Page 55 of Moms of Mayhem (Mayhem Hockey Club #1)

I couldn’t sit down. Couldn’t breathe.

“Is it normal to be sweating this much just from watching hockey?” Stevie whispered beside me, fanning herself with a program while balancing Harper on one hip. “I feel like I’m going through something. Like, emotionally.”

“You’re not,” Shannon deadpanned, eyes still locked on the ice. “But Emmy is. She’s in her final form. Behold: the Mother of Mayhem.”

“I hate that it fits,” I muttered around a mouthful of hot pretzel.

Wyatt and Reid were draped over Luke’s lap, shrieking in tandem every time the Mayhem touched the puck. Harper whipped a foam finger around, hitting everyone and totally unbothered by the chaos around her.

Shannon sat one row down next to Lori, both of them wrapped in blankets like they were just here for a cozy night out—if cozy involved full-body screaming and a mutual vendetta against the refs.

“That was offsides, you blind trout!” Lori yelled, surprisingly loud for someone with advanced Parkinson’s and a cane tucked beside her seat. Her voice might have wobbled, but her aim was sharp as ever.

Shannon leaned over, handing her half a Twizzler. “Subtlety is dead. I love it.”

Tate was just behind us, arms folded, eyes tracking every line change with surgical precision. “The Kodiaks are rotating their first and second D-pair to try and double-team Jace’s line. It’s going to leave an opening on Molly’s side if we get a clean zone entry.”

Stevie blinked. “Tate, that meant nothing to me, but I’m so proud of you.”

Meanwhile, I was vibrating in place, chewing tiny bites of the second pretzel I didn’t remember buying and trying not to launch myself over the seats every time Jace skated past.

Every time he hit the ice, I stood. Didn’t even notice until Luke gently tugged at the hem of my jacket.

“You’re blocking Harper’s view,” he whispered.

“She’s 18 months old.”

“She’s very invested in Uncle Jace’s success.”

I snorted but didn’t sit. My heart was lodged in my throat, pulsing in sync with every pass, every shift, every damn move he made.

And then there was Beckett.

I kept looking down at the bench, like some invisible magnet was pulling my gaze there. He stood next to Ty, both shouting encouragement and calling lines, focused and locked in, and somehow still managing to check the scoreboard, the refs, and the kids’ body language all at once.

My eyes burned.

Last year I was sitting in a cold, sterile house with a husband who hadn’t looked at me like I mattered in years.

I was exhausted, hollowed out, trying to hold myself together for Jace while slowly falling apart.

I had no plan. No peace. Just a broken heart and more resentment than I knew what to do with.

Now? I sat surrounded by friends who’d become family, watching my son chase his dream. Sitting in the crowd with a woman who’d raised the man I loved, screaming just as loud as I was.

Beckett was everything I didn’t believe I deserved back then. Steady and fierce, loyal and present. Unmistakably ours no matter where he was.

I took another shaky bite of pretzel, trying to blink back tears.

“You okay?” Stevie asked softly.

I nodded, hand pressed to my chest.

“I’m just…” I swallowed hard. “Really freaking happy.”

Shannon pointed at the ice. “I’ll be happy when that ref grows a spine and makes a fucking call.”

All heads turned toward her.

Even Tate blinked.

“I thought you hated hockey,” Stevie said, half scandalized, half impressed.

“I do hate hockey,” Shannon snapped. “I also hate injustice, and that was a damn trip.”

Lori cackled beside her and raised a mittened fist. “Amen, sister.”

“I don’t care what you say, we’re friends now,” I muttered, wiping a tear off my cheek.

“Fine.” A hint of a smile tugged on Shannon’s lips as she looked over at me. “I guess.”

A whistle blew and the tension surged like a current through the stands. I gripped the arm rests, forgetting the pretzel entirely as the puck dropped at center ice for the final minutes of the third.

Back on the ice, the Mayhem were locked in.

Jace’s line came out again with under three minutes left on the clock, and from the moment the puck hit, he was hunting for his opportunity, sharp and focused.

Delgado took the breakout and threaded it up the boards to Molly, who barely touched it before flipping it cross-ice to Jace. He caught it in stride, powering past the Kodiaks’ defenseman like he’d been waiting all game for this one opening.

The arena rose around me, a wall of noise I barely heard.

Jace deked left.

The goalie bit.

He dragged it back right and buried it—clean, quick, right between his pads in the five-hole.

I don’t remember screaming. I just know I was suddenly three rows down from where I’d started, arms in the air, tears streaking down my cheeks, and Stevie was screaming right along with me.

The bench erupted.

Beckett slammed a fist against the boards, yelling so loud I could practically hear it from here. Ty was shouting, hands cupped around his mouth, then fist-pumping the air. Even Miles skated out of the crease to tackle Jace into the corner where the team mobbed him.

It wasn’t the end of the game—not yet. There were still 52 seconds on the clock, but the Mayhem never gave the Kodiaks another look.

Every pass, every block, every save from Miles in those final moments was a statement: This is ours .

