It’s Mother-Pucking Christmas!

11. Dakota

11

DAKOTA

“ Y ou’ve never brought a man home before!”

“Shh! Keep your voice down.”

“You didn’t tell your parents?” Gracie asked as she added cheddar cheese to the mashed potatoes.

“No, I’m not going to tell the gossip mill. There are too many people here as it is. If my mom told everyone Dakota finally has a serious boyfriend, we’d see fourth cousins I haven’t seen since I was baptized showing up here asking when’s the wedding. Nope.”

“He does sound serious if you brought him to meet the family,” Gracie said.

“I just met him.” I scoffed. “This isn’t a meet-the-boyfriend situation. I felt sorry for him, is all. You should have heard the heart-wrenching foster care story. With the big blue eyes. I almost invited him home right then, but I knew he’d freak out.”

Gracie was teary-eyed. “I just feel so bad for Ryder.”

“See? That’s it exactly. I feel bad for him. I don’t, like, like him. This is a friendly thing. Christmas charity. You know, trying not to turn into Ebenezer Scrooge.”

The doorbell rang.

“Sounds like he’s early,” Gracie said, since who else could it be but Ryder? No one in my family knew how to use a doorbell.

“If you’re on time, you’re late.” I wiped my hands and checked my reflection in the stainless steel fridge. “I don’t have potato peels in my hair, do I?”

“You sure you don’t like this guy?” Gracie teased.

There was yelling from the living room and the sound of stampeding footsteps as people streamed into the house. Then several uncles started singing the Arctic Avengers fight song.

Gracie’s eyes widened.

“Ah, shit.” I swore, opening up the utensil drawer and selecting a weapon. “I should have told him an hour later. Made sure everyone was too drunk to care about what team he plays for. Now they’re just belligerent drunk.”

When I pushed my way into the foyer, Ryder was huddled against the front door, the big, tall six-foot-five man surrounded by a sea of purple as my smaller Italian family hopped around, uncles and brothers and cousins mad as fuck that the star player of the Icebreakers was in their house.

Two uncles were crossing themselves and praying in the corner by the animatronic Santa.

“Traitor!” my family members hollered when they saw me.

“Dakota brought him here!” one of my cousins shouted then yelped as I swiped a meat mallet at him.

“You fucking ingrate, Morris, you don’t get to dictate who the fuck I bring to the holiday dinner that I am fucking cooking . You want to eat? Do any of you motherfuckers want to eat?” I pointed the mallet at my family.

One of my uncles started shaking his head, confused and bewildered. His brother grabbed him, and he started nodding.

“Yeah? Then shut the fuck up. You. Come sit down.” I grabbed Ryder.

Gracie’s pugs wagged their tails at Ryder as I led him into the living room, where more family members waited in shock.

“Just… here.” I thrust a beer at him. “Drink this.”

“I brought—” He held out the hostess gifts.

“Yum, chocolate! And very lovely flowers. No, I’m not sharing,” I snapped at one of my cousins. “You can fuck right off. I need to finish dinner. You’re early, Boy Scout.”

“Sorry,” Ryder said.

I wanted to kiss the worry off his face. “Don’t be. I’m glad you made it. Ignore them. They’re harmless. Be nice ,” I threatened my family. “Or else.”

Before I could make it back to the kitchen, my dad and his brother grabbed me and dragged me into his office, where more male family members were waiting.

“This is an intervention, Dakota,” Uncle Bic said seriously.

“Not just a man on the Icebreakers, but the captain? Ryder O’Connell? Have you lost your mind?” my father bellowed. “What were you thinking? My own daughter.”

I glared at Timmy, who was making big pleading eyes at me. I didn’t want to rat out my brother because my mom would literally skin him.

“I won’t be able to go to O’Malley’s again,” Uncle Kirk complained.

“This is embarrassing. For everyone,” my older brother Nico yelled.

“You have to choose. Him or us,” Cousin Bobby declared.

My mom stuck her head in, eyes narrowing. My father shrank back when she glared at him.

“You all are terrible,” my mom scolded.

“I’m serious.” Uncle Allen was stubborn. “Ryder has to go.”

“He can hear you.” My mom swatted him.

“Good. I hope he can hear me!” My father raised his voice.

“What a fucking disaster,” I swore.

My mom shooed my uncles out to go get the bonfire started in the backyard. “And stop ruining my chances to be a grandmother while I’m still able to take a piss without needing a walker.”

My brothers and cousins scuttled out to the backyard.

I checked on the mac ’n’ cheese in the kitchen, grabbed a tray of steaming stuffed mushrooms, and headed back to the living room. Ryder, who refused to sit when a woman was standing, was in the middle of the room, his head almost brushing the garland that hung from the ceiling while the pugs begged for attention at his feet. Unnervingly, the room was dead silent; the floor squeaked as I slowly walked in. On the other side of the room, my family stood blinking and staring at Ryder.

“I should just go,” Ryder said to me softly.

“Hell no. You’re my guest.” Because my hands were occupied with stuffed mushrooms, I leaned in briefly to nuzzle his chest. “I want you here, Ryder.”

I turned on my family. “And, Bella, I remember when you brought home that guy who you thought was a Jonas Brother, and he wasn’t. He was just a knife salesman, and we had to listen to his sales pitch for five hours.”

“A creepy traveling knife salesman is one thing. This guy is the antichrist.” My cousin filed her nails.

“You all are so rude.” Gracie came in behind me. “We are chucking all this food in the trash if you don’t act right.”

“Ryder, we are so happy to have you here.” Gracie squeezed his arm. “Dinner’s almost ready. Why don’t you go enjoy the bonfire? You can babysit Pugnog and Kringle and keep them out of the kitchen.”

I handed the big man the two little dogs and ushered him outside, where my brothers and cousins, minus a guilty-looking Timmy, were burning blue-and-white Icebreakers paraphernalia in the bonfire.

“These motherfuckers.”

“I’ll be nice to him!” Granny Murray piped up from behind us.

Ryder jumped.

“No, Gran, stay away from him. You have a restraining order.”