Page 91 of Moms of Mayhem
She was coming.
I didn’t know exactly what that meant for us yet, but for now, it felt like something solid. Something real.
27
Lori Conway’s house was cozy in the way that only an older home could be—dated, yes, but lived in. The walls had been recently painted a soft blue, and the new sofa in the living room still had the faint smell of plastic wrap and delivery-day excitement.
Signs of her progressing Parkinson’s Disease were everywhere, from the safety bars in the hallway to the line of pills on the side table, but this house still looked like a home. I could see why she didn’t want to leave.
I stood near the window, hands wrapped around a steaming mug of tea, watching the snow blanket the quiet landscape outside. A line of evergreens bordered the back of the property, their limbs heavy with white. The pond stretched out just beyond the porch, its surface solid and shining in the soft winter sun.
Jace was out there now, gliding across the ice in a practiced rhythm, making me realize just how often he and Beckett had done this lately. His cheeks were flushed from the cold, hair curling at the edges from sweat beneath hisbeanie, and even from here I could tell—he was happy. Not faking it. Not trying to cover anything up with a joke or a shrug or some sarcastic jab.
Just happy.
My heart swelled, thick with a warmth I hadn’t let myself feel in a long time.
Beckett sat on a stump to the side of the pond, one boot propped up and hands buried in his coat pockets. I couldn’t hear what they said, but they were talking. Beckett’s face was lit with easy focus, and Jace gestured animatedly with his stick, something clearly important being explained or re-enacted. And Beckett… he just listened.
Not waiting for his turn to speak. Not brushing him off. Just there. Present.
I wanted to show up for him, he’d said. And he had, in every possible way.
I pressed the mug to my lips, letting the steam drift up and warm my face, as the fullness in my chest spread out like sun melting the thickest ice.
So much of the last 15 years, I’d done alone, Ryan only showing up when it was convenient or made him look good. Beckett, on the other hand…
This was anything but convenient.
The weight of everything he’d put aside to stay here in town with his mom hit me like a truck, realizing how much more difficult he’d made his recovery path for himself. If he’d stayed in Denver, he would have doctors at his disposal, not ones he had to drive nearly an hour to see. He’d have Frankie breathing down his neck, and a far more experienced staff than me. He’d have teammates cheering him on, reminding him how much they wanted him back.
But instead, he sat down on a crooked stump, breathfogging in the air as he gestured for what he wanted my son to do next.
He hadn’t asked to take over. Just quietly and deliberatelyshowed up,choosing his mom and my son over his own life.
I blinked hard, trying to clear the sudden sting in my eyes.
“Everything okay?” a soft voice asked behind me.
I turned to see Lori, a trembling hand light on the back of a dining chair, her expression kind. She had short blonde hair tied in a low ponytail that was more than a little uneven, but she looked far better than I’d anticipated, knowing where she was at in her Parkinson’s journey.
I smiled. “Yeah. Today has just been a lot. Jace was so upset this morning, and now”—I gestured to the window, where my son and hers stood together on the side of the rink— “Do you ever get over thinking you’re just royally fucking up your kids?”
Lori let out a sharp laugh, her eyes crinkling with amusement. “Unfortunately, no. But I was sure he was a lost cause after everything we went through, and look at him.”
She came to stand beside me, following my gaze out the window. “He really is good with him.” Her fingers bumped my elbow, and I lifted my arm in invitation. She slid her hand through, leaning on me for support. I could feel the way her body shook with a near constant energy, the tremors uncontrollable now in Stage 3. “That’s not new, either. Beckett’s always been the kind to make space for people when they need it.”
I didn’t answer, afraid that if I opened my mouth, too much might spill out.
“How areyoudoing?” I changed subject, looking over atthe woman at my side. “Beckett told me you got the all-clear for occupational therapy, and that they suggested someone come live here with you after he’s gone.”
She scrunched her nose, then looked behind her at the house. “This was my parent’s house, you know. Every one of my good days was here. The bad ones, too. I just don’t want to leave yet, not if I don’t have to.”
That was fair, and maybe someday I’d feel the same. She sighed, and I squeezed her hand resting on my arm.
“I’m not dying yet,” she said, the grit in her voice sounding so much like her son. “Despite what everyone seems to think, I know I’m never going to get better. If I get to choose where I spend my last years, I’d like to do it right here, preferably with boys skating out on that ice again.”
As if summoned by her words, Ty pulled in the driveway, Rowdy hanging out the passenger window. “Thank you for letting Jace and Ty use it. It means more than you know.”
