Page 27 of Moms of Mayhem (Mayhem Hockey Club #1)

Mason held his hands in front of his chest like a prayer, and Tate stared down at him with a look that could kill. I couldn’t see his face, but I knew he’d be smiling broad and his blue eyes would shine bright with hope and more than a little mischief.

There was nothing Mason loved more than attention; proposing to Tate had been a long running joke since their high school years. First, it started for laughs from their friend group, then he realized they could get free dinners if he did it publicly.

But somewhere along the line, I’d forgotten that my brother had had a crush on Coach Mikaelson’s daughter since elementary school. Once upon a time they’d been best friends, but now… I wasn’t so sure.

“He’s still doing this?” Ty said at my side, his voice holding a hint of amusement .

“Apparently.” I shook my head, then looked back across the rink for Emmy. The Mayhem had left the ice, high off their first win of the season, and with the new Zamboni here, the rink was clearing out fast.

Emmy was gone, but since she had Rowdy and Ty’s neighbor kid with her, she couldn’t have gone far.

I glanced at Ty out of the corner of my eye. “Where are you meeting up with Emmy?”

He sighed, then shook his head. “This is a thing, isn’t it?”

I grinned, then patted him on the back. “Nah. We’re just friends.”

“Sure.” Ty ducked out from under my touch, then walked toward the locker room. “And I’m running for Miss Congeniality.”

My hip had felt a little better after only a few days working with Emmy, but I still wasn’t willing to push it to hurry after him.

“Emmy?” I called, and Ty turned around.

“She took Rowdy and Juniper home for me. I’m taking Jace so she wasn’t stuck here as long.”

“Oh.” My shoulders dropped, then I looked back over at my brother leading Tate out to the Zamboni. “Pizza at my place, then? Invite the team?”

Ty nodded, then spun back around to head into the locker room. With one last glance at the rink to make sure she really was gone, I followed him inside.

Boxes of half-eaten pizza were spread across the coffee table, and my mom’s living room smelled faintly of sweat and victory. Several players on our team sat scattered around the kitchen and living room, and it threw me back in time so hard it was almost jarring.

Jace had ditched his hoodie somewhere on the floor, hair still damp from the post-game shower. He was halfway through his second slice and talking with his mouth full.

“Did youseethat guy from Summit face wash me? Glove right to the face, just one big swipe.”

Miles snorted, reaching over to grab the last slice of Meat Lovers from where he perched on the brown leather couch next to Jace. Without the goalie pads, the kid was on the scrawny side, his glasses perched on his freckly skin.

Ty raised an eyebrow, then pointed at Jace. “And yet he still managed to land you on your ass in the second period.”

“Technicality.” Jace waved him off. “The ice was extra slippery tonight. But dude”—he reached over and slapped Miles on the arm—“I still can’t believe your glove hand, Pickles. That last save at the end of the second period was sick.”

“Thanks, bro,” Miles said, adjusting his new glasses. “Helps that I could see.”

Mason let out a loud burp, then crushed the orange soda can in his hand before launching it through the air and into the trash. “Great game, boys. Almost looked like you knew what you were doing out there.”

“And girls,” Molly added from where she lay stretched out on the floor, her long brown braid laying out to the side. “Or, girl, I guess. Just me.”

“Can’t forget the Mollinator.” Silas Delgado tossed a football into the air and caught it repeatedly. “Money Moreau. The Mayhem’s own Molotov cocktail.”

“So, what should we call this goon, then?” Mason said, pointing at Delgado.

Without hesitation, Ty and I both answered, “Smash. ”

“Hell yeah, fuck yeah.” Delgado pumped his fist in the air, delighted by the nickname.

“Fitting since the only way you’re stopping on skates is by using someone as a cushion between you and the boards,” Molly said, and the kids all howled with laughter.

Jace swallowed, then stared at my brother practically heart-eyed. The whole team was having a little bit of a meltdown being in the room with three former and current NHL players, and I couldn’t blame them—Ty, Mason, and I would have had the same reaction when we were in their shoes.

“You never did say how you got me on the active roster for tonight.” Jace looked from Beckett to me, then back to Mason.

“Don’t ask me.” I held my hands up, looking over at Ty. “That was your uncle over there.”

Ty cleared his throat, then picked up the empty paper plates littered on the floor around him. “I made some calls.”

“Oh, this sounds juicy.” Mason slung a leg over the armrest on my mom’s favorite chair, his chin on his fist. “Do tell.”

Everyone quieted down for the first time since we’d left the rink, waiting for Ty’s answer.

