d seen more of Emmy Hudson than I ever expected to.

The smart thing would’ve been to apologize and back off. She’d laid down boundaries. Hell, she’d made a list . But every time I saw her, every time I remembered her pulling that hoodie over bare skin, my brain turned to static and something possessive curled deep in my gut.

“Bye, Mom!” Jace called, bounding down the steps with his backpack slung over one shoulder, gloves dangling from the other. His Carhartt jacket and Mayhem hoodie combo made him look like a mini-Ty, and I didn’t know whether to laugh or panic.

Emmy stepped into the doorway behind him, cradling a mug of coffee. She leaned against the jamb, backlit by the warm house lights, somehow managing to look casual and knockout gorgeous all at once. Even from here, I could see her gaze shift to mine.

Not a word. Not a smile, but that same tension tugged at me anyway.

I popped the passenger door open for Jace to climb in. “Morning.”

He tossed his backpack into the backseat like he lived here. “Cool if I sync my phone?”

“Make yourself at home,” I muttered with a laugh, glancing back at the house one last time before reversing out of the drive.

The air in the truck felt heavier than it should have. Maybe it was the weight of last night. Maybe it was knowing I’d already crossed a line I wasn’t supposed to touch.

“Ready to skate?” I asked as we turned toward the road back to the ranch.

Jace stayed quiet, scrolling through his phone, his mouth puckered the same way Emmy did when she was concentrating. Finally, he set it in the cupholder and hit play.

The opening chords of Sound of Madness by Shinedown filled the cab, and Jace started air-drumming like he was on tour.

“You know Shinedown?” he asked.

“Do I—” I gave him a look. “Yes. I’m injured, not ancient.”

He shrugged. “I don’t know. You’re pretty old. That’s my dad’s favorite thing to point out on ESPN.”

“You don’t pull punches, huh?”

He shrugged again, then smirked. “Why? You getting sensitive in your later years?”

A laugh broke from me before I could stop it. “Between you and your mom, I’m not going to have an ego left by the time I get back to Denver.”

At the mention of her, Jace’s expression shifted. His arms folded, and his eyes dropped to the window.

“What do you care about my mom?”

I winced. “Calm down, bud. We’re just friends.”

He didn’t respond—just turned forward and kept his eyes on the road ahead. The music played on, but the energy in the truck had shifted, and I knew better than to push it.

We pulled into my driveway a few minutes later, the lights around the pond already on.

Ty was waiting, leaning against his pickup with arms crossed, a familiar scowl painted across his face. Rowdy sat in the passenger seat, head out the window, tail wagging slow and steady.

Jace hopped out with a fist bump for his uncle. “You skating with me this morning?”

“Planned on it,” Ty said, eyes locked on me. “Need to talk with Conway here first.”

I let out a slow breath, reached for my crutches, and eased out of the cab one leg at a time. The pain in my hip pulsed as soon as I hit the ground.

I hadn’t called Ty last night—hadn’t had the guts—but I should’ve known Emmy would. Those two had always had each other’s backs.

“Didn’t know you were coming,” I said as I approached, moving slowly on my crutches.

“Didn’t know you volunteered me to coach,” Ty replied.

We knocked elbows, and he bent to grab his skates. Rowdy jumped down and did his little trot-hop beside him, tongue lolling to the side .

“You want to tell me what that was all about?” Ty asked, his voice low and even as we headed toward the pond.

“What part?”

Ty glanced back, one brow raised. “The coaching thing. Why? What else do we need to talk about?”

I stepped slowly down the plowed and salted path, crutches clicking against the wooden steps.

“Because I saw what those kids needed last night,” I said. “And I saw what Tate was carrying alone. You and I built our lives out here on that pond, and now it’s slipping away. I’m not going to just stand by and watch it fall apart. Coach would hate us for it.”

Ty shook his head but didn’t argue. He turned and led the rest of the way down, Rowdy at his side, leaving me to move at my own painfully slow pace.

My hip burned with every shift of weight, and I was starting to second guess the whole damn plan. First doctor’s appointment was in a few hours—I needed to get through this morning in one piece.

By the time I reached the pond, Ty and Jace had nearly finished clearing it.

The shovels were put away, skates laid out.

I took a seat on the stump by the stairs and let out a long breath.

My leg throbbed, my shoulders ached, and my brain still hadn’t stopped replaying that damn video call with Emmy.

But as Rowdy curled up beside me, and I watched Ty knock off Jace’s hat, a familiar kind of peace settled in.

