Page 68 of Moms of Mayhem
I sat there for a long moment, holding the note in my lap, heart tapping a little faster than usual. There was only one person I’d mentioned I sometimes did puzzles when Jace was gone. It wasn’t proof, but I couldn’t help thinking of Beckett.
Because Jace was right—Beckett made me feel seen. Not just looked at, not just noticed—but trulyseenin a way that was both comforting and a little terrifying.
I wasn’t used to that.
Maybe the puzzle wasn’t from him. It could be a kind gesture from a thoughtful neighbor, or a well-meaning friend. But if itwasBeckett…
I found myself wanting it to be.
Maybe there was something there. Something worth exploring, even if it didn’t last forever. But like Stevie said, it didn’t have to.
Some people come into your life not to stay forever, but to make you feel something again. To remind you that you’re still capable of soft things—hope, wonder, and leaning into someone new.
I traced my finger over the edge of the note, then set it gently aside.
Tomorrow, the house would be quiet. The kind of deafening quiet that screamed loneliness, if I let it. But when I opened the puzzle box and began sorting through the pieces, I wouldn’t feel alone this time.
No, this silly little puzzle made me feelchosen.
And for the first time in a long time, I letmyself imagine what it might be like to choose someone back. Even if just for a little while.
The terminal drop-off was fast, and Jace barely looked back as he wheeled his suitcase toward security. I smiled and waved until he disappeared around the corner, then sat in the car for a solid five minutes, willing myself not to cry.
It didn’t work.
By the time I walked into the studio for Beckett’s PT session, my eyes were puffy and red-rimmed, and I was clutching my coffee cup like it contained the last drops of my emotional stability.
He was already there, leaning against the reception counter in his usual hoodie and backward ball cap. Six and a half weeks post-op, and he was finally starting to move like he trusted his hip again. Still stiff, still cautious, but steadier. Stronger.
His gaze met mine, and something in his expression softened.
“You okay?” he asked, voice low and quiet like he already knew the answer.
I offered a smile that felt too wobbly to pass as casual. “Yeah,” I lied, setting my bag down a little too hard and pulling off my jacket. “I’m fine.”
Beckett didn’t press. He just gave a small nod, the kind that saidokay, but I’m still here,and followed me into the rehab room without another word.
We went through the exercises, and I corrected his form once or twice, but mostly I just watched him move. He still wore the metal brace over his hip that restricted hismovement, but if he kept up with his progress, this was probably the last week of it.
Beckett caught my gaze between reps like he was checking in without ever asking too much, only adding to theI feel seenthing.
“Hey, um… weird question,” I said after he finished his bridges on the mat. “Any chance you left a puzzle on my porch yesterday?”
He looked up at me, something unreadable flickering across his face before he shrugged. “What a nice gift.”
My stomach flipped. Not ano,but not ayeseither.
Just enough to keep me wondering.
I nodded, pretending that didn’t make my heart twist more than it should, and went back to my job. But I couldn’t help it—every time he looked at me, I swore there was something in his eyes. A tenderness. A question he wasn’t sure he had permission to ask.
After he left, I cleaned up the studio in silence, glad I’d made the decision to lighten my work load this week. I drove home, telling myself to get a grip. To be grateful Ryan hadn’t bailed on Jace again, that I had a whole week to myself, and that crying at the airport was just part of the gig.
But when I pulled into the driveway, I spotted a little basket sitting on my doorstep. I parked my car, then hurried to the porch, picking it up. Inside was a soft coral blanket, still wrapped in ribbon, a little stack of paperbacks, and another note.
For cozy nights, swoony stories, and a reminder that some men know exactly what their women are worth. You deserve all three.
Once again, the note wasn’t signed, but it was the same handwriting as yesterday’s package. I stared down at it, fingers trembling, and felt the same warmth bloom in my chest as the night before.
