Page 4 of Gross Misconduct

“Des, what the hell are you drinking?” Derek Hogan asks in his laid-back drawl. He joined us at the bar once his shift at the fire station was over. He has less hair on his head than he did in high school, but he makes up for it with a thick beard.

“A mediocre martini.” Des cheers him with his glass.

I look around the table at my old teammates. We’re all older. Time has been kinder to some of us than others. It’s funny how certain parts of a person don’t change over time. Hank still has his dopey, wide smile. Des cocks his right eyebrow damn near up to his hairline in that same skeptical way when he’s listening to some bullshit story. Tanner’s eyes remain sweet as ever. Bill’s still got his bulbous nose.

Some of us take a sip of our beer, and some of us gulp it down. Instead of sneaking beer and drinking in a parking lot, we can buy it at a bar. It’s not as fun, though. When you’re a teenager, nobody tells you how expensive drinks can be.

And this drink is costing more than cash. It’s like those timeshare presentations you have to sit through to get a free vacation. Bill turns to me and begins his pitch, telling me all about the Hudson Valley Adult Hockey League. It’s for experienced adult hockey players who want a fast and competitive league. Games are once a week for seventy-five minutes. The spring season starts up in a few weeks. I can see the machinations moving in his head. He may be smiling and laughing, but Bill Crandell is still a competitive son of a bitch who wants to win.

“You guys have a good roster. You don’t need me,” I say.

“With Mitch out, we’re down a man. I want another Husky out there, a guy I know can get the job done.” Bill’s eyes rest on me for a beat.

“That’s where you come in, Griffdog.” Des points at me and winks.

“Look, I know it’s been a while since any of us played. Some are rustier than others.” Bill cocks an eye at Hank.

“Sorry I didn’t spend my thirties doing fucking squats,” Hank shoots back. “But on the bright side, I got a bigger stomach so I can cover more of the net.” He tosses a peanut into his mouth, pleased with his math.

“We’re rusty, but we’re not out. We’re still champions,” Bill continues, that competitive zing lighting up his eyes. “I’ve seen the other teams practicing. They’re good, but we’re better. We’re unstoppable.”

“We were,” I note.

“Are,” Bill emphasizes back. “We’ll shake off the malaise of suburban and dad life.”

“I don’t have dad malaise.” Des gleefully sips his martini with the calm of a proud, childfree bachelor who has never known a three a.m. feeding or toddler tantrum.

“What do you do with all your free time?” Tanner asks.

“Sex. And shopping. And now hockey.” Des chows down on his martini-soaked olive.

“I could make a more effective pitch if you fuckers didn’t keep interrupting me.” Bill rolls his eyes, although since the rest of us have kids, we’re all a bit envious of Des’s freedom.

“I’m gonna stop you, Bill.” I put my hand on his shoulder before he gets himself revved up. “I wish I could help you guys out, but I haven’t played since…”

My throat gets tight. The urge to touch my left eye burns through my fingers, but I resist calling more attention. The scratch of the patch digs into my skin.

“Admit it: you just wear that eye patch to scare us,” Hank says, wiping peanut dust off his shirt.

I shoot him a scowl worthy of the penalty box.

“And it works,” he says with a nervous gulp.

In the wake of the incident, I went through multiple surgeries to get it fixed, and for a while, it seemed like my left eye was improving. Not long after, a sports website chased me down and convinced me to do an interview. I thought that if scouts read about my restored vision, a miracle after multiple surgeries, they’d consider giving me another chance. But when I went on the ice to show the reporter that I still had the goods, I got so dizzy from blurriness, I threw up. The miracle was short-lived.

Alas, I got no calls. I was officially washed up before my twenty-first birthday, so I couldn’t even legally drown my sorrows.

Technically, I can still see a little out of my left eye, but it’s so blurry and disorienting that it’s easier to wear the patch.

“If there’s a time of day where you have less eye strain, we can accommodate practices,” Derek says, looking at Bill for confirmation. Tanner nods along in eager agreement. They’re really trying to woo me. I can’t help but feel a bit puffed up by it. They really think I’ve still got it?

“You want a guy with a bum eye on the ice with you? I thought you wanted to win.” I snort out a laugh.

“If it was anyone else’s eye, I’d say no way. But a one-eyed Griff Harper is still a better hockey player than most guys with 20/20 vision. Bottom line, Griff: I know what happened in high school was fucked up. It was.” He lets out a quick sigh. The other guys get serious. They were all bystanders, but the memory haunts them, too.

Bill bangs his fist on the table causing our glasses to rattle. “But dammit, you can still play. Iknowyou can still play. We made magic once before. We can do it again. Show these young guns that the Comebacks still have it!”

He always had a knack for motivational speeches. Even our coach admitted that Bill’s were better than his.

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