Page 94 of It's Mother-Pucking Christmas!

“I am letting go of things I cannot control,” I said aloud.

Ryder had that lovable smile on his face. “This is so perfect,” he said, gushing.

I cringed as several uncles came by, toting power tools, and disappeared into the pantry, where there was an intense discussion followed by lots of cursing and crashing.

“I’ve always wanted a home filled with kids and laughter and family.”

There was angry shouting from the pantry and threats of homicide.

“And a beautiful, wonderful, amazing, perfect wife,” Ryder said over the noise.

“Well, you’ve got it, Boy Scout,” I said as he kissed me, spinning me around like we were dancers on ice. “And let me assure you that the novelty will wear off.”

“Never. It’s the perfect holiday movie with you every day.”

EPILOGUE - RYDER

The Direwolves home stadium was loud and enormous. It was like being in a spaceship. The crowd stamped their feet, cheering along as we waited to go out on the ice for the first game of the season.

“Welcome to the NHL!” Steve, the Direwolves goalie grinned at me and adjusted the straps on his face mask, which was painted with a yellow-and-black abstract wolf mouth.

“Mr. Popular,” Philly joked as we stepped onto the ice to the roar of the fans, many of them wearing my jersey number or holding up signs with my face on them.

McCallahan grinned, skating backward. “Dayum! College Boy filled a stadium and hasn’t even lost his Direwolves virginity yet.”

Yeah, the nickname had followed me from Maplewood Falls. As soon as the guys had seen Rick and my old Icebreakers teammates surprise me after practice with a sign, it had stuck.

“I can’t believe I’m here,” I said in awe as I stared at the yellow-and-black sea of twenty thousand.

“Screw your fucking head on! What the fuck are you doing, College Boy!” Yeah, that was Coach Kowalski. Red-faced and furious. “You better fucking win this, or so help me god!”

“Is he gonna make it through the game?” Philly joked.

I’d studied his and the rest of the team’s plays—how they shot, how they used the ice—it was all banked in my head.

I can do this.

Dakota and her family—my family—were there, cheering loudly from the stands. So were my old Icebreakers teammates and the seniors from the retirement community.

I wasn’t going to let anyone down. We were going to win this.

From the stands, something barreled through the fans toward the rink barrier, easily clearing the high Plexiglas.

“No!” I yelled as a husky careened onto the ice to gasps of surprise from the crowd.

The other hockey players on my team laughed when Dasher, now at his full height and weight, launched through the skaters.

“Sorry,” I called as the ref blew his whistle angrily. “Sorry! Dasher, no!”

Ignoring me, the dog chased a puck to laughs from the players and fans.

I sprinted after him on my skates and scooped him up like a baby. The dog whined in my arms as I skated him over to the wall and dumped him back into the penalty box. Dakota was making her way down then grabbed Dasher’s collar, leading him away while the dog looked guilty for the camera.

Sweating under my uniform, I stood there during the national anthem, trying to refocus and look like a professional, like I belonged.

Then the game started, and it was like I was home.

I liked playing on the Icebreakers, don’t get me wrong. But the NHL? The game was magic.

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