Page 49 of Moms of Mayhem
“Yes, you.” Beckett’s attention broke from mine, but not before a wash of heat went through me at the memory of last night. “How many fingers am I holding up, Pickles?”
Beckett held four fingers in the air, and Miles looked from the players back to Beckett. “Uh.”
“Pickles!”another kid yelled. “Hell yeah, fuck yeah. That’s great.”
“Language,” Ty and Beckett said at the same time, and I bit the inside of my cheeks to keep in my laugh.
Ty slowly skated closer to the kid who stood in front of far too many pucks in the net. My brother slid off his glove, holding up the same four fingers as Beckett. “How many fingers, kid?”
I walked across the bleachers and took my seat, watching this whole thing play out.
“You see it too?” Beckett said to Ty, and my brother nodded in answer.
“Would make so much sense. His reflexes are great, just his timing is shit.”
“I can hear you,” Miles said, looking up at the stands, but I was the only parent here tonight. “And didn’t you say we weren’t allowed to swear?”
“Answer the question.” Beckett leaned forward until his elbows were propped on the boards and his back was flat, trying to relieve pressure on his hip.
“Son of a,” I muttered to myself, then stood up and cupped my hands over my mouth. “SIT DOWN, CONWAY.”
Every head snapped my way, and Ty bent at the waist, his chest shaking with a laugh. Beckett stared at me, his eyesamused and his lips tipped up in a smirk. Slowly, he lowered his ass to the bench, sitting down before looking back at the players on the ice.
“When was the last time you had your vision checked, kid?” Ty asked, and Beckett crossed his arms over his chest.
“Couple years ago?” Miles answered, his inflection going up on the end. “I have glasses, they just fog up out here when my body temperature’s elevated, and then I can’t see.”
“You mean you’re hot?” Jace said, and several kids on the team chuckled until Ty waved his hand to quiet them down.
Beckett hung his head, and his chest heaved with a sigh. “Ty, are there any eye doctors in town?”
Ty shook his head, then scooped up another puck, passing it to the players all forming a line to his left and right. “I’m on it.”
I leaned my elbows back on the row of bleachers behind me, a slow smile taking over my face as I watched the two boys I’d spent my whole life with turn into men right before my eyes.
One by one, Beckett called out weaknesses with each kid on the team, highlighting not only what he saw they were doing wrong, but minor tweaks they could help each kid improve. And each time, he gave them more and more ridiculous nicknames, including Jace’s very ownJuice.
In the 30 minutes of practice I got to watch, the improvement in the Mayhem players was shocking to see.
Now that I was watching for it, I didn’t know why no one noticed Miles’ vision problem sooner. He was always in the right spot, doing everything he was supposed to. But every time the puck flew at him, there was this tiny delay, and it was just enough for it to slip past.
Miles wasn’t falling short because of effort orattitude—he was trying harder than anyone out there. He just quite literally couldn’t see the full picture.
My phone buzzed in my pocket, and I looked down to see an email from Jordan, with one word on it.
Subject:PT Check-Ins – Linwood Athlete
Done
Jordan Riviera, DPT
I twisted my hands in my lap, a riot of emotions flooding me. Taking Beckett on as a client was a smart move. Eight weeks with him and the mountain of debt that had been sitting on my chest like a brick would be gone. It meant forward motion, instead of just treading water.
But it also meant Beckett. Up close. Hands-on. Every single day. And that was complicated.
I was already too aware of him. Of the way he moved, the way he watched people when he didn’t think anyone was watching him. The way his voice dropped when he told me to touch myself and think of him.
There was no professional distance when my pulse kicked up every time the man so much as looked in my direction. Any walls I’d normally have against a man like him were gone because, deep down, IknewBeckett, or at least who he once was.
