Elf Against the Wall: A Holiday Romantic Comedy (The Wynter Brothers Book 2)
Elf Against the Wall: Chapter 39

“Take his testicle!” Granny Doyle screamed, throwing her clipboard to the ground as Aunt J crashed into Uncle Hugh.

My dad looked on nervously, waiting with a first aid kit.

“Don’t fucking let him this close to goal!” Sawyer screamed at one of my cousins when Team Grinch sent the puck flying toward the goal.

“What the hell are you all doing? I should have just sent Evie out there, the way you’re playing,” the Team Scrooge coach yelled at his players.

Bundled up against the cold, I poured out spiked hot chocolate for the spectators.

Katie sprinted by on her skates then pivoted, stealing the puck from Anderson.

“Anderson, get it the fuck together!” Granny Doyle hollered at him. “She’s a twelve-year-old girl. Kill her!”

Katie sent the puck flying just as Aunt Virginia tackled her.

“Bitch! Don’t knock down my daughter.” Aunt Heather went after her sister.

“Fight! Fight! Fight!” the crowd chanted.

Declan’s wife patted her first aid kit.

“Just as exciting as the emergency room?” I joked.

“The men are better looking.” She smirked at me.

“Cunt punt that bitch into next week, J!” Granny Doyle whooped.

The family members who, like me, were not hockey inclined, sat on the makeshift bleachers lining the lake behind Uncle Todd’s huge lodge.

The kids who were too young to play cutthroat holiday hockey bounced between a little patch of ice where they could hit the puck around and the refreshment table I’d set up with hot food and beverages.

“Oof!” Uncle Ross slammed into Anderson.

“I thought you were supposed to be a killer.” Aunt J laid into Anderson. “This is a shit show. Man the fuck up.”

“Your boyfriend is embarrassing the family.” Ian adjusted his sunglasses.

“He’s not my boyfriend,” I replied automatically.

But if he wasn’t, then why was he here?

Anderson finally got over his mental hurdle and was barreling down the rink, ice spraying from his skates as he bulldozed thorough my family members, taking a shot on goal.

Team Grinch roared when the puck bounced off the back of the net.

“That’s what I’m fucking talking about!” Aunt J slapped him on the helmet.

Then Team Grinch was flying.

Anderson passed Sawyer’s little sister the puck. She took a swing on goal and was promptly tackled by several of my cousins.

“Walk it off!” Sawyer yelled at her as the younger girl smashed one of our cousins with her hockey stick.

Skating backward, Anderson grabbed the girl by the back of the jersey, setting her on her feet, and patted her helmet. She took off after the puck.

“If he was someone I didn’t actively hate, I’d say that was adorable.”

“I thought you weren’t doing this,” Ian said under his breath.

“I can objectively think that a man could be good father material.”

“Anderson’s not father or husband material.”

As the game went on, Anderson seemed relaxed and in his element, like he was having fun. When he could, he tossed the puck to one of my younger cousins, setting them up so they had a chance to score.

“Be careful with him. He just finished his residency,” my dad pleaded as Anderson and Declan crashed into each other, racing for a puck.

“Fuck you,” Declan said good-naturedly as Anderson helped him up.

My dad the surgeon, who basically saw mobility-ending injuries all over the ice, had his hands over his face.

“Grow some balls, Brian!” his brother, sporting a newly earned black eye, ribbed.

“I have medevac on speed dial,” my dad replied.

“Evie, come get your brother,” Anderson shouted to me with a wink and a smile. There was something boyish about him as he flew on the ice, like I was seeing a glimpse of the real him.

“I was right,” I said firmly. “There is a good person under the grumpy, Christmas-hating exterior. Anderson just needed the right woman to help him see the joy in Christmas.”

“As a man, I’m just going to remind you,” Ian said in warning, “that this is how the bad boys get you. They make you believe that you’re the only one in the world who can change them, then they blame you when you fail.”

When I turned back to the ice, Anderson and Braeden were racing for the puck.

I froze as the two men hurtled toward me.

Anderson reached it first, taking a swing and sending the puck zooming across the ice. The motion sent him banging into Braeden, who crashed into me headfirst like a missile, bowling me head over heels.

“Shit, Evie.” Grabbing me around the waist, Anderson picked me up out of the snow while I sputtered. He dusted me off and set me back on my feet.

“You tried to kill me, you fucking piece of shit.” The edge of Braeden’s skate clipped me as he tackled Anderson, sending both men crashing to the hard ice.

Anderson was up immediately.

Both teams skated over, hesitating a moment as Anderson rammed his knee into Braeden’s ribs then tackled him, slamming his head back against the ice. If Braeden hadn’t been wearing a helmet, he’d be dead.

This wasn’t the normal good-natured hockey roughhousing. Anderson was out for a pound of flesh.

“You do not ever touch her.” His fist slammed into Braeden’s nose with a sickening crunch. Blood spurted. “She’s mine.”

“That’s the monster you brought here, Evie!” My mom was shrill.

I screamed as Henry grabbed Anderson around the neck before he could punch Braeden again.

