Unrivaled, page 21
Grady wouldn’t have wanted that a month ago. Did he want it now?
He couldn’t say. He didn’t hate the idea of leaving the Firebirds. In hindsight he realized he was part of the problem, that he’d let the chip on his shoulder about management’s bad decisions color his interactions with his teammates. He could’ve tried to make the best of the situation. Now he’d never have the chance. But at least he knew better than to make the same mistake in LA.
If it weren’t for Max….
Grady pursed his lips, but he couldn’t help thinking about it. If Hedgie hadn’t hinted that he knew things Grady told Max in private—deeply personal things Grady hadn’t even fully voiced to Max—during a game, when Grady had asked Max to make sure that never happened…. If Grady weren’t so angry and hurt, and sick over his own recklessness—
The flight attendant came by Grady’s row. Grady eyed the tiny bottles of whiskey but asked for water. Flying made him dehydrated, and he wouldn’t sleep much tonight as it was.
He downed the water and let himself finish the thought.
If Grady didn’t care so much about Max, this trade would make him happy. The Condors were a strong Cup contender. They had a solid core, with lots of guys in their prime and enough talented younger players to give them staying power for years. They’d lost the Cup Final just the year before. The team was primed to win and win now—no more endless rebuilds.
So the trade didn’t bother him, even though being sequestered in a trainer’s room, told nothing, and then traded midgame made him grind his teeth.
Which meant his turmoil was because of Max, who’d betrayed his trust on a fundamental level. It was like he’d flayed Grady open and put his guts on display.
Grady had spent so long avoiding attachment because he was afraid of getting hurt. Well, now he hurt, all right. He should’ve stuck to his guns. He should’ve told Max to go fuck himself back in September.
Jess was right.
At least she wasn’t the kind to say I told you so.
The flight attendant came by again and refilled his water glass. This time Grady sipped it more slowly and tried to concentrate on releasing the ball of tension that had coiled in his stomach. His jaw ached, and he rubbed it distractedly.
In a few hours, he’d land in LA. Someone from the Condors would meet him at the airport and drive him to his temporary accommodations for a few hours of sleep. Then he’d meet his new team, learn a new coach’s system, and look for somewhere more permanent to live. He didn’t have time to dwell on Max.
So he took out his phone and pulled up Max’s contact.
A handful of texts had come through before Grady put his phone in airplane mode. R u ok? and ill kiss it better. And then, ten minutes later, Fuck just saw the news. Call me when you can? XOX.
As if nothing had happened.
Grady slid his thumb over to the three dots in the top right corner. He only hesitated for a moment.
Then he hit Block Contact.
MAX GAVE it an entire day before he freaked out about the radio silence from Grady. Sure, a trade to another conference put a crimp in their relationship, but if that was going to be a deal-breaker, Max deserved to hear that from Grady instead of having to guess.
With his stomach knotted, he took out his phone and opened a text.
hope cali is treating you well
Was that too spineless? Too passive-aggressive? Max deleted it and tried again.
guess I have to take a rain check on that talk
God, no, that reeked of desperation and self-pity. Max couldn’t make Grady’s trade about him.
This was so stupid. What did he want to say?
I wish you hadn’t been traded.
I miss you.
I was looking forward to spending the rest of my life getting you to pretend you’re annoyed with me.
I know all this started with a stupid bet, but I think I’m in love with you.
I think you’re in love with me too.
Max couldn’t say any of that—not when Grady was ghosting him, and even if he wasn’t. Max had made all the moves—the bet, the follow-up, the offer to help Grady learn how to date. He’d shown up at Grady’s house. He’d invited Grady to Christmas.
Never had Grady reached out to him first. Max should scrounge up a modicum of self-respect and wait for Grady to text him this time.
But Max wasn’t very good at doing what he should, so he tried one more time.
i guess were not rivals anymore.
