It’s Mother-Pucking Christmas!

22. Ryder

22

RYDER

W e were up three by the time the first period ended.

After the initial two easy goals, the Frosthawks coach must have put the fear of God in his players because they started actually playing hockey instead of standing around on the ice.

“Don’t get cocky!” Coach screamed at us in the locker room as we gulped Powerade. “The Icebreakers have never won against the Frosthawks. They are not going to let you win this. You’re going to have to fight for every single fucking goal.”

I winced.

The vein on his forehead bulged out.

“I’m getting that man a Costco-size jar of Tums for Christmas,” Mike whispered.

“He needs a fast pass to the stroke ward,” Rick muttered.

“What the fuck did you say, Utah?” Coach screamed at him. “If it’s not an apology for fucking up that pass Ryder served to you on a goddamn silver platter, I don’t want to hear jack shit from you. Now get the fuck out of my sight and play hockey like a goddamn professional instead of this peewee shit I’m seeing out there.”

When we got back on the ice, the packed stadium chanted.

I ignored the crowd, ignored the cameras, ignored the captain of the Frosthawks doing the standard macho posturing. Sometimes that annoyed me. Today I didn’t even notice.

Dakota was here.

And so was her entire family.

They’d come to support me.

I had never had family come support me at games. My foster families either didn’t want to travel in the cold or they were too busy going to the games of their real children.

But Dakota had brought her entire family. There was a whole section of the stadium filled with them.

My heart soared.

We are going to be together forever.

It was like I was floating above the Atlantic Ocean on a rough day. The waves didn’t touch me, barely dampened me with the spray. It was like I could see the whole game in my brain all the way until victory.

Erik would be there , the Frosthawks winger was going to be there in half a second, which meant the puck needed to be twelve feet away from the goal… now .

Rick slapped it in.

The crowd, including Dakota and her family, went crazy.

Soon they were going to be my family.

The game was laughably easy.

The Frosthawks players were sweating, working hard, but it was like they were always off rhythm, always a step behind. I could see where they were going, like they just drew it in red marker all over the ice. It was easy to maneuver around them.

“Goal!”

Then another.

And another.

I loved the game, I loved my life, I loved Dakota.

Coach grabbed my chin when the period timer buzzed.

“Are you on something?” He twisted my head this way and that.

“Meat cake,” Rick said, wiping his face.

Coach scowled. “Is it something they can test for?”

“Nooo,” Rick drawled.

Mike and Erik snickered behind their gloves while Pete adjusted his goalie attire and whistled “Going to the Chapel” while Coach glared in suspicion.

“Fine. I don’t wanna know. You. Keep playing like that,” Coach ordered, slapping my helmet. “One more period. Don’t fuck it up.”