Page 40 of Moms of Mayhem (Mayhem Hockey Club #1)

Lori Conway’s house was cozy in the way that only an older home could be—dated, yes, but lived in. The walls had been recently painted a soft blue, and the new sofa in the living room still had the faint smell of plastic wrap and delivery-day excitement.

Signs of her progressing Parkinson’s Disease were everywhere, from the safety bars in the hallway to the line of pills on the side table, but this house still looked like a home. I could see why she didn’t want to leave.

I stood near the window, hands wrapped around a steaming mug of tea, watching the snow blanket the quiet landscape outside.

A line of evergreens bordered the back of the property, their limbs heavy with white.

The pond stretched out just beyond the porch, its surface solid and shining in the soft winter sun.

Jace was out there now, gliding across the ice in a practiced rhythm, making me realize just how often he and Beckett had done this lately.

His cheeks were flushed from the cold, hair curling at the edges from sweat beneath his beanie, and even from here I could tell—he was happy.

Not faking it. Not trying to cover anything up with a joke or a shrug or some sarcastic jab.

Just happy.

My heart swelled, thick with a warmth I hadn’t let myself feel in a long time.

Beckett sat on a stump to the side of the pond, one boot propped up and hands buried in his coat pockets.

I couldn’t hear what they said, but they were talking.

Beckett’s face was lit with easy focus, and Jace gestured animatedly with his stick, something clearly important being explained or re-enacted. And Beckett… he just listened.

Not waiting for his turn to speak. Not brushing him off. Just there. Present.

I wanted to show up for him , he’d said. And he had, in every possible way.

I pressed the mug to my lips, letting the steam drift up and warm my face, as the fullness in my chest spread out like sun melting the thickest ice.

So much of the last 15 years, I’d done alone, Ryan only showing up when it was convenient or made him look good. Beckett, on the other hand…

This was anything but convenient.

The weight of everything he’d put aside to stay here in town with his mom hit me like a truck, realizing how much more difficult he’d made his recovery path for himself.

If he’d stayed in Denver, he would have doctors at his disposal, not ones he had to drive nearly an hour to see.

He’d have Frankie breathing down his neck, and a far more experienced staff than me.

He’d have teammates cheering him on, reminding him how much they wanted him back.

But instead, he sat down on a crooked stump, breath fogging in the air as he gestured for what he wanted my son to do next.

He hadn’t asked to take over. Just quietly and deliberately showed up, choosing his mom and my son over his own life.

I blinked hard, trying to clear the sudden sting in my eyes.

“Everything okay?” a soft voice asked behind me.

I turned to see Lori, a trembling hand light on the back of a dining chair, her expression kind. She had short blonde hair tied in a low ponytail that was more than a little uneven, but she looked far better than I’d anticipated, knowing where she was at in her Parkinson’s journey.

I smiled. “Yeah. Today has just been a lot. Jace was so upset this morning, and now”—I gestured to the window, where my son and hers stood together on the side of the rink— “Do you ever get over thinking you’re just royally fucking up your kids?”

Lori let out a sharp laugh, her eyes crinkling with amusement. “Unfortunately, no. But I was sure he was a lost cause after everything we went through, and look at him.”

She came to stand beside me, following my gaze out the window.

“He really is good with him.” Her fingers bumped my elbow, and I lifted my arm in invitation.

She slid her hand through, leaning on me for support.

I could feel the way her body shook with a near constant energy, the tremors uncontrollable now in Stage 3.

“That’s not new, either. Beckett’s always been the kind to make space for people when they need it. ”

I didn’t answer, afraid that if I opened my mouth, too much might spill out.

“How are you doing?” I changed subject, looking over at the woman at my side. “Beckett told me you got the all-clear for occupational therapy, and that they suggested someone come live here with you after he’s gone.”

She scrunched her nose, then looked behind her at the house. “This was my parent’s house, you know. Every one of my good days was here. The bad ones, too. I just don’t want to leave yet, not if I don’t have to.”

That was fair, and maybe someday I’d feel the same. She sighed, and I squeezed her hand resting on my arm.

“I’m not dying yet,” she said, the grit in her voice sounding so much like her son. “Despite what everyone seems to think, I know I’m never going to get better. If I get to choose where I spend my last years, I’d like to do it right here, preferably with boys skating out on that ice again.”

As if summoned by her words, Ty pulled in the driveway, Rowdy hanging out the passenger window. “Thank you for letting Jace and Ty use it. It means more than you know.”

Lori patted my arm, like she felt how emotional I was. “Come and sit. Beckett had all this food delivered, and if we wait to eat until those boys come inside, there will be nothing left.”

I laughed, and something loosened in my chest. The sharp edge of fear over whatever was going on between Beckett and I dulled a little.

Maybe this wasn’t a fluke. Maybe this was the start of something, and not just a fleeting moment in time.

I looked back out the window one more time and let myself hope.

“Mom, did you see that wrist shot?” Jace said as he tumbled in off the porch, my brother and Beckett in tow. “Pinged off the crossbar so hard, you could hear it echo through the mountains.”

“Too bad you still lost.” Ty stood in the doorway to take off his coat and boots by the back door. All three men in my life did the same in unison, like they’d done this a thousand times before, and I barely bit back my amusement.

“By one. ”

“Still lost,” Beckett chimed in, and I snorted a laugh when my son’s eyes shot daggers at him.

“I thought you were rooting for me.”

