It’s Mother-Pucking Christmas!

3. Dakota

3

DAKOTA

“ A ll that hard work wasted.” Granny Murray railed into her drink.

“Gran, you’re lucky they didn’t arrest you,” Gracie scolded.

“Arrest her? I’m filing a restraining order,” Hudson growled, jumping over the stadium seating to stand in front of us, big, hulking, and imposing in black. He crossed his arms.

“Now hold on. I thought we were family!” Granny Murray slammed her hand down on the plastic seat.

“You’re stalking one of my clients. Family coverage doesn’t extend to that.”

“It was for charity. It’s Christmas, Hudson.” Granny Murray grabbed my arm. “And if Dakota had just slept with the boy, then all this would be moot. A restraining order.” Granny Murray shook her head.

“I don’t know if I’d call him a boy.” Gracie giggled. “That’s a grown man—a big one.”

“They wear padding under their uniforms, Gracie,” Hudson snarled. “They aren’t that big.”

“Those ice-blue eyes.” Gracie nudged me.

“I know!” Granny Murray swooned. “He’s perfect for Dakota.”

“I’d never date an Icebreakers hockey player, Gran. Why would you set me up with him?”

“You said you were lowering your standards.”

“No, Mom said that.”

“Let’s go,” Hudson barked and grabbed Granny Murray. “We’re going down to the police precinct.”

“Hudson, wait!” Gracie raced after him. “This is ridiculous. That’s my grandmother.”

I picked up Pugnog and Kringle off the seat, settling the little dogs in my lap. I should leave. Why the hell was I here watching the freaking Icebreakers play? Barf.

It wasn’t fair.

Two seasons ago, the Arctic Avengers had dominated in New England. Then their star player had been stolen by a Canadian team, and the Icebreakers had hired him. Ryder O’Connell. He didn’t participate in the NHL draft because he’d wanted to go to college. He played D1, didn’t get hired for the NHL after graduation, then faded away into obscurity. Everyone on the Arctic Avengers had celebrated Coach Kowalski’s dumb waste of money hiring some nobody from a beer league onto his team. The Arctic Avengers were going to dominate for a century.

That lasted until the first game of the season, when Ryder literally destroyed the Arctic Avengers on the ice.

“It’s because he had time to mature,” my dad had said in shock after the final buzzer. We were mopping the blood off the stadium walls after what went down in the books as the worst ass-whoopin’ in the history of minor league hockey.

“He’s thinking . You can see his brain working,” my uncle had whispered.

“It’s not right. Hockey players aren’t supposed to be that smart,” his brother had added, wide-eyed.

Drunken ramblings of my male family members aside, I’d dismissed it as a fluke.

Someone named Ryder wasn’t smart. The Arctic Avengers needed better coaching was all. Ryder was just a wannabe hockey star who got lucky. I refused to acknowledge him. Refused to watch Ryder after that loss. He’d flame out. Soon. Any minute now…

But… tonight on the ice? He was even better than the last time I’d seen him.

Yeah, normal rookies would be all over the ice, eager puppies wanting to please the coach and team owner. Trying to prove their worth. Not Ryder. He was powerful. Methodical. Calculating. Ruthless.

I wonder if he fucks like he plays.

“For someone who has a stalker, he’s unnervingly focused.” My little brother plopped down next to me. Was I expecting him? No. But when you’re one of six, your dad is one of ten, and your mom is one of eight, then it’s actually strange to not randomly run into a family member.

“I thought they’d be losing this game for sure.” Timmy sounded miserable. “The stalker was all over the news.”

I looked up at the ceiling. The stadium had been decorated for Christmas—cardboard elves in hockey skates slowly rotated from the rafters. Nearby, inflatable reindeer pulled a sleigh made out of hockey sticks.

Sighing heavily, I grabbed my little brother’s ear.

“Ow! Dakota!”

“What did you do?”

“I didn’t do anything,” my little brother whined. “Maybe I just want to spend a fun holiday evening with my big sis and our favorite sport?”

“What do you want, Timmy?”

“I just need a favor.”

“Uh-huh.” I released him.

He held out his hand with a grin.

“Ugh.” I poured some of my caramel popcorn into his palm.

“So,” he said as he crunched the snack, “don’t be mad, but…”

I slapped the back of his head.

“Hey!”

“Were you and Granny Murray behind the stalker plot?”

“Granny Murray’s the stalker?” he yelped. “Damn. I wouldn’t have bet all that money if I’d known.”

“You were betting money?” I screeched, making the pugs snort.

“Keep your voice down,” he whispered nervously. “Mom’s not here, is she?”

“No, but she will be as soon as I text her and tell her what you’ve been up to. How could you? Sports gambling?”

Timmy grabbed my arm. “I didn’t lose yet. The game’s not over.”

Ryder scored another goal. The camera zoomed in on his face as the crowd cheered. He still had that saintly zen look, like it was perfectly inevitable that he’d score three goals before the end of the first period.

It’s a damn shameful waste for a man to have eyebrows like that.

I resisted the urge to pull at my own.

Completely unfair.

“I’m going to get killed,” Timmy pleaded. “Dakota, help me.”

“Fine. How much money do you owe?” I asked, taking out my phone to Venmo him.

“If Ryder stops scoring goals, then forty thousand.”

The buzzer sounded.

“Goal!” the announcer shouted.

“Fuck. Forty-one thousand.”

“Forty-one—” I choked. “I don’t have forty-one thousand to give you, Timmy.” I whacked him with the popcorn bag. “What the hell? Why did you bet that much?”

“I thought for sure they’d lose this game.” He slumped over.

“Against the fucking Ice Spirits? Gracie and the pugs could win a game against them.”

The dogs panted.

“That’s probably why you get so much money if the Icebreakers lose,” I lectured. “Because the odds are terrible.”

“Hmm. Makes sense. Guess I should have paid more attention in math class,” he said dejectedly.

“Ya think?”

“It’s going to be fine. I already got a loan from the bookie, and if the Icebreakers lose the next game…” Timmy stared at the ice, where Ryder was flying around the other players. “I’ll make back enough to pay off this loss. They’re playing the Frosthawks. It could happen.”

“It could happen, yes,” I said begrudgingly. “They did lose against them last year. Well, sounds like you got it under control.”

“No, I need the Icebreakers to really lose. It can’t be by a goal. They have to lose by, like, eight. So Ryder needs to be…” He drew a line across his throat.

“I’m not offing Ryder O’Connell.”

“No!” Timmy yelped. “Just throw him off his game.”

“No way.”

“All you have to do is make him fall in love with you then break his heart. All before next weekend, please. It’ll be easy. You can do it. You’re Dakota!” He made jazz hands at me. “You beat up Bobby Worthington when he was mean to me in elementary school in front of everyone. Don’t let all that hard work go to waste!”

Yeah, no one beats up my little brother except me.

“The mob runs the bookies,” my brother said rapidly. “I’ll lose a finger, then Mom will find out, and she’ll kill me and erase me from all the family photos and tell everyone she only ever had three sons. I’m your baby brother. You love me, Dakota.”

He was my little brother. And I’d do anything for my family, even if they didn’t deserve it.

Even if it meant trying to make Ryder O’Connell think I was attracted to him.

Gross.

“I’ll try,” I promised him. “But Ryder hates me, and I don’t think your plan is going to work.”

“That’s okay,” Timmy said sagely. “I also bought lottery tickets.”