A Pucking Wrong Christmas: A Hockey Romance (The Pucking Wrong Series)
A Pucking Wrong Christmas: Prologue

Four Years Old…

It was the most exciting night ever! I sat on the floor, surrounded by boxes of shiny stuff, while Mom held a string of twinkly lights. Our apartment smelled like yummy cookies, and there was music playing in the background that made me feel all warm inside.

Mom smiled at me and gave me a glass thingy with a pretty angel on it. ‘Here, sweetie, let’s put this one first. It was your grandma’s favorite.’

I held the glass thingy real careful in my little hands. The angel had golden wings and was so pretty. ‘It’s so, so pretty, Mommy!’

We hung the angel on a branch, and it twinkled with the lights all around it. I felt like it was a magic angel, just like the ones in my storybooks.

Mom told me stories about when she was a little kid, like me, and how she used to wake up super early on Christmas morning. She talked about opening presents and being with her family, and her eyes sparkled when she talked about it. It was like she was telling me a bedtime story, but it was real.

Mom was different tonight. Her eyes were alert and she was speaking to me so nice. It made me think maybe that story I had read at school last week was right—that miracles did happen on Christmas.

“I wish every day could be like Christmas,” I whispered.

Mom looked at me and smiled real soft. ‘I promise, sweetheart. I’m gonna be right here with you, and we’re gonna have the best Christmas ever.’

I felt all warm and fuzzy inside, like I was wrapped in a cozy blanket. Putting shiny things on the tree felt like a magical adventure with Mom, just like the stories in my books.

When we put the last shiny thing–the ornament she’d told me it was called–on the tree, I was so happy. The room was all sparkly from the lights on the tree, and it smelled like cookies. Mom said she loved me more than anything, and I said I loved her too.

We sat together by the tree, and it felt like the best Christmas ever. It wasn’t just about the shiny things or the lights; it was about Mommy and me being together and feeling all warm and happy inside on Christmas Eve.

After we finished decorating the Christmas tree, Mom smiled down at me and said, ‘Alright, sweetie, it’s time for bed. Santa will be here soon.’

I looked up at her with wide, hopeful eyes. ‘Is Santa really coming, Mommy? Sometimes he forgets.’

Her eyes dimmed and for a moment I felt panicked. I didn’t want to make Mommy sad tonight. She got bad again when she was sad.

“But I don’t mind, Mommy. Honest, I don’t!”

Mom bent down and kissed my forehead. ‘He won’t forget this time, Monroe. You’ve been such a good girl this year, and Santa knows it. He’s going to bring you the most wonderful presents.’

I couldn’t help but grin at the thought of Santa coming with presents just for me. I nodded eagerly. ‘Okay, Mommy, I’ll go to bed.’

Mom tucked me in, making sure the blankets were snug around me. ‘Now, remember, sweetie, you have to stay in bed and go to sleep. Santa won’t come if you’re awake.’

I nodded again, determined to be the best little girl ever. ‘I’ll stay in bed, Mommy, I promise.’

Mom leaned down and gave me one last kiss. ‘Goodnight, Monroe. Sweet dreams, and I’ll see you in the morning.’

With that, she turned off the bedroom light and closed the door behind her.

I closed my eyes, feeling the excitement bubbling inside me. Santa was on his way. He wasn’t going to forget. She had promised.

I settled into bed, determined to be fast asleep before Santa’s arrival.

I woke up with my heart all jumpy and wiggly, like there were butterflies inside my tummy. Christmas was finally here! I yanked my blanket off me and jumped out of bed, ready to race to the living room.

Through the door I could hear Christmas music playing softly and I grinned. Mommy was probably already up and ready for the best day ever. I couldn’t wait to see what Santa brought me.

I pushed open the door and ran into the room, all ready to see the magic.

But the magic wasn’t there.

Our Christmas tree, which was supposed to be all pretty and twinkly, was on the floor. All the shiny ornaments were broken into pieces, and the tinsel was everywhere.

I walked over and stared at the tree, freezing when I saw it – the angel ornament that Mommy had told me was her mommy’s favorite. It was broken into pieces on the ground.

I reached down and picked up the broken angel. My eyes got watery, and my bottom lip wobbled. This wasn’t what I thought I’d see on Christmas morning. I looked over at Mommy, who was all curled up on the couch with bottles all around her. She looked sleepy and messy.

‘Mom?’ I whispered, going closer. ‘Mommy, wake up!’

But Mommy didn’t wake up. She just made a funny noise and kept sleeping. I looked down at all the broken, shiny things, and it felt like the tears in my eyes were gonna spill out like rain.

‘Mommy, where’s Santa?’ I asked, my voice all shaky. ‘Where are our presents?’

Mommy blinked her eyes open, and she looked all tired and confused. ‘Monroe?’ she said, like she didn’t really know me. ‘What are you doing up so early, sweetie?’

I pointed at our poor Christmas tree and all the mess. ‘Look, Mommy! Our tree is all broken, and there’s no presents.’

Mommy tried to sit up, but she wobbled like a sleepy jellybean. ‘I…I don’t know, Monroe,’ she said, and her words were all mixed up. ‘I thought I could…I thought I could make it special for you. But Christmas is so hard….’

I couldn’t stop the tears now, and they came pouring down like rain on a rainy day. I plopped down on the floor, and it felt like my heart was crying too.

‘I thought I’d been good for Santa,’ I sniffled, my voice all full of sadness.

Mommy reached out and pulled me into her arms, and I buried my face in her shoulder. She smelled like Mommy, and even though everything was all messy, I felt safe in her arms.

‘I’m so sorry, Monroe,’ she whispered, and her voice was all soft and sad. ‘I messed up, baby. I messed up bad.’

I found out later, in a drunken confession, Mom had sold all the presents that a “Secret Santa” had given us to chase another high.

And I’d hated Christmas ever since.