Page 28 of Moms of Mayhem (Mayhem Hockey Club #1)
Ty let out a low whistle as he helped the movers get down the basement steps, guiding a stationary bike with a screen so large it was almost comical.
“Conway,” he called over the movers’ heads, “are you training to ride in the Tour de France or build a new hip from scratch?”
“Both.” I tugged on the grab bar we’d just installed next to the front door, making sure it was secure. “Mom gets a house that she can move around safely in. I get a basement that might let me get back on the ice before playoffs. Win-win.”
Jace stood at the top of the stairs, holding a box labeled Recovery Crap in Frankie’s scribbled handwriting. “This stuff better work. It’s heavy as fu?—”
I raised a brow, and he grinned.
“Fluff. You’ll get me tickets to the Cup, right?”
“Maybe if you focused on protein and not just junk food, you could carry more,” Ty yelled up the stairs. “You’re going to need to bulk up if you want beat me on the pond this winter.”
Jace rolled his eyes, then hopped down the stairs to drop off his boxes. I followed him down at a much slower pace, taking in the new setup.
The basement had transformed in a matter of hours. New rubber flooring covered the old concrete, the once-bare cinderblocks had been painted a fresh white, and a full corner was dedicated just for rehab .
Frankie lived up to his promise to get me setup: there were adjustable dumbbells, a cable trainer, resistance bands, a muscle stim unit, and—God help me—an actual ice bathtub that hummed quietly in the corner like it was judging me.
Ty walked around it and gave me a look. “Can’t believe you bought one of these. You hated them.”
“Still do,” I muttered, stepping gingerly around the boxes yet to be unpacked. “But I hate not skating more.”
“Mom was doing this study on Hyperbaric Oxygen Therapy before we moved.” Jace dipped his hands into the frigid water circulating in the tub. “Something about it speeding up recovery. You could ask her about it. Maybe you can get one of those, too.”
I cast a glance to the side at Ty. He stood with his arms crossed but bobbed his head back and forth as Rowdy appeared at his side, tongue out. “Not the worst idea. I don’t think it could hurt.”
“Did she do a lot of sports medicine in Connecticut?” I asked, watching for Jace’s reaction.
Since he’d shut down several days ago when I mentioned Emmy, I had purposefully avoided talking about her again. He knew she was helping me with my hip, and I was leaving it at that, as far as the kid was concerned.
“Yeah.” Jace moved on to testing the new bike like he couldn’t help but touch everything in the room. “She worked for Dr. Riviera, who did a lot of PT for the Sentinels.”
“Baseball, huh?”
Jace moved on to push-ups on the new rubber flooring, showing off after Ty had called him out about bulking up.
“Dad hated it. He said baseball players were all showboaters with too much money and no morals, and that Mom had no business wasting her time around guys like that.”
Ty let out a sound that was halfway between a growl and a curse, and I couldn’t help but agree with him.
Emmy’s son hopped up far easier than I could, then brushed off his hands before shooting us a fake smile. “Weird, coming from a guy with six mistresses and a secret baby, huh?”
“Jace.” Ty reached out a hand to stop his nephew as he headed for the stairs, but Jace walked right past, his shoulders tense and body language telling us we’d touched on a topic he wanted no part of discussing.
“Well, that was fun,” I said. “Do we need to go after him?”
Ty sighed, then turned back to me. “No. Emmy told me this morning she can tell he doesn’t want to go to Connecticut for New Years.
But Ryan has threatened to take Emmy back to court if he refuses.
Worst part is, I don’t even think Ryan cares if he sees Jace or not.
He just wants to control Emmy, even now. And Jace knows it.”
I crossed my arms, hating that for them. “He really is a dick, isn’t he?”
“He really fucking is.”
Ty headed for the stairs and I followed, switching off the lights on my new home gym as we went.
Upstairs, the living room was mid-transition, movers and contractors Ty helped me find getting everything ready.
The old couch was gone, replaced by one that was much higher and easier to get off.
The new coffee table was round with no sharp corners and no water ring reminder of my alcoholic father.
We even took down the old curtains, replacing them with shades on a remote timer so she didn’t have to open and close them on her own.
We laid down textured floor runners in every hallway, removed anything that was a tripping hazard, and redid the doors on the downstairs shower to make it walk-in, complete with a grab bar and a stool.
I’d even had the movers bring Mom’s bedroom furniture downstairs, and two guys were busy finishing the install on new French doors over what was once our dining room. Now, she was on the first floor and had no reason to go up and down the stairs.
Subtle changes, but important ones. The kind of things you didn’t think about until you had to. The kind that might let her come home from rehab without worrying what might knock her over next.
