Page 38 of Gross Misconduct

An uneasy feeling churns in my stomach. Jack is nearly twenty years younger than me, and I’ve still been thinking about him standing naked in the parking lot. He let it all hang out proudly. And well…he had every right to be proud.

“Is there another fucking video of me circulating online?” I ask Hank. Jack’s video of the toilet paper incident had over a thousand views online. Hank assured me that was nothing in the world of going viral, but it was still a thousand people seeing us made to be fools.

“I had Brody look, but he didn’t find anything.”

“Fine. At least he didn’t make an even bigger mockery of me.” Taping up my skates right before my first game in decades. What the fuck? My cheeks burned with residual embarrassment. “But the point stands: you don’t do that to another player. You don’t fuck up their actual game.”

“He didn’t fuck it up, though. We got the tape off before the game started. Watching you go down was kinda funny.” Hank stops mid-snort when he notices I’m not laughing. I narrow my eyes at him. “I said it was onlykindafunny.”

“We lost. Because of the bad juju he gave me.” It wasn’t even close. The other team won by four. The tape incident and resulting embarrassment threw me off my already rusty game, and I wasn’t able to recover until the third period. “Every hockey player knows that you don’t mess with the juju right before the game. I guarantee nobody in his pro days ever did something like that.”

“You’re right. He’s an asshole,” Hank says, but only to placate me. It’s the same tone he uses when I critique his goaltending skills.

“He’s an asshole. And he’s in this league and fucking with me as revenge for his raging dickhead of a father. I’m telling you, Hank, he’s going to send this league down in flames.”

“I’m impressed. You’re new to being gay, but you have the drama queen shit down pat.” Hank raises an eyebrow at me. “This is Real Housewives-level. I’m…I’m legitimately impressed.”

“I’m not a drama queen,” I growl back. I’d rather be compared to an overflowing Porta Potty than a Real Housewife. “I’m pointing out legitimate issues with this new player. You don’t think it’s fucked up that he’s Ted Gross’s son? You saw how the guy was at Ferguson’s.”

Ted hasn’t forgotten what happened on the ice. Neither have I.

“It’s a little fucked up. But maybe it’s just a coincidence that he’s in the league?” Hank raises his shoulders to his ears. “He used to play hockey. He misses playing hockey. He found a local competitive league for hockey. I’m going with Gillette razors on this one.”

“What?”

“It’s a concept in science that says the simplest explanation is usually the correct one.”

“Isn’t that Occam's razor?”

“Oh. Maybe. I’ve never used their razors.” Hank feels his clean-shaven face. It’s a miracle that he graduated from high school. There were times the team would wait outside his classroom to find out if he passed a test and thus had a GPA high enough to play in that week’s game. Sometimes, I wonder how Brody could be Hank’s offspring, but then I remember Brody is just as sweet and loyal as his old man. Genetics are weird.

“Maybe Jack doesn’t like you for a totally different reason. Who knows?” Hank wonders. I haven’t told him or the guys about what happened on the rooftop. I’d much rather believe it’s a complicated revenge plot led by his dad.

“In all fairness, we stole his clothes.” Hank chuckles, remembering the prank. “He wanted payback, and he got it.”

“Please. He enjoyed it. He was fucking smiling as we drove away.”

Again, my mind flashes to him letting his towel drop, his cocky smirk as he let me soak in what I was missing by leaving that rooftop. I can feel the warm sensation brewing in my core—and heading south. My dick isn’t on my side here.

“What I mean to say is that he knew what we did was a fun prank. Taping a guy’s blades on game day is a dirty move.”

“You’re not the first player to get your skates taped, Griff.”

“Jack is an overconfident prick.”

“Whatever you say, drama queen.” Hank shakes his head while staring at the stage, waiting for the event to begin. “You were never the guy to let another player get inside your head. I guess there’s a first for everything.”

His words shine an unwanted spotlight on me, making me want to hide. “He’s not in my head.”

Well, which head are we talking about?

“He’s totally in your head. He’s moved in and already assembled IKEA furniture.” Hank chuckles to himself, his cheeks getting extra bulbous.

“No, he’s not.” I lightly punch Hank’s shoulder. “He’s pissing me off, that’s what he’s doing.”

“Who’s pissing you off?” Derek scoots into our row with his friend Leo. Derek’s daughter Jolene sits next to Brody on stage, her radiant red hair unmistakable up there.

“Hey, buddy.” Hank leans over me to bump fists with him. “Good to see you again, Mr. Mayor. How’s that pothole on Mercer Street coming?”

---