Page 97 of Gross Misconduct

“I thought if I could get Jack there, then it’d mean that…”

“That you didn’t fail.”

“Guess that didn’t work.” He pulls at his purple apron. He looks my way, a suspicious glint in his eye. “Are you serious about my son?”

I gulp back a lump in my throat. I wasn’t ready for this to become a meet the parents situation.

“I am.”

“What’s he like?” There’s a genuine curiosity to his voice that breaks my heart a little. As parents, there will always be a side of our kids that we’ll never see.

“He’s funny, inquisitive. He’s a damn good hockey player. He’s lost, but he’s finding his way. He’s cocky as shit.”

Ted snorts a laugh.

“Our game is at noon. I think you should go and watch your son.”

“Did Jack send you here?”

“No. Father to father, I think it’d mean a lot to him.”

Ted considers it for a second before shaking his head no. “My shift goes until three.”

“Can’t you switch with someone?”

He shoves his hands in his pockets. “You heard him the other night. Jack wants nothing to do with me. I don’t want to mess up his game by showing up.”

“I think he’d appreciate it.”

Ted tips his head, seeing right through my tenuous statement. “I’ve intruded enough on his life. I should probably stay back.” He gives me a smile that I can only describe as sad. He’s made his bed, and now he must lie in it.

“Okay.” I hold out my hand. Ted gives it a hard shake.

“When you’re on the ice today, make sure to give my son hell. That way, when he kicks your ass, the victory will taste that much sweeter.”

* * *

The parking lotat Summers Rink is fuller than I’ve ever seen it. It’s transformed into a full-blown tailgate. People mill about, going from car to car, some decorated with signage to support the Comebacks or the Blades. Music blasts from phones plugged into stereo speakers. Small grills and coolers are set out, the sizzle of hamburgers and hot dogs swirling through the air. It’s nothing compared to what you’d see for a professional game or even a collegiate game. But for smalltown Sourwood, it’s quite a showing.

Above the front entrance to Summers Rink is a big painted sign that says “First Annual Sourwood Cup” with a gold trophy as exclamation point.

Seeing the crowd and the sign makes the adrenaline rise in my system. I signed up for a fun beer league with old friends, and now we’re front and center, less than an hour from having the whole town watch us. The last time I played hockey for a full, roaring crowd, I lost an eye.

I press my fingertips to my eye patch, proud of my scars. No matter what happens today, I remind myself that I came back. I gave hockey a second chance. I gave myself a second chance. And I can play a damn good game with one eye.

In the locker room, there’s a nervous energy among my teammates. We’re not rambunctious. Hank isn’t cracking jokes. Tanner isn’t whistling his lucky song.

Bill paces up and down the aisle of lockers, the first one dressed.

“Are you trying to hit ten thousand steps?” Des asks him. “Thinking of new ways to bang your assistant?”

Bill flips him the bird.

“Guys! Come in.” Bill motions us to join in the middle of the room. His face is stone cold serious. He was built for moments like these. “Whatever happens out there, I’m proud of every guy on this team. Nobody thought a bunch of fortysomething guys could keep up with guys half their age. We’re about to prove they’re all wrong. There’s a reason we’re the Comebacks. Life might’ve kicked our asses at one point or another. Cancer, divorce, death, bad accidents.” Bill glances at me for a second. “But we didn’t let it keep us down. We got back up and said, ‘Is that all you got?’”

The guys and I cheer and pound at the lockers. I think about how much time I wasted hiding after the incident, retreating. This team and Jack have shown me there’s no safety in shrinking away. Life is about taking chances.

“These Blades want to tussle. So let’s fucking tussle!” Bill yells, eliciting more cheers from us. He squashes each of our nerves. We are revved and ready to go.

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