Page 57 of Moms of Mayhem
Juniper shook her head, then looked up at me. “Ty’s not mean. He’s the nicest person I’ve ever met. I like Beckett, too.”
The second period ended, and I stared at the two men in question, wondering when they’d grown up to be suchdecent men. They ushered the kids off the ice and into the locker room to regroup before the third period while several parents got up and cleaned the ice with the sled contraptions Tate used.
“You’ve met him?”
Juniper stood up to let someone by, and Rowdy shuffled until he stood directly between her legs, like he was guarding her. “He stopped by the ranch last night while I was playing with Dolly Pawton. Ty says she’s going to have babies, and then we’ll have new barn kitties.”
I looked toward the locker room, wondering just how much time my brother spent with this little girl between working and taking care of his animals and now coaching my son’s hockey team. “Oh, yeah? What were they talking about last night?”
Juniper sat back down and shrugged. “Something about New Years? I wasn’t really listening. Dolly got stuck in the hay bales again, so I was helping get her unstuck. OH!” She bounced in her seat, and I raised my brows to match her excitement. “They were talking aboutChristmas presents.”
“Oh, yeah?” I asked, wondering what two grown ass men were doing have a conversation about presents in a barn. “For whom?”
Her little hand shot out and poked me in the arm. “Foryou, silly!”
My head jerked back toward the lockers in time to see the players march out, my son in the lead. Beckett and Ty walked out last, shoulders almost touching and their heads together while they stared at a clipboard.
Once upon a time the two of them were always this inseparable, and I loved to see it again. But what the hell were they scheming up presents for me for?
“What were their ideas?” I asked, staring at Beckett so hard he must have sensed my attention. His eyes met mine, then flicked over to the little girl at my side. He winked, and we both blushed, as if his attention was enough to drive us both out of our minds.
“I can’t tell you,” Juniper said. “My mom says it’s no fun to spoil surprises.”
I hummed, my mind racing in a hundred different directions.
The game started again, and I stood on the bleachers, needing a better view. The difference between last week and this was shocking to see, the sloppy formations and stupid mistakes all but gone under new coaching. Beckett and Ty had switched up lines so the players on the ice were better matched, and everything just seemed tojive.
Jace hopped over the boards for a line switch, and I pulled my hands inside my sleeves, cupping my hands around my mouth. “LET’S GO JACE!”
Juniper stood up next to me, mirroring my words and motions, casting sideways glances at me every time. I grinned, loving having a little sidekick who didn’t yet think I was lame. Rowdy barked in answer every time I yelled, and together, the three of us were one chaotic cheering section.
With a minute left in the game, Jace got the puck and hopped, changing directions faster than I’d ever seen him move.
“GO!” I screamed, my heart slamming against my ribs with each beat.
With a snap of his wrist, the puck sailed over the goalie’s glove and hit the back of the net. My hands shot into the air, and a yell ripped from my throat. The buzzer sounded, and Jace dropped to one knee, fist-pumpingbefore his team tackled him to the ice like they’d just won the Stanley Cup and not the second game of the season.
Juniper’s arms clamped around my waist, and I hugged her to me while we bounced up and down. “He did it!”
My gaze found Beckett across the ice where he shook hands with the other coach, then looked up at me. His grin was wide, and his eyes sparkled with excitement. Like if it weren’t for his bum hip, he’d be right in the middle of the kid pile trying to unfold themselves in the middle of the ice.
Before everyone had even left the ice, the garage doors at the corner of the rink opened, and the sound of an engine rumbled toward us.
A green-and-black custom painted Mayhem Zamboni rolled out onto the ice, a man almost the spitting image of Beckett driving it while standing up. One hand was on the steering wheel, the other in a parade wave as he rode out onto the ice. LED lights lit up the rink green as he moved andTurn Down for Whatblared from a speaker somewhere on the Zamboni.
Tate stood in the garage bay with her hands on her hips, looking as shocked by this turn of events as everyone else. As if sensing the attention had drifted away from him, Mason Conway looked over his shoulder and saw Tate behind him.
In quick movements, he stopped the Zamboni and turned it off, hopping down onto the ice. The LED lights in the machine’s undercarriage still blinked bright colors and the music still blared from the speakers rumbling on the side of the hood as Mason slid across toward her with a microphone in hand, then dropped to a knee.
“Tate. Tater tot. My sweet potato pie. Make me the happiest man alive and marry me.”
18
My attention was split between my brother, kneeling on the ice in front of Tate Mikaelson for what had to be the 20thtime, and the new Zamboni parked in the middle of the rink.
Mason held his hands in front of his chest like a prayer, and Tate stared down at him with a look that could kill. I couldn’t see his face, but I knew he’d be smiling broad and his blue eyes would shine bright with hope and more than a little mischief.
There was nothing Mason loved more than attention; proposing to Tate had been a long running joke since their high school years. First, it started for laughs from their friend group, then he realized they could get free dinners if he did it publicly.
