Page 38 of Moms of Mayhem (Mayhem Hockey Club #1)

The morning light slipped through the blinds, soft and golden, painting streaks across Beckett’s bare back. His arm was heavy around my waist, our legs knotted together like neither of us could bear to let go.

I’d spent my entire adult life worried about something, all the time. Since the moment I saw those two pink lines, doubt crept in, painting a picture of every single thing that could go wrong.

In those newborn years, I worried I was too young and incapable of giving everything I wanted Jace to have.

Then, I worried about milestones—was he talking soon enough? Growing fast enough? Sleeping enough?

And all the while, I was doing it alone.

Even when I was married, I was alone. Ryan was there in the way a guest was there—dropping in, smiling for pictures, then disappearing when it mattered.

When Jace had night terrors, it was me crawling into his bed with lullabies and whispered reassurances .

When the pediatrician mentioned potential hearing loss from too many ear infections, it was me scouring Google at 2 a.m., spiraling into worst-case scenarios.

When Jace had his first heartbreak in middle school, it was me who held him while he cried, feeling each of his tears like my own.

I carried the weight of being the parent. The comforter. The provider. The rock. Even when I felt like sand.

As a mom, I never got to rest. Not in the bone-deep way we all need every once in a while. I lived in a constant state of readiness, always waiting for the next call from school, the next argument with Ryan, the next crack in the foundation I was trying so damn hard to hold together.

But here, wrapped in Beckett’s arms with the world muted around us, I felt peace. Real, bone-deep, unfamiliar peace. For once, my mind wasn’t racing. Just the steady thump of his heart against my cheek, the heat of his breath on my forehead, and the quiet hum of a world that felt perfectly still.

I didn’t know what the future looked like. Jace was fifteen—on the cusp of everything beautiful and terrifying about growing up. Ryan would still find ways to make things complicated. There’d still be fights and fear and moments I’d second-guess every decision I made.

But somehow, I knew I’d weather it. Because I always had, but also because maybe I wasn’t so alone anymore. Between Ty and Shannon and Stevie, and now Beckett, my life was completely transformed from a year ago. Fuller, in the best way.

I shifted slightly, lifting my chin to look up at Beckett. His face was relaxed in sleep, lips parted, dark lashes brushing his cheeks. He looked younger like this. Softer. He’d been through storms of his own, yet here he was—curled around me like he’d found shelter, too.

Something warm curled in my chest, not so much butterflies or lust, but something steadier. Like roots beginning to grow.

I ran my fingers lightly down his spine, and he didn’t stir. In this quiet morning light, wrapped up with a man who saw me, I didn’t feel like I had to be on high alert. For the first time, I could just be .

“Good morning,” Beckett said, his voice all gravel and groggy with sleep. “What time is it?”

I lifted my head to look at my phone on the nightstand, but it sat unplugged and dead on the tabletop. “No idea.”

Beckett’s arms wrapped tighter around my back, pulling me flush against him. “Someone tell my PT I’m busy this morning. I’ll do my cardio at home.”

I grinned into his chest, tracing my fingers across his smooth skin. “It’s New Years Day. I think she can let it slide.”

He nodded, his eyes still closed, and I settled in his arms. Everything about last night had been perfect. More than I ever could have imagined, and exactly what I needed.

“What time does Jace come home tonight?” Beckett said, and I melted a little more into his chest at the mention of my son. “Should I come with you to pick him up?”

That made my mind stutter-stop, imagining every possible scenario of how this could go. “What would we tell him?”

Beckett’s eyes opened, shining bright blue in the morning light. “I don’t know. What would you like to tell him? ”

“Nothing,” I said before I had fully thought through the idea. “At least, not now.”

He frowned, then loosened his hold on my waist, putting some distance between us. I wanted to pull him back to me, to explain that it wasn’t because I was ashamed of this. To reassure him with how I felt about him, this, all of it.

It wasn’t Beckett I was afraid of, but the change, and everything it would mean to my son.

Already, I could tell how much Jace idolized Beckett, and I loved that for him. If I introduced Beckett into even more of our lives than he already was and that all imploded, I wasn’t sure Jace would recover.

The moment I opened my mouth to explain, a quick honk-honk-honk sounded outside.

I sat up so fast, the world spun for just a minute, then scrambled to the window and peeked through the blinds.

Ty’s truck idled outside, the blue paint sparkling in the sunlight. He sat in the driver’s seat, Rowdy in the middle, as Jace climbed out of the passenger side with a duffel slung over one shoulder and a scowl on his face.

“Oh shit,” I hissed under my breath. “Why the hell is he?—”

Panic surged. I spun around, already halfway across the room, snatching a pair of pajama pants and Beckett’s hoodie hanging off the back of the chair in the corner.

“Beckett!” I whisper-shouted, even though he was already sitting on the edge of the bed, looking at me like I’d lost my mind. “Jace is home!”

His eyes went wide, and I shoved a pile of his clothes into his chest. “Get dressed. Now. Stay in here and do not come out unless the house is on fire.”

“Peach, what?— ”

“Shhh!” I pulled the hoodie over my head as I raced toward the bedroom door. I got it shut just as the front door opened.

Footsteps pounded up the stairs, heavy and annoyed.

“Jace?” I called, forcing my voice into something resembling casual as I stepped into the hallway. “I’m so glad you’re back! How’d you get home so early? Your flight wasn’t until tonight!”

He didn’t even glance at me, beelining for his room. The duffel thudded against the floor when he dropped it. “Got on an earlier flight. Called Ty when your phone went to voicemail.”

