Page 89 of Moms of Mayhem
I’d been the kid making cutting jokes to cover the fact that it hurt. That the people who were supposed to show up didn’t. That you had to laugh or else you’d crack wide open.
Giving up on the missing items, I crept across the room, trying not to let the old wooden floorboards creak beneath me. Everything smelled like her—lavender and vanilla and something fruity. Her bed was still rumpled from the night we spent tangled in it, and her green dress was splayed across the floor like some kind of forgottenevidence. I should’ve felt smug. Satisfied. Maybe even amused.
But all I felt was heavy.
Jace was talking about Ryan, but without knowing it, he was describing my dad too. Different flavor, same poison.
Mine hadn’t been flashy or well-dressed or on national television. He’d just been gone—buried in the bottom of a whiskey bottle most nights, yelling about things I didn’t understand and forgetting he even had a wife and kids.
He didn’t make excuses. He didn’t even try. Like we never even mattered enough to disappoint.
Before I could drown in a past I’d spent the last 20 years running from, I looked toward the window, considering the worst possible plan: open it, swing my good leg out, lower myself carefully down the porch overhang, and?—
Yeah, no. Not happening.
I could still hear Frankie’s voice in my head like a tiny drill sergeant:Do not overload the joint. No sudden impact. No unnecessary stress. And do your fucking clamshells.
Jumping out a second-story window for sure qualified as “unnecessary stress.”
I sighed and ran a hand through my hair. Fantastic. That left the hallway, stairs, front door, and a high probability of getting caught like some idiot sneaking out after a high school hookup.
Cracking the door a little wider, I listened to Emmy and Jace, voices quieter now. They were still in his bedroom, so maybe I could make it.
I took a breath and eased out into the hall, one careful step at a time, my boots in hand to keep the noise. Each creak of the floorboard sounded louder than a gunshot, but Ikept going.
Down the hall.
Past the bathroom.
Past the open door where I could just barely glimpse Jace laying with his head on Emmy’s knee, one hand in his hair. A picture of stability. Of effort. Of a mom who showed up, even when it hurt.
And then I was at the stairs.
They groaned under my weight like a tattletale.
I froze.
No one called out. No one moved.
I made it to the bottom and exhaled slowly, gripping the banister like I’d just completed an Olympic event. My hip throbbed, reminding me that I was not, in fact, invincible and had spent the night fucking the woman of my dreams in any position I could get us into pain-free.
But I was down.
I straightened up and glanced around the quiet living room, the remnants of Emmy and Jace’s life everywhere—shoes by the door, books on the side table, and that peachy coral throw blanket half off the couch.
It was domestic and real and terrifyingly perfect, and I didn’t want to screw it up. Not for her. Not for Jace.
Because if I was going to be in their lives, I needed to be more than just a warm body in the night. I needed to show up, too. Even when it hurt. Even when it was hard.
I needed to show them what stability looked like. To pick up the pieces when they were falling apart.
The lock turned quietly, and I snuck outside onto the front porch. A soft beep sounded, and I turned to look up at the little red light of the security camera I’d been dodging all week. Emmy had been delighted by all my gifts, but I knew just what Jace needed this time.
Yanking on my boots, I fished my car keys out from my pocket and made my way down the street to where I’d parked my truck. Last night, I’d been annoyed by the number of cars blocking the street near her house, but in the light of day, maybe it was a good thing I’d had to park so far away.
I made it to my truck and climbed inside, letting the heater warm up the cab until it felt like it would after a drive from my place to his. With a quick glance in my mirror, I pulled out into the street, and right into her driveway.
I pulled on a spare Yeti hoodie from the back and slapped a Mayhem hat over my head, then walked up to her front door, truck still running behind me.
