Page 62 of Moms of Mayhem
Jace’s laugh caught me off-guard, but I turned to see him walk inside too. “We had a white couch at our old house, and my dad insisted we couldn’t eat on it. Couldn’t even put our feet on it.”
Mom lifted her socked feet until I was staring at the little grip marks on the bottom, then settled them on the couch. “You only live once, kid.”
I ducked my head, loving the sound of her little contented sigh. Jace kept talking, now perched on the edge of the sofa next to Mom talking about God knew what.
Mason nudged me with his shoulder, leaning against the wall. “Have we been replaced?”
“He’s shockingly nice to her,” Ty said from my other side. “Way nicer than he is to everyone else.”
“Yes, well, she’s used to asshole sons rebelling against their terrible fathers,” Mason said, eyebrow raised as he stared at me.
I shoved him in the side, then went into the kitchen looking for food. “Who’s hungry?”
Jace hopped up, already circling the couch. “What’s for lunch? And if you say chicken and veggies, I’m calling Child Protective Services.”
Mason didn’t miss a beat. “Good. Tell them we’ve got a minor in need an attitude adjustment.”
Ty smirked. “Make sure they bring a rib-eye steak. Rowdy and I aren’t trying to stay lean.”
The black dog barked at his side, and Ty reached down to pet his head.
I opened the fridge and grabbed one of the dozens of pre-packaged meals that had been delivered this morning, tossing it at Jace’s chest. “Survival of the fittest, kid. You want to make it to the pros? Then eat like it.”
Jace caught it with a scowl, and my mom laughed. “This is abuse.”
“Document it,” Mason said, dropping onto the couch and resting his head on Mom’s shoulder. “But make sure you spell ‘whiner’ right in your report.”
“Don’t worry, Jace.” Mom leaned into Mason’s hold. “I’ll show you where I keep the cookies later.”
Jace pointed at her, then stood to walk toward the microwave, ready to heat up his meal. “I always knew you were my favorite.”
She looked over the back of the couch, grinning at me. Tears shimmered in the corners of her eyes. “It’s so good to be home.”
Her fingers trembled where they rested on Mason’s arm, but the smile was the same as it always was. And for a second, I didn’t care about the new gym equipment or my busted hip or any of it.
All I cared about was a second chance to do this right, to be a good son and friend, not just a good hockey player.
19
“Oh, fuck, right there,” Beckett groaned as I rolled the pair of lacrosse balls over the tight line of muscle running from his low back into his hip on Sunday morning.
We technically weren’t supposed to see each other today. But the SOS text he’d sent this morning—Overdid it. Dying. Please help—and the noises he was making now told me exactly how badly yesterday’s move-in had gone.
I leaned in, repositioning the balls beneath his glutes, and pressed into his piriformis. “Let me know if I need to ease up.”
His response was a long, guttural sound that vibrated somewhere low in my spine. “Don’t stop,” he murmured, voice thick and wrecked. “This feels incredible.”
My fingers paused just for a second.Focus. But God, the way his shirt clung to the muscles of his back, how the heat of his body radiated through the cotton—how was I supposed to ignore any of that?
I turned my gaze to the wall, trying to keep my mind clinical. I was a professional, dammit. But all I could think aboutwas the way his breath hitched when I pressed just a little deeper.
“You’re ridiculously tight,” I said, then immediately regretted the words. “Sorry. I should just keep my mouth shut.”
Beckett laughed, low and unguarded. “This is so much better than Frankie abusing the shit out of me. You can say anything you want, and I’ll just tell youmore.”
My hand stilled again. He looked over his shoulder, his eyes catching mine with a heat that nearly undid me.
I cleared my throat and reached for the next spot on his glute and pressed harder, focusing on the task at hand. “I hold all the power here, hotshot.”
