Page 25 of It's Mother-Pucking Christmas!

Two uncles were crossing themselves and praying in the corner by the animatronic Santa.

“Traitor!” my family members hollered when they saw me.

“Dakota brought him here!” one of my cousins shouted then yelped as I swiped a meat mallet at him.

“You fucking ingrate, Morris, you don’t get to dictate who the fuck I bring to the holiday dinnerthat I am fucking cooking. You want to eat?Do any of you motherfuckerswant to eat?” I pointed the mallet at my family.

One of my uncles started shaking his head, confused and bewildered. His brother grabbed him, and he started nodding.

“Yeah? Then shut the fuck up. You. Come sit down.” I grabbed Ryder.

Gracie’s pugs wagged their tails at Ryder as I led him into the living room, where more family members waited in shock.

“Just… here.” I thrust a beer at him. “Drink this.”

“I brought—” He held out the hostess gifts.

“Yum, chocolate! And very lovely flowers. No, I’m not sharing,” I snapped at one of my cousins. “You can fuck right off. I need to finish dinner. You’re early, Boy Scout.”

“Sorry,” Ryder said.

I wanted to kiss the worry off his face. “Don’t be. I’m glad you made it. Ignore them. They’re harmless.Be nice,” I threatened my family. “Or else.”

Before I could make it back to the kitchen, my dad and his brother grabbed me and dragged me into his office, where more male family members were waiting.

“This is an intervention, Dakota,” Uncle Bic said seriously.

“Not just a man on the Icebreakers, but the captain? Ryder O’Connell? Have you lost your mind?” my father bellowed. “What were you thinking? My own daughter.”

I glared at Timmy, who was making big pleading eyes at me. I didn’t want to rat out my brother because my mom would literally skin him.

“I won’t be able to go to O’Malley’s again,” Uncle Kirk complained.

“This is embarrassing. For everyone,” my older brother Nico yelled.

“You have to choose. Him or us,” Cousin Bobby declared.

My mom stuck her head in, eyes narrowing. My father shrank back when she glared at him.

“You all are terrible,” my mom scolded.

“I’m serious.” Uncle Allen was stubborn. “Ryder has to go.”

“He can hear you.” My mom swatted him.

“Good. I hope he can hear me!” My father raised his voice.

“What a fucking disaster,” I swore.

My mom shooed my uncles out to go get the bonfire started in the backyard. “And stop ruining my chances to be a grandmother while I’m still able to take a piss without needing a walker.”

My brothers and cousins scuttled out to the backyard.

I checked on the mac ’n’ cheese in the kitchen, grabbed a tray of steaming stuffed mushrooms, and headed back to the living room. Ryder, who refused to sit when a woman was standing, was in the middle of the room, his head almost brushing the garland that hung from the ceiling while the pugs begged for attention at his feet. Unnervingly, the room was dead silent; the floor squeaked as I slowly walked in. On the other side of the room, my family stood blinking and staring at Ryder.

“I should just go,” Ryder said to me softly.

“Hell no. You’re my guest.” Because my hands were occupied with stuffed mushrooms, I leaned in briefly to nuzzle his chest. “I want you here, Ryder.”

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