Page 29 of Gross Misconduct

It’s because of him that I missed my shot at the pros, that I let down my mom, my friends, my coach, and forfeited my potential. All because he wanted to take down South Rock’s top player by any means necessary.

“Fuck you,” I spit out, white hot hatred pounding in my ears. “You’re still a piece of shit.”

He turns a shade of deep red I didn’t think possible on a person. He’s fighting every urge not to throw a punch. I dare you. I fucking dare you.

“I don’t think Ferguson’s has what you’re looking for. I recommend Home Depot.”

“Fine.” I walk away, Hank following behind me. He’s white as a ghost, as if he just witnessed a bad car accident.

“Home Depot has a great selection, too,” Hank says. He pushes the shopping cart into the row of unused ones. The automatic doors part for us. “Was that the guy…”

“Yeah.” I feel my eye patch, my rage subsiding with each step away from the store. How is it fair that one random stranger can have so much control over the direction of my life?

I unlock my truck. Hank slides into the passenger seat.

“Fucking Ted,” Hank says with visible disgust. “I’m going to send in a complaint to Ferguson’s corporate. I wish I’d gotten his last name.”

And then the realization slams into me like his hockey stick all those years ago.

“Gross.” The name sends a shiver as it leaves my lips. “His last name is Gross.”

10

GRIFFIN

Bill squared away the rink space issue with Marcy during the week. She’s not the type to apologize, but rather blamed it on the digital upgrade that she’s been forced to adopt. She was able to schedule our practices on Thursday evenings. Bill wondered if he should say something to Marcy about getting back our old time. We lost it fair and square to the Blades though, something that makes my blood boil all over again now that I know the truth. We couldn’t tattle to the teacher.

I get to the rink after work and feel like I’ve stepped into a daycare. Tanner’s kids are running up and down the bleachers playing tag, screaming and laughing. Hank’s son Brody sits on the top bleacher with a textbook open on his lap. The inane chatter of a YouTube personality echoes from the tablet of Rowan, Bill’s daughter. It’d be nice if Annabelle and June were able to come to a practice once. Something to work on with Carmen. Hearing about my eye injury turned her completely off hockey.

“I bet Wayne Gretzky never had to put up with this,” Des mutters as we get onto the ice.

“You won’t even notice they’re here!” Tanner says, ever the optimist.

“Dad! Davy won’t share his tennis ball!” yells his six-year-old son, Dean.

“Davy, share your tennis ball!” Tanner responds from the ice in his best calm-dad voice.

“No. I found it on the ground. It’s mine. I already licked it!” Nine-year-old Davy says.

“Well, you can’t argue with that logic,” Des snarks to me.

Tanner turns to us. “One second. I’ll be right back. Start without me.”

He darts off the ice. Des claps me on the shoulder. “Thanks for losing us our morning slot, champ.”

“It’s all right. This is a challenge, but we’ve dealt with worse.” Bill skates to the center of the rink.

“We have?” Des asks.

Bill thinks for a moment. “Figure of speech.”

“Leave the guy alone.” Hank skates up to us from the goal. He’s wearing his old South Rock High jersey, which rides up on his pads as if he’s wearing a belly shirt. Unlike ‘90s-era Britney Spears, he doesn’t have the flat stomach to pull it off.

“What’s going on with your jersey?” Bill asks. He tugs it down. The jersey pops back up like a window shade.

“I shrunk it in the wash.”

“Are you sure it shrunk?” Des winks at him.

---