Page 86 of Moms of Mayhem
I’d spent my entire adult life worried about something, all the time. Since the moment I saw those two pink lines, doubt crept in, painting a picture of every single thing that could go wrong.
In those newborn years, I worried I was too young and incapable of giving everything I wanted Jace to have.
Then, I worried about milestones—was he talking soon enough? Growing fast enough? Sleeping enough?
And all the while, I was doing it alone.
Even when I was married, I was alone. Ryan was there in the way a guest was there—dropping in, smiling for pictures, then disappearing when it mattered.
When Jace had night terrors, it was me crawling into his bed with lullabies and whispered reassurances.
When the pediatrician mentioned potential hearing loss from too many ear infections, it was me scouring Google at 2 a.m., spiraling into worst-case scenarios.
When Jace had his first heartbreak in middle school, it was me who held him while he cried, feeling each of his tears like my own.
I carried the weight of being the parent. The comforter. The provider. The rock. Even when I felt like sand.
As a mom, I never got to rest. Not in the bone-deep way we all need every once in a while. I lived in a constant state of readiness, always waiting for the next call from school, the next argument with Ryan, the next crack in the foundation I was trying so damn hard to hold together.
But here, wrapped in Beckett’s arms with the world muted around us, I felt peace. Real, bone-deep, unfamiliar peace. For once, my mind wasn’t racing. Just the steady thump of his heart against my cheek, the heat of his breath on my forehead, and the quiet hum of a world that felt perfectly still.
I didn’t know what the future looked like. Jace was fifteen—on the cusp of everything beautiful and terrifying about growing up. Ryan would still find ways to make things complicated. There’d still be fights and fear and moments I’d second-guess every decision I made.
But somehow, I knew I’d weather it. Because I always had, but also because maybe I wasn’t so alone anymore. Between Ty and Shannon and Stevie, and now Beckett, my life was completely transformed from a year ago. Fuller, in the best way.
I shifted slightly, lifting my chin to look up at Beckett. His face was relaxed in sleep, lips parted, dark lashes brushinghis cheeks. He looked younger like this. Softer. He’d been through storms of his own, yet here he was—curled around me like he’d found shelter, too.
Something warm curled in my chest, not so much butterflies or lust, but something steadier. Like roots beginning to grow.
I ran my fingers lightly down his spine, and he didn’t stir. In this quiet morning light, wrapped up with a man who saw me, I didn’t feel like I had to be on high alert. For the first time, I could justbe.
“Good morning,” Beckett said, his voice all gravel and groggy with sleep. “What time is it?”
I lifted my head to look at my phone on the nightstand, but it sat unplugged and dead on the tabletop. “No idea.”
Beckett’s arms wrapped tighter around my back, pulling me flush against him. “Someone tell my PT I’m busy this morning. I’ll do my cardio at home.”
I grinned into his chest, tracing my fingers across his smooth skin. “It’s New Years Day. I think she can let it slide.”
He nodded, his eyes still closed, and I settled in his arms. Everything about last night had been perfect. More than I ever could have imagined, and exactly what I needed.
“What time does Jace come home tonight?” Beckett said, and I melted a little more into his chest at the mention of my son. “Should I come with you to pick him up?”
That made my mind stutter-stop, imagining every possible scenario of how this could go. “What would we tell him?”
Beckett’s eyes opened, shining bright blue in the morning light. “I don’t know. What would you like to tell him?”
“Nothing,” I said before I had fully thought through the idea. “At least, not now.”
He frowned, then loosened his hold on my waist, putting some distance between us. I wanted to pull him back to me, to explain that it wasn’t because I was ashamed of this. To reassure him with how I felt about him, this, all of it.
It wasn’t Beckett I was afraid of, but the change, and everything it would mean to my son.
Already, I could tell how much Jace idolized Beckett, and I loved that for him. If I introduced Beckett into even more of our lives than he already was and that all imploded, I wasn’t sure Jace would recover.
The moment I opened my mouth to explain, a quickhonk-honk-honksounded outside.
I sat up so fast, the world spun for just a minute, then scrambled to the window and peeked through the blinds.
