Page 46 of Moms of Mayhem (Mayhem Hockey Club #1)

I parked in front of the studio, and Logan hopped out, staring up and down River Street. “Well, this is adorable. Does it come with an oat milk latte and a dentist? I think I have a cavity from the sweetness.”

Mikko squinted at the Elevation Pilates sign. “This is where she works?”

I clapped him on the shoulder. “This is where you die.”

The door opened and several women filtered out, wearing colored leggings and high buns. Logan’s gaze followed them, and I grabbed him by the hoodie to pull him back to me.

“She’s in the back, waiting for you,” Shannon said, not bothering to look up from the laptop resting on her thighs. She had her Doc Martens propped on the desk, legs outstretched, and the serious expression I knew meant she was studying.

“Oh, hello little Ten,” Logan said, and I slapped him upside the head. He jerked forward at the impact, but his grin didn’t falter.

Shannon looked up slowly, eyes flat. “I chew up guys like you and use their egos to line my trash can.”

Logan blinked. “Honestly, that’s not a turn-off.”

Mikko, standing a few feet behind him, just shook his head and said something soft in Finnish. It was too smooth and too reverent to be anything but a compliment.

Shannon looked at him, one dark eyebrow raised. No smile. No expression. Just one long, measured stare like she was throwing down the gauntlet, waiting for him to back down.

I glanced between them, brows lifting. Mikko didn’t break eye contact.

Logan turned to me and stage-whispered, “Should we book them a room by the hour or...?”

I wasn’t sure what that was, but the thought of Emmy waiting had me headed down the aisle of reformers and toward the back room.

“Took you long enough.” Emmy rose on her toes to loop her arms around my neck when I turned the corner. Her mouth was on mine before I had a chance to tell her we weren’t alone, but fuck , she was too good to pass up.

Her lips moved against mine like she needed the contact as much as I did. Like the afternoons at her place when Jace was at school and long, lingering kisses behind closed doors at the clinic weren’t enough. And, God, I felt the same.

I couldn’t get enough of her, plain and simple.

Which was why I’d completely forgotten about the two idiots now standing frozen behind me.

“Uh,” Logan said, clearing his throat. “Should we come back in ten? Or five, from the look of you horndogs?”

Emmy jerked back, eyes widening in a split-second flash of embarrassment. But just as fast, it vanished, like it had never been there at all. She recovered like a pro, spun on her heel, and turned those sharp eyes on Logan.

“I bet I can humble you in Pilates faster than that.”

God, I loved that about her. The way she bounced back. The way she could throw a verbal elbow with the same precision she adjusted a hip joint.

Mikko smirked. “I’ll take that bet.”

I chuckled and held a fist out to bump against Mikko’s.

“I hate both of you,” Logan muttered.

Emmy crossed her arms, clearly enjoying herself now. “Nice to finally meet the infamous Yeti backup dancers. I hope you stretched.”

“What the fuck just happened to me?” Logan said outside my truck, his hands on his knees and heavy breaths fogging the air.

Mikko slapped him on the back, nearly sending Logan to the ground. “You got shown up by a 65-year-old woman in a bedazzled muscle shirt. That’s what happened.”

“You can’t tell anyone about this.” Logan straightened, then arched his back, twisting side to side.

I chuckled at the video playing on my phone, then hit send to forward it on. “Too late. Shannon videoed it, and I already sent it in the team chat thread. Ruth powering through her moves when you bailed out needs to live on in infamy.”

Logan grabbed the phone from my hand and Macho Man played through the speakers while Logan squealed like a pig with his legs in the air, stuck in some kind of twisted pretzel bridge while Ruth yelled at him to activate his deep core.

All three of our phones blew up with texts coming in, one after the next, but my favorite was one from Frankie.

Frankie

Look at Conway’s form in the back. You’re welcome for all those clamshells, boy. Parrish, on the other hand. We didn’t grind through three off-seasons building that glute shelf just for you to get folded like a lawn chair by Grandma.

Logan groaned and tossed the phone back at me like it burned. “Why am I friends with you?”

“Because you love the attention.” I fished out my keys and unlocked my truck.

We stopped when Shannon stepped out of the gym’s front door, dark hoodie pulled tight against the chill, her backpack slung over one shoulder and boots scuffing the pavement as she typed furiously on her phone, her face in a deep scowl.

She moved toward the rusted hatchback beside my truck, jaw tight, eyes flicking toward us.

