Page 9
Two weeks later
I pull back my stick and take my shot. Unlike when I asked Tate out for dinner, this shot misses terribly. The puck slides right past the goal. Hank, playing goalie, doesn’t even need to hold out his stick to block it. He gives it a wave as it passes.
“Nice,” Hank says to me. “I should bring a book to practice next time. Y’know, seeing as I don’t have to work.”
He cracks himself up, his helmet shaking with his jolly laughter.
“I’ve gotten plenty of shots on you this practice,” I fire back. “Are you tending goal or running a 7-11?”
A few weeks ago, I had the crazy idea to get my old hockey teammates back together to play in a local recreational league. In high school, we were the Wolf Pack, an unstoppable force on the ice that won back-to-back championships. None of us have played competitively in over twenty years. But I found myself craving the ice and the team camaraderie.
When you’re a teenager, it’s easy to hang out with your friends all the time. Not as much when you’re adults and there’s full-time jobs and kids and spouses. Life gets away from you, days pass into years.
We’re calling our team the Comebacks. And we’re working like hell to live up to that name and show people that twenty years on, we still got it. Admittedly, hockey is a lot harder on the body at this age, even for someone like me who exercises regularly. And finding the energy to practice after a long day of work is a herculean effort. But we’re doing it. I get to spend time with my friends, which makes all the pain and exhaustion worth it. Des and Tanner, along with our fellow teammates Derek and Mitch, skate up to the goal. We started out as classmates, but the ice made us brothers.
“Hey, cut Bill some slack. We’re all a little rusty,” says Tanner, the sweetest guy who ever played the game.
“We’re better than we were a month ago. My body isn’t in total agony after practice anymore, just regular aches and pains,” Hank adds, then turns to Mitch. “How are you feeling, Gramps?”
“Hanging in there.” Mitch, who’s our age but already a grandfather, is a man of few words and mostly grumbles.
Derek nods along and scratches at his thick beard. “We’re getting our groove back.”
“Can the groove come back faster? We have our first game in a few weeks,” Des says.
The comment stings for all of us. Tonight’s practice has been a little rough. Missed passes. Plays that need more coordination. Pucks that should’ve been caught before sailing into the goal.
“And speaking of things coming back, anyone hear from Griffin yet?” Des asks.
“He said no again,” Tanner says with a sigh. “He doesn’t play hockey anymore.”
“None of us did, but now here we are.” Hank shrugs his shoulders. “We need Griffdog back. He’s the only original member of the Wolf Pack who’s not here. Heck, Derek moved back from Alaska to join the team.”
“I didn’t move back from Alaska for the team,” Derek says.
Hank pats his shoulder. “Buddy, I’m making an argument here. Just go with it.” Hank turns back to everyone, but focuses his attention on me. “Look, we need to get Griffin back on the team. We’re like Infinity Stones. You need all of us for the magic to happen.”
I don’t disagree with his logic. The guys nod along. Unfortunately, we can’t compel Griffin to get back on the ice, try as we might.
“I know the last time he played…it did not go well,” Hank says in the understatement of the year.
“It was awful,” Mitch says. We all shudder with the memory of Griffin’s last-ever hockey game senior year. I can still picture the splatter of blood on the ice, and it makes my stomach twist. Maybe Griffin could’ve been one of the greats of the sport; no one ever got the chance to find out.
“I don’t blame him for refusing to play again,” Derek says. “If that happened to me, I’d probably feel the same.”
“He has unfinished business on the ice,” Hank claims.
“He did seem the slightest bit intrigued when I mentioned it to him at the school pick up line,” Tanner says. “He’s still in good shape.”
“Is it unethical to offer him money?” Des wonders, scratching at his clean-shaven face.
“I could try seducing him,” Hank offers as he picks dinner from his teeth. “Though there is the risk of him falling hopelessly in love with me.”
“Right,” Des deadpans.
“Hey!” Hank objects. “I got a pair of zebra print underwear for my birthday. Maybe you can see me in them, if you play your cards right.”
“Look, we’re getting there,” I say, not wanting to go down the Griffin Harper rabbit hole again. (Or hear more about Hank’s underwear for that matter.) As the team captain, it’s my responsibility to keep up the team spirits. “Nobody thinks a bunch of fortysomething guys can become champions again. They think we’re all a bunch of beer guts and bad knees. We’re going to show them they’re wrong. We might be missing Griffin, but we can still make magic. We’re not called the Comebacks for nothing.”
I put my hand in the middle, a forceful move to bolster team unity. You’re either in or you’re out. Tanner is the first to put his hand in, followed by Mitch and Derek. I glance up at Hank and Des, two guys with the most opinions of anyone on the team.
“Come on, guys. We can’t do it without you,” I say.
“Don’t be dicks,” Tanner says, taking us all by surprise with the foul language. Since he has a bundle of little ones at home, he’s usually always keeping it G-rated. Hank and Des are taken aback and quickly shuttle their hands into the center.
“On three,” I say. “One, two, three…”
“Comebacks!” Our yell echoes through the empty rink.
I check the clock, and our time on the ice is up. Another team from the league, the Overbites, made up of a bunch of dentists, waits for us to vacate.
