Page 120 of Moms of Mayhem
“It’s Coach,” he said, already swiping to answer. “Hey. You’re on speaker.”
The room quieted instantly. Even Logan stopped mid-popcorn toss.
Frankie’s voice came through first, cheerful and direct. “You passed your post-op movement tests this morning, Conway. Coach and I just finished your file review with Dr. Carter. You’re cleared to return to practice on Friday.”
For a beat, no one moved.
Beckett’s voice didn’t waver. “Friday’s perfect.”
He hung up, then looked up at the room, his smile faltering when he looked at my son. “Shit. That’s the last regular season game for the Mayhem.”
My eyes flew straight to Jace. He didn’t say a word—just looked at the floor and nodded once. He was trying to act cool, like it didn’t matter. Like it hadn’t meant the world to him. But the way his shoulders curled inward made my chest ache.
Ty shifted beside me and leaned forward, raising his voice just enough to cut through the quiet. “I’ve got the rest of the season. We’ll make you proud.”
Jace looked up, surprised, and Ty locked eyes with him across the room.
“Promise,” he added. “You’re not losing us.”
That one word—promise—landed like a stone in my chest.
Jace gave a tight nod, and this time, his shoulders didn’t sag quite so far.
Then the room erupted.
Logan whooped and tackled Mikko in a side-hug that was half full-body takedown. Lori clapped, then held herhands out for a hug from her son. Even Ty gave Beckett a solid clap on the back.
And Beckett—God, he turned around glowing, grinning like a kid at Christmas, and strode toward me like he was going to kiss me right then and there. I saw it coming. The lean, the look, the way his eyes dropped to my mouth like he couldn’t help it.
But then his gaze flicked just past me to my son, still sitting cross-legged on the floor, eyes on the TV, trying a little less hard now to pretend he wasn’t paying attention.
Beckett’s steps faltered. He caught himself, masked it with a grin, and pulled me into a quick, one-armed hug instead, his cheek brushing mine, his voice low and warm in my ear.
“Later,” he whispered. “I’ll come over tonight.”
Even though my heart ached from the weight of goodbye, I couldn’t deny him anything.
35
After the chaos of Lori’s house, my own felt far too quiet.
Jace had gone to bed almost an hour ago, exhausted from practice and pizza and trying not to let the weight of the world show on his shoulders. I’d lingered in his doorway after saying goodnight, watching the soft rise and fall of his chest, committing it to memory like I always did when life started to shift around us.
And things were shifting, fast.
Beckett was going back to Denver, back to the NHL. Back to a life that had never included us and might not again. At least, not like this.
In all our time together over the last three months, we hadn’t talked about what came next. I told myself it was because I didn’t want to distract Beckett, didn’t want to add pressure when he was already trying to rehab his way into a miracle recovery. But, deep down, I was terrified.
What if this was only ever meant to be temporary?
The TV hummed across the living room, volume low, some old romcom flickering like a ghost of something justout of reach for me. The water I’d poured myself after we got home was mostly untouched on the coffee table, condensation pooling in a perfect ring beneath it.
I glanced at the clock—11:46 p.m.—and curled my legs beneath me tighter on the couch. I didn’t know why I was so nervous. He’d been here dozens of times. Kissed me breathless in my kitchen. Even slept in my bed on New Years Eve. But something about tonight felt heavier, knowing it might be the last time.
My phone lit up on the armrest beside me, showing motion at the front door.
I didn’t even look at the feed. Just stood, smoothed my hands over my worn pajama pants and his oversized hoodie, and tiptoed barefoot across the hardwood.
