Page 17 of Moms of Mayhem
The timer on my watch started beeping, and I dropped my shoulders. “I have to go but think about tomorrow. We’ll make it work at your speed.”
She nodded, and this time her smile seemed more genuine. “I’ll let you know.”
I smiled back, watching her walk away, Harper half-asleep against her chest, the weight of motherhood settling into her posture the way it used to settle into mine.
As I turned toward the studio, juggling the crushed pastry box and what little dignity I had left, the ache hit me square in the chest. That old familiar loneliness. The one I thought I’d outgrown once Jace got older—once I could sleep through the night and hold a full adult conversation without a baby monitor in my hand.
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 naïve 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 finishmostof 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. Heis.
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 disappearedaround, 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 justdifferent.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’tasking. I was justgiving. 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 agreatkid. 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.
