Page 143 of Game Misconduct
He nods like he’s memorizing every syllable. “That’s hard.”
“Yeah. So’s keeping your stick on the ice. Try that next time instead of punting pucks into people.”
His mouth opens. Closes. Then he laughs. “Got it.”
I sling my gloves over my shoulder and start for the tunnel.
He calls after me. “Hey—seriously, though. Thanks.”
I don’t turn around. Just lift a hand in acknowledgment as I walk off.
Let him earn the rest of it.
I had just enough time to shower and change before returning to the rink for a community outreach event. And when I get there, the rink’s gone full circus.
Kids are on the ice, sponsors mill around, and local press snap shots for the paper.
Most of the team’s kept it together. Signed jerseys, posed for photos, did the good citizen act. Now we’re standing at the mouth of the tunnel waiting to see where else we’re needed.
But not Finn.
He’s going the extra mile by having the Zamboni drive him around the rink. Standing on the back of the machine, he’s holding court, waving like a homecoming king on a parade float and tossing candy to the kids he got from God knows where.
He’s still in half gear—jersey untucked, shorts hanging too low, mouth moving too fast
Then it happens.
He turns to wave at someone, and his waistband snags on a metal piece on the back of the Zamboni. There’s a rip and then all hell breaks loose.
His ass is out on full display for all eyeballs in the rink to see.
Worse, he’s about to have a dick slip with his boxers caught low, jock strap barely hanging on, and enough thigh to ruin someone’s childhood.
Thankfully, he’s fast enough to keep from showing the family jewels.
But the damage is done.
A collective gasp echoes from the boards. One of the kids shrieks with laughter.
Phones are already out.
I close my eyes. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”
Riley nearly chokes on his water. “Tell me that just happened.”
“Oh, it happened,” Logan mutters, rubbing his temple like he’s aging in real time.
Jace walks up beside me, gaze flat. “That gonna hit socials before or after PR calls in sick?”
We watch as Finn scrambles to yank his shorts up, laughing like it’s the best joke of the year.
“I swear to God,” I mutter, “he’s proud of it.”
Cal, trying not to laugh, leans in. “Is this… normal?”
“No,” I say flatly. “This is Finn.”
A photographer cackles. One of the interns turns green.
