Page 36 of Gross Misconduct

My team and I lace up for our first game of the season on Sunday afternoon. Nerves jangle through me. My heart races so fast I have to ball my hands into fist to get them to stop shaking. The last time I played hockey, I lost an eye. I lost everything.

“Hey. You okay?” Bill squeezes my shoulder, sensing my nerves. They must be coming off me in waves.

“Yeah. Like riding a bike, right?”

“It is. I wouldn’t have stalked you if I didn’t think you could do this.” Bill stares into me, pulling out my fear. His unwavering confidence helps to put me at ease.

“If we lose, we go out and drink. And if we win, we go out and drink,” Hank says.

Bill has us huddle.

“We’re not going to let anyone push us around,” he says. No matter how fun the game is, Bill takes it seriously. We all do on some level. Nobody wants to lose.

We put our hands in the center and yell “wolf pack” at the count of three. It pumps me full of adrenaline.

“Okay, lace up and let’s get out there,” Bill says.

We go out into the stadium, and there’s a decent number of people in the stands. I gather they’re mostly family and friends, with a few hockey superfans scattered in. To me, it feels like the damn Stanley Cup. It’s just a fun game, I remind myself. Win or lose, we’ll laugh about it over drinks.

“OK guys. This is it!” Bill says just before we go out there.

We corral by the rink entrance.

“Give it up for the Comebacks!” the announcer yells over the loudspeaker.

We yell and whoop and rush out onto the ice to thunderous cheers.

As soon as I step out though, something feels off. I immediately can’t find my balance. I lean forward, then back, then resort to windmilling my arms before toppling into Des, who topples into Tanner. Human dominoes.

The crowd stops cheering.

I stand back up to collect myself, yet just as fast, I fall on my ass down again.

“What the fuck,” I mutter.

“Uh, Griff...” Tanner squats down. “Did you check your skates?” He points at my blades.

I run my finger over them. They’re slick. No cuts.

“You got taped,” he says.

I look across the rink, just knowing it. Sensing it.

Jack. Waving. Smiling.

Fucker.

* * *

I trackdown Jack’s number from Marcy, telling her it was damn near an emergency to talk to him. He left after I spotted him, so I didn’t have a chance to beat his ass in person.

“What the fuck is your problem? You covered my blades in tape?” I growl into my phone when I’m back in my truck. After we got the tape off, I was able to skate, but my confidence was rattled, and the bad juju spilled out to the rest of the team. We lost.

“Hey? You like what I did?” Jack asks, cocky as ever.

“No. What the fuck? You fucked with my skates?”

“It was a prank.”

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