“Is it inappropriate to ask them about this crown I have?” Hank muses as we skate off the ice.
I forget about hockey for a moment when I spot Tate sitting on a bench outside the rink. I can look at this man all day.
“Good hustle out there,” he says.
“You were watching us practice?” I ask, worried that he saw me biff that last shot.
“No. It just seemed like something good to say.” Tate shrugs. I pull him into a kiss, letting his salty lips take me to paradise.
“Save it for the backseat of your car, Bill,” Des says with a wink. I give him the finger while remaining liplocked with my boyfriend, who I can now publicly say is my boyfriend.
The past two weeks have been incredible and also pure torture. Getting to be around Tate all day made me smile nonstop. Not being able to swoop him into a kiss whenever I wanted was rough. I tried to be as professional as possible. And I was, save for a quick fuck in the supply closet…and another quick fuck in my office…and the hinted to hookup in the backseat of my car which I never should’ve divulged to Des…and Tate sitting under my desk and blowing me during a marketing call. Twice. And of course all the dirty texts we sent back and forth.
So maybe we weren’t the most exemplary employees, but it doesn’t matter now because as of five p.m. yesterday, Tate is no longer my assistant.
“Ready for our date?” I gaze into his large eyes, like two rocks perfect for skipping across a pond.
“Oh yeah.” Tate steps back, probably so his cute outfit doesn’t get soaked with my sweat. “You’ve done a great job at keeping it a secret.”
“See? I can schedule and plan things without the help of my trusty assistant.” I had made different plans originally, but then remembered Tate has access to my calendar, where he saw the reservation. I quickly changed it and kept it on my personal calendar away from his eyes.
Tate spent two years anticipating my every move. I want to show him that I’m capable of fun surprises.
“You really have no idea where I’m taking you tonight?” I ask as we walk toward the locker room.
“He’s taking you to Burger King,” Hank yells as he walks by us.
“Hank, don’t you have some zebra print underwear to put on?” I cock an eyebrow.
He smirks as he enters the locker room.
“Do I want to know what that’s about?” Tate asks.
“You really don’t.” I silently curse Hank for putting an image in my head that will unfortunately never leave.
“I’m clueless. I’ve been trying to figure out where you made the new dinner reservation.” Tate taps his chin. “I know the fancy restaurants you prefer. But you probably know that I know, so you’re going in a different direction. Perhaps an Asian-leaning restaurant, since you’re assuming I’m thinking of French or Italian food.”
“You’re way overthinking this.”
“You’re right, you’re right. Wait, can I get one guess?” Tate stands on his tiptoes, the cuteness impossible to deny.
“One guess.”
“Oishi, the Japanese steakhouse on the water.”
I stop walking and clench my eyes shut.
“Fuck. I was right. Why did I want to guess?” He smacks his hand to his forehead. “I’m not good at romance, Bill. I ruin the moment. You’re welcome to run in the opposite direction if you want.”
“I can’t believe you said Oishi.” I shake my head. “Because that’s one hundred percent…wrong!”
My roaring laughter bounces off the walls. I dab at tears pricking the corner of my eyes. A rush of victory overtakes me, not unlike when I used to win hockey games. The surprise is still alive.
Tate playfully narrows his eyes at me. “Go get changed.”
“Man, are you sure you were my assistant?”
He points to the locker room. “Go now. Before I buy a chastity belt off Amazon.”
I step into the locker room, but race right back out and swoop Tate into one more kiss. I can’t help myself. Having Tate in my life has opened my heart up and brought new levels of joy into my life that I didn’t think was possible for a guy like me. I thought I was destined to have the same luck in love as my parents. Looks like hockey isn’t the only place where I’m able to make a comeback.
There is no better feeling than Tate pressed against my body. “And for the record, you’re pretty damn good at this romance stuff, smart guy.”
The End
What happened with Griffin Harper to end his hockey career?
And what happens when he falls for the much younger captain of the Comebacks’ arch rivals?
Find out in Gross Misconduct , Book 1 in the Comebacks series.
As a high school hockey star, I was on track for greatness. Until an opponent attacked me on the ice, leaving me half blind.
For the past twenty-seven years, I’ve avoided hockey and its painful memories. But when my old teammates get back together to play in a local recreational league, I realize it could be a chance to rewrite history.
The only person standing in my way is Jack Gross.
Hockey isn’t complete without a rivalry, and ours comes courtesy of the Blades: they’re younger, faster, and fronted by Jack, a former professional hockey player who hates my guts after a rooftop hookup gone wrong.
His cockiness and penchant for pranks make me hate him right back. But Jack has a special way of getting under my skin that makes me want to get into his pants. And well, I only have so much willpower.
As our teams get closer to a showdown on the ice, Jack begins shedding his armor of confidence. Despite getting to live the life I dreamed of, maybe Jack is as messed up as me.
The championship game could redeem the past for us both. But there can only be one winner. Will victory taste as sweet if it costs me Jack?
Gross Misconduct is a rivals to lovers, age gap, single dad romance with no cheating and an HEA. It is Book 1 in the Comebacks, a series about a friend group of single dads who were hockey all-stars in high school and looking to recapture the magic in their forties. Whether they win or lose, there's always a post-game beer.