He couldn’t decide if that sounded sappy or pathetic, but he couldn’t spend another minute thinking about it or he’d lose his mind. He sent the text, put his phone on Do Not Disturb, and did his best to go to sleep.
In the morning he crawled out of bed to make breakfast. He didn’t have much of an appetite, but he still had to eat to keep his energy up. He got out the eggs and put some bread in the toaster.
He took out his phone, thinking maybe a new recipe from the internet would make breakfast more appetizing. He was opening the pantry to get the dried chives when the text message icon lit up.
Fucking finally. Weak with relief, Max opened it.
But it wasn’t from Grady at all. Your message could not be delivered.
Could not be delivered.
Grady had blocked him.
Max stood in the kitchen, numb.
The UV garden Grady gave him for Christmas had a bright light that was often still on when Max went to bed, so he’d put it in the pantry, where he could close the door. That meant he didn’t look at it every day. Today, when he put his phone down with a shaky hand, for the first time, he saw tender little shoots coming up.
He grabbed the chives and firmly closed the pantry door.
But no matter how much he tried to ignore it, suddenly the house felt like it was full of ghosts, all of them Grady’s. When he put the bowl he’d cracked the eggs in into the dishwasher, he gritted his teeth, remembering Grady sitting at his kitchen table, researching which model to get. Max loved that dishwasher.
Now he wanted to rip it out.
The frying pan he was using to make breakfast was the same one he’d scrambled eggs in that morning. It matched exactly the one in Grady’s kitchen in Philadelphia.
Gru’s bed in the corner of the living room, just visible from the stove, had been a gift from Grady. Gru was lying on it right now.
Even later tonight, when Max went upstairs to go to bed, he couldn’t escape, because Grady’s memory was all over his bedroom. He was even in the shower.
Max should throw all that stuff out. But Gru loved that bed. And it wasn’t easy to throw away a dishwasher. And that was his favorite frying pan, goddammit.
But the UV garden could go. Those tiny sprouts didn’t mean anything to Max. In fact, he wanted them out of his house right the fuck now.
He threw open the kitchen pantry and yanked the cord out of the outlet. Then he grabbed the garden in both hands and carried it into the garage, where he threw it against the floor to smash it into pieces.
But he couldn’t leave it like that. Gru could cut himself. So Max snatched the broom off the wall and furiously swept the broken plastic into a dustbin. Then he dumped everything in the garbage.
By the time he finished, the kitchen had filled with smoke. The moment Max opened the door, the smoke alarm went off.
The eggs he’d left on the stove had melded with the frying pan. There was no saving either of them.
Max’s eyes stung. He told himself it was from the smoke. “Fuck.” He swiped his hand over his face and squeezed his eyes shut.
Then he threw the frying pan in the garage trash too and went to get Gru’s leash. He could try breakfast again after a walk.
GRADY SPENT New Year’s jet-lagged.
His new captain was a defenseman named Howard Barclay. He was all of nineteen and still had acne and went by the imaginative nickname of Dawg.
Dawg did not invite Grady to a New Year’s party at his place after Grady’s first home game as a Condor. Grady figured that was because Dawg lived in a white-walled apartment with enough furniture to seat one and couldn’t legally buy alcohol. Instead, Grady’s new goalie, Mitch, invited him to the team gathering at his place. Grady went and enjoyed himself, even if he did spend half an hour petting Mitch’s idiotic cocker spaniel, but he caught a cab back to his hotel at twelve thirty, already gritty-eyed.
Being around people was better than dwelling on the party he’d have had back in Philly, with Jess and the girls and Max and maybe Gru.
But when he got back to the hotel, he found himself dwelling on it anyway. He couldn’t fall asleep.
He hated himself for it, but after twenty minutes of tossing and turning, he took out his phone and opened Instagram. Max might be an asshole, but Gru hadn’t done anything wrong, and Grady missed him too.
Except he didn’t see any posts from Gru on his feed, and when he searched for the profile, only a little gray box appeared. No posts yet.
Gru’s Instagram was public.