“Oh, I definitely am.” Beckett came into the kitchen, leaning over to kiss the top of his mom’s head and swiping several chips off her plate in the process. “But that doesn’t mean you didn’t lose.”

Jace let out a humph and slid into a chair at the table, the wood creaking beneath him. His arms crossed over his chest, but any of the heartache I’d seen in his body this morning was gone.

“Next time, kid.” Ty leaned down to hug Lori too. “Smells delicious in here, ladies.”

“I can give you the recipe.” Lori gestured at the many plastic containers with lids tucked underneath.

“Grab your keys, head out the door and into your car, get on the highway, take two exits, and stop at the barbecue joint on the corner. Tell them you’re here for the Conway Special, and it’ll taste just the same. ”

We all laughed, then grabbed plates.

Lori was right—it was a good thing we’d eaten first, because the mounds of food disappeared far faster than I imagined possible .

Jace threw pieces of pulled pork to Rowdy, and we all chuckled as the three-legged dog leaped into the air, snagging each piece like he had no idea he was disabled.

The sun set early, and we moved to the couch, settled in to watch the Yeti play. I listened as the boys discussed how the season was going, and who had a chance to make a run for the Stanley Cup.

“How much longer until you go back?” Jace tossed a piece of popcorn up into the air, catching it in his mouth from where he sat on the floor in front of Lori’s recliner.

Beckett wiped his hands on his jeans, his attention glued to the TV. The Yeti were up 1-0 against Las Vegas, their division rivals. “I’ll find out more tomorrow, but I want to be back with the team and on the ice in February, if everything goes right.”

The second period ended, and he sat back on the couch, an arm resting across the back. With all five of us in the living room, it was a tight fit. I sat on the new couch between Beckett and Ty, Rowdy resting on Ty’s feet.

Beckett’s hand brushed against the back of my neck and his gaze shot my way for only a second, but the attention was enough to have my heart racing.

February.

That was next month.

I chewed on the inside of my cheek, already mourning the loss of this, the feeling of family my son and I had never really had.

My parents were great, but they were living the retired life they earned and weren’t around much.

I didn’t blame them for that, but it didn’t mean I didn’t miss it.

And Ryan’s parents were even less involved than he was.

The broadcast switched to commentary, background noise to my beating heart, until a familiar voice cut through the room.

“I still don’t like the Yeti’s chances for a Cup run this year,” Ryan said, and the room went silent.

“Even if Conway makes his return like they keep saying he will—and that’s a big if, in my opinion—he’s not the type of player that makes a difference.

Maybe once upon a time he was, but now? He’s old.

His time has come and gone, and I just don’t think he matters anymore. ”

Beckett’s hand slid down and rested heavy on my neck, like he needed to be grounded in the moment and sought me out. We all looked at him, gauging his reaction as they began to discuss him like he wasn’t a person with emotions, but a chess piece in someone else’s game.

Beckett didn’t flinch.

His gaze stayed on the screen, jaw tight, expression unreadable. The kind of practiced composure you develop after years of swallowing your pride and listening to everyone discussing your every move.

His hand remained on the back of my neck, warm and solid, and I didn’t dare move, even though I wanted to throw myself in his lap and block his view.

The analysts didn’t linger—maybe 30 seconds of dissecting his rehab schedule, another mention of his age—but it felt longer. They pivoted to trade rumors and the Olympics break, and the tension in the room slowly dissolved. But it was too late; the damage had been done.

I stared at the screen, my cheeks burning with a mixture of secondhand embarrassment and anger.

Anger for Jace, who had to hear his father degrade Beckett once again.

Anger for Beckett, who’d shown nothing but kindness and steadiness to me and Jace.

And anger at myself, because no matter how far I ran, Ryan still had this uncanny ability to ruin perfectly good things.

Beckett’s thumb brushed along the back of my neck once—barely there, but the gentlest reassurance, as if he sensed I was upset and wanted to soothe the ache.

Tears pricked my eyes that this man who had just been cut down to the quick still saw me even in his weakest moments.

I didn’t look at him. Couldn’t . Not with everyone so close.

Jace shifted on the floor, his back a little straighter. I didn’t miss the flash of protectiveness in his eyes as he glanced at the TV, then at Beckett.

“He’s wrong,” Jace said, voice flat but certain. “You’re the best player on that team. He’s just jealous because it turns out he sucks and couldn’t make it out of the minors.”

Ty gave a low grunt of agreement. “Ryan’s a blowhard. Always has been.”

Rowdy gave a soft, affirming bark from under Ty’s feet, like he needed to voice his opinion too.

Beckett finally smiled, small but real. “Appreciate that,” he said to Jace. While his tone was calm, there was something tighter in it. Something buried. “But it’s a team sport. I don’t need to be the best. Just need to do my part.”

It was the kind of answer that made you respect him more, and also want to punch someone for making him feel like he had to say it at all.

Beside me, Ty shifted, then muttered, “What a dick.”

I exhaled through my nose, then took a long sip of the hot cocoa in my hands. What a dick didn’t even cover it.

The game came back on, but the atmosphere had changed. The air was heavier now .

Beckett sat forward again, his arm returning to the couch cushion behind me, not touching this time but still close. His knee brushed mine once, but he didn’t pull away and I didn’t move.

For all the ways we couldn’t be obvious, for all the things we weren’t ready to name yet, I couldn’t deny whatever this was between us.

It was more than just sex, more than just attraction.

It was starting to feel like bone-deep need, not even just a want.

One I wasn’t sure I had the power to say no to.

And what a terrifying thought that was.