Page 8 of Moms of Mayhem (Mayhem Hockey Club #1)

But the truth was, those early years with him had been so isolating I sometimes forgot who I was.

I became a mom at the same time my friends were getting their first legal drinks, focused on nights out and casual hookups.

Meanwhile, I’d married Ryan when I was five months pregnant, holding onto the na?ve hope that if I loved him and our baby enough, I could make us all happy.

So, I buried myself in diapers and daycare drop-offs, all while taking college courses to get my Bachelors in kinesiology, and finish most of my Doctor of Physical Therapy courses. But between my second and third year, Ryan went to the minors, and I had to walk away from it all.

I’d tried to tell myself I was fine. That Jace was enough. That being a mom was everything I’d ever wanted.

And he was. He is .

But that version of me—the one who used to sit in the dark while he cried himself to sleep, the one who didn’t know how to ask for help—she was still in there somewhere.

And sometimes, on days like this, I felt her panic echoing just beneath the surface.

That familiar clawing need for someone who gets it.

For connection. For friendship that wasn’t laced with small talk and forced smiles.

For someone to see me and all of my mess and stay anyway.

I glanced back toward the corner Stevie had disappeared around, and something tugged at me—a hope I hadn’t felt in a long time. A tiny thread pulling me out of my bubble, toward someone else who might understand this strange, messy middle of motherhood.

One thing I’d learned over the last 15 years, parenting didn’t get easier—it just changed. The newborn years weren’t more difficult than the teen ones; they were just different. And the loneliness didn’t leave; it just got better at hiding in the cracks between responsibilities.

Maybe I’d come on too strong with Stevie, but I recognized that same slightly chipped and a little bit broken spirit, held together with glitter glue and an unhinged adoration for your children.

If she was anything like me, she was white-knuckling her way through the hard parts and smiling through the mess.

So, I wasn’t asking . I was just giving . No strings, no expectations.

This wasn’t about coffee or Pilates or even making up for a flying iced latte to the chest.

This was about not wanting to do it all alone anymore.

If offering her a free class and a moment’s respite was what it took to start—somewhere, anywhere —then so be it.

Hope welled in my chest, a flicker of lightness threading through the chaos, like maybe I’d done something good today. Something younger me would’ve latched onto in a heartbeat.

I drew in a steadying breath, squared my shoulders, and turned toward the studio.

That’s when I heard the low rumble of a truck behind me. Two short honks followed, like I wouldn’t immediately recognize the only set of tinted windows in a small-town radius .

I didn’t even turn around, just peered over my shoulder. “What do you want, Beckett?”

The window rolled down, and he leaned out, all smug confidence and stubble. I kept walking toward the nearest trash can, wrestling with the bear-proof lid.

“Hell of a way to greet a man after he just caught your kid trespassing.”

The heavy metal lid crashed back down, narrowly missing my fingers as it slammed back in place. My eyes squinted, and then I slowly turned back toward his truck. “Run that by me one more time.”

“Jace was out on the pond this morning, but I just dropped him off at school. He left his bike at my house though, so we’ll have to get that back to him another day.”

I pinched the bridge of my nose as someone called my name from down the street. “Jace”—I pulled in a deep breath—“was at your house this morning, instead of school.”

“Hell of a skater. Too bad he can’t seem to obey rules like no fighting in hockey, no skipping school, no tresp?—”

“He’s a good kid.” My head snapped up; my jaw set as I glared up at his obnoxiously large truck. “Actually, he’s a great kid. He’s just had a shitty year.”

Beckett held his hands up from the steering wheel, then put it in park and opened the door.

I’d almost forgotten how tall he was until his foot touched down on the snow-covered ground, hanging on the door frame to keep the leg he was babying out of the snow.

He towered over me, at least a head taller, but I got caught staring at his arms bulging under his fitted tee.

Now was not the time for me to notice the forearm candy in front of me, covered in black ink tattoos. Unlike Luca’s whimsical designs that seemed a patchwork of half- baked ideas, the designs on Beckett’s skin seemed intricate, planned out, and purposeful.

By the time I remembered I was pissed at all the men in my life, Beckett was wearing a sly grin, one that said he saw what had snagged my attention. I stabbed a finger into his chest, and dammit, it was so hard, my hand nearly bounced off.

“You know, I could always call the Sheriff”—I poked him once more for good measure—“on you. Mention that I finally figured out who brought a cow into Linwood High and led it up the stairs during homecoming week.”

“That was never proven.”

“Oh, please. I found the ear tag two weeks later in the janitor’s closet. It had your granddad’s ranch name on it.”

His mouth twitched. “That could’ve been any Conway.”

“Sure,” I deadpanned. “Because your cousin Maggie was definitely the one in the security footage wearing an inside-out Mayhem Hockey hoodie.”

He rubbed a hand over his face, laughing under his breath. “And who’s to say the ear tag wasn’t a plant? What if I was framed?”

“Uh-huh. Sure. On the night before you left for Juniors”—I scrunched my nose, giving a little sarcastic nod—“I believe it.”

Beckett grinned, and I had to shut my eyes to block out how unbelievably gorgeous he was. “Did you know it took the fire department three hours and six boxes of Little Debbie cakes to coax that poor cow back down? I’m sure the Sheriff would love to finally close the case on Linwood’s cow caper.”

