Page 5 of Moms of Mayhem (Mayhem Hockey Club #1)

Jace kept his headphones around his neck, which told me he did want to talk, but he’d turned his whole body away from me.

I flicked my gaze toward him, staring at the golden-brown curls I’d always loved—my color and Ryan’s waves.

It was an absolute mop lately, but wet from the shower and shoved under a backward Mayhem hat, it curled at his nape.

“The snow is pretty tonight. Maybe we can go sledding on Sunday.” I tried to steer the conversation toward neutral ground, shoving all my anger and frustration down. The last thing we needed was for me to elevate Jace’s anger, even if I was disappointed in how he’d chosen to handle it.

Jace grabbed for his headphones, and I reached across the center console, resting my hand on his arm. “I can’t let this go, bud. You know that wasn’ t okay.”

He dropped his hands back to his lap and made a grunting noise that told me he’d spent a lot of time with my brother in the last few months.

“You do know words, I’m positive. How else would I know about every Pikachu?”

My sarcasm finally caught his attention, and Jace shot me a bored look. “It’s Pokémon.”

I bit the inside of my cheeks to keep my smile from showing. “That’s what I said, isn’t it?”

He rolled those pretty hazel eyes, and I silently high-fived myself for getting him to talk to me at all. “Want to get out your cards and tell me all about them like you used to? We can order a pizza, and I won’t even get mad when you leave them all over the living room.”

With a shake of his head, Jace said, “I thought being a young mom meant you were supposed to be cooler than other adults. Turns out you’re also lame.”

I shrugged, then patted his shoulder. “I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but I wasn’t cool even when I was your age.”

“Then how’d you end up with Dad?” he asked. “Wasn’t he the hockey star everyone wanted?”

I drew in a breath, thinking through my answer. No matter my frustration with Ryan, he was Jace’s dad, and he wasn’t all bad, even if my memories were now tinged with his betrayal. There was a time when I thought we’d been a happy family, or, at least, happy-ish.

Glancing his way, I pondered whether Jace was old enough to know the truth of how his father and I came to be, or if I should keep feeding him the same “college sweethearts” line we always had.

Jace tipped his head back on the headrest, then tilted his face my way. “I already know you got drunk at a hockey party you weren’t supposed to be at.”

A nervous laugh bubbled out of me, and my hands tightened on the steering wheel. “It did go something like that, yes. Who told you that?”

“Ty,” he answered, fiddling with the strings of his hoodie, pulling them back and forth.

Don’t hide your own problems from him, my therapist’s words rang in my head. Show him it’s okay to make mistakes, own them, and learn from them. That you can be better because of them.

I puckered my lips, trying to think through my words. Because no matter the circumstances his life came about, nothing about becoming Jace’s mom was a mistake, and I never wanted him to think that.

“You understand the whole birds and the bees thing,” I said, settling on a partial truth.

Jace cringed, his whole body recoiling into the chair. “God Mom, no.”

This time I did laugh, the sound genuine as it rumbled out of my chest. “Relax. I’m not giving you the blow by blow.”

Jace put a hand over his mouth, fake gagging.

I laughed harder. “Stop. I promise.”

His attention was on me, and his hands settled in his lap. If it took me opening up to Jace for him to want to open up in return, then I could do that.

“I was 19, a freshman at Arizona State, and homesick as all get out. A month in, and I regretted not following Ty out east. Then, at least I would have known someone, even if I didn’t want to follow in his footsteps.

We were playing Michigan in one of the early season games, and I went, thinking at least being in the same building as Beckett was a taste of home. ”

“Beckett Conway?” Jace asked, his eyes alight with hero worship the way they were every time he talked of our hometown star. “You were friends with him?”

“Not really.” I shrugged. “He was Ty’s best friend, so we spent a lot of time together over the years, but I wouldn’t have called us friends. He was a piece of home though, a connection to Ty, and I was grasping at straws.”

Jace sighed, looking out the window again, and my heart hurt for him. Unfortunately, our cross-country move meant he understood what it meant to feel new and lost.

“Anyway,” I started my story again. “I heard the Michigan hockey team was going to a house party after, and so I got it in my head I should go too and find Beckett.”

“And that’s how you met Dad.”

I nodded, my mind replaying the memory. I hadn’t just met Ryan that night; I’d given him my virginity and gotten pregnant, all in one fell swoop.

“Underage drinking is bad”—I shot my son a look, and he smirked—“but I was nervous and lonely and drank too much. Your dad rescued me before I could make any terrible decisions and walked me back to the dorms. After that, we were inseparable, and I transferred to Michigan to be with him. Then you came along.”

“You hate him now, don’t you?” Jace asked, his voice quieter as he studied his hands in his lap.

