Page 30 of Gross Misconduct

“It did! I used to be able to fit into it no problem,” Hank says.

“Was that before or after you were legally allowed to vote?”

“Excuse me for wanting to boost morale. Sorry I don’t wear bougie gear from wherever you get your shit. My jersey isn’t from Brooks Brothers.”

“I don’t think Brooks Brothers manufactures jerseys for the modern businessman, Hank,” Des says. He is truly a master of sarcasm.

“One-balled Dickheads ‘r Us then,” Hank shoots back.

Des bristles at the reference to his nuts but keeps his sardonic attitude. “You mean the toy store that’s been out of business for like a decade? A-plus on your timely insults. Let me know when I should expect your Myspace jokes.”

Hank has no retort, so he does what any goon would. He shoves Des. Des shoves him back. Hank might be larger surface area-wise, but Des is the stronger one, his arms like cannons.

“Guys! Break it up!” I push them off each other. “Save it for the other team.”

“Once we get back on the ice practicing together, all this noise will fade away.” Bill always knew how to regain control and get us back into the zone. “I’m getting Comebacks jerseys made that will fit everyone. We’ve dealt with loud, obnoxious fans at games. A few kids running around is an upgrade from that. And as for evening practices, it’s the only time that was available. It is what it is.”

His eyes flick to me for a second, and I know what he’s thinking: I fucked this up because I couldn’t get one on Jack.

Well, apparently Jack has been playing me this whole fucking time, a long con of revenge for his dear old dad. I’m wise to his game, though, and I won’t be a sucker again.

“I won’t let it happen again,” I say to the team. I picture wiping the ice with Jack, wiping that cocky grin off his face.

“Good,” says Bill. “Let’s get practicing.”

We begin skating around and stickhandling to warm up. Bill has us come to center ice for drills. He splits us into two teams and introduces a puck onto the ice. Derek and I have to keep it away from Tanner and Des while staying in the neutral zone. Bill practices taking shots on Hank at goal to keep him warm.

Tanner stifles a yawn into his arm as he effortlessly passes to Des. We used to joke that those two shared a brain because they rarely had to signal to each other for passes.

“Don’t yawn. That’ll make me yawn,” Derek says, powerless to stop his yawn.

“Keep it up,” Bill yells back to us. “Our first game this weekend is against the Rangers. Don’t be too worried. They’re park rangers. I think we got this.”

“Beating the Rangers will be good practice when we eventually play the Blades,” I say, finally intercepting a pass between my two foes. My hand grips my stick tighter.

“You’re so focused on the Blades,” Des says.

“They have a ringer on their team. Of course I am.”

Des studies my face, as if looking for other evidence. I won’t give it to him.

“You keep mentioning their ringer,” Tanner says. “I think he’s getting in your head.”

Buddy, he’s already there, try as I might to get him out.

“Of course he’s in Griff’s head. The guy beat him one-on-one,” Derek says.

“Was this the same guy flirting with him at the bar?” Des asks.

“You don’t know the half of it. He’s Ted Gross’s son,” Hank says, yelling from goal while stopping one of Bill’s shots. Impressive. “We figured it out the other day. The guy is still a raging prick.”

I do a quick lap around the empty half of the rink to avoid my teammates’ stares.

“Ted had his son join the league to mess with Griff.” Hank shakes his head.

“That’s fucked up,” says Des.

“Des!” Tanner nudges his chin to the kids in the stands.

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