Page 45 of It's Mother-Pucking Christmas!

“He slipped his leash,” Dakota explained. “We were about to make an announcement for his owner.”

Steph scratched Dasher behind the ears. “He ate his new family’s Christmas presents and all the cookies and got sent back. You didn’t even make it forty-eight hours before you got returned.” She pitched her voice higher as she talked to the husky.

“Dasher,” I chastised the dog.

“He’s lucky he didn’t need surgery after eating all that.” Steph snapped the leash back on his harness. “Ryder’s already paid for you to get ladies underwear pulled out of your stomach once.”

“I shouldn’t laugh, I’m sorry.” Dakota giggled, petting the dog’s furry head. “But, Dasher, my god, man, you gotta get it together.”

“Hopefully, someone else wants a puppy for Christmas,” I said as Dasher tried to chew on Dakota’s gloves. “No,” I told the dog firmly.

He sat at my feet, ears down.

Steph pursed her mouth. “I’m really stretching the limits of what I can call a puppy with him. Soon you’re just going to be a young adult dog,” the shelter worker warned Dasher, a speech she and I had both given him before. “You’re running out of chances. No one’s adopting an eighty-pound, ADD, adult male husky.”

The dog whined when Steph tried to lead him away.

“Aw.” Dakota looked sadly at the forlorn dog, who was howling the song of his people, drowning out the Christmas carols and any possibility for anyone in a half-mile radius to hold a conversation. “He doesn’t want to go.”

I scooped up Dasher, and he immediately stopped howling.

Steph sighed. “I know you both live in apartments, but you don’t happen to know anyone who wants to adopt an untrainable husky?”

“I don’t think he’s untrainable. He just needs a lot of work.” Dasher tucked his big head under my chin. “I’ll carry him back to the adoption event for you,” I offered.

“Actually, could you take him back to the shelter?” Steph pleaded, wincing when the husky started howling again. “He’s disruptive. You know the key code.”

“Poor Dasher.” Dakota cooed to the dog as I carried the whimpering husky through the Christmas market. “Here. We’ll buy you a treat so you don’t feel so sad.”

“You shouldn’t have thrown out that reindeer meat,” I deadpanned.

“It smelled like three-week-old possum,” Dakota said flatly. “Dasher’s been through enough.”

I shifted the large dog in my arms while Dakota went up to a stall to buy him a snack.

People wandering by slowed down, curious why someone was carrying a husky like a baby. A crowd formed around me. Once they realized I played for the Icebreakers, I started getting requests for autographs and tips for playing against the Frosthawks tomorrow, and a number of people wanted to ask me about the stalker.

“An old woman,” one girl narrated as her friend filmed on her phone. “Ryder, is that really true?” she asked, “or is it a cover-up?”

“All true, but a bit of a misunderstanding. It all worked out,” I said, unable to stop a smile. “I’m dating her granddaughter now.”

Dasher’s ears perked up, and his tail went crazy announcing Dakota’s arrival.

“Someone wants a treat.” Dakota unwrapped the roast beef sandwich she’d bought him.

“You need to eat that slowly,” I said as the dog took a big bite, swallowing without chewing.

“That’s what she said,” Dakota whispered in my ear.

“You”—I picked her up by the waist with my free arm, making her giggle—“have a filthy mind.”

“Good luck at the game tomorrow!” a couple people called to me as I carried Dakota and Dasher through the Christmas market.

“Fuck the Icebreakers!” Several drunk guys broke into a chant. “Artic Avengers are gonna fuck your shit up next weekend!”

A police officer on a horse shouted at them to save it for the sports bar or the ice rink.

“Don’t you want to stay and get in a brawl?” Dakota laughed as I carried her and Dasher back to the car. “You can put me down.”

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