Page 36 of Moms of Mayhem
“What do you care about my mom?”
I winced. “Calm down, bud. We’re just friends.”
He didn’t respond—just turned forward and kept his eyes on the road ahead. The music played on, but the energy in the truck had shifted, and I knew better than to push it.
We pulled into my driveway a few minutes later, the lights around the pond already on.
Ty was waiting, leaning against his pickup with arms crossed, a familiar scowl painted across his face. Rowdy sat in the passenger seat, head out the window, tail wagging slow and steady.
Jace hopped out with a fist bump for his uncle. “You skating with me this morning?”
“Planned on it,” Ty said, eyes locked on me. “Need to talk with Conway here first.”
I let out a slow breath, reached for my crutches, and eased out of the cab one leg at a time. The pain in my hip pulsed as soon as I hit the ground.
I hadn’t called Ty last night—hadn’t had the guts—but I should’ve known Emmy would. Those two had always had each other’s backs.
“Didn’t know you were coming,” I said as I approached, moving slowly on my crutches.
“Didn’t know you volunteered me to coach,” Ty replied.
We knocked elbows, and he bent to grab his skates. Rowdy jumped down and did his little trot-hop beside him, tongue lolling to the side.
“You want to tell me what that was all about?” Ty asked, his voice low and even as we headed toward the pond.
“What part?”
Ty glanced back, one brow raised. “The coaching thing. Why? What else do we need to talk about?”
I stepped slowly down the plowed and salted path, crutches clicking against the wooden steps.
“Because I saw what those kids needed last night,” I said. “And I saw what Tate was carrying alone. You and I built our lives out here on that pond, and now it’s slipping away. I’m not going to just stand by and watch it fall apart. Coach would hate us for it.”
Ty shook his head but didn’t argue. He turned and led the rest of the way down, Rowdy at his side, leaving me to move at my own painfully slow pace.
My hip burned with every shift of weight, and I was starting to second guess the whole damn plan. First doctor’s appointment was in a few hours—I needed to get through this morning in one piece.
By the time I reached the pond, Ty and Jace had nearly finished clearing it. The shovels were put away, skates laid out. I took a seat on the stump by the stairs and let out a long breath. My leg throbbed, my shoulders ached, and my brain still hadn’t stopped replaying that damn video call with Emmy.
But as Rowdy curled up beside me, and I watched Ty knock off Jace’s hat, a familiar kind of peace settled in.
This was still home.
It just didn’t look the same anymore.
“What’s up, little buddy?” I scratched behind the black dog’s ears, and he leaned into my touch. “Think we can turnJace into an actual Juniors contender instead of just a smart-mouthed asshole?”
“Heard that.” Jace slid on his gloves and grabbed a stick from the shed.
“I fully intended you to.”
Ty’s mustache twitched, the closest I’d get to a smile from my friend, and I leaned forward, resting my elbows on my knees. “Alright, warmup first. Ty, run him through some drills.”
My old friend took over, and I watched Jace’s every move. He had great instincts on the ice—read the play well, handled the puck with confidence, and wasn’t afraid to take risks, even against a much bigger opponent.
But time and time again, Ty beat him to the puck, battling it away from his nephew in one-on-one. As Ty shot it into the right post for his fourth goal, he held his hands out to the side. “You want me to autograph that puck before I do it again?”
“It’s fine, your knee will give out soon enough. I’ll win the long game, Grandpa.”
