Unrivaled, page 29
Max gaped at him.
But Grady had built up a head of steam, so he might as well vent the rest of it. “Some of us got to end the game the normal way, and some of us got dragged into a meeting with our captain and our coach where we had to explain what the fuck just happened and why it wouldn’t happen again, and try to pass it off as Dawg retaliating because he thought you hit me in the face! And then we had to be thankful he decided to bench Dawg for two games anyway! When the truth is Dawg is a dumbfuck with a crush and zero personal judgment!”
Finally Max found his voice. “How did you start bleeding, anyway?”
Grady sighed and the tension in his jaw finally relaxed. The muscle throbbed. He wished Max had watched the stupid video. It was probably all over the internet by now anyway. “I butt-ended myself in the face.”
His mouth dropped open. “How?”
“It doesn’t matter! It’s just been a really shitty night and I’m allowed to be cranky about it.”
The rest of the wind went out of Max’s sails—he visibly deflated. “You’re right. Sorry, I just… you said you were fine, but fine doesn’t always mean fine, you know?”
Grady hoped the blankness of his face conveyed that he did not.
Apparently it did, because Max groaned and rubbed his forehead. “Sorry,” he said again. “I think I was, like, primed for drama, and ‘let’s talk later’ is, just FYI, something people in relationships take as a bad sign. I was having flashbacks to the last time we played each other.”
When Grady had ghosted him and moved across the country. He winced. “I’m sorry too. I only wanted some space to wallow, I swear.”
“You could’ve said that.” He crossed his arms over his chest. He looked small and cold. Grady wanted to hug him.
“Next time I will.” Grady paused. “Unless it’s, like, the Conference Final or something, in which case can it be understood that the loser needs some space?”
“Okay,” Max said. He uncrossed his arms, then crossed them again.
“Okay,” Grady repeated. “Now come here and hug me. You look like you’re freezing. I thought Canadians were supposed to be tougher than this.”
Blessedly, Max obeyed. Grady felt better as soon as he had Max’s body against his. It was both annoying and very nice.
However, there was one more issue he wanted to settle. “Since we’re talking about next times… next time can you tear me a new one in private while you’re sober?”
Max muffled a noise of regret in Grady’s shoulder. “That would probably be a better idea.”
At least they agreed on the important things.
Conscious of the fact that they were in public, Grady pressed a quick kiss to Max’s cheek and then pulled back. “I think I’ve had enough excitement for tonight. Do you want to come home with me?” He was leaving for a road trip tomorrow, the final one before the playoffs—New York, Philadelphia, and New Jersey. Waking up with Max beside him tomorrow would go a long way toward putting his best foot forward.
Max tilted his head and gave him a crooked smile. “Actually, yeah. Let me just go say my goodbyes.”
Grady should do that too. They were going to get chirped forever, but his teammates actually liked him, so he found he didn’t care. “I’ll come with you.”
MAX SENT Grady off with a kiss and instructions to bring home six points, which came out of his mouth without his brain’s input. They both stared at each other for a few seconds after, and then Grady kissed him again. They almost ended up back in bed, but Grady pulled away to leave for his flight.
Still, he was going to be gone for a week. Under normal circumstances, Max might have worried that their fight—could he call it a fight?—after the game was only a taste of what was to come, but Grady seemed determined not to let him.
The first text came in after Grady’s flight landed in New York. Do you need anything from your house in Jersey?
Max didn’t have room for anything from his house in Jersey. Id say gru but my hotel does not allow pets. Or joy.
Grady responded with a sad-face emoji.
So it seemed like everything would be fine after all.
The last week of the regular season flew by. Baller’s cast had come off and he was pushing himself hard in rehab, but Max didn’t know if he’d be ready in time for the first series. Whenever Max wasn’t practicing, playing, sleeping, or talking to Grady, he was watching video, analyzing his opponents, or making notes of his own missed opportunities. He did manage one phone call with El and Hedgie and two just with him and El. During the first call, El fell asleep while Max was complaining about living in a hotel. On the second one, Max kept nodding off, and he didn’t even have an excuse. It was only five o’clock in California.
