Page 98 of Moms of Mayhem
“Yeah.”
“Good.”
His lips touched down on mine in a featherlight kiss, one after the next, testing and teasing.
And then we were all in.
It was the kind of kiss that made your toes curl and your fingers itch to tug someone closer. The kind of kissthat felt like a livewire had been pressed right against your skin and lit up every nerve ending from the inside out.
Beckett’s hand found my waist under the blanket, fingers splayed wide over my skin. “Hope Ty doesn’t come honk at us,” he murmured against my lips.
I shook with laughter, even as I pulled him closer. He climbed over top of me, pinning me to the blankets beneath us. His hand slid under my hoodie, pushing the fabric up and leaving a trail of goosebumps in his wake.
He paused enough to look at me. “You cold?”
“No,” I said, my lips swollen and voice breathless. “You?”
He shook his head, dipping to kiss along my neck. “Not even a little.”
My fingers raked through his hair as his hands roamed my body, touching and stroking everywhere that felt good. His hips settled between mine, fully clothed as we kissed and groped, like we really were two desperate teenagers sneaking up to Makeout Point past curfew.
His lips slowed against mine until the kiss softened into something quieter—less heat, more ache. With a sigh, he rested his forehead against mine, breath mingling in the sliver of space between us.
“I keep wondering what it would’ve been like,” he said, voice low and gravely, “if I’d done this 20 years ago. If I’d realized how amazing you were and swooped you up before you even met Ryan.”
My heart thumped, sudden and sharp. “And?”
Beckett exhaled through his nose, rolling to the side and bringing me with him, eyes fixed on the night sky above.
“And I would’ve screwed it up. I was a mess after my dad died. A huge part of me was glad he was gone. Like… at least all the pain his addiction caused was over. He couldn’t berate Mom anymore. He couldn’t hurt us with his silence. He couldn’t ruin the good stuff just by existing in the room.”
He swallowed hard. “But then I’d think—what kind of son feels relief when his dad dies?”
I ran a hand across his chest, remembering that night all too well. “I don’t think that makes you shitty. He hurt you. And he couldn’t anymore.”
Beckett leaned his head against mine. “It wasn’t all bad. When I was little, when he worked the mill, things were okay. But after it shut down… he just gave up. Crawled inside a bottle and dragged us all down with him.”
“I’m so sorry.” I snuggled closer, hating the weight in his voice. “I bet making Juniors after he died felt like a kind of freedom.”
He let out a bitter laugh, arms tightening around me. “It was. I left and never looked back. I’ve spent over 20 years running, afraid that if I came home, the only things waiting for me would be ghosts.”
“Are they?” I asked, my voice quiet.
He shook his head. “No. I don’t see him anymore. I see Mom. I see Ty and Mason and me on the pond, freezing our asses off until our fingers didn’t work. I see Coach believing in me when I couldn’t even look in the mirror. At 16, all I could feel was the bad. But now? Now I see everything I walked away from. Everything I missed.”
His words settled over me, heavy and honest.
After a moment, I whispered, “I don’t know if we’d have made it work back then.”
“Yeah.” He nodded slowly. “I think about that too.”
I let out a breath, my chest tight. “Back then, I was naïve. A little too brave. Not broken yet, but also… not me. Some days I’m still figuring out who that is.”
He pressed a kiss to my forehead, smoothing back the fly-aways. “And if you’d never met Ryan, Jace wouldn’t exist.”
That landed like a stone between us.
I nodded, grateful he understood. “Even knowing everything I know now—I’d still go through it all again if it meant I got him. Every heartbreak. Every mistake. He’s worth it.” Tears welled at the edges of my eyes, but I didn’t blink them away. “He’s wortheverything.”
