Page 126 of Moms of Mayhem
I laughed, climbing into the truck, heart heavier than I expected, and fuller than it had been in a long, long time.
37
By the end of February, I was skating with the team again. Running drills, crashing into the boards, feeling like myself. Between Frankie’s routines and Emmy’s suggestions, all of my rehab had paid off.
But my apartment was too empty, too quiet.
I talked to Jace every morning while he and Ty drove to the pond before school. They kept me updated on practice schedules and the team’s group chat drama, and once sent me a video of a locker room dance-off that made me snort coffee through my nose. The Mayhem were on fire, headed straight into the finals for playoff season, and I was living vicariously through them.
Emmy called every night, sometimes for five minutes, sometimes for an hour. Just hearing her voice settled something in me, but the silence after I hung up always came louder.
I was grateful to be back in Denver, healthy, and on the verge of a comeback. I wasn’t taking any of it for granted. But each time the Yeti notched a win, each time the guys made aplay that lit up the rink, it wasn’t the same. Not when I knew what I was missing to be here.
Over the last few weeks, I’d managed a few stolen nights—quiet getaways on my rare off days when the travel schedule lined up and nobody was watching too closely. I’d hit the road before sunrise, make the mountain drive to Linwood just to be there for one practice, one dinner, one night where I could fall asleep with Emmy curled against me. Then I’d wake up to sneak out of the house, and come back in to Jace grumbling about breakfast cereal, unaware I’d slept just down the hall. It wasn’t sustainable, but it kept me sane.
By mid-March, those chances disappeared. I was traveling with the team again, the calendar was packed, and expectations were mounting. My ability to sneak away slipped through my fingers, and the distance stretched wider by the day.
Going weeks without seeing Emmy and Jace wasn’t just hard—it felt like losing parts of myself I’d only just gotten back. As much as being off the ice had killed me, being away from them was almost worse.
“You should have seen it,” Jace said the night after they won the semi-finals, his voice buzzing with adrenaline and eyes alight with excitement even through the video call. “Molly got checked so hard she flew straight into their bench and took out three players. She’s so fucking good its criminal, and yes, I swore. Shut up.”
I chuckled, loving his enthusiasm. “So, how’d you score then?”
“That’s the craziest part. Somehow, she still managed to keep control of the puck. Got it to me, and I nailed the top shelf like it was nothing. Everyone lost it. I think Ty even smiled.”
I laughed as I leaned back against the headboard in my hotel room. “That’s gotta be a sign of the apocalypse.”
“Seriously. It was the best game of my life,” Jace said, a little breathless as he flopped back on his bed, holding the phone above his face. “I wish you could have seen it.”
His face softened, not angry, just honest.
I rubbed the back of my neck, throat thick. “I know, bud. I wanted to be. The whole Yeti locker room was watching the clips your mom sent over my shoulder. Logan put the end of the game on in the locker room so we could all see it. I even wore my Mayhem hoodie. Doesn’t matter if I’m a thousand miles away—I’m still your biggest fan.”
“I know,” he muttered, his cheeks pink with a blush at the idea of all my teammates rooting for him. “It was just fun when you were on the bench.”
“It really was, huh?”
We sat in silence for a second, letting the ache settle between us. Then I cleared my throat.
“You ready for State?” I asked. “You nervous?”
“No,” he said instantly, but his gaze drifted to the side. “Yes. Maybe.”
His cheeks puffed out, and I gave him the time he needed to figure out what he wanted to say.
“Dad says he’s going to try to come to the game. Think you can be there, too?”
I squeezed my eyes shut, hating that I didn’t know. “I’m trying my best, bud. There’s nowhere I’d rather be.”
Not until the words were out of my mouth did I realize what I’d said, and how deeply I meant it.
There wasnowhereI’d rather be.
Not on the ice at Mile High Arena, not racking up points in the NHL, not chasing a comeback that had drivenme so hard through recovery, not even a Hall of Fame induction ceremony.
Justthere. With him. With Emmy. With the people who didn’t care about the number on my jersey or the highlight reel on ESPN. The ones who’d celebrated my smallest wins like they were monumental. Who showed up, every time, no matter what.
We hung up shortly after, and I stared at the ceiling, phone still clutched in my hand. Something loosened in my chest—something I hadn’t even realized was wound tight.