Max had blocked him.
Grady put his phone back down and scrubbed his hands over his face.
Now he was back to thinking about Max. He’d made an appointment for a blood draw on the third, even though it was probably too soon to know anything. How could Max have touched him the way he did, and been there for him like he was, and turned Grady into this version of himself who could make people like him, and then betray him like that? Why would he do it?
It didn’t make any sense.
He curled up on his side and forced himself to go to sleep.
He woke up January 1 groggy and disoriented, with his temples and face throbbing, and reached for his phone to check the time. He had a handful of New Year’s wishes from teammates—not just Firebirds and Condors, but Team USA guys too. Hedgie had sent a middle finger, but that wasn’t uncommon. Grady deleted it without thinking about it, because if he did, he’d get sucked down into a festering swell of heartbreak and resentment.
Baller had sent HEY HAPPY NEW YEAR. We should get sushi sometime, you in????
That, at least, Grady could seize on as a distraction. Aren’t we supposed to be rivals now?
He expected it to be a while before Baller texted back—it was pretty early—but maybe he had practice or maybe you didn’t get to sleep in very much when you had a kid, because he got a reply almost right away. Bro we could go on a date to Disneyland and no one would even notice. Ask me how I know.
Then, a moment later, Ok my husband would notice but you get the point.
Grady’s schedule for the day included looking at houses with his Realtor, because when you were staring down that kind of commission you didn’t worry about holidays, but he was free for dinner. Baller volunteered to make a reservation.
He spent a conscientious five minutes in the shower—the water conservation would take getting used to—then grabbed a bite in the hotel restaurant and met his Realtor out front.
Every one of his teammates had an opinion on the listings he looked through online, but Mitch was the judgiest and most helpful. Who has that much lawn in LA??? he texted after Grady sent him the third one. Fucking irresponsible smh. He shut down another as “soulless.” Grady agreed. He’d rather live somewhere with character. The others were too far from the arena.
So the list of properties to look at wasn’t long—just three Grady had picked out based on meticulous research of the neighborhoods, amenities, and location. He’d made up his mind to put in an offer on the third, but then his agent asked if he wanted to come with her to a fourth property she was just taking the pictures for prior to listing.
It was only two blocks from the third property, and Grady wasn’t ready to be alone with his thoughts, so he agreed and they pulled into the driveway of an older two-story white stucco home with a red tile roof, half of which was covered in solar panels. The front yard was landscaped with drought-resistant plants. Grady squinted up at the roofline and made out what might be a rooftop patio.
It was a beautiful house. Open and airy, with plenty of natural light for Grady’s house plants. It boasted several environmentally friendly features he’d specifically looked for in the other places, and the setup—with a master suite on the south side of the house, common areas in the middle, and a guest suite on the north—made perfect sense for Jess’s visits.
He held his tongue while his Realtor took pictures, but he couldn’t stop staring at the backyard, which had a lap pool and lounge chairs and threw him forcibly back to Christmas in Florida with Max.
The house was perfect. The patio had built-in planters where he could grow his vegetables year-round. The owners had planted clover in the backyard, which meant no watering or mowing—“And it’s not affected by dog urine,” the Realtor added when she finished explaining why it was a good choice. “Do you have a dog?”
Grady didn’t have a dog, but maybe he should finally get one. His life had been too empty for too long.
It took him two tries to manage, “I’d like to make an offer.”
The ensuing paperwork made him late for his reservation with Baller, but this was a common enough occurrence in LA that he didn’t mention it.
“Took the liberty,” he said when Grady arrived, and nodded at a tall sweating beer glass.
Grady collapsed into the booth across from him. “You’re a saint.”
Baller hooted. “I’m telling Gabe you said that.” In a polo shirt and shorts, he looked relaxed and at home. The restaurant he’d chosen was some kind of Mexican-sushi-fusion thing, and when the server came around, he spoke to her in rapid, familiar Spanish for a few minutes before asking if Grady knew what he wanted to order.