This was still home.

It just didn’t look the same anymore.

“What’s up, little buddy?” I scratched behind the black dog’s ears, and he leaned into my touch. “Think we can turn Jace into an actual Juniors contender instead of just a smart-mouthed asshole?”

“Heard that.” Jace slid on his gloves and grabbed a stick from the shed.

“I fully intended you to.”

Ty’s mustache twitched, the closest I’d get to a smile from my friend, and I leaned forward, resting my elbows on my knees. “Alright, warmup first. Ty, run him through some drills.”

My old friend took over, and I watched Jace’s every move. He had great instincts on the ice—read the play well, handled the puck with confidence, and wasn’t afraid to take risks, even against a much bigger opponent.

But time and time again, Ty beat him to the puck, battling it away from his nephew in one-on-one. As Ty shot it into the right post for his fourth goal, he held his hands out to the side. “You want me to autograph that puck before I do it again?”

“It’s fine, your knee will give out soon enough. I’ll win the long game, Grandpa.”

I shook with laughter as the chirping began, glad this kid’s barbs were aimed at someone other than me for once. They flew around the ice, playing posts in one-on-one, Jace ducked low, and snapped the puck right into the crossbar.

His hands shot into the air, a loud whoop echoing through the valley as he celebrated. But it was his little hop as he changed directions, pointing his stick at his uncle, that caught my attention.

I whistled, pointing at his skates, and both Ty and Jace turned to look at me.

“That. Right there. Do that again. ”

Jace frowned, looking down at his skates, then up at his uncle. “Score? I told you I’d win the long game.”

“No, you cocky dipshit. The hop.”

Ty started skating backward, then grabbed some cones off the top of the net, throwing them out onto the ice. “Transitions?”

“Exactly. He needs some juice.”

Ty nodded, and laid out several drills, intent on making Jace change directions fast, and be explosive off the drop.

Before I knew it, an hour was up, and Jace lay in the snow next to me, chest heaving and cheeks pink from the cold and exertion.

I stood over him, then gently kicked him in the shoulder. Jace frowned, but I could see the excitement in his eyes.

“Find the juice, bud. You’ve got the raw talent, now we just need to dial up the pace to match your skill level. And maybe tamp down the attitude.”

Jace rolled his eyes, and I turned away from him, making my way back up to the house. “Good job, kid. Put your stuff away, then come inside and shower before school. You smell like a trashcan.”

Jace put away his gear, then grabbed his backpack from my truck, headed toward the back door. He disappeared inside, clearly familiar enough to help himself. The door was unlocked, and he didn’t hesitate.

Ty shut the shed door and locked it. “You serious about coaching?” he asked. “What’s this about you staying in town?”

I scratched the back of my neck, the truth sitting heavy in my gut. “Yeah. I think I am. Mom is worse than she’s letting on. Did you know she has Parkinson’s? I only found out a few days ago. ”

“Shit, man, I didn’t know. You just found out?”

I nodded slowly. “She never said anything. The doctors told me when they were discussing her discharge to the rehab center. Otherwise, I’d still be clueless.”

Ty exhaled hard, running a hand down his face. “I wondered, but she never confirmed it. If she had, I would’ve told you.”

“She made it sound like she didn’t want anyone worrying. But after the fall, the doctors said she can’t be alone, not right now. And I just... I don’t feel right leaving.”

Ty gave a single, understanding nod. “What about your contract?”

“Coach is trying to keep me out of trouble.” I took Ty’s outstretched hand to help me stand. “Gavin’s working on it too. I might still be screwed, but I’ll deal with that later.”

Ty jerked his chin toward the house. “And the kid?”

“I know Emmy will skin me alive if I screw this up.” I smirked, remembering her threats as my breath fogged in the cold air. “Trust me, I’m aware.”

Ty’s long strides skipped steps as he went up to the back porch, Rowdy right behind him. I did my best to follow at a much slower, safer pace.

“What’s the deal with Meyers?” I asked as we stopped by the back door.

He let out a long sigh. “Ryan Meyers is a piece of shit. Always was, and he just grew up to be even shittier.”

“Did he hit them?” I asked, rage lighting a fire in my chest at the thought of anyone putting hands on Emmy or Jace.

“If he had, I’d be in prison and he’d be dead,” Ty said flatly. “No. But he’s a narcissist. Everything’s always about him. If it isn’t, he finds a way to make it a problem.”