Page 93 of Gross Misconduct

He tosses me a pair of flip flops he presumably found on the floor.

“Thanks. Shit.” Mortification hits me. I’m wading through high-tide of this ocean of embarrassment.

“We’re high up. It’s dark. He probably didn’t see anything,” Griffin says, not even convincing himself.

I may never forget the awful look on his face down in that parking lot. I worry it’ll be the last time I ever see his face. Dad and I don’t get along, but the possibility that he’d cut me out of his life sends a sharp pang of fear stabbing through my heart.

“I’ll be right back.” I kiss him goodbye.

Turns out, I’m not going anywhere. Dad bangs at the door with such force that it shakes the cabinet doors and causes a framed poster from my hockey days crashing to the floor.

Griffin leaps up and throws a protective arm across me.

I give him a nod that it’ll be okay, even though my pulse is racing so fast it’s bound to go sonic boom.

Dad bangs at the door again, sending another framed poster to the floor.

“Open up!” he yells.

Griffin squeezes my hand. “I’m right here,” he says.

A beat of quiet takes over the apartment as I unlock the door. It’s so silent, I can hear the click. And then all hell breaks loose.

Dad bursts through the entrance, shoves past me, and takes a swing at Griffin, getting him in the eye patch. Did Dad aim for that spot on purpose, or was it a twist of fucked-up fate?

Griffin stumbles back yet stays on his feet.

“Dad! Stop!”

“What the hell are you doing with my son?” he yells at Griffin, seething with a rage I didn’t know he had in him.

He doesn’t wait for an answer. He lunges at Griffin, who avoids his punch this time. Griffin pushes him into the fridge. Cereal boxes and bags of chips fall to the ground.

“Dad, I can explain!”

He barrels into Griffin, sending him into the island. More of my shit falls to the ground. Griffin yowls in pain and grabs his lower back where he made contact.

“Stop!” Griffin yells.

“Is this some kind of sick revenge?” Dad heaves air through his nostrils like a bull, and to him, Griffin is a wall of red. “You ruined my career, and now you’re out for my son, too?”

“I didn’t ruin shit. You ruined mine!”

Dad charges at Griffin, bum-rushing him onto the couch. Fortunately, that’s the one thing in my apartment that can’t break.

“Stop it!” I yell at the top of my lungs. I grab a plate from the sink and throw it against the wall above the couch. The shattering break gets Dad to stop.

“Get off me!” Griffin says, pushing out of Dad’s grip.

Dad paces by the window and smooths out his sweater. We have a brief window before he can be detonated again. For the first time since he barged in, he acknowledges I’m in the room. Behind his glare is something resembling heartbreak.

“What the hell are you doing with him?” he asks me.

“We were…we…” The beginnings of sentences tumble out of my mouth, but I can’t finish any of them. While I’d be happy to proclaim my feelings for Griffin to almost anyone, I don’t know how to thread this needle with Dad.

“Dad, it’s not what you think. Griffin isn’t here out of revenge.”

“Are you two…” Dad points between us. His face drains of color. “I can’t even say it.”

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