“The kid you fought, Jack Donovan? His name is Johnathan Donovan, and he was thrown out of the league last season for repeated misconduct. Since he’s not allowed to play even under a new name, your game misconduct against him was also thrown out. ”

Jace’s jaw hung open in shock, and I just grinned. “How’d you figure that one out?”

Ty shrugged, then grabbed a Gatorade off the coffee table. I held my hands out, and he tossed me one too. “I didn’t. Junie did.”

Emmy’s son frowned. “The neighbor kid? ”

“Yep.” Ty sat back on the couch, adjusting his hat, not elaborating further than that.

“You fu?—”

I whistled loudly, slicing a hand across my neck in a stop motion, and Mason tipped an imaginary hat at me.

“— dating her mom?”

Ty shook his head, then put his hands on his knees, ready to leave. “No. Just helping out. Jace, grab your stuff. It’s late.”

Jace did as he was told, shoving one last slice of pizza in his mouth as he grabbed his backpack and hoodie, then waved.

“Tomorrow?” I asked as they were headed toward the front door. “New furniture and gym equipment should be here, if you can help set it up. I’ll pay you in food.”

Jace did a fist pump, then gave me a thumbs up, his cheeks stuffed like a chipmunk, exactly how his mom ate pretzels in the stands.

Mason stood to help me clean up the rest of the boxes as the rest of the team left, until it was just the two of us in our mom’s kitchen.

“When I asked if you knew how to find a Zamboni, I didn’t realize that meant you were finding one and driving it onto the ice yourself.”

Mason laughed, his dark hair a little longer than mine and far more styled. Despite both playing professional hockey and having the same brown hair and blue eyes, we were wildly different in just about every way. “Honestly, I love the idea of investing in Tate.”

“In the rink,” I clarified with a raised brow. “It’s a business.”

Mason turned and leaned against the counter, his arms crossed and his smile wide. “Yes, but Tate is the business. She’s the heart of it all, isn’t she? It’s not Linwood Rink without a Mikaelson in charge. We’re just giving her a nicer ship to fly.”

I chuckled, tossing the last pizza box into the bin. “Pretty sure Zambonis don’t fly. And a Zamboni is not a ship nor a plane.”

“Honestly, it might be. The features on that thing are unreal—I pulled out all the stops. The chair is a massage seat with memory foam, perfect for those long, grueling five-minute laps. And I forgot to show you the fog machine.”

Pulling one of the barstools out from the counter, I sat down, my hip tired after a long day. “What did Tate say?”

“To the proposal?” Mason asked, his eyebrows jumping up and down. “You ready for a sister-in-law?”

“No, dipshit. I know she said no to that, just like every other time.”

Mason pointed at me, then winked. “One day, brother. One day I’ll get her to say yes, and she’ll realize exactly what she’s been missing out on.”

“A cocky son-of-a-bitch who’s missing a few teeth and a whole lot of brain cells?”

He laughed, then shook his head. “She was pissed about the Zamboni until she climbed up and felt that massage chair. That changed her tune—I knew it would. I like the investors angle though, and Tate’s the smartest girl I’ve ever met. I bet she’ll go for it.”

“Good Are you headed back to Dallas in the morning?”

“Yeah.” Mason looked out at the now-empty living room that hadn’t changed much in at least two decades, even though everything else had. “The bye weekend worked out so I could come see Mom when she gets home tomorrow, then I fly out after lunch.”

“How are you dealing with the whole Parkinson’s diagnosis?”

My brother scratched at his jaw, then let out a long sigh. “I don’t know. It always felt like she was invincible, right? Like, after everything Dad put us through, she was just the toughest woman on the planet.”

I didn’t say anything, because I didn’t need to. I felt the same way.

“I’ll come spend the off-season up here with her,” Mason said. “Summer feels like a long way off, but it’s time, I think. We’ve been running for a long time.”

“I forgot how much I love this little town.”

Mason smiled, one half of his lips tipping up in a slow, crooked grin. “Especially when the hockey moms are all tens, right?”

I shook my head, laughing as I made my way carefully to the stairs, headed up to my room.

Tomorrow, my new mattress was scheduled to arrive, the least of the changes happening around here if I was staying in town.

I had eight weeks to prove I still had what it took to make it in the NHL and get my mom set up for a healthy and happy life here at home.

Eight weeks to get the Mayhem back on the right track and pick up all the responsibilities I’d left behind so many years ago.

Eight weeks to stare at my best friend’s sister, thinking things I’d never thought before.

Even if the Yeti renewed my contract, I wasn’t an idiot—retirement was on the near horizon. And maybe, for the first time in my life, I had an idea of how I’d like to spend it.