I paused in the living room, then turned to Ty. “You think she’ll like it?”
He pulled off his hat, then put it back on his head, taking it all in. “She’ll notice every single change we made, but I think she’ll like it.”
I nodded, swallowing around the lump in my throat at the thought of why all of this was necessary.
Mom was coming home today, and I wanted it to feel like home—not a hospital, not a halfway place. I wanted her to know how much we loved her.
A car pulled in the driveway, then honked three times.
I looked out the front window to see Mason behind the wheel of a flashy SUV I had no idea how he’d acquired on such short notice.
It was lower to the ground than my truck and would be much easier for her to get in and out of, so I didn’t plan on asking many questions.
He parked as close as he could to the ramp over the front stairs, then ran around the car to help Mom out. Jace came out of the garage and grabbed her other arm, and I smiled at the sight.
The bruising on her face was almost gone, and someone had combed her hair into a neat ponytail, right above her neck.
Mason had just signed a new sponsorship deal with Adidas, and she was wearing a new pair of pants and a loose tee she could fit her cast through—one of about eight sets my brother had brought for her.
Together, Mason and Jace helped Mom across the short walkway, then up the ramp into the house. Ty grabbed the door, holding it open. “Welcome home, Mrs. Conway.”
“How many times have I told you to call me Lori?” Mom nudged him with her shoulder as she walked by, holding on to Mason’s arm. “You’re old, I’m old. We can be friends now.”
Ty’s mustache twitched, but I held my breath, waiting for Mom’s reaction to the changes I’d made.
She stopped in the foyer, staring at the new door frame in the dining room entrance, then leaned in to see her furniture within.
“Did I do okay?” I asked, nervous as hell for her answer.
She let go of Mason long enough to hold her good arm out for a hug, and I stepped into her embrace. Her hands trembled on my back, and I fought not to tear up at the feel of it, but she just held me tighter. “Thank you, my sweet boy. What a wonderful idea.”
When she let go, her head bobbed in a little nod, then she pulled Mason forward.
“Geez, Ma, take it easy on me,” Mason said, and Mom giggled.
Her laugh was one of my favorite sounds, so light and airy. It had the same lilt it always had when we were kids—like nothing in the world could touch her in that moment. Like for just a second, everything was easy again.
Mason led her to the new sofa, then helped her sit down. She let out a sigh, then rubbed her hands across the soft but supportive off-white fabric. “You kids would have destroyed this couch so fast.”
Jace’s laugh caught me off-guard, but I turned to see him walk inside too. “We had a white couch at our old house, and my dad insisted we couldn’t eat on it. Couldn’t even put our feet on it.”
Mom lifted her socked feet until I was staring at the little grip marks on the bottom, then settled them on the couch. “You only live once, kid.”
I ducked my head, loving the sound of her little contented sigh. Jace kept talking, now perched on the edge of the sofa next to Mom talking about God knew what.
Mason nudged me with his shoulder, leaning against the wall. “Have we been replaced?”
“He’s shockingly nice to her,” Ty said from my other side. “Way nicer than he is to everyone else.”
“Yes, well, she’s used to asshole sons rebelling against their terrible fathers,” Mason said, eyebrow raised as he stared at me.
I shoved him in the side, then went into the kitchen looking for food. “Who’s hungry?”
Jace hopped up, already circling the couch. “What’s for lunch? And if you say chicken and veggies, I’m calling Child Protective Services.”
Mason didn’t miss a beat. “Good. Tell them we’ve got a minor in need an attitude adjustment. ”
Ty smirked. “Make sure they bring a rib-eye steak. Rowdy and I aren’t trying to stay lean.”
The black dog barked at his side, and Ty reached down to pet his head.
I opened the fridge and grabbed one of the dozens of pre-packaged meals that had been delivered this morning, tossing it at Jace’s chest. “Survival of the fittest, kid. You want to make it to the pros? Then eat like it.”
Jace caught it with a scowl, and my mom laughed. “This is abuse.”
“Document it,” Mason said, dropping onto the couch and resting his head on Mom’s shoulder. “But make sure you spell ‘whiner’ right in your report.”
“Don’t worry, Jace.” Mom leaned into Mason’s hold. “I’ll show you where I keep the cookies later.”
Jace pointed at her, then stood to walk toward the microwave, ready to heat up his meal. “I always knew you were my favorite.”
She looked over the back of the couch, grinning at me. Tears shimmered in the corners of her eyes. “It’s so good to be home.”
Her fingers trembled where they rested on Mason’s arm, but the smile was the same as it always was. And for a second, I didn’t care about the new gym equipment or my busted hip or any of it.
All I cared about was a second chance to do this right, to be a good son and friend, not just a good hockey player.