Page 61 of Moms of Mayhem
“Dad hated it. He said baseball players were allshowboaters with too much money and no morals, and that Mom had no business wasting her time around guys like that.”
Ty let out a sound that was halfway between a growl and a curse, and I couldn’t help but agree with him.
Emmy’s son hopped up far easier than I could, then brushed off his hands before shooting us a fake smile. “Weird, coming from a guy with six mistresses and a secret baby, huh?”
“Jace.” Ty reached out a hand to stop his nephew as he headed for the stairs, but Jace walked right past, his shoulders tense and body language telling us we’d touched on a topic he wanted no part of discussing.
“Well, that was fun,” I said. “Do we need to go after him?”
Ty sighed, then turned back to me. “No. Emmy told me this morning she can tell he doesn’t want to go to Connecticut for New Years. But Ryan has threatened to take Emmy back to court if he refuses. Worst part is, I don’t even think Ryan cares if he sees Jace or not. He just wants to control Emmy, even now. And Jace knows it.”
I crossed my arms, hating that for them. “He really is a dick, isn’t he?”
“He really fucking is.”
Ty headed for the stairs and I followed, switching off the lights on my new home gym as we went.
Upstairs, the living room was mid-transition, movers and contractors Ty helped me find getting everything ready. The old couch was gone, replaced by one that was much higher and easier to get off. The new coffee table was round with no sharp corners and no water ring reminder of my alcoholic father. We even took down the old curtains, replacing themwith shades on a remote timer so she didn’t have to open and close them on her own.
We laid down textured floor runners in every hallway, removed anything that was a tripping hazard, and redid the doors on the downstairs shower to make it walk-in, complete with a grab bar and a stool.
I’d even had the movers bring Mom’s bedroom furniture downstairs, and two guys were busy finishing the install on new French doors over what was once our dining room. Now, she was on the first floor and had no reason to go up and down the stairs.
Subtle changes, but important ones. The kind of things you didn’t think about until you had to. The kind that might let her come home from rehab without worrying what might knock her over next.
I paused in the living room, then turned to Ty. “You think she’ll like it?”
He pulled off his hat, then put it back on his head, taking it all in. “She’ll notice every single change we made, but I think she’ll like it.”
I nodded, swallowing around the lump in my throat at the thought ofwhyall of this was necessary.
Mom was coming home today, and I wanted it to feel like home—not a hospital, not a halfway place. I wanted her to know how much we loved her.
A car pulled in the driveway, then honked three times. I looked out the front window to see Mason behind the wheel of a flashy SUV I had no idea how he’d acquired on such short notice. It was lower to the ground than my truck and would be much easier for her to get in and out of, so I didn’t plan on asking many questions.
He parked as close as he could to the ramp over the frontstairs, then ran around the car to help Mom out. Jace came out of the garage and grabbed her other arm, and I smiled at the sight.
The bruising on her face was almost gone, and someone had combed her hair into a neat ponytail, right above her neck. Mason had just signed a new sponsorship deal with Adidas, and she was wearing a new pair of pants and a loose tee she could fit her cast through—one of about eight sets my brother had brought for her.
Together, Mason and Jace helped Mom across the short walkway, then up the ramp into the house. Ty grabbed the door, holding it open. “Welcome home, Mrs. Conway.”
“How many times have I told you to call me Lori?” Mom nudged him with her shoulder as she walked by, holding on to Mason’s arm. “You’re old, I’m old. We can be friends now.”
Ty’s mustache twitched, but I held my breath, waiting for Mom’s reaction to the changes I’d made.
She stopped in the foyer, staring at the new door frame in the dining room entrance, then leaned in to see her furniture within.
“Did I do okay?” I asked, nervous as hell for her answer.
She let go of Mason long enough to hold her good arm out for a hug, and I stepped into her embrace. Her hands trembled on my back, and I fought not to tear up at the feel of it, but she just held me tighter. “Thank you, my sweet boy. What a wonderful idea.”
When she let go, her head bobbed in a little nod, then she pulled Mason forward.
“Geez, Ma, take it easy on me,” Mason said, and Mom giggled.
Her laugh was one of my favorite sounds, so light andairy. It had the same lilt it always had when we were kids—like nothing in the world could touch her in that moment. Like for just a second, everything was easy again.
Mason led her to the new sofa, then helped her sit down. She let out a sigh, then rubbed her hands across the soft but supportive off-white fabric. “You kids would have destroyed this couch so fast.”
