Page 87 of Moms of Mayhem
Ty’s truck idled outside, the blue paint sparkling in the sunlight. He sat in the driver’s seat, Rowdy in the middle, as Jace climbed out of the passenger side with a duffel slung over one shoulder and a scowl on his face.
“Oh shit,” I hissed under my breath. “Why the hell is he?—”
Panic surged. I spun around, already halfway across the room, snatching a pair of pajama pants and Beckett’s hoodie hanging off the back of the chair in the corner.
“Beckett!” I whisper-shouted, even though he was already sitting on the edge of the bed, looking at me like I’d lost my mind. “Jace is home!”
His eyes went wide, and I shoved a pile of his clothes into his chest. “Get dressed. Now. Stay in here and do not come out unless the house is on fire.”
“Peach, what?—”
“Shhh!” I pulled the hoodie over my head as I raced toward the bedroom door. I got it shut just as the front door opened.
Footsteps pounded up the stairs, heavy and annoyed.
“Jace?” I called, forcing my voice into something resembling casual as I stepped into the hallway. “I’m so glad you’re back! How’d you get home so early? Your flight wasn’t until tonight!”
He didn’t even glance at me, beelining for his room. The duffel thudded against the floor when he dropped it. “Got on an earlier flight. Called Ty when your phone went to voicemail.”
As panicked as I’d been at the sight of him in the driveway, a new kind of panic surged, making me sick to my stomach when I turned the corner and saw my son laying face down on his bed, body splayed out.
I followed, heart hammering like I’d just run a marathon. “Everything okay?”
“No.” His words were muffled by the pillow he’d shoved his face into.
I lingered in the doorway, nerves frayed, glancing back at my room where Beckett was, naked and hiding inside. This was not how I imagined introducing my son to the idea of me and Beckett, not even close.
“Did something happen with Dad?” I sat down on the edge of the bed, reaching across the mattress to slide my hand across his back, mourning the days when I could just scoop him up and hold him tight.
Jace turned his face, the pillow scrunched up tight under his cheek. His eyes were red-rimmed like he was holding back tears, and my heart broke into a million pieces.
“Don’t make me go back there.”
My nose scrunched, eyes burning as I held back my own tears. “Tell me what happened, and I’ll see what I can do.”
Jace sat up, his back to the doorway, the pillow in his lap, and told me about how Ryan had taken him to film a podcast. “At first, it was cool—this big studio, lights everywhere, a whole setup dedicated to talking about hockey and father-son bonds. Dad was hamming it up for the camera, cracking jokes, name-dropping like it was a sport of its own.”
I nodded, all too familiar with just how good Ryan was at winning people over. Tugging at the too-long sleeves of Beckett’s hoodie I’d had for weeks now, I pulled my hands inside, needing to do something other than reach across and touch my son.
“He said all this stuff about how proud he was of me,” Jace muttered, picking at a loose thread on the pillow. “Talking about how he’s been there for all my biggest moments. First hat trick, first travel team tryout... even my fight at the beginning of the season.”
My head jerked back as if I’d been slapped, anger building in me until I felt like amatch to gasoline, seconds from going up in flames.
Ryan wasn’t atanyof those things.
“It caught me off-guard,” Jace continued, voice tight. “But then he kept going. Talking about how we train together every summer, how we talk on the phone every night after games. Mom, wedon’t. I didn’t even correct him at first, I was so surprised. I just... sat there.”
My jaw clenched. I could practically hear Ryan’s voice, smooth and smug, weaving his carefully crafted fiction. All for the optics. All for his brand. My hands balled into fists under the sleeves, wishing I could lash out at something, but I kept my mouth shut, wanting Jace to finish hisstory.
“Then the podcasters brought up the Mayhem. Asked if it was true Beckett’s been helping coach me while he’s on IR.” Jace finally looked at me, eyes shining. “I said yeah, and said how cool it’s been working with him and how much I’ve learned. And then Dad—he cut me off.”
I couldn’t breathe.
“He said I wouldn’t be on the Mayhem much longer. That he got me into this elite prep school in Canada. Said it like it was already done. Like he was doing me this huge favor.” Jace's voice cracked, tears gathering on the edges of his eyes. “But he never even asked me.”
My heart shattered.
“Then he started bashing Beckett, the way he always does. Said I needed real coaching. Said I’d never make it to Juniors if I stayed here under some has-been.” Jace’s voice dropped. “But Beckett believes in me. He actually shows up. And Dad made him sound like a joke.”
