Page 33 of Moms of Mayhem
I grabbed my phone, firing off a text before I could think twice about it.
Emmy
I need to set some rules before you’re allowed to spend time with my son
Beckett
Wow, confident move texting me with no name
Emmy
Hanging out with many other women’s sons lately?
Beckett
Alright, so you’re a woman. Thank you for narrowing that down. Maybe a selfie would help jog the memory.
Emmy
Does that work for you? Do women actually send you selfies?
Beckett
Sometimes. Maybe you’re lying and are actually a man. Before I get too flirty, best to find out how to tailor my approach. Like should I lead with complimenting your beautiful eyes or your Adams apple?
I snorted a laugh and grabbed my phone, headed for the bathroom to change. A yawn slipped free, so I hit his number to call him, too tired to type.
“It’s me, you idiot,” I said as soon as the phone stopped ringing.
“Miss me already?” Beckett asked. “It’s only been, what, 15 minutes?”
I rolled my eyes and propped my phone on the stand I used for skincare videos, wedged between a jade roller and a half-empty bottle of retinol. With my back to it, I started lining up the products for my very basic nighttime routine—cleanser, serum, moisturizer, the works.
“Considering I never once missed you in 15 years, no, I’m good,” I said, grabbing a headband to push my hair back.
“You and your son with the sick burns.” Beckett laughed. “At this rate, I need to invest in some aloe just to survive hanging out with you two.”
I smiled, walking across the bathroom to toss my socks into the hamper. “As I said, I need some ground rules if you’re going to be around Jace more.”
“I’m listening.”
“Number one. Clear expectations.” I peeled off Beckett’s hoodie and hung it on the hook behind the door. “If there’s even a chance you’ll have to cancel on him, you tell him in advance. No last-minute disappearances. He’s had enough of that.”
“Makes sense,” Beckett said. “And yeah... I hate that for him. What else?”
“Number two. No bullying.” I reached for the waistband of my shirt, dragging it and my sports bra off in one motion. “He’s got a sharp tongue and can take a joke, but don’t push too far. Ryan is...”
I paused, trying to find the right words.
“He hard on him?” Beckett’s voice had dropped, rough and low. There was something sharp underneath it—protective, maybe. Dangerous.
A shiver danced across my skin at the sound, heat blooming low in my stomach despite the chilly bathroom air. I was still facing away, my bare back to the phone. A few feet of distance shouldn’t have made his voice hit me like that.
“He’s critical,” I said quietly. “Jace needs structure, but he’s still a kid. He needs to feel like someone’s proud of him. Like someone sees him trying.”
There was a pause, then a throat-clearing on the other end.
“Got it. Any more rules, Mama?”
