Page 78 of King of the Crease

Somehow, my teammates find the strength to meet up at Stone’s Throw Tavern after our aborted game. This time, though, we’re all drinking water and coffee.

Griffin is getting lots of dagger eyes from our hungover teammates, especially Bill.

“Look on the bright side: technically, we didn’t lose!” Hank says. We sit next to each other and hold hands under the table. I think we’re the only members of the Comebacks in good moods.

“And we didn’t throw up on the ice,” I add. “Just the penalty box.”

“Honestly, I’m surprised the Blades tossed their cookies. You’d think younger guys would be able to hold their liquor better. Or at least make yourself blow chunks into a trash can before going out there. Y’know, like a civilized person.” Hank shakes his head.

I’m the only one who laughs at his comment.

“He has a point,” Griffin says.

“Griffin, enough,” Bill shoots back. He rubs at his forehead.

“I didn’t force you to go to a bar crawl.”

“No, but you were very persuasive,” Des says. “And you have the whole eyepatch thing going for you, which only increases the intimidation.”

“I don’t think any of us had fun last night,” Bill says.

Hank and I would care to disagree. I’m not sure how much our teammates saw of us last night. As my hangover fades, memories of last night sparkle in my mind. And it’s all absolutely wonderful.

My phone buzzes with a text from Agnes, pulling me out of this life and instantly dropping me back into Prince Nicholas world.

Agnes: Your Highness, I wanted to check in. Can we talk?

Seeing “Your Highness” makes my stomach drop. I don’t respond, choosing to stay cocooned in Sourwood.

Mitch brings over another pitcher of water and cups. Everyone grabs for a cup at the same time. By the time Tanner pours everyone a glass, and a refill, the pitcher’s empty.

“Bill, you’ve been giving me the stink eye all day. Can you give it a rest?” Griffin asks.

“Griff, what were you thinking?” Bill asks, his tone softening. “You hate partying and getting drunk. A bar crawl is the last place in the world you want to be. I saw you last night. You weren’t having fun. You were watching Jack have fun.”

Griffin spins his glass in his hand, and for the first time, I detect an invisible weight on his shoulders that he’s desperate to get off.

“Jack wanted to go out with his boyfriend,” he says quietly. “Every time he wants to go out, and I say I’m too tired, it’s a reminder to him that I’m so much older. One day, he might think, ‘What the hell am I doing with this old man?’”

I’ve seen lots of relationships with major age gaps in them. Being around very wealthy people, I regularly meet older men with much younger girlfriends. Trophy wives. I wonder how they manage to make it work. I assume money smoothes out all their issues.

“Jack loves you,” Hank says without an ounce of doubt.

“He loves me now. But he’s in his prime⁠—”

“So are you,” Bill says, his tone solemn and final.

“He could decide he wants to date someone his own age. Someone who wants to go to clubs and bars and late concerts. Someone who isn’t tied down with young kids.” Griffin rubs at his face, creased with exhaustion. “I don’t know how this thing between us is still working, but I love him, and I don’t want to lose him. When he told me I didn’t have to go to the bar crawl, I panicked. I worried he was giving up on me.”

“That’s the dumbest shit I’ve ever heard.”

We all look up and find Jack standing there, overhearing our conversation, almost looking hurt.

“What are you doing here?” Griffin asks him.

“I wanted to see how you guys were holding up. What’s this shit about you afraid of losing me?” Jack asks his boyfriend, the words sharp like an accusation.

“Can we talk about this later?” Griffin whispers. He stands up to keep their lovers' quarrel closed off.