Page 133 of Moms of Mayhem
The room lost it, howls echoing off the walls.
I laughed too, throwing it back at him and shaking my head as I fought off the ridiculous stingin my eyes.
Ty stood just off my shoulder like always. He gave a sharp nod, voice quieter but no less firm.
“You’ve earned this.” Ty pointed a finger at the floor. “You’ve fought tooth and nail to be right here, in the finals. Now go show them why no one wants to face the Mayhem in March.”
The room exploded in shouts, sticks slapping on the floor in a rhythm. Every single one of them was fired up, and so was I.
Hell, I might’ve been the only NHL player who felt more purpose coaching from behind a youth bench than chasing glory under stadium lights. But with this team? With this kid?
Yeah. This was the most important game of my life.
The first period hit fast and hard.
I stood at the end of the bench beside Ty, arms crossed tight over my chest as the Mayhem hit the ice like they had something to prove. The Kodiaks were no joke—big, disciplined, and sharp as hell on the breakout. But our kids met them stride for stride.
Jace was locked in from the first face-off. Head down, skates blazing, he chased every puck like it owed him money. But he wasn’t just fast; he was controlled and focused. He took a hit behind the boards on his first shift, and I held my breath, waiting for the temper that used to flare up and cost him time in the box.
But it didn’t come.
He popped right back up, shook it off, and got intoposition like nothing happened. No chirping. No slamming his stick. Just pure composure.
Ty leaned in. “He’s not fighting himself anymore.”
My throat was too tight to answer, my chest feeling like it might crack wide open.
Molly ripped a shot just wide early on, and Delgado flattened a Kodiak forward in front of the crease like he’d been waiting his whole life for it. Miles made a glove save so slick it had the whole crowd on their feet.
But the Kodiaks were relentless, and with two minutes left in the first, they capitalized on a rebound and slid one past Miles. 1-0.
I didn’t flinch, and neither did our bench.
Ty muttered, “We’re fine.”
And he was right.
The second period belonged to us.
We came out with teeth. Delgado pinched hard at the blue line and kept the puck in, swinging it across to Molly, who deked her defender with a move so clean the stands erupted. She passed it straight to Jace, and my kid—my kid—didn’t hesitate. Quick wrist shot, top shelf, blocker side.
Tie game.
The bench exploded, but Jace didn’t even celebrate. Just turned and skated back like it was routine. Like he expected that goal.
“That’s new,” I muttered to Ty.
He smirked. “Damn, he looks like you out there. Uncanny what a good role model can do.”
I grinned, then looked up in the stands and found her.
Emmy was on her feet, clutching a soft pretzel like it was a lifeline, cheeks puffed out like a damn chipmunk. Her eyeswere locked on the ice like her whole soul was down here with us.
I laughed under my breath.
Ty caught me staring and groaned. “God, she’s still the same. Stuffing her face mid-heart attack like snacks will ward off stress.”
“She’s perfect,” I said without thinking, still grinning like an idiot.