Braeden’s teammates pulled him out of the way as the two men went at each other, fighting like they must have been trained to in the Marines.

“I told you, don’t go after my sister or my friends. Your problem is with me.” Henry kicked Anderson’s knee.

“Your friend deserved to have his face sliced off.” Anderson spit blood with the words.

Henry lunged, but Anderson slammed his gloved fist into Henry’s chin. My brother wasn’t fazed, just wrapped Anderson in a headlock.

“Do something!” my mom yelled at my uncles as the two men struggled on the ice.

Uncle Todd ineffectively tried to hit Anderson with his hockey stick.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, grab him.” Aunt J pushed into the fray with the rest of my aunts, many of them hardened nurses, pulling apart the swinging men.

Anderson bared his teeth as Aunt J inspected him and Henry for injuries.

“Calm the fuck down!” she barked before Henry could go after Anderson again.

She shooed away my anxious father. “They’re fine. Skate it off, boys.”

“You’re a cardiac surgeon. You don’t know,” my dad sputtered.

Aunt J gave him the finger then slapped at his hand when he reached for Henry.

My brother was still glaring murderously at Anderson.

“Relax, Henry,” Anderson said, his gray eyes dangerously calm. “It’s just a game, right?” He skated backward, those ghostly eyes lingering on me.

Team Scrooge dumped Braeden next to me so Reagan could patch him up.

Hands trembling, I poured myself a cup of bourbon hot chocolate.

Ian gave me a concerned look. “You sure you want to tame that beast?”

“She shoots! She scores!” Uncle Ken yelled into the microphone as Ashley made the final goal before the buzzer sounded.

“Hell yeah!” Aunt J and Uncle Hugh whooped as team Grinch raced over to Ashley.

Anderson picked up the tween girl, lifting her above his head. She hoisted her hockey stick high while her team cheered.

I couldn’t stop grinning, and I didn’t even like hockey.

“You’re a damn good goalie.” Anderson shook Sawyer’s hand. “Respect. I’ve never had to work that hard for a goal.”

“I’m trying to convince her to move back home and play hockey on our rec league team,” Aunt J said as Team Grinch skated over for refreshments. “Why she’d rather wax labia than play hockey is beyond me.”

My dad fussed around the players, applying ice and bandages and checking for sprains and fractures.

“You should be dead after taking a puck like that to the face,” Declan’s wife said cheerfully as she mopped dried blood off the gash on Anderson’s cheek.

“Just another scar for his collection,” my uncle joked.

From up the hill, there were screams and a flash of light. Anderson tensed.

“Finally got that bonfire started, I see,” my uncle chortled.

“Told ya—a little kerosene, and that’s all she wrote.” Granny Doyle slapped her clipboard.

“Got a hamburger with your name on it,” Uncle Todd said to Anderson.

The larger man’s eyes flicked to the black truck parked under the trees. “I should work.”

“You found a man just like your father, Evie—work and more boring work. For shame.” Granny Doyle shook her head.

“There’s nothing wrong with Brian,” my mom argued.

Aunt J made a face. “Evie, take that stick out of your boyfriend’s ass and tell him to come have a drink.”

“It’s not one of those cocktails you made, is it, Evie?” Anderson draped a sweaty arm over my shoulder.

“Everyone likes my Holly Jolly Hot Toddies,” I argued as my family trooped up the hill to the bonfire, which was dangerously close to the hay bale seats.

“Bet you haven’t had a workout like that since the last time you hooked up with Evie,” Granny Doyly whooped, slapping Anderson’s butt as he leaned over to grab the hay bales before they turned into an inferno.

He sat down heavily on one of them, looking relaxed and happy. I handed him a drink.

“It’s a scotch, asshole,” I said when he looked at it mistrustfully.

He pulled me down onto his lap, sloshing the drink slightly, so he could kiss me.

My mom’s cousin Justin slapped Anderson on the shoulder then grabbed one of his kids before he could lean too close to the fire to roast his marshmallow. “Great game, man.”

“You ever thought about going pro?” his brother interjected.

“I’m too old for that shit.”

Uncle Todd handed him a plate with three hamburgers piled high with toppings.

Anderson took a huge bite of one.

“Someone would hire you just to fight people,” my mom’s cousin joked.

“Evie, you think you can keep him around till next Christmas?” Uncle Todd nudged me.

Anderson wiped his mouth.

“Not sure if he likes me that much.” I laughed like it was a joke and not my insecurities talking.

Anderson gave me a look I couldn’t read. It definitely wasn’t hatred.

“Then propose to him,” my aunt demanded, scooping a mound of butternut squash salad onto Anderson’s plate.

“Evie’s not that old. She doesn’t need to be proposing to a man yet,” Granny Doyle insisted from where she was glugging a bottle of gin into the punch.

“Gran, that is a delicate recipe to ensure all the flavors are harmonious—” I began.

“You can’t taste the booze.”

Anderson stood up.

“You’re leaving?”

He looked at me, the firelight flickering on his face, then he leaned in and kissed the top of my head then my cheek then my mouth. “I’m just getting your grandmother to spike my drink. I’m not ready to leave you yet.”