Page 90 of Gross Misconduct

This time, when I watch him walk out that garage door, I know he’ll be back.

29

JACK

Despite running on very little sleep, I powered through our game with the Overbites, and I received a free pack of floss. I made a beautiful pass to Fuentes in the second period for a goal that put us over the top. It was good practice for the big Sourwood Cup game in one week.

After the game, we went to Easter Egg but made sure to keep Miller away from the pinball machines. The owner made us promise after he almost smashed his fist through The Addams Family game. Fuentes informed the team that we’d be having two extra practices this week to prepare. The guys groaned in response.

“Do you really think we need it?” Miller asked.

“Yes!” Fuentes slammed down his beer. “The Comebacks demolished their opponents today. I heard that Griffin Harper scored two goals and barely let a forward through his line. He is on fire, and he’s barreling right into us.”

He barreled into me last night, again and again. A flush of red creeps up my back as I remember the highlights.

“All eyes are on us next week,” continued Fuentes. “People are reaching out to me every day on social media to tell me how badly they want us to lose. We’re the big, bad, younger team, not the lovable underdog. If this were an ‘80s sports movie, we’d be the villains. I don’t want to be the villains. I’m nice!”

He plunks down on his barstool and drowns his anxieties in his beer.

“We’re gonna win!” I say to the team. “This isn’t a movie. We are better, stronger, faster. Griffin and the Comebacks can barrel into us all they want, but we will push back.”

Just like a good power bottom.

We break off into different conversations as guys eventually leave. Fuentes, Miller, and I grab another drink.

“So how are you feeling about next week?” Fuentes asks me.

I take a sip of my beer and shrug. “Whatever happens, happens.”

“You sound chill,” Miller says.

“Maybe I am.”

“Really?” he asks. “Most eyes will be on you. People will want to see if the pro hockey player chokes against the locals. And on top of that, your future career prospects hinge on pulling out a win.”

“Wow, Miller. You really know how to make a guy feel calm.” Fuentes smacks him in the chest. “Excellent yogi skills, fucker.”

“I was just pointing out facts.” He turns to me, his big eyes getting even wider. “Do you want to do a breathing exercise to chill out?”

“No.”

“Okay. Do you want one of my edibles?”

I had told the guys about the potential coaching job at Hudson University earlier in the locker room. I still can’t believe it’s a real possibility, and I don’t know why it isn’t making me more nervous. This whole weekend has been a fucking blur, and it’s messing with my head.

“I want to win. I’m making no bones about it,” says Fuentes. He spins the coaster like a top. “I don’t want everyone in this town thinking we can’t beat a bunch of has-beens.”

Miller nods along with him, and for the first time, I can tell how much this game is weighing on them. I’m not the only one who should be feeling nervous. No matter the stakes, no hockey player wants to lose. We play sports not to learn good sportsmanship, but to dominate. I don’t want to let them down.

“They’re not has-beens,” I say. “They still got the goods. But so do we.”

Familiar nerves rumble in my stomach. I’m most scared about embarrassing myself in front of the whole town, proving to everyone that the NHL was right to cast me aside.

“It’s an amazing opportunity, getting to coach at the collegiate level,” says Fuentes.

“It is,” I repeat. “It would be the most logical path for me to take. All I know is hockey.” I take a swig of my beer, a curious crestfallen pang hitting my chest.

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