Page 8 of Moms of Mayhem
But this was my reality now—four weeks post-op from a hip labral tear that started with a dirty hit and ended with years of wear and tear catching up to me.
A month into the season, and boom—down for the count.
The surgery was one thing. The aftermath was another. So were the conversations that followed. Could I come back from this at 37? Everyone seemed to think I was a relic. They talked like I needed to hang it up and start practicing my golf swing.
Sure, I was a veteran. Sixteen seasons in the NHL. Tried and tested with four Stanley Cups to show for it. I’d earned every bruise, every scar, and I sure as hell wasn’t letting some hotshot rookie with too much ego or a washed-up NHL Tonight talking head decide when I was done.
I’d decide. No one else.
“Don’t break my boards,” Tate said as she came off the ice.
I looked down at where my hands clutched the metal, my knuckles white. Loosening my grip, I turned to watch Ty finish up and put his sled away.
“Is there a reason you haven’t replaced the Zamboni yet?” I gestured toward the sleds. “This seems like a lot of work.”
Tate clenched her jaw, her eyes turning to slits. “I’m working on it. I won’t let Dad’s legacy die like this.”
My gaze flicked to Ty’s, and he met my eyes with a shake of his head. “Well, let me know if you want help.”
She threw her hands up. “Not you too. First Ty, now you just ready to swoop in and save the day.”
My eyebrows hit my hairline under my hat. “Is that such a bad thing? I mean, it’s not like either of us are hurting for cash. How much can a Zamboni cost? Couple grand?”
A laugh ripped out of Tate’s mouth, her head tipping back. “Oh God, I forgot how out of touch hockey players are.” She shook her head, cleaning up the rest of the garage and muttering, “Couple grand, I swear.”
Ty put his skates back, then reached up above Tate to pull the garage door down for her. She slid the lock in place, then slapped him on the shoulder. “Thanks, Huddy.”
“Always.”
“Good to see you, Conway. Maybe stop by more than once a decade. The kids would love to see their hometown hero.”
I waved, resting my weight on my crutches as she walked off. Ty put his hands in his pockets and strolled down the bleachers toward the exit, Rowdy at his heels, and I moved to follow.
“Something going on between you two?” I asked. Ty was a loner, never one for many friends or relationships outside his family and the shadow of a rescue dog. Once upon a time, we were inseparable, and I would have already known the answer to that. Now, I had no idea what his life was like.
“Aside from me trying to keep this place from going under without her realizing I’m doing it?” Ty said, not turning to look back at me. “No.”
“Would you like there to be?”
This time he did turn. “For so many reasons, no. Coach asked me to take care of her before he died, which you’d haveknown if you came to see him. Or to the funeral. Or anytime in the last 20 years.”
I jerked back, the words hitting like a slap. And fuck, I deserved it.
“But also, when was the last time you talked to your brother? Because Mason has had a thing for Tate since they were in diapers.”
Ty pushed open the doors to the parking lot, and I followed him outside. It was snowing harder now, coming down in big, lazy flakes that made the mountain scenery look like a snow globe.
Linwood hadn’t changed much in all the years I’d been gone. The mountains still loomed like guardians around the town, evergreen trees dusted in white. The cold bit at my cheeks, but the air was clean in a way Denver never quite managed—crisp, quiet, sharp enough to make you feel something.
The rink behind us buzzed with laughter and skates carving into the ice with the Beer League guys starting up soon. But out here, it was just the hush of snowfall and the crunch of boots on packed snow. My breath puffed out in clouds, and I stood there for a second, letting it hit me.
I was really back.
Back in the town where I’d spent every winter morning freezing my ass off on a backyard pond. Where Ty and I would race to see who could skate fastest before school, then ditch homework to do it again after. Back in the place I’d left at 16 with stars in my eyes and a stick in my hand, convinced I’d never look back.
And yet here I was—older, bruised, busted-up—and somehow the mountains still looked at me like I belonged, even when I’d left everything important behind.
Guilt sat heavy in my chest as Ty approached a royal blue vintage F-150. Before he got to his truck, he turned back toward me, his keys in his hand. With quick movements, he pulled one key free from the ring and held it out to me.
