Page 31 of Moms of Mayhem
It definitely didn’t feel like harmless teasing with my brother’s best friend.
I parked under the carport and grabbed my water bottle, coat, and bag from the backseat, watching Jace roll his fat-tired bike down the snowy driveway with a grin that nearly knocked me over.
“He said I can come skate at the pond tomorrow morning.”
I squinted against the headlights of Beckett’s truck. “You have school in the morning.”
“Before school,” Jace said, already bargaining.
“It’s dark before school, bud. I don’t want you riding your bike in the dark.”
“I’ll pick him up,” Beckett called from the truck, his voice cutting clean through the still night.
I straightened, pulse jumping as I looked between my son and the man I barely recognized anymore. His voice was warm, easy, like this was all so simple. But it wasn’t.
“Besides,” he added, “I could use the help setting up some gym equipment being delivered this weekend. We’ll call it a trade.”
“Come on, Mom.” Jace clasped his hands together like a prayer. The way his bottom lip popped out nearly undid me—it was the same look he’d given me when he was four and wanted a puppy. “I promise I’ll finish my homework.”
I pointed a finger at him. “No more skipping school.”
He looked back over his shoulder toward the truck. “Okay, Brutus.”
“I didn’t call her.” Beckett leaned out the window with his hands up in mock surrender. “But don’t keep secrets from your mom, kid. Bad move. They know everything.”
I tugged at the sleeves of my shirt, trying to stay grounded. “You remember what I told you earlier?”
Beckett laid a hand over his heart like he was reciting a vow. “Loud and clear, Mama. I got it.”
The smirk on his face made my stomach flip—and I hated that it did. Hated that I liked the way he said Mama like a nickname, not just a title. Like it meant something more.
“Fine,” I said, even though it wasn’t fine at all.
Jace whooped, then darted to my trunk for his hockey bag, lugging it toward the shed to let it air out.
I walked to Beckett’s truck, the gravel crunching under my boots, and leaned in close so Jace wouldn’t hear me. The scent of him—pine and spice and winter air—hit me like a sucker punch.
“You get one chance. Understood?”
His blue eyes caught mine, and it wasn’t just the cocky gleam that got me—it was how much he meant it when he said, “Pinky promise,” holding up his hand like a goofball.
I batted his hand away before I could do something even dumber than I already had, then turned and marched back to the house.
“See you in the morning, Jace!” Beckett called. “Goodnight, Peach.”
I flipped him off without turning around, because it was that or let him see the smile that was tugging on my lips.
Inside, Jace collapsed dramatically on the couch, replaying every second of practice like it was the best thing that had ever happened to him. And maybe it was.
That thought twisted something sharp inside me.
Because he already had a father who let him down at every turn. The last thing he needed was another man who’d vanish when things picked up again—especially one who was only in town because of a blown hip and a ticking clock.
I brushed my fingers through Jace’s shaggy hair. “He’s only here for a little while.”
“Duh, Mom.” Jace rolled his eyes, then walked towardthe kitchen. “The Yeti don’t stand a chance without him. I know he won’t be here forever. But he’s an NHL star—I’d be stupid to pass up this chance.”
I smiled, but it was tight.