Her car looked worse in the daylight. More rust. More duct tape. The passenger door was a different color entirely, and the windshield had a crack spidering across the top corner.

Logan let out a low whistle. “That thing’s still alive? Colorado winter hasn’t put it out of its misery yet?”

She didn’t say anything, which was more than a little weird. I expected a sharp comeback, but the silence was somehow worse. I watched as she opened the door, tossed in her backpack, and slid behind the wheel with a glance over her shoulder like she hoped we’d just disappear.

The door creaked on the hinges when she climbed inside and turned the key.

Nothing.

Tried again. Still nothing .

She smacked the steering wheel, then rested her forehead against it for a beat.

I stepped forward and tapped the window. “Come on. I’ll give you a ride.”

She didn’t move. Just sat there for a second longer, staring at the dashboard like it might magically come back to life. Then she sighed, low and resigned, and opened the door.

“It's fine. I’ll figure it out.”

“It’s cold,” I said. “You’re not figuring anything in that death trap.”

She hesitated again, eyes flicking from me to Logan and Mikko, then back. “I don’t need?—”

“I know you don’t,” I said, gently. “But the offer’s there anyway.”

Her gaze lingered on me, unreadable. Finally, she grabbed her backpack, slung it over one shoulder, and walked over to the truck, eyes down, jaw clenched. She opened the passenger door and paused again before climbing in.

“No one needs to know where I live,” she said, low and sharp. Her shoulders hitched up toward her ears, body language shut down.

I knew where she lived—probably the same run-down trailer on the edge of town. If her dad really hadn’t changed, he was already drunk, maybe passed out in the living room with the TV blaring.

She didn’t want us seeing that.

Didn’t want anyone seeing that.

“They won’t say a word,” I promised, voice just as quiet. “Hell, Mikko hardly speaks English and Logan is so full of shit no one trusts anything that comes out of his mouth.”

Her shoulders dropped just a little, but I saw the hint of amusement hiding in her eyes. She nodded once, then got in, pulling the door shut with a little more force than necessary.

From behind me, Logan called out, “Play us some sad girl bangers, baby. I could use a good scream-cry.”

Mikko leaned across the center console from the backseat and tapped on my truck’s screen to control the music. “Anything is better than you crying on a reformer, Logan.”

“It was intense!” Logan shouted.

Mikko snorted. “You were whimpering.”

I shook my head and started the truck, the weight of Shannon’s trust settling over me like something fragile and earned. She sat back in the seat, hood up, arms folded tight across her chest, and went back to the weird silence.

Amy Lee scream-sang over the speakers as I pulled out onto the road, headed toward what was once the Wilder Family Farm.

It was just past noon and the sun bounced off the snow like a mirror.

Linwood looked deceptively perfect under all that light—quaint shops lining River Street, a couple of skiers grabbing burgers at The Lantern, the Eagle River flashing silver as it rushed past the edge of town.

The mountains stood tall on either side, jagged and unforgiving, even under a cloudless sky.

We passed my place and Shannon didn’t look. Just sat in the front seat, arms crossed, hoodie drawn up like armor while Logan belted every single word to the Evanescence song.

A few minutes later, the pretty parts of Linwood gave way to forgotten ones.

The fences here sagged, broken boards leaning at angles that made my chest tighten.

An old windmill creaked as we drove past it, the blades long stopped spinning.

The big barn had collapsed into itself after years of neglect, its red paint faded to rust, like the bones of something that used to breathe.

The farmhouse sat like a ghost beside it. Paint peeled off the siding in chunks, the roof was buckled on the west side, the porch was rotted through, and all the windows were boarded over. A truck in even worse condition than her hatchback lay half-buried in the snow.

A trailer sat beside the abandoned house, looking not much better. It leaned slightly on its cinderblock supports with duct tape running along the seams like stitches. One window was patched with cardboard and black plastic. Midday sun made the whole place look worse—no shadows to soften the edges.

Shannon hadn’t said a word the whole drive, but I felt her go still, like she was bracing for impact.

“Just drop me here,” she said suddenly, her voice quiet.

I eased off the gas, pulling over to the side of the road just past the gravel drive. “Shannon?—”

“I can walk the rest.”

“You don’t have to,” I said gently, wishing there was anything I could do to help this burden. If my mom hadn’t been an absolute saint of a human, my life might have looked pretty similar. But Shannon didn’t have that support, only a shitty dad and shittier brothers.

“I want to,” she bit out, then after a pause, quieter, “Thanks for the ride.”