Page 136 of Moms of Mayhem
Even Tate blinked.
“I thought you hated hockey,” Stevie said, half scandalized, half impressed.
“Idohate 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 thepretzel 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.
