Page 23 of Moms of Mayhem (Mayhem Hockey Club #1)
Emmy practically jogged out of the entryway of her studio and behind the partition wall out of sight, and I was left standing there with the tablet and a scowling Shannon.
I sat on the bench just inside the front door, looking down at the form full of questions about my pain levels, where things hurt, and other general health questions. Little sounds of disapproval came from behind the desk until I finally looked up at the grumpy receptionist.
“Do we know each other?” My brows raised in question. Linwood was a small town, so the chances I knew her were pretty high, but she also looked a lot younger than me, so my mind was blank.
She scoffed, then shook her head. “Figures.”
I frowned, thinking harder about everyone I’d known my whole life, trying to decipher what that even meant. “I apologize, it’s been a long time since I spent any time in Linwood, and I’ve taken more than a few shots to the head since then.”
It was meant to be a self-deprecating joke, but Shannon just squinted harder. “Shannon Wilder. ”
“Wilder.” I pursed my lips, thinking of the only Wilder family I’d known in Linwood, then my eyes expanded in shock. “Oh, shit. Ray Wilder’s Shannon. The Wilder twins’ little sister?”
Shannon crossed her arms over her chest, and suddenly I could see it. The dyed black hair was different from the toe-head blonde little girl I remembered from my childhood. She was all sharp angles and had the kind of pale skin that looked like it actively rejected sunlight.
Aside from the hair, she was the spitting image of her father, Ray. The man who’d done time for vehicular manslaughter after driving drunk withmydad in the passenger seat after they’d gone on a bender together.
As much as that day had changed my life forever, it had hers, too. Cash and Colton had been promising defensemen on the Mayhem before our world came crashing down around us in a flash of red and blue lights, but they had gone the way of our fathers in their absence.
“It’s been a long, long time,” I said, not sure how to come back from this awkwardness. The last time I’d seen her had been at my dad’s funeral, 21 years ago. She wasn’t her father, just like I wasn’t mine, but hell. “You good?”
Shannon held her hands out to the side, indicating the space around her. Her grey eyes were clear, no sign of using like her brothers and dad, which I was glad to see. “Grand.”
“How’s your dad?” I asked, even though that felt weird to say aloud.
She raised her brows, then let out a little laugh. “Alive, so I guess better than yours. If you’re asking if he’s still in jail, then no. He’s back home, and the same as ever.”
I sighed, then tapped the tablet, finishing my questionnaire. “I’m sorry to hear that.”
She hummed, and I pushed my hands into the seat to help myself stand. I winced only slightly as I pointed at the studio, ready to get the hell away from this uncomfortable trip down memory lane. “Good to see you again.”
Shannon shook her head, then glanced down at her phone, fiddling with something on the screen.
After 21 years of playing semi- or professional hockey, I’d been in a lot of gyms all around the country. Heck, I’d even seen a Pilates reformer before, but this was my first time in a true studio.
Twelve reformers were arranged in two neat rows with a wide aisle between them.
Each one had a mat next to it on the floor with a basket of accoutrements that all looked very girly.
Not a single weight bench was in sight, no machines; nothing except for the strange reformers that looked a lot like a medieval stretching table.
“Back here.” Emmy peeked her head out from a private room in the back. I followed her with careful steps, minding not to bump my hip on any of the equipment.
She stood in a brighter room with overhead lights, and a simple table, just like Frankie’s, sat in the middle. She patted it, and I sat down and laid back, knowing the drill.
Her back was to me, fiddling with something on a small table, and I took the opportunity to study her.
Her purple top hugged her in a way that made it impossible not to look—fitted across her toned shoulders and down the curve of her waist, stopping just above the waistband of her matching leggings.
Her white socks peeked above her slides, grounding her in this everyday moment that still somehow knocked the breath out of me.
She didn’t know I was watching—didn’t see how easily she pulled all my focus just by existing in a quiet room .
“Morning, kids.” Frankie’s voice snapped me to attention, and I blinked, looking for the source.
Emmy moved out of the way, and a screen sat where she’d been standing, Frankie’s bald head and bright smile filling the monitor.
“Didn’t know you’d be here, too.” I stared up at the ceiling so Frankie couldn’t see how much I wanted to stare at Emmy, not him.
“Just to get you two started,” Frankie said. “Then you’re all hers.”
I swallowed, liking the sound of that a little too much.
Without further ado, Frankie called out things he wanted me to do, and what he wanted Emmy to pay attention to.