He chuckled, leaning harder on the truck door. “You blackmailing me, Hudson? ”

I shrugged. “Just keeping my options open.”

Beckett leaned forward into my space, close enough to whisper, “Pretty sure that’s illegal.”

“Pretty sure you’re a jackass,” I whispered back. “And I’d do anything to protect my kid.”

He shook his head, smiling like he didn’t hate it—and still standing far too close. “Remind me again why we never dated?”

I poked him in the chest, a little harder than necessary. “Because I liked my brother too much to visit him in prison for burying your body behind the rink.”

Beckett caught my hand, pinning it against his chest. The moment our skin touched, it was like sticking a fork in a socket.

Heat jolted up my arm and set up camp somewhere low in my stomach.

His chest was solid beneath my palm, his pulse steady.

Of course it was. Mine, meanwhile, was doing a full gymnastics routine.

“Easy, Mama. I’m already injured. Don’t make me explain the tiny bruises dotting my chest at my next checkup. Your fingers are basically shivs.”

I rolled my eyes and tried to pull away, but he held on, his grip gentle but firm. His head dipped until I had no choice but to meet his gaze again. Those stupid blue eyes sparkled like mischief and morning sunlight had a baby.

“I’m not pressing charges,” he murmured, his voice dropping just enough to make it feel dangerous.

Finally, he let go. I dropped my hand like it burned and flexed my fingers, hoping the air would erase the memory of him.

Beckett reached up and grabbed the top of his door frame, leaning into the stretch, and lifting his shirt just enough to flash the carved V of muscle that led right below his waistband. My eyes flicked down on instinct.

I didn’t look.

Okay, I looked. Briefly .

“In fact,” he said casually, “he’s welcome to use my pond anytime. Least I can do after Ty’s kept us all afloat.”

I squinted at him, forcing my gaze away from his abs and up to his maddeningly perfect face. “Why the hell didn’t you call me when you saw my son?”

Beckett shrugged, the kind that said I know exactly what I’m doing. “He asked me not to. And I remember those days. If he thinks I’m in his corner, that’s one less person he’s itching to defy.”

I ran my tongue along my front teeth, trying to argue with logic that, annoyingly, made sense. “So, he’s at school.”

“He’s at school.” Beckett nodded. “Watched him walk through the front doors. Was headed to the hardware store, hoping I’d find you.”

“So, you could tell me all about what a delinquent my child is?” I raised an eyebrow, ready to unleash my full Mama Bear if he so much as hinted at judgment. “Or remind me what a mess of a parent I am?”

He stepped closer, his face now inches from mine, voice low and dark. “Nah. You want to pick that fight, Peach. Give yourself a target for all that simmering rage you’ve been bottling up for, what—five years? Ten?”

I held my ground, but my breath hitched when his eyes dropped—just for a second—to my mouth.

“And yeah,” he said, voice dropping to a whisper. “I can think of much better ways to let off steam.”

Unlike with Luca, this didn’t feel gross. It didn’t feel performative. It felt like I’d been caught, clothes stripped away, heart exposed—and the worst part?

I didn’t hate it.

“Figures your little pea brain would go straight to sex,” I snapped, flustered, my cheeks blazing.

His eyes sparked. “I was talking about kickboxing. But I’m flattered.”

He straightened, that damn smirk still tugging at the corner of his mouth, and looked across the street at Hudson Hardware. “You’re Ty’s little sister. Alas, kickboxing’s all I can give you.”

I gestured to his bum leg and raised a brow. “Yes, well, beating the elderly is generally frowned upon.”

A deep laugh burst out of him, the kind that made my stomach clench for reasons I refused to examine. “You haven’t changed at all, have you, Little Huddy?”

“Me and my childbearing hips beg to differ. And don’t call me that—I’m 35. The nickname can die now.”

He didn’t respond, just stepped in close again and reached out, his fingers brushing the edge of my jaw.

I froze.

My brain screamed don’t you dare lean into that , but my body had other plans.

“Those leggings Friday night,” he said, voice like warm bourbon, “showed off all your curves.”

His thumb skimmed just beneath my jaw, and a shiver ran down my spine.

“Not a complaint in sight,” he added, gaze burning into mine.

I couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. Couldn’t do anything except feel the heat rising from my chest, flushing my cheeks, melting something I hadn’t let myself feel in years.

Mercifully, or cruelly, my watch alarm blared.

I jumped back like I’d been electrocuted, my hand clutching my chest.

Beckett rubbed the back of his neck, eyes dropping to the snow. “I promised Jace I wouldn’t call you. But I never said I wouldn’t tell you.”

I nodded, still trying to remember what the hell we were even talking about. “Right. Then… thanks, I guess.”

He reached for his truck door. “That boy of yours has a hell of a mouth on him.”

I opened mine to fire back, but Beckett got there first.

“I know exactly where he got it. Just forgot how pretty a mouth it is. Thank God for braces.”

That snapped me out of it. I rolled my eyes so hard I nearly saw my childhood. “Shoo, hotshot. Don’t you have something better to do?”

He grinned. “I can think of a few things.”

I turned and walked away, doing my best to shake off the aftershocks still humming under my skin. Beckett Conway was trouble, and my body needed to get the message.

Fast.