Page 2 of It's Mother-Pucking Christmas!

RYDER

In the stands, the fans chanted the Icebreakers fight song, stamping their feet. I ignored them, focused on the scowling man in front of me. “You don’t have any leads?”

“We spent a lot of money on your security company,” Coach Kowalski said in his flat Rhode Island accent.

Hudson Wynter rubbed his jaw. “Even after spending a lot of time and money hunting this guy down and doing stakeouts, we just aren’t sure who this Crusher even is. This stalker goes old-school—no digital footprint, and they wear a disguise, usually some sort of inflatable Christmas character.”

“You’re supposed to be the best there is,” Coach Kowalski complained. “How do I know this Crusher”—he held up the latest note that had appeared on my car this morning—“isn’t going to come and kneecap my star player?”

“I assure you, my team is monitoring the fans. And I will personally be acting as a bodyguard for Mr. O’Connell.”

“Aww. Poor widdle Ryder needs a bodyguard,” my teammates teased.

Rick draped an arm around my padded shoulders. “Just pay me the money. I’ll stand outside College Boy’s apartment with ahockey stick and beat whoever comes near him. You’d get better results.”

“Shaddap, Utah!” Coach hollered at him, cuffing his helmet. “The only reason you’re even still on this team is because College Boy here is too nice for his own good and feeds you pucks.”

“I didn’t—” I began.

“I saw you!”

“There’s no ‘I’ in hockey team,” I murmured.

“There is in Arctic Avengers, and I bet that’s who’s after him,” Mike declared. “They couldn’t hire him away, and now they want to kneecap him.”

“I signed a contract with you all,” I said stubbornly. “I don’t go back on my word.”

“Not even for a salary worth a luxury SUV?” Pete grinned.

“This is a business.”

“My word isn’t about business. It’s about my reputation,” I said firmly. “You got me out of the beer league, Coach. You gave me a chance. I’m loyal.”

“You’re so sweet you make me sick, you know that?” Coach ruffled my hair.

“You see?” he barked at Hudson, “this is what I’m dealing with. This man has no sense of self-preservation. We’re only winning matches ’cause of him. Do something about this damn stalker!”

“I assure you,” Hudson said, “my best people are on this. And we are investigating the Arctic Avengers.”

“Forget stalkers, did someone bring their pugs to the game?” Erik did a double take.

“Yo, Pete, is that your puck bunny?” Mike joked.

“That’s my wife.”

All the personality dropped out of Hudson’s face, leaving the deadly cold gray eyes. We all shrank back. Hockey players might fight on the ice, but Hudson actually fought in actual combatin an actual war. Mike crossed himself, and he wasn’t even Catholic.

Two nice-looking girls slowly followed an elderly woman, who raced over. “Hi! Ryder! Hi!” The senior citizen waved.

“Granny Murray, I don’t think we’re supposed to be down here…”

“Live a little, Gracie!”

The pugs in Gracie’s arms barked at me.

“That’s him, Dakota!” The old woman grabbed the sleeve of the other pretty girl excitedly, pointing at me. “That’s the one I was telling you about.”

Coach and my teammates gaped. Hudson hissed out a breath.

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