Page 88 of Moms of Mayhem
Silence stretched between us. The kind packed with heartbreak and fury and helpless love.
I swallowed the ache in my throat and put my hand on Jace’s chin, lifting his face until he saw how serious I was. “Over my dead body are you going to Canada. Even if he did get you in, our custody agreement is crystal clear. He cannot decide anything without me, and I’m not afraid to fight your father. Not anymore. You’re not going anywhere you don’t want to go.”
He nodded once, then tipped over on the bed until he laid in a little ball, his head resting lightly on my knee. “Did you find the dirty socks I left in the couch cushions for you?”
I brushed my fingers through his wavy hair, then leaned down and kissed his forehead. “Yes. You’re disgusting. Don’t ever leave me again.”
Jace smiled, then wiped at his cheeks with the sleeve of his hoodie.
Guilt twisted in my gut, sharp and unrelenting. How many times would I let Ryan fool us into believing that things would get better? I’d told Jace time and time again that it was important to spend time with his dad, even when he’d said he didn’t want to. I’d hoped that Ryan was trying, that it would be good for them to reconnect.
God, I’d handed him over like it wouldn’t cost him anything.
But it had.
Anger surged next, hot and choking.
Ryan didn’t take Jace to that podcast to bond. He took him to use him, to put on some polished, father-of-the-year performance for an audience that didn’t know any better. And when the cameras rolled, he didn’t care if his lies hurt the one person who still wanted to believe in him.
Then came the fury.
Howdarehe. How dare he sit there and rewrite Jace’s memories for the sake of his image, speaking in absolutes like Jace was just another line in his resume. Like my son was a prop, not hiskid.
And then—God help me—the hatred. For the man who had the audacity to mock Beckett. A man who didn’t know the patient way Beckett coached Jace for no reason other than he wanted to. Who didn’t see the pain he pushed through just to show up every day, the heart he poured into every second he spent mentoring a kid who wasn't even his.
Beckett wasn’t some washed-up has-been—he was clawing his way back from hell and doing it with more grace and grit than Ryan could even fathom.
I was done playing nice.
Let Ryan think he had the upper hand. Let him believe his spotlight made him untouchable.
Because I would do anything to help Beckett rise. To help Jace see the truth. And to make damn sure Ryan Meyers choked on his own arrogance.
26
Emmy snapped the door shut as she rushed out to meet her son in the hallway. I stood there holding my jeans and shirt to my chest like I was 17, about to be caught with my best friend’s sister. But this house was old and nothing was square; the door swung back open just enough for me to hear Jace and Emmy’s entire conversation.
“He’s cheating on Meredith, too,” Jace’s voice drifted through the half-cracked door. “Had a woman pinned against the bathroom wall when I went to find him. Then he asked me to lie for him.”
I stopped with one leg in my jeans, fists clenched on the waistband as fury turned my vision red. This fucking asshole.
“That—” Emmy started, then cut herself off. The ache in her voice twisted something deep in my chest. “He is a grown man. That is a completely unacceptable thing to ask of you,his child,and I am so sorry he put you in that position. I will speak to him about this and make sure we’re on the same page moving forward. He cannot ask that of you.”
Jace sniffed, and I finished dressing, shrugging into myhenley, even though I was missing a sock and my boxers. I scanned the floor around the bed, then swiped a hand under the bed for the missing items but couldn’t find them anywhere.
“I didn’t do it anyway,” Jace said, and my head popped up listening intently. “She picked me up from the studio after the podcast since he had to record Hockey Tonight, and I told her he was having a meltdown while trimming his nose hairs in the bathroom.”
I choked.
A sharp, involuntary laugh punched the back of my throat, and I slapped a hand over my mouth.
Emmy let out a startled snort before catching herself. “Jace,” she warned, but there was zero heat in it.
“What?” he said, deadpan. “He does have weird nose hairs now, so she bought it. I hope I don’t inherit that.”
I crouched again, one boot on, the other forgotten as I scanned for my sock with renewed urgency. My hip protested the movement, a sharp zing that reminded me of every way I’d tested my hip last night.
Glancing toward the door, still ajar, I listened to the voices drifting through it like echoes from another life. One I knew better than I wanted to admit.