I turned right onto River Street toward our row house, my headlights shining on the sparkling snow. “Hate is a strong word, and I don’t like it. So, no, I don’t hate him.”

Jace sighed, then pulled his headphones over his head and put them in his backpack. “Well, I do. ”

Tires crunched over the packed snow in our driveway, and I pulled into the carport Ty had put up behind my house. The moment it was in park, I reached both hands across the center console and grabbed my son’s cheeks, pulling him toward me until our foreheads touched.

“I love you so much it’s absolutely stupid.

” He started to pull back from me, and I held tighter, needing him to hear my words.

“Like, redefined the word for me. The moment I saw that little pink line saying you were on the way, my life changed forever. And for the better. But knowing you, watching you grow, seeing who you’re becoming”—my face tingled, a mixture of nostalgia for the little boy he once was and rage-fueled tears burning my eyes for the pain my son was in—“it’s the best thing to ever happen to me. ”

“Please don’t cry.”

I laughed, then pulled back and opened my car door. “Okay. I won’t. But even on our worst days, Jace, I love you more than anyone in this entire world. Throwing punches in a hockey game doesn’t change that.”

“Yeah, yeah. Love you too.” Jace got out of the car, then opened the trunk and pulled his hockey bag out, heading for the shed to unload it.

“Get your gear aired out, then come bring me your PlayStation remotes and your headphones.”

He turned back to me, his forehead creased under his hat. “I thought I wasn’t in trouble?”

I hummed, then held out my hand, palm up. “I said throwing punches and getting thrown out of a hockey game didn’t make me love you less, not that you weren’t in trouble.”

With an eye roll fit for Sisyphus, Jace reached into his bag and grabbed his headphones, slapping them into my open palm.

I took them, then walked up the back steps to the kitchen door. The alarm beeped when I opened it, and I reached over to turn it off. Ty had insisted on installing one since I refused to live with him, and it did offer me peace of mind sleeping in an empty house when Jace was with his dad.

Flicking on the lights, I headed toward the fridge on the far side of the kitchen, refilling my water cup before heading upstairs.

After living a sad beige life with Ryan for so long, my house looked like an explosion of color.

The cabinets were a deep magenta, the dishes a mismatched collection of sapphires and florals, and there was a vintage bread tin that made me happier than it probably should have.

The open shelves were full of hand-painted mugs, brass accents, and spices I’d mostly bought for the pretty jars.

It was a little chaotic and a little cozy, but it felt like me, something I craved after 15 years of trying to fit a mold I was never made for.

Jace came in and locked the door behind him, not making eye contact as he stomped down the hallway toward the living room. He yanked open the bin I stored his video game gear in and tossed a remote my way. With quick reflexes, I caught it. “A week.”

He shook his head, then went toward the stairs. The old floorboards creaked with every step, and I leaned against the kitchen counters, listening to the movements above me.

As temperamental as my son was, he was a good kid. I braced myself for the door slam, but it didn’t come. It clicked closed, and his speakers turned on, the windows rattling with the bass blaring from an angry rock song.

My phone vibrated in my vest pocket, and I pulled it out to a text from my brother. I flicked the lights off, then reset the house alarm and headed upstairs to my room.

Ty

Make it home safe?

Emmy

Yes, Dad. We’re good.

Ty

Need me to talk to him?

Emmy

Not your job.

Ty

Not what I asked.

I sat on the edge of my bed and rubbed the ache forming between my eyebrows, hating the idea of leaning on Ty even more than I already did.

He was fixing my Jeep, had cosigned the rent agreement on my Pilates studio, and was Jace’s backup ride anytime I got caught up with work.

And yet, here he was texting me to check in on us.

Aside from asking the final score of the game, Ryan hadn’t texted at all.

Emmy

We’re good tonight. But I offered to go sledding with him this weekend. Can we come to Copper Ridge?

Ty

The ranch is yours. You never have to ask.

Grabbing Jace’s headphones, I put them over my ears and turned on the sound canceling feature, blocking out the music blaring from my son’s room .

It helped, sort of.

What didn’t help was the knot of guilt and frustration tightening in my chest—the constant push and pull of trying to be everything at once: the calm parent, the cool parent, the one who enforced boundaries without becoming the villain in his teenage coming-of-age story.

I lay back against the pillow and stared at the ceiling, the weight of the day finally settling into my bones. Some days, being a single mom felt like juggling knives while walking a tightrope in a windstorm. Tonight, I was fresh out of balance.

But Jace hadn’t slammed the door, hadn’t fought back about the headphones or PlayStation. And I was holding onto those little wins like they were lifelines.

Maybe sledding would help. Maybe Ty’s ranch would be a reset. Or maybe it would just be loud and cold and full of awkward silences.

Either way, I’d show up. Because that’s what moms did, even when I was exhausted and just as lost as he was.

I’d always show up.