He watched a lot of hockey and didn’t get nearly enough sleep. Every night he checked the standings, and a ball of anxiety grew in his stomach as he tried to gauge the likelihood the Condors would play the Piranhas in the first round. The Pacific Division was a tight race, with only five points separating first place from third. Both the Condors and the Piranhas could end up in any of those spots, and the second- and third-place teams would play each other.
Grady’s team kicked ass on their road trip and won all three games. Max didn’t have a game the night the Condors played the Monsters, so he sat on the bed in his hotel room to watch it while he ate room service. Grady scored two goals and two assists and got first star of the game, which Max took as a mark of his affections.
Aw babe u didn’t have to, he sent, followed by a number of heart emojis.
That was for me, not you, Grady replied.
Well I enjoyed it anyway.
This time the reply was a kissy-face emoji, which was adorable because Grady had never sent one of those before. We’re getting right on the plane home after media. Come over tomorrow?
When Grady was jet-lagged and bleary-eyed, and Max had a game to nap for?
On the other hand, he hadn’t exactly been sleeping well since Grady left. Maybe he could get his nap in at Grady’s place. Ok.
At skate the morning of the last game of the season, the trainers decided Baller was ready to participate fully. “Let’s try the two of you on a line together,” Barry said. “Do some rushes. See how it feels.”
Baller held out his fist for a bump. “We got this, right?”
“Hell yeah.”
The first set of rushes wasn’t quite right. Baller was a little slower than Max anticipated, probably because of his injury.
When they regrouped to wait their turn for another go, Baller said, “Let me carry it in this time and I’ll drop it back for you and screen, and Bishop can pick up the rebound.”
Bishop glanced at Max. “Kinda bossy for a guy who had his leg in a boot last week.”
Max patted him on the back. “C’mon, Captain, like you wouldn’t be going out of your mind if you’d had to sit out for this long. Let’s give him this one.”
“Yeah, Captain. Give me this one.”
Bishop groaned theatrically. “The two of you are going to be like this all postseason, aren’t you?”
This time Max exchanged glances with Baller before they both turned back to Bishop and chorused, “Like what?”
“Christ,” Bishop laughed. “Have it your way.”
They did have it Baller’s way, and then Max’s, and then Bishop got a chance to put in the rebound. When they’d scored on four out of six rush attempts, with their goalie cursing them vehemently, Bishop put his arms around them and said, “Okay. You win.”
“We win,” Baller corrected. “Or we will once I don’t need a nap after ten minutes of ice time.”
“Heal faster,” Max told him.
The spring air was already hot by the time he got into his car in the parking lot. He yawned as he stretched a kink out of his neck and wondered if he should cancel on Grady and go sleep in his hotel room for a few hours.
But he wanted to see his boyfriend, and Grady’s bed was more comfortable, so he texted omw and put the car in gear.
One godawful LA traffic experience later, he parked in Grady’s driveway. One of the neighbors’ dogs must’ve been out in the yard, because he could hear it going apeshit as he walked up Grady’s front step. To his overtaxed, underslept brain, the dog sounded like Gru. What he wouldn’t give right now for a good snuggle from his best boy. Maybe then he’d finally get a solid night’s rest.
He was still thinking about it when the door opened and Gru shrieked and launched into his arms.
“Shit!” Grady lunged forward and caught Max by the elbow so he didn’t go backward off the step. “Gru! Sorry, sorry, I didn’t know he was going to do that.”
Max looked down at his armful of barking, wriggling, tail-wagging dog, who was licking his face like Max had come home from the wars, and then up into Grady’s apologetic eyes, and felt his lip wobble.
“Hi, buddy,” he said softly, adjusting his grip to support Gru’s butt. “Hey. Hey, I missed you too. What’re you doing here, eh? Did you stow away? What a good boy.”