Grady raised an eyebrow. “You eat here often?”
“Yeah, I mean, I kind of hate our kitchen here, so probably once a week.” He grinned.
“It’s more like twice a week,” the server corrected fondly. “But usually he brings the baby for me to coo at.”
“You’ll have to make do with Grady this time.”
“Why don’t you order for me,” Grady told him. “I’m not picky.”
Baller made puppy eyes at the server, who rolled hers. “I’ll bring the usual.”
“Thanks, Carla!” Then he turned back to Grady. “So, California. How’s it feel? Was the trade everything you wanted?”
Not really. But it would be embarrassing to admit that Grady had been part of the problem all along—or at least he hadn’t been part of the solution. “I like the team so far,” he said instead. “Everyone’s been nice. Dawg’s a bit… young.”
“He’s so earnest, though,” Baller said, propping his chin on his hand. “He believes. It’s adorable. And the name is the icing on the cake. I mean, Howard Barclay. It’s like his parents were expecting a golden retriever.”
Grady smiled. “So you’ve met him.”
“Just to play against. Gabe used to put on his press conferences whenever I whined about being captain, so I could hear what an old man I sounded like.” His mouth twisted in obvious affection. “Asshole.”
“How do you like not being the man anymore?”
“Oh, it’s weird for sure, but the Fish are fun. Everyone knows I’m here as a rental, but they don’t treat me like it.” He eyed Grady cautiously. “I kind of thought you might be mad I ended up here instead of you.”
“No,” Grady said immediately. “Come on, it’s not like you orchestrated it.”
“True.”
The conversation stopped for a moment as Carla delivered two plates of appetizers—some kind of gyoza thing and veggie tempura. Curious, Grady pulled one of the dumplings onto an appetizer plate and bit into it, surprised to find it filled with Mexican spiced pork. Delicious. He made an appreciative noise.
“Right?” Baller said around a mouthful of tempura. “Anyway. What else is new with you? Did you figure out your enemy-with-benefits situation?”
Swallowing the gyoza—and his emotions—gave him an extra few seconds to figure out how to respond. But while the gyoza stayed down, the feelings refused. He thumbed the condensation on his beer glass. “Not really.”
“What do you mean, not really?” Baller pushed the plate to the side and leaned across the table, as though he could sustain himself on hockey player gossip. If anyone could do it, it would be him.
What had Baller said when Grady had asked, back in November? Unless you want to put a ring on it…. Except Max didn’t want that. Grady had thought he did, but he’d been wrong. If Grady had taken Baller’s advice on the subject, he could’ve figured that out in November and been over this by now. “I mean maybe I should’ve asked for your advice after all.”
Maybe.
“Oh shit. So what happened?” He backtracked. “I mean, if you want to talk about it.”
Sadly it turned out Grady did want to talk about it, with somebody who wasn’t his sister.
So, hunched over increasingly enormous plates of delicious food, Grady spilled the whole story. He kept Max’s name out of it, but Baller wasn’t stupid. He’d guess, and they’d both let plausible deniability protect them.
“Well, fuck,” Baller said when Grady told him about Hedgie’s on-ice comment. He had to pick his way around it, because the words had been private when he’d said them to Max and now that they’d been thrown in his face, he didn’t know if he could repeat them. “You’re sure it was on purpose to fuck with you?”
Grady poked at the last of his sushi. He’d eaten way too much already and his appetite had fled. “It wouldn’t be the first time. I warned him.”
“That’s weird. Sucky, but weird.” He shook his head.
Now Grady was frowning at Baller instead of his spicy tuna. “Weird how?”
“I mean, Hedgie’s not really the type to get personal, you know?”
Grady felt the blood drain from his face. Hedgie. Fuck. He’d managed to keep Max’s name out of it, but he’d forgotten about Hedgie. “I don’t know what to tell you,” he said. “That’s what happened. And then I got traded in the middle of the game before I could even yell at him.”
