Bonus Chapter
Mama Hayes
Bacon sizzles in the pan as morning light pours through the window, catching the deep red roses Carter set on the counter a few minutes earlier. I’m still trimming the stems when the door shuts behind him.
“My oldest troublemaker,” I say without turning.
Carter exhales a soft laugh.
Twenty-five years old, shoulders broad, beard darkening every time I see him, and eyes that look older than they should, until he’s standing in my kitchen.
Here, he smiles more easily. Here, he still looks like my boy.
“They reminded me of yours,” he says quietly, nodding toward the roses.
“They’re beautiful,” I tell him, brushing my fingers over the petals.
He shrugs, but the corner of his mouth lifts.
Before the moment can settle, the back door explodes open.
“MAMA, I HAVE ARRIVED. HOLD YOUR APPLAUSE.”
I laugh, whispering to myself. “My wild boy.”
Maverick storms in like he’s entering a stadium rather than a kitchen.
Twenty-three years old, newly in the NFL, and louder than the coffee pot, he nearly collides with Carter, who catches him by the back of his shirt without even looking.
“Use your feet,” Carter mutters.
“I am using my feet,” Maverick argues.
“You’re fucking reckless,” Carter replies.
“Carter Hayes, watch your mouth.”
Maverick giggles as Carter pushes him, and Reed quietly slips in behind them.
Twenty-one years old, his smile already threatening at the corners of his mouth as he watches his brothers act like fools.
“My quiet storm,” I tease.
He nods once, taking over flipping pancakes like he always does when he visits.
Maverick reaches straight into the pan and steals a strip of bacon.
“Plate,” Carter says.
“I don’t need a plate, I have hands, duh,” Maverick repeats proudly.
“You’re disgusting,” Carter shoots back.
“Jealousy doesn’t look good on you,” Maverick replies, pointing a greasy finger at him.
I smack his hand lightly with a wooden spoon. “Don’t you dare touch anything else with bacon grease.”
He gasps dramatically. “Violence in this household? Mama, I thought you raised us better.”
“I did,” I say sweetly.
Reed snorts, his shoulders shaking as he tries not to laugh.
Maverick points at him. “You laugh now, but when I’m rich and famous, I’m buying a house and banning both of you.”
“You’d forget to pay the electric bill,” Carter says dryly.
“Nuh uh!”
“It’s true,” Reed adds softly.
Carter steals a pancake off Reed’s plate.
“That was mineeeee,” Maverick whines.
“You were giving a speech,” Carter replies.
“I was motivating the household.”
“You were yelling.”
“There’s a difference,” Maverick insists, climbing onto a chair backward. “All right, Mama, settle this: who’s your favorite? Clearly, me, because we’re both blonde.”
I glance between them, pretending to think.
“The one who brought me roses,” I say.
Carter hides a smile.
Maverick clutches his chest. “Oh my God. Is this what rejection feels like?”
“You bring me noise,” I reply. “Which I also love.”
Walking over to Reed, I squeeze his shoulders, whispering. “And you, my gentle boy, bring me solitude.”
Reed smiles, sliding a plate toward Carter without asking. Carter nods once in thanks, and Maverick groans loudly.
“See? He gets silent appreciation. I, for one, get shit on.”
“Maverick James,” I tell him, tapping his shoulder when he leans too far back. “Watch your goddamn mouth.”
The kitchen fills with laughter; Carter’s deep and easy, Reed’s soft and bright, Maverick’s loud enough to shake the cabinets.
I lean against the counter, watching them bump shoulders and argue over nothing, and my chest aches in that familiar, full way.
“You know,” I say suddenly, quieter this time.
They don’t notice at first as Maverick reenacts a touchdown celebration that almost knocks over a chair.
“Boys,” I repeat.
Three heads turn toward me.
“When you were little,” I begin, “you used to ask me how you’d know I was still with you when you couldn’t see me.”
Maverick rolls his eyes dramatically. “Mama, you’re not going anywhere.”
If only I could stay forever, moving through life with my boys.
Carter’s smile fades just a little as his gaze sharpens.
Reed leans forward, listening.
I set the wooden spoon down and press my palm gently to my chest.
“Our hearts,” I tell them softly, “are reminders that we’re never alone. If you ever miss me, or each other, you put your hand right here.” I tap my sternum. “And you listen.”
Maverick tilts his head, suddenly quieter.
“That beat?” I continue, smiling at them. “That’s me saying you’re always loved.”
The kitchen stills for a moment.
Carter looks down at his chest as if memorizing the words. Reed’s smile softens into something deeper, his eyes bright. Even Maverick doesn’t joke right away, which might be the loudest reaction of all.
Maverick clears his throat. “Well,” he says, louder than necessary, “that was emotionally aggressive before breakfast.”
I laugh, shaking my head. “Sit down before you fall off that chair.”
He falls anyway, screaming while Carter smirks and Reed laughs quietly under his breath.
I grab a pen from the drawer and scribble a note on a small piece of paper, sticking it to the fridge.
Always loved.
Carter notices first. His gaze lingers on the words, a steady look passing through his expression before he taps the note once.
Maverick reads it next and groans. “You’re trying to make me cry.”
“You cried at a dog commercial,” Reed reminds him.
“What! I want a puppy!” Maverick argues.
I laugh, shaking my head, and that’s when Carter steps forward.
He wraps his arms around me first.
It’s neither quick nor casual. It’s tight and protective, as if he’s trying to anchor himself. I feel the strength in his hold, the quiet way he presses his forehead to the side of my head.
“Love you, Mama,” he murmurs, voice low enough that it almost sounds like a secret.
My chest aches.
Maverick doesn’t wait long. He barrels into us next, his arms wrapping around both of us, and nearly knocks us sideways.
“I also love you,” he says loudly, squeezing too tightly. “And I’m definitely the favorite, just so we’re clear.”
“You’re crushing me,” Carter mutters.
“That’s what affection feels like,” Maverick replies.
Reed hesitates for half a second before stepping in, too, his arms wrapping gently around all of us. His hug is quieter, more careful, but it holds just as much love.
“I love you, Mama,” he says softly.
My boys, grown, loud, and stubborn, are holding onto me like they’re still small enough to fit on my lap.
I close my eyes and memorize it.
Carter’s steady strength.
Maverick’s chaotic warmth.
Reed’s gentle heart.
“Alright,” I laugh after a moment, pretending to struggle. “Someone’s going to burn the pancakes if you don’t let me go.”
Maverick releases me last, wiping his eye. “Don’t ever leave us, Mama.”
I glance at him, grabbing his face in my hands, kissing his cheek.
Carter smiles as Reed settles back into the chair.
Maverick pulls away with a light sheen in his lower lash line as he joins his brothers, torturing them with his chaotic self.
I stand in my kitchen, watching them argue over who gets the last piece of bacon, knowing one truth deeper than anything else.
They’re loud. They’re chaotic. They’re mine.
And they are always loved.