Gru licked Max’s nose.
“Oh, thank you. I needed that.” Max kissed his snout.
Then, finally, he looked at Grady again. “And here I thought this was a booty call.” If his voice rasped a little, Grady didn’t mention it.
“Come in and pet your dog.”
Max didn’t need to be told twice. He parked himself on the area rug in front of Grady’s sofa and rolled around with Gru for fifteen minutes, stroking his ears, rubbing his belly. The faint smell of the shampoo his Newark groomer used settled him in a way he hadn’t felt since he landed in California the first time.
But eventually he had to address a few real-life problems. “How’d you get him here, anyway?” he asked, reclining against Grady with Gru in his lap.
Grady cleared his throat. “Uh, team plane.”
Max tilted his head back to look at him. “Seriously?”
With a sheepish expression, Grady said, “I mean, I asked everyone first. No one was allergic.”
Grady asked his Condors teammates, who’d recently lost a game to their divisional rival, in which Max had embarrassed their captain in a very stupid fight, if he could please bring Max’s dog on the flight home. Max smiled and leaned back far enough to press an upside-down kiss on Grady’s jaw. The muscle there was starting to shrink again. “That’s sweet. But you know I can’t have him in my hotel room, right?” And he didn’t exactly need to add looking for a short-term rental that allowed pets to his to-do list.
“He can stay here.” Grady ran his thumb over the curve of Max’s hip. Max shivered at the touch. “I’ll give you a key so you can visit whenever. If we’re both out of town, we can find a dog walker.”
A key? “We?” Grady’s thumb took a southern detour. Max cleared his throat. “Kinda seems like you’re looking for excuses to get me to come over more often.”
“Don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Yeah, right. There was a Minions-themed dog bed in the corner next to a suspiciously sized Amazon box.
Max kissed Gru’s head. “Okay, down, please.”
Gru sighed, but he eeled off Max and onto the floor.
Then Max turned around so he could look Grady in the eyes. “What’s your end game here? In words.” He caught Grady’s hand before he could distract Max further. “Operating on unspoken understandings is not one of our strengths.”
“I want….” Grady bit his lips. “I do want to see you more often. I brought Gru here because you said you missed him, and I want you to be happy. And he’s a good dog.”
“He’s the best,” Max agreed. “Keep going.”
With a deep breath, Grady did. “I don’t want to fuck things up with you because I’m acting like a sore loser. But sometimes I don’t know how not to be alone. I’m trying to do better,” he added before Max could recover from that emotional gut punch. “I felt better once I talked to you after our last game. I just don’t know how to start the conversation.”
Well, they were essentially both raised by wolves. But Max’s wolves were the kind who’d sent the other two of their three kids to therapy. Max went to hockey instead. “And you think”—giving me a key—“me being here more often is going to help solve this problem?”
“When you struggle with a skill, you practice.” Grady swallowed visibly. “I know I need to learn to let go of a game when it’s over. But maybe you need practice letting me react to things without making it about you?”
Suddenly Max’s heart was beating so furiously he was sure Grady could see it just as easily as if Max’s skin were made of tissue. It terrified him—but the good kind of terror, like the moment before puck drop of a big game or that last click of the track at the top of a roller coaster. “Maybe.” He licked his lips. “But chances are one or both of us will still need space at some point.”
“It’s a big house,” Grady said. “I was thinking we could have separate chill zones? We could even sleep in different rooms on game days if it gets too much in the same bed. I can be kind of intense.”
Max hadn’t been able to get his brain to shut up at bedtime for the past week, so he said, “Yeah, I can see how we might keep each other awake, and not in the fun way.” He pushed his tongue against the inside of his cheek as he thought, because he wanted to be clear about what was happening but didn’t want to be the first one to say it out loud. “Kinda sounds like I’d be moving in with you.”
“How often are we both going to be home at the same time, really? A couple days a week on average?”
