Page 59 of Moms of Mayhem
Ty cleared his throat, then picked up the empty paper plates littered on the floor around him. “I made some calls.”
“Oh, this sounds juicy.” Mason slung a leg over the armrest on my mom’s favorite chair, his chin on his fist. “Do tell.”
Everyone quieted down for the first time since we’d left the rink, waiting for Ty’s answer. “The kid you fought, Jack Donovan? His name isJohnathanDonovan, and he was thrown out of the league last season for repeated misconduct. Since he’s not allowed to play even under a new name, your game misconduct against him was also thrown out.”
Jace’s jaw hung open in shock, and I just grinned. “How’d you figure that one out?”
Ty shrugged, then grabbed a Gatorade off the coffee table. I held my hands out, and he tossed me one too. “I didn’t. Junie did.”
Emmy’s son frowned. “The neighbor kid?”
“Yep.” Ty sat back on the couch, adjusting his hat, not elaborating further than that.
“You fu?—”
I whistled loudly, slicing a hand across my neck in astopmotion, and Mason tipped an imaginary hat at me.
“—datingher mom?”
Ty shook his head, then put his hands on his knees, ready to leave. “No. Just helping out. Jace, grab your stuff. It’s late.”
Jace did as he was told, shoving one last slice of pizza in his mouth as he grabbed his backpack and hoodie, then waved.
“Tomorrow?” I asked as they were headed toward the front door. “New furniture and gym equipment should be here, if you can help set it up. I’ll pay you in food.”
Jace did a fist pump, then gave me a thumbs up, his cheeks stuffed like a chipmunk, exactly how his mom ate pretzels in the stands.
Mason stood to help me clean up the rest of the boxes as the rest of the team left, until it was just the two of us in our mom’s kitchen.
“When I asked if you knew how to find a Zamboni, I didn’t realize that meant you were finding one and driving it onto the ice yourself.”
Mason laughed, his dark hair a little longer than mine and far more styled. Despite both playing professional hockey and having the same brown hair and blue eyes, we were wildly different in just about every way. “Honestly, I love the idea of investing in Tate.”
“In the rink,” I clarified with a raised brow. “It’s a business.”
Mason turned and leaned against the counter, his armscrossed and his smile wide. “Yes, but Tateisthe business. She’s the heart of it all, isn’t she? It’s not Linwood Rink without a Mikaelson in charge. We’re just giving her a nicer ship to fly.”
I chuckled, tossing the last pizza box into the bin. “Pretty sure Zambonis don’t fly. And a Zamboni is not a ship nor a plane.”
“Honestly, it might be. The features on that thing are unreal—I pulled out all the stops. The chair is a massage seat with memory foam, perfect for those long, grueling five-minute laps. And I forgot to show you the fog machine.”
Pulling one of the barstools out from the counter, I sat down, my hip tired after a long day. “What did Tate say?”
“To the proposal?” Mason asked, his eyebrows jumping up and down. “You ready for a sister-in-law?”
“No, dipshit. I know she said no to that, just like every other time.”
Mason pointed at me, then winked. “One day, brother. One day I’ll get her to say yes, and she’ll realize exactly what she’s been missing out on.”
“A cocky son-of-a-bitch who’s missing a few teeth and a whole lot of brain cells?”
He laughed, then shook his head. “She was pissed about the Zamboni until she climbed up and felt that massage chair. That changed her tune—I knew it would. I like the investors angle though, and Tate’s the smartest girl I’ve ever met. I bet she’ll go for it.”
“Good Are you headed back to Dallas in the morning?”
“Yeah.” Mason looked out at the now-empty living room that hadn’t changed much in at least two decades, even though everything else had. “The bye weekend worked out soI could come see Mom when she gets home tomorrow, then I fly out after lunch.”
“How are you dealing with the whole Parkinson’s diagnosis?”
