Page 92 of Moms of Mayhem
Lori patted my arm, like she felt how emotional I was. “Come and sit. Beckett had all this food delivered, and if we wait to eat until those boys come inside, there will be nothing left.”
I laughed, and something loosened in my chest. The sharp edge of fear over whatever was going on between Beckett and I dulled a little.
Maybe this wasn’t a fluke. Maybe this was the start of something, and not just a fleeting moment in time.
I looked back out the window one more time and let myself hope.
“Mom, did you see that wrist shot?” Jace said as he tumbled in off the porch, my brother and Beckett in tow. “Pinged off the crossbar so hard, you could hear it echo through the mountains.”
“Too bad you still lost.” Ty stood in the doorway to take off his coat and boots by the back door. All three men in my life did the same in unison, like they’d done this a thousand times before, and I barely bit back my amusement.
“Byone.”
“Still lost,” Beckett chimed in, and I snorted a laugh when my son’s eyes shot daggers at him.
“I thought you were rooting for me.”
“Oh, I definitely am.” Beckett came into the kitchen, leaning over to kiss the top of his mom’s head and swiping several chips off her plate in the process. “But that doesn’t mean you didn’t lose.”
Jace let out ahumphand slid into a chair at the table, the wood creaking beneath him. His arms crossed over his chest, but any of the heartache I’d seen in his body this morning was gone.
“Next time, kid.” Ty leaned down to hug Lori too. “Smells delicious in here, ladies.”
“I can give you the recipe.” Lori gestured at the many plastic containers with lids tucked underneath. “Grab your keys, head out the door and into your car, get on the highway, take two exits, and stop at the barbecue joint on the corner. Tell them you’re here for the Conway Special, and it’ll taste just the same.”
We all laughed, then grabbed plates.
Lori was right—it was a good thing we’d eaten first, because the mounds of food disappeared far faster than I imagined possible.
Jace threw pieces of pulled pork to Rowdy, and we all chuckled as the three-legged dog leaped into the air, snagging each piece like he had no idea he was disabled.
The sun set early, and we moved to the couch, settled in to watch the Yeti play. I listened as the boys discussed how the season was going, and who had a chance to make a run for the Stanley Cup.
“How much longer until you go back?” Jace tossed a piece of popcorn up into the air, catching it in his mouth from where he sat on the floor in front of Lori’s recliner.
Beckett wiped his hands on his jeans, his attention glued to the TV. The Yeti were up 1-0 against Las Vegas, their division rivals. “I’ll find out more tomorrow, but I want to be back with the team and on the ice in February, if everything goes right.”
The second period ended, and he sat back on the couch, an arm resting across the back. With all five of us in the living room, it was a tight fit. I sat on the new couch between Beckett and Ty, Rowdy resting on Ty’s feet.
Beckett’s hand brushed against the back of my neck and his gaze shot my way for only a second, but the attention was enough to have my heart racing.
February.
That was next month.
I chewed on the inside of my cheek, already mourning the loss ofthis,the feeling of family my son and I had never really had. My parents were great, but they were living the retired life they earned and weren’t around much. I didn’t blame them for that, but it didn’t mean I didn’t miss it. And Ryan’s parents were even less involved than he was.
The broadcast switched to commentary, backgroundnoise to my beating heart, until a familiar voice cut through the room.
“I still don’t like the Yeti’s chances for a Cup run this year,” Ryan said, and the room went silent. “Even if Conway makes his return like they keep saying he will—and that’s a bigif,in my opinion—he’s not the type of player that makes a difference. Maybe once upon a time he was, but now? He’s old. His time has come and gone, and I just don’t think he matters anymore.”
Beckett’s hand slid down and rested heavy on my neck, like he needed to be grounded in the moment and sought me out. We all looked at him, gauging his reaction as they began to discuss him like he wasn’t a person with emotions, but a chess piece in someone else’s game.
Beckett didn’t flinch.
His gaze stayed on the screen, jaw tight, expression unreadable. The kind of practiced composure you develop after years of swallowing your pride and listening to everyone discussing your every move.
His hand remained on the back of my neck, warm and solid, and I didn’t dare move, even though I wanted to throw myself in his lap and block his view.