Max’s heart needed to cool its jets. “Okay, well, you’ve forgotten one small detail.”
Grady hummed. “You mean tonight’s game?”
The Pacific Division race was so close, if Max’s team won tonight, they’d take first place. If they lost, they’d get third and have to play the Condors in the first round. “Could be awkward if we’re playing against each other. It wouldn’t be the greatest foot to start off on.”
“You’ll just have to win tonight, then.”
Max smiled in spite of himself. “Oh really. That simple, is it?”
Grady cupped his face. His expression said I’m being a shithead, but his voice rang with sincerity. “I believe in you.”
No one would ever believe Max if he told them what a sap Grady was. That only made it sweeter. “You can do one better. You can help me with it.” Max got off the couch and tugged Grady to his feet. “First step to a good game is nap time.”
PIRANHAS TAKE BITE OUT OF ORCAS, SET PACIFIC DIVISION PLAYOFF SCHEDULE
By Craig MacLeod
With tonight’s 1–0 win over the Vancouver Orcas, the Anaheim Piranhas claimed the top seed in the Pacific Division. Max Lockhart scored the lone goal in the game. The victory means the Piranhas will face the Las Vegas Heatwave in the first round of the playoffs.
The Stanley Cup Playoffs kick off Tuesday night at 8:00 p.m. PST, when the puck drops in LA for the first game of the Condors-Orcas series.
“I DON’T know,” Grady said for what had to be the fifth time. “Should I—”
“If you ask me if you should ditch the tie again, I’m going to rip it off you and stuff it in your mouth. Not even for sexy times.” Max tossed his tablet onto the bed beside him. “You’re a built guy wearing a custom suit. You look fuckable. It’s extremely rude of you not to be following through on that right now.”
Okay, so maybe Grady was being a little extra about this whole first-game-of-the-playoffs aesthetic. Sue him. It had been years since he’d gotten to play in the postseason.
But he definitely wasn’t letting Max get the last word, even if fucking was technically off the table because they both got too into it and were too likely to pull something. He turned around and tugged the tie loose for the final time. “Everything I learn about Canadian notions of politeness is against my will.” He balled up the tie and threw it at Max’s chest.
“Ooh, now undo the top two buttons. Yeah, baby. Work it.”
“I hate you,” Grady said without heat.
Max batted his eyelashes. “Does that mean we can have nasty, disrespectful sex later? I miss it.”
“I literally came all over your face this morning.” In the shower, so it barely counted, but still.
“Maybe I want to disrespect you for a change.”
Grady snorted. For all Max talked a big game, he also talked a lot period. It was hard to feel disrespected when Max kept telling him how hot he looked and how good he felt, but whatever Max had to tell himself to sleep at night. “As long as you leave me in game condition… also probably only if we win tonight.”
“I accept your terms,” Max said solemnly. “Now get out of here. You’re going to hit rush hour traffic.”
Grady stole a kiss, rubbed Gru’s ears for luck, and left the house.
The rest of the day passed in a blur. Media, warm-ups, puck drop. Farouk put the puck in the net ten minutes into the game. Grady roofed one twenty-seven seconds later.
The Orcas pushed back. They were a good team and they wanted this victory. In the back half of the third, Nico Kirschbaum slipped through the Condors’ defense like a hot knife through butter.
But Mitch shut the door on everything the Orcas threw at the net.
When the clock ran out, the Condors mobbed their goalie. Every fan in the building shot to their feet. Grady slapped the back of Farouk’s helmet in appreciation and whooped into Mitch’s face.
In the locker room, the guys were debating where to go to celebrate. Grady didn’t care; the game mattered, but drinks were just gravy. Before he could say he’d probably go, but only for one beer, his phone buzzed with a new notification.
This is what ur goal did 2 me, Max’s text said. The attached picture showed his hard dick straining the fabric of a threadbare pair of tiny sweat shorts. Max was framing the bulge with one hand.
