Page 96 of Moms of Mayhem
I turned to hang the clipboard on the wall when he said, “You think we’ll have a shot at State in March?”
I paused.
The question wasn’t complicated, at least not on the surface. But it hit somewhere deep, settling in a place I hadn’t realized was soft yet.
March.
I’d assumed I’d be back on the ice in Denver by then—rehab complete, hip ready, back in a Yeti jersey, chasing the Cup. That had always been the plan.
But now?
I looked at Jace, this kid who’d grown into something more than just Emmy’s son. I looked around at the chaos, at the stink and the noise and the locker room that felt more like home than any rink had in years.
I thought about Emmy up in the stands, her eyes shining, her voice hoarse from cheering. My mom beside her, smiling like she belonged there too.
And suddenly, the plan didn’t feel so solid anymore.
“How about we win the next game first,” I said finally, resting a hand on his shoulder.
He nodded, satisfied, already pulling his jersey off.
But I was still thinking about it long after the game, still feeling the shift under my feet. Because for the first time in a long time, I wasn’t sure what I wanted.
29
We’d hardly made it through the door before Jace sprawled across the couch, controller in hand, the last slice of pizza from the after party at Slice and Spice dangling from his mouth.
I nudged a plate under his chin to catch the piece of pizza before it fell on my sofa. “Nice game, bud. You didn’t even get a penalty. Who are you?”
He didn’t take his eyes off the screen. “Growth.”
“Mmhmm. Don’t forget to put your gear in the laundry machine. It reeks.”
“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
“It is, Jace. It absolutely is.”
I left him to his digital war zone and headed upstairs, undoing my ponytail on the way to my room. The second I walked in, I beelined for the black hoodie hanging on the back of the bathroom door.
Technically, it was Beckett’s. Realistically, I was never giving it back. Way too big, soft as sin, and smelling faintly like whatever bodywash he used. I slipped out of my bra andsweater then pulled it over my head, letting it swallow me whole. Without meaning to, I sighed like some lovesick teenager who couldn’t get enough.
As it settled over my skin, I heard it.
Thud. Thud.
I looked over my shoulder at the window, confused as to what the sound was at 11PM on a Friday.
Thud-thud.
Crossing the room, I peered out the window and grinned. Beckett stood below in the snow with a handful of snowballs, smiling up at me like some sort of Hallmark hero.
I yanked the window open, a puff of freezing mountain air smacking me in the face. “Why didn’t you just text me, you doofus?”
He shrugged, teeth flashing in the dark. “Seemed more like something one of those book boyfriends of yours would do.”
I bit the insides of my cheeks, trying to contain my laugh, even as my heart fluttered at the sweet gesture.
“I’m just excited. We coached a win tonight, Peach. And I need a victory kiss.”