Emmy stepped close to the table. “I’m going to touch you.”
I looked up at her, and our eyes connected when I gave her a brief nod. Her little fingers touched down on my hip between the bars of my brace, and I sucked in a breath.
“Does that hurt?” she asked, breaking our eye contact as she looked down at my injured joint.
“No,” I answered. “Not more when you’re touching me, at least. But your hands are cold, even through my shorts.”
She pulled them away from me, rubbing them together. “Sorry.”
“Felt good.” I grinned, and Frankie’s deep exhale was enough to remind me that we weren’t alone.
“Should I give you two a minute?” he said, and Emmy’s cheeks flushed pink. “I can go alphabetize my spice rack or teach my cat to skateboard. Either sounds more enjoyable than being a third wheel to whatever this is.”
I brushed a hand across my face, trying to hide my laughter. “Since when do you have a cat? ”
“I don’t,” he said, and Emmy giggled.
“Don’t encourage him.” I pointed a finger at the monitor, and Emmy looked over her shoulder at Frankie grinning back at her. “Once you laugh at his jokes, he never stops. Then they get weirder by the minute.”
“Alright, I don’t have all day, kids. Sit up on the table for me, Conway.”
Emmy held her hand out to help me sit up, and I took it. A little shock zapped us both with the contact, and it jerked both of us to the present. She flexed her bicep to help me curl up, and I let go once I was upright, even though my hand still tingled from the contact.
“Sit tall, don’t slouch, and move your leg outward, just a little,” Frankie said. Emmy stood to the side, watching me closely. “We’re not opening a dance studio here—just get that hip moving.”
I did as he said, going through several movements. My hip and back were tight, but nothing was painful as long as I didn’t push it.
No, the only painful thing about this was trying to tamper my semi every time I looked up at Emmy chewing her lip in concentration.
A commotion behind Frankie caught my attention, and two familiar faces leaned into frame over his shoulder.
“Hey, Conway,” Logan called, flashing a grin when he saw Emmy on the screen. “Oh, hello little Ten. You’re way hotter than Frankie. Definitely an upgrade from his busted mug. No offense, Frank.”
Frankie didn’t even blink. “None taken. I’ve seen a mirror.”
Mikko tossed a lazy wave, his voice more subdued. “Boys miss you, man. Team’s soft as Logan’s handshake without you chirping us during drills.”
Logan shook his head. “I’ve worked hard to perfect the dead fish grip. It’s memorable.”
Emmy tried her best to stifle a laugh, her back turned to me.
“Thanks, boys.”
“Nah, he’s serious,” Logan chimed in. “Rookies are asking for video on your penalty kill setups. Told ‘em its classified. They can suck it and get back on the wall.”
“You tell them I’m coming back?” I asked.
“Every damn day,” Mikko said.
“Okay, boys.” Frankie clapped his hands. “On that note, this lovefest is over. I gotta run. Emmy, you got this?”
“Yes, sir,” she said.
I squeezed my eyes shut, needing to forget the sound of those words coming out of her mouth if I had any chance of making this not awkward as hell. Frankie ended our call, and I breathed through my nose in a sharp inhale, trying to ground myself before I lost it entirely.
“Does that hurt?” Emmy asked, and I opened my eyes to find her standing right in front of me. The way she looked at my hip, so focused, so close, felt like a personal invasion.
But I was staring at her, memorizing every single freckle across the bridge of her nose, the soft curve of her lips, the way her dark hair fell just right around her face. Everything about her felt dangerously close, like if I took one more breath, I’d cross a line that could never be uncrossed.
“No, Peach.” My voice came out lower than I meant, gravelly and rough. “You can touch me however you like.”
When she looked up to meet my gaze, everything shifted. The air between us thickened, and I wasn’t sure what she saw there, but I knew exactly what I felt. A pull, like gravity had taken over, and no matter how hard I tried to fight it, I couldn’t stay away.
Violin music blasted through the speakers above us, and Emmy jumped away from me, her hand over her chest. The tune changed until I recognized the beginning notes of Bust Your Windows.
I chuckled, then looked over my shoulder toward the entry to the studio where Shannon stood, eyes mere slits on her face as she stared at us both.
A timer on Emmy’s watch went off, and she tapped the screen. “I think that’s enough for today. I have a Pilates class starting here in 10 minutes. I can walk you through some of it as a starting point if you want to stay.”
She kept talking, but my brain was lagging, still trapped in a lust-filled spiral. I nodded, willing to agree to anything she said right now.