Page 81 of It's Mother-Pucking Christmas!

Coach glared at me. “Shaddap. Get sprinting.”

After the workout,I wrote Dakota a text message, deleted it, called her, then canceled the call, then decided screw it, and called her again. It went to voicemail.

She had said she loved me.

I didn’t want to give up on her, on us. There was something there. There had to be.

I tossed the phone in my bag.

“I’ll get the Manhattan job,” I said to myself as I drove over to the animal shelter. “I’ll make a lot of money, be really famous, then I’ll surprise her at work or at lunch. Like a movie. LikeOfficer and a Gentleman, and carry her off into the sunset. She’ll see I’m serious about her and about hockey, and she’ll want to be with me.”

I hoped.

31

DAKOTA

“Mom, I can do it myself.”

“It’s just like when you were a little baby,” my mom cried, holding up the soupspoon. “Let me feed you. You screwed up with Ryder, and now I won’t get to do this with any grandchildren.”

I gritted my teeth as my mom slowly spun the soupspoon toward me, making airplane noises.

Granny Murray set down a glass with a straw. “Vodka slushie. She doesn’t want any of that soup, Babs.”

“It’s minestrone. You like minestrone soup, Dakota,” my mom exclaimed.

“It’s too bad Ryder’s not here. He’d like it, I’m sure.” Her sister scrolled through hockey Instagram posts on her phone. “Oh, this is a nice picture of him. Save!”

“Oh, is that an unattractive photo of Dakota?”

“The outside matches the inside.” Aunt Gianna sniffed.

“Also save.” Aunt Stacy tapped her phone.

It had been like this for the last day and half—in the emergency room while I was told I had a sprained knee, fractured nose, broken wrist, and two broken fingers. At thedentist’s office when they said that they needed to wait for the swelling to go down to fix my chipped tooth. And now at my parents’ house where it was twenty-four seven Ryder on the news and as the topic of conversation amongst the family. I had to listen to the passive-aggressive and fully aggressive statements, the general gist of which were that Dakota was a complete idiot. All while my cousins were trying to steal my pain medication.

My uncles, brothers, and cousins were glued to the sports news station on the TV. The story about the brawl in the Icebreakers stadium was playing nonstop. It was the story of the season. And Ryder was the hero.

“This just in,” one of the announcers said as Breaking Sports News flashed on the screen in gold 3D letters. “The AHL has just decreed that the game between the Icebreakers and the Arctic Avengers will remain a draw. They will not be replaying this game as there is another match against the two teams in a few weeks.”

“That’s right, and now let’s talk about the speculation that O’Connell will be joining the Direwolves next—”

“Whoooo!” My brother jumped up off the couch. “Yeah!” Timmy pumped his fist, grinning, then the grin faded as we all looked at him.

“You look suspiciously happy.” My sister regarded him.

“Just, er… you know. It’s not a win.”

I was exhausted and heartbroken. “I thought you needed the Icebreakers to lose.”

“Shut up!” he hissed.

“Didn’t win what?” my mother, who had six kids and knew when shit was going down, said.

“Er…”

“Aunt Babs,” Gracie said, “Timmy owed the mob like eighty thousand dollars from bad hockey bets. He convinced Dakota to break Ryder’s heart to throw the game.”

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