Page 71 of It's Mother-Pucking Christmas!

“That sounds… healthy.” Erik frowned.

“She likes me, I know it. I could tell she didn’t really want to break up with me,” I continued.

“Someone’s delusional.” Rick grimaced.

“You can’t just show up at her house,” Pete lectured.

“I’m not. I’m going to… I don’t know.” I deflated. “I guess I should just leave her alone, right?”

Erik nodded slowly.

“It’s just… I love her. I thought she loved me. I guess it was all in my head. It just felt so real.” I stared out to the dark hole under the bleachers that led to the exit. “Her family felt so real. They came to my game.”

In the shadows, something moved. I narrowed my eyes, gaze focusing.

“I think lessons were learned here.” Mike clapped his gloves. “After the big Arctic Avengers game, we’ll do a postmortem and—”

“Shh!” I hushed the guys, frowning. “That’s her brother.”

Dakota’s younger brother was talking rapidly to a heavily tattooed man. Her little brother seemed upset. The tattooed man seemed angry.

“Is he talking to the bookies?” Rick whispered.

“I think those guys are mafia,” Pete said under his breath.

“You didn’t tell me you were dating the Sopranos,” Rick joked.

“They’re not some sort of crime family,” I said, picking up the hockey stick and skating over to see what was going on. Nothing was more important to Dakota than her family. If her brother was mixed up with these guys, she would want to know. She’d want me to do something.

They saw me coming and scurried back deeper into the shadows.

“You don’t need to get mixed up in that,” Erik warned. “We can’t bet on our own games. You don’t want the league to even think you’re thinking about it.”

“Something’s wrong,” I said. “I need to tell Dakota.”

“No, dude, no. Just leave her alone.” Mike cursed as I skated over to my bag, pulled out my phone, and called her.

“She’s not answering her phone.”

“You could text her,” Erik said, resigned.

“I need to see her,” I said firmly. “She has to hear this in person. I can’t shock her.”

“I’msorry to surprise you like this,” I said to Dakota when I stepped up behind her in the Mistletoe Lounge where she was nursing what looked like her third cocktail of the late afternoon.

She jumped, almost falling off the stool.

“Ryder?” her cousin Gracie exclaimed, looking troubled. “What a—”

“Surprise? Yes, I know. I’m not stalking you, Dakota, I promise,” I said, smiling weakly at her.

She didn’t smile back. “S’fine if you are,” she slurred, trying to sit up straight.

“You weren’t answering your phone,” I said lamely, hoping I wasn’t too obvious with how I was drinking in the familiar sight of her. “I saw your brother.”

“Which one?”

“Are you sure it wasn’t a cousin?” Gracie asked me.

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