And when the final horn blared and the score held at 2–1, I lost it.

Hot tears, hysterical laughter, the kind of release you can’t even explain unless you’ve spent your life loving someone that hard.

Lori sobbed next to me, like she felt every one of my emotions too. Shannon had her face in her hands, probably trying not to cry. Tate was smiling a full-on, teeth-showing grin. Even Harper looked excited, flailing her foam finger at no one in particular.

On the ice, my son was buried in a pile of teammates, gloves and sticks flying as they celebrated together.

Beckett met my eyes from across the rink, his grin enough to melt any lingering doubts that this was forever. For one perfect second, everything else fell away.

The parking lot outside the arena had turned into a full-blown party. There were no grills or folding chairs anymore, just a sea of parents, siblings, friends, and a level of emotional wreckage that only a championship game could deliver.

We all huddled near the buses, bundled in jackets and team sweatshirts, still vibrating from the win.

Stevie had a giant Mayhem blanket draped around her shoulders like a cape, her face still flushed from all the screaming.

Luke was next to her, wearing Harper in a chest carrier, her chubby arms waving around like she knew exactly what we were celebrating.

Wyatt and Reid had commandeered someone’s cowbell and were alternating between ringing it and sword-fighting with the foam fingers .

“They’ve been doing that for ten minutes,” Luke said, rubbing his temple. “I think I’m concussed.”

“Same,” I murmured, heart still trying to climb down from the clouds.

Tate stood next to me, arms folded, her smile subtle but steady.

Shannon leaned against the Mayhem’s bus, looking equal parts bored and elated. “I swear to God, if I see that ref in a grocery store, I’m slashing his tires.”

Lori chuckled from the folding chair someone had offered her, cane resting across her knees. Her Mayhem beanie was slightly crooked and her face lit up with pride.

And then the doors opened.

The kids poured out, gear bags slung over shoulders, dress shirts half-untucked, cheeks still red from the locker room. Parents erupted into cheers and applause, a tidal wave of celebration.

Molly and Delgado were smiling like they’d won the lottery, leading the players down the line of celebrations. Miles gave high-fives like a pro, pausing only to hug his little sister. Every single one of them was glowing.

Jace came out last, hair wet from the shower and grin so wide it lit up his whole face. He looked up, found me in the crowd, and waved. Not just a hey mom wave—a full arm pump, like he knew I’d been ready to storm the ice myself.

I waved back, laughing through tears.

Ryan was nowhere to be seen. He’d left before the final buzzer, too proud or too petty to stick around and face everything he’d lost.

I hated that for Jace’s sake. Some part of me had always hoped Ryan would realize his mistakes and try harder, rather than pass blame. Not for me, not to fix what couldn’t be repaired, but to at least show up for his son when it mattered most.

But he didn’t. And as much as that still stung, the ache was softened by the man who chose to show up not out of obligation, but because he wanted to be here.

As if summoned by my thoughts, Beckett walked through the crowd, his eyes locked on mine like I was the only person that existed in the world.

Still in his Mayhem pullover, sweat-damp hair curling at the edges, walking like nothing and no one could keep him from me. Ty was a step behind him holding the giant State trophy, letting him go ahead like he knew exactly where Beckett needed to be.

He didn’t hesitate. Just walked right through the chaos, past the noise and the crowd.

Beckett pulled me in like gravity itself had written this moment into existence. One hand on my waist, the other curling behind my neck, and then his mouth was on mine—firm, warm, and full of everything we’d held back while the world watched.

My hands fisted in his shirt, my feet barely remembering how to stay on the ground.

Someone wolf-whistled, and we broke apart.

Shannon crossed her arms and muttered, “Finally, the world’s worst-kept secret is out.”

Stevie gasped like she hadn’t been in on it for months. “Okay, but still ! Public kissing? This is officially official.”

Luke snorted. “They kissed in public in December. That seemed kind of official.”

“Please.” Tate shook her head. “Have you seen how lovesick he is?”

“He came to girls’ night with queso,” Shannon said flatly. “That was basically a proposal.”

Lori leaned over from her folding chair, eyes glinting with feral grandma glee. “I’m taking out a full page in next week’s paper. Right next to the obits and the fire department spaghetti dinner.”

Beckett pulled back just enough to look over his shoulder, smirked, and called, “Make it a two-page spread, Mom. Front and back. I look good from every angle. Everyone needs to know she’s mine.”

Lori cackled. Shannon groaned. Stevie, misty-eyed and clutching her heart, whispered, “I love love.”

Beckett rested his forehead on mine, still holding me against his chest.

“Hi, Peach,” he said, softer now.

“Hey,” I murmured, still breathless.

Behind us, the Mayhem hoisted the trophy into the air, the crowd roaring one more time.

Ty clapped Jace on the back, then caught my eye and gave me a nod that was quiet, proud, and all heart.

I just leaned into Beckett’s arms and held on, buoyed in the moment. Because the life I’d been terrified to want—the love, the family, the hope I thought I’d lost—was here.

Loud and messy.

Real and earned.

And finally, finally mine.