Page 125 of Unrivaled

He wasn’t doing much around the house either. He kept his left arm close to his side and didn’t take off his shirt, which probably sucked almost as much for him as it did for Max. He ate with his right hand only. It didn’t take a genius to connect the dots.

So Max watched game 7 from the couch, Gru curled up next to him, and tried to keep breathing. He wanted Grady to be happy, but hedidn’twant to have to play against his boyfriend in the second round.

The game had him on the edge of his seat. Every breakaway made his stomach clench. Every glove save was a sigh of relief. The third period ended with the game tied 1–1.

Grady had only played eleven minutes. He should’ve played seventeen.

Max got up to get a drink and use the bathroom while the players got a short break before overtime, but even after doing the dishes, he still had fifteen minutes to kill.

And he couldn’t sit around and wait. Restless energy filled him. He’d never had a problem watching high-stakes hockey before. But right now he wasn’t a hockey player. He was an overly invested boyfriend.

He looked at Gru. “Walk around the neighborhood?”

Gru blinked at him, then flopped off the couch and padded to the door.

Max clipped the leash to his collar, jammed on his slides, and stepped out into the California night.

The neighborhood was mostly quiet, everyone tucked into their houses, many of the lights off. The breeze carried a hint of salt and diesel fumes. Max walked Gru aimlessly in the hopes that he could forget about the game, but no dice. So he kept walking until his phone vibrated.

Max released a long breath and unlocked the screen.

FINAL: Vancouver Orcas 2, Los Angeles Condors 1.

Shit. “Come on,” Max told Gru. “Let’s go home, buddy.” He opened a new message to Grady and debated what to write. After another block, he decided onwant me to clear out tonight?

It was almost an hour later when he got a response.No.That was it.

Max didn’t know what he expected, but some of his anxiety eased. There was still time for everything to go to shit, but at least Grady wasn’t in such a bad mood he didn’t want to see Max at all.

Max waited another half hour before he heard the garage door, and suddenly he was second-guessing himself. Should he have watched the end of the game? Should he have gone to bed? Just because Grady didn’t want him gone didn’t mean he wanted to face him.

Gru, however, had no doubt of his welcome. The door jolted him out of a deep sleep, and he barked joyously and ran to the entryway with his tail stump wagging, ready to welcome Grady home.

Gru was an excellent buffer. Even Grady couldn’t take his disappointment out on the dog.

“Hi, buddy. I’m back. Okay, calm down, you’re gonna wake the neighbors.”

When he hadn’t made a move to come farther inside and the nails clicking on tile told Max Gru was changing petting positions, he heaved himself off the couch and went to face the music.

Bent down in the entryway to fluff Gru’s ears, Grady looked exhausted. He had dark circles under bloodshot eyes, and he’d come home in athletic gear instead of his suit, which hung on the outside of the entryway closet. His face was lined with pain as he stroked Gru one-handed, because his left arm was in a sling.

“Hey,” Max said quietly. “Good game tonight.” Ithadbeen a good game—some of the best hockey he’d seen all season. He wasn’t looking forward to playing the Orcas.

“Not for me,” Grady said.

And—well, that was true too.

Grady didn’t look up.

Max cleared his throat. “What’s the verdict?”

Now that there was no chance they’d face each other in the postseason, Grady could tell Max what was wrong with him. He hadn’t earlier in the week. Max would’ve thrown his words from months ago back in his face, but regular season was one thing. Playoffs was another animal. Part of Max hadn’t wanted to know, because if he didn’t know, there was no chance he could use the knowledge, even subconsciously.

“Not broken,” Grady said. He sounded bitter instead of relieved. A break would’ve been a better excuse. He’d have been mad at whoever did it instead of at his own body. “Clavicle contusion. No strength in my arm. Feels like spaghetti, even when they shot it full of the good stuff.”

Max winced. Taken out by a glorified bruise. No wonder he was bitter. “That sucks. You need ice? Heat?”

Grady shook his head. “Sleep.”

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