As panicked as I’d been at the sight of him in the driveway, a new kind of panic surged, making me sick to my stomach when I turned the corner and saw my son laying face down on his bed, body splayed out.

I followed, heart hammering like I’d just run a marathon. “Everything okay?”

“No.” His words were muffled by the pillow he’d shoved his face into.

I lingered in the doorway, nerves frayed, glancing back at my room where Beckett was, naked and hiding inside. This was not how I imagined introducing my son to the idea of me and Beckett, not even close.

“Did something happen with Dad?” I sat down on the edge of the bed, reaching across the mattress to slide my hand across his back, mourning the days when I could just scoop him up and hold him tight.

Jace turned his face, the pillow scrunched up tight under his cheek. His eyes were red-rimmed like he was holding back tears, and my heart broke into a million pieces.

“Don’t make me go back there. ”

My nose scrunched, eyes burning as I held back my own tears. “Tell me what happened, and I’ll see what I can do.”

Jace sat up, his back to the doorway, the pillow in his lap, and told me about how Ryan had taken him to film a podcast. “At first, it was cool—this big studio, lights everywhere, a whole setup dedicated to talking about hockey and father-son bonds. Dad was hamming it up for the camera, cracking jokes, name-dropping like it was a sport of its own.”

I nodded, all too familiar with just how good Ryan was at winning people over. Tugging at the too-long sleeves of Beckett’s hoodie I’d had for weeks now, I pulled my hands inside, needing to do something other than reach across and touch my son.

“He said all this stuff about how proud he was of me,” Jace muttered, picking at a loose thread on the pillow. “Talking about how he’s been there for all my biggest moments. First hat trick, first travel team tryout... even my fight at the beginning of the season.”

My head jerked back as if I’d been slapped, anger building in me until I felt like amatch to gasoline, seconds from going up in flames.

Ryan wasn’t at any of those things.

“It caught me off-guard,” Jace continued, voice tight. “But then he kept going. Talking about how we train together every summer, how we talk on the phone every night after games. Mom, we don’t . I didn’t even correct him at first, I was so surprised. I just... sat there.”

My jaw clenched. I could practically hear Ryan’s voice, smooth and smug, weaving his carefully crafted fiction. All for the optics. All for his brand. My hands balled into fists under the sleeves, wishing I could lash out at something, but I kept my mouth shut, wanting Jace to finish his story.

“Then the podcasters brought up the Mayhem. Asked if it was true Beckett’s been helping coach me while he’s on IR.” Jace finally looked at me, eyes shining. “I said yeah, and said how cool it’s been working with him and how much I’ve learned. And then Dad—he cut me off.”

I couldn’t breathe.

“He said I wouldn’t be on the Mayhem much longer. That he got me into this elite prep school in Canada. Said it like it was already done. Like he was doing me this huge favor.” Jace's voice cracked, tears gathering on the edges of his eyes. “But he never even asked me.”

My heart shattered.

“Then he started bashing Beckett, the way he always does. Said I needed real coaching. Said I’d never make it to Juniors if I stayed here under some has-been.” Jace’s voice dropped. “But Beckett believes in me. He actually shows up. And Dad made him sound like a joke.”

Silence stretched between us. The kind packed with heartbreak and fury and helpless love.

I swallowed the ache in my throat and put my hand on Jace’s chin, lifting his face until he saw how serious I was.

“Over my dead body are you going to Canada. Even if he did get you in, our custody agreement is crystal clear. He cannot decide anything without me, and I’m not afraid to fight your father.

Not anymore. You’re not going anywhere you don’t want to go. ”

He nodded once, then tipped over on the bed until he laid in a little ball, his head resting lightly on my knee. “Did you find the dirty socks I left in the couch cushions for you?”

I brushed my fingers through his wavy hair, then leaned down and kissed his forehead. “Yes. You’re disgusting. Don’t ever leave me again. ”

Jace smiled, then wiped at his cheeks with the sleeve of his hoodie.

Guilt twisted in my gut, sharp and unrelenting.

How many times would I let Ryan fool us into believing that things would get better?

I’d told Jace time and time again that it was important to spend time with his dad, even when he’d said he didn’t want to.

I’d hoped that Ryan was trying, that it would be good for them to reconnect.

God, I’d handed him over like it wouldn’t cost him anything.

But it had.

Anger surged next, hot and choking.

Ryan didn’t take Jace to that podcast to bond. He took him to use him, to put on some polished, father-of-the-year performance for an audience that didn’t know any better. And when the cameras rolled, he didn’t care if his lies hurt the one person who still wanted to believe in him.

Then came the fury.

How dare he. How dare he sit there and rewrite Jace’s memories for the sake of his image, speaking in absolutes like Jace was just another line in his resume. Like my son was a prop, not his kid .

And then—God help me—the hatred. For the man who had the audacity to mock Beckett.

A man who didn’t know the patient way Beckett coached Jace for no reason other than he wanted to.

Who didn’t see the pain he pushed through just to show up every day, the heart he poured into every second he spent mentoring a kid who wasn't even his.

Beckett wasn’t some washed-up has-been—he was clawing his way back from hell and doing it with more grace and grit than Ryan could even fathom.

I was done playing nice .

Let Ryan think he had the upper hand. Let him believe his spotlight made him untouchable.

Because I would do anything to help Beckett rise. To help Jace see the truth. And to make damn sure Ryan Meyers choked on his own arrogance.