Page 69 of It's Mother-Pucking Christmas!

“We wish you—” the doorbell shrieked.

“Fuckin’ hate that doorbell,” my father muttered as my second cousin’s little kids raced, screaming, to the door.

“I’ll get it!”

“Dakota! Your boyfriend’s here!” They raced back to the dining room, still screaming.

“Did you just leave him outside?” my cousin scolded them as I slowly hauled myself out of the chair.

Was I really going to go this?

My brother made puppy-dog eyes at me and pointed to his finger, miming chopping it off.

For my little brother? Anything.

Ryder was standing on the porch. He gave me a small, worried smile when he saw me.

I was the person who played a brutal game of lacrosse in high school and had no problem cussing out catcallers on the streets of Manhattan. But the expression on Ryder’s face almost broke me.

It was like Dasher’s when we had dropped him off at the pound, like he knew what was coming but still had a shred of hope that it wasn’t.

Ryder leaned in and gave me a quick kiss. Everything in me wanted to wrap my arms around him and never let go.

But that would be leading him on.

“The scouts for two big NYC teams want to fly me out,” he said conversationally. “That’s where you work, right? If I joined, we could be together.”

“I thought you said you didn’t want to be in the NHL,” I croaked.

“I don’t know if they even want me yet, but I could save up some money if the contract is big enough. Once I retire, we could buy a place in Maplewood Falls. You could do remote work,” he said. “And I could be with our kids.”

Children. Cute little blue-eyed kids—a whole pack of them—racing around with little hockey sticks. Ryder would be an amazing dad.

“This is going too fast for me,” I said miserably before my heart could take over and start excitedly planning our future.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” Ryder slapped a gloved hand against his head. “Dakota, please, I didn’t mean to pressure you.” He took my hands in his larger ones.

“I just… I-I really like you. I don’t want to lose you. I promise I won’t be so serious. I know I screwed up. Please don’t leave me. I—You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me. I’m serious about you, is all. I’m serious about us. I didn’t mean to make you hate me.” His blue eyes searched mine. “Can you please give me another chance?”

I was the one who was fucking him over, and he was apologizing and asking me for another chance, like he’d done something wrong. My heart broke thinking about how that wasprobably how he’d acted whenever whatever sociopathic foster parent had kicked him out—my wonderful, perfect, sweet Ryder.

I am a shitty, shitty person. I am the used chewing gum stuck to the bottom of the Grinch’s shoe.

Ryder deserved someone good.

“I’m done, Ryder.” I couldn’t look at him, couldn’t face the heartbreak in his blue eyes, knowing I had caused it. “Sorry.”

“You don’t have to apologize.” His hands dropped. “It’s—” He rubbed his arm. “I know it’s my fault.”

I bit back the “No, it’s not.” Stamped down the “No,I’msorry. I screwed up.” Held a knife to the part of me that wanted to run into his arms.

“I—Thanks, Dakota.” The sad blue eyes rested on me.

“What?” My head snapped up.

“You let me come over to your family’s,” he said, smiling at me gamely. “And hung out with me. It was really lovely. I’ll always remember that. You’re really cool, Dakota. Have a merry Christmas.”

I shut the door as quietly as I could behind me, snuck into my dad’s study, grabbed one of the holiday bottles of whiskey from the wet bar, and collapsed behind the Christmas tree in the living room.

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