Page 96 of Daddies on Ice

We all freeze, and I realize how this must look, all of us crowded into Tish’s cabin, Ash with a split lip, Trent’s shirt torn from the scuffle.

“Open up,” comes Carl’s gruff voice from outside. “Now.”

Tish closes her eyes briefly, then opens the door.

Carl takes one look at the scene—at Ash’s bloody lip, at Trent’s disheveled appearance, at the tension radiating from all of us—and his expression hardens.

“Outside,” he says to Trent. “You’re leaving. Now.”

“Carl, wait,” Tish starts.

“No discussion,” Carl cuts her off, his blue eyes cold as winter ice. “Mr. Johnston, you have five minutes to get off this property, or I’m calling security.”

Trent’s face flushes red again. “You can’t just?—”

“I can and I am,” Carl says flatly. “You came here looking for trouble, and you found it. Every fucking person within twenty miles heard you guys. This ends now. Leave.”

The authority in Carl’s voice is absolute, and even Trent seems to recognize it.

He looks at his sister one more time, his expression a mixture of anger and something that might be hurt.

“This isn’t over, Tish,” he says quietly. “We’re going to talk about this.”

“Not here, you’re not,” Carl replies before Tish can respond.

After Trent leaves, Carl turns his attention to Ash and me. The look he gives us could freeze hell over.

“As for you two,” he says, his voice carrying the kind of quiet menace that’s more terrifying than shouting, “I’ll deal with you later.”

33

TISH

The lodge feels different tonight.

Maybe it’s the twinkling lights I strung around every doorway and window, or the garland draped along the rustic wooden beams.

Maybe it’s the enormous Christmas tree in the corner, decorated with blue and gold ornaments to match the Thunderwolves colors, or the mistletoe I strategically hung in several doorways.

Whatever it is, the tension that’s been suffocating us for the past few days seems to have lifted, at least temporarily.

I smooth down my red sweater dress and survey the room with satisfaction.

The ugly Christmas sweater party was exactly what we all needed.

Players mill around in the most ridiculous holiday sweaters I’ve ever seen.

Ash’s features a light-up Rudolph nose that actually blinks, while one of the defensemen sports a sweater with a 3D Santa belly that jiggles when he moves.

Even some of the girlfriends who could make it out here are wearing equally hideous creations, and everyone’s laughing for the first time in days.

The film crew hovers at the edges of the room, their cameras capturing every moment, but I’m trying my best to ignore them.

Tonight isn’t about the documentary or the team’s reputation or any of the drama that’s been following us.

Tonight is about Christmas, about family, about finding some joy in the middle of all this chaos.

“Mama, look!” Becky runs up to me, her dark curls bouncing as she points to the dessert table. “Krystal and I made snow angels in the powdered sugar on the cookies!”