Page 98 of Gross Misconduct

Bill cranks the music. The pump-up song from our South Rock days, classic ‘90s jam “Let Me Clear My Throat” fills the locker room.

I keep thinking about Jack and how he’s doing. I texted him good luck this morning, and he sent back a heart emoji. Sweet, but it still has me a little worried. I hope all this stuff with his dad doesn’t get in his head.

“Hey Griff!” Marcy yells from the hall before barging into the locker room. Her big hair could be its own padding.

“Marcy, this is the men's locker room,” Bill says.

“Eh, you don’t have anything that I haven’t already seen.” She turns to me. “You have visitors who want to wish you luck.”

“Visitors?” I arch an eyebrow. “Who are they?”

“I’m not your receptionist. Go out and see for yourself.”

I know better than to disobey Marcy Summers. I follow her back to the hall, and fireworks immediately go off in my chest at the sight of Annabelle and June.

“Daddy!” they yell.

I can feel the smile take over the full bottom half of my face as I squat down and pull them into a hug.

“Your costume is really puffy,” June remarks, pushing at the padding.

“It’s a uniform, Junie,” Carmen says above me. She gives me a supportive nod.

“I wear all this padding because it keeps me safe.”

“Is hockey dangerous?” Annabelle asks, and I swear she’s staring at my eye patch.

“Not this game. In this game, we’re not allowed to hit each other, just like at home. And if a player does hit someone, they have to go into time-out,” I say.

“There’s a time-out?” June asks.

“There is. It’s a box they have to sit in.”

June laughs, a little too intrigued at a penalty box for my comfort. If she ever plays hockey when she’s older, the other girls better watch out.

“If it looks scary, just remember that we’re all friends in the end. We’re playing. Having fun. Kind of like you girls will roughhouse on the couch, we’re roughhousing here.”

“Okay, Daddy has to go onto the ice,” Carmen says.

I mouth thank you to her. She gives me a wink.

“Can I get one more good luck hug?”

I squeeze the girls tight in my arms, wondering if any part of the game can come close to this moment.

“Daddy,” Annabelle says. “Kick some butt!”

32

JACK

Istep onto the ice knowing it’s not going to be a good game. I’ve played enough hockey to know when I’m in the zone. And I am not in the zone. I’ll play well, maybe even good. That’s what being a professional is mostly about: being able to turn it on with discipline, not motivation.

But will I be great? Will I be epic?

Doubtful.

I can’t get my argument with Dad out of my head. I’m still angry at him for barging into my apartment and trying to tell me who I can and can’t date after showing no interest in my personal life. I tried to make our relationship work for the longest time because he’s the only family I have, but I don’t think I can do it anymore.

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