Page 58 of Unrivaled

Coach smiled. “Attaboy.” Then he turned to the group and said, “Listen up, we’re going to change the matchups here for a minute and give Mad Max some room to make a mess….”

In the end it took Max three shifts to get under Nordstrom’s skin. The last straw was a little love tap with the butt end of Max’s stick right under the edge of his chest protector.

Nordstrom whirled on him against the boards, stick in both hands as he shoved Max’s chest. Max’s head snapped back and something in his neck spasmed. Another shove and Max went down, jarring his shoulder against the ice.

Somewhere the whistle blew. One of Max’s teammates was pulling Nordstrom away. Max stared up at the rafters and winced.

Hedgie leaned down next to him, brow creased. “You hurt?”

Yes.Nothing broken, Max didn’t think. Muscle tear, probably. But his neck screamed at him not to turn his head to the right, and his left arm had pins and needles from his elbow to his shoulder. “Roll me onto my right side,” he said through gritted teeth.

Hedgie’s eyes went wide. “Are you kidding me? If you can’t move—”

“I didn’t hurt my spine. I can’t turn my head and my left arm is fucked. Feels like I pulled everything from my neck to my delts. Help me roll over so I can get up.”

Hedgie did, and Max hobbled off the ice, half bent to keep his strained muscles as happy as possible. There was no way he could play the rest of the game. He limped off to see a trainer.

As he left the ice, he could hear the penalty announcement—number 39, Nordstrom, two minutes for cross-checking.

All this for a lousy two-minute man advantage. The Monsters better fucking score. Next time Coach could get someone else to draw a penalty.

THE NEXTtwo hours were misery. The trainers gave him something for the pain, but he had to have diagnostic testing just in case. In the end the doctors ruled it a partial tear and told him to take at least a week off from doing anything more strenuous than walking.

They hooked him up with muscle relaxants and painkillers and put him in a cab home. At least he wouldn’t be stranded without a car, since Hedgie had his spare key and could drive it home.

Not that Max could safely check his blind spot at the moment. Or drive under the influence of this drug cocktail. Or even bend down to give Gru some love when his precious baby came to meet him at the door.

Instead he let the dog out, waited for him to come back in, and then made his painstaking way to bed. Getting comfortable could be a challenge.

Gru climbed in with him, but he didn’t snuggle much at bedtime. He simply curled up and collapsed like all was right in the world.

Max was still low-key in pain and needed a few minutes’ distraction to let the drugs work their magic before he could sleep. He propped himself up against the headboard and put his phone on a pillow on his lap, since holding it at the wrong angle made everything hurt.

He had half a dozen unread texts from the team, everyone wanting an update on how he was and when he’d be back, and another notification from the NHL app that the Monsters had lost in overtime. At least they’d recovered some momentum.

Max didn’t want to get his hopes up, but he did anyway when he saw the unread message from Grady.

That hit looked bad. Are you okay?

It was a dumb text. Seven tiny words. It didn’t mean Grady gave a shit. Grady didn’t even likehim. This was only the second time he’d texted Max first if he didn’t want something—like advice, or to bitch about one of his stupid dates. Which he was still going on—yet another reason Max didn’t need to let himself get any more invested. Grady wasn’t, and that was fine. He didn’t owe Max anything just because Max was an idiot who’d caught feelings.

But Maxwasan idiot who’d caught feelings, so instead of turning off his phone and going to bed—or deleting Grady’s contact and forgetting this whole thing ever happened—he typed out a reply.Rumors of my death r greatly exaggerated. Sorry 2 disappoint.

Fucking Nordstrom is a menace. He should be suspended.

Max shoved down the warm fuzzy feeling that wanted to well within him. Grady wasn’t pissed on Max’s behalf. This wasn’t some fairy-tale white-knight bullshit, and Max would hate it if it was. Grady was only stating a fact. Nordstrom’s conduct was suspension-worthy.

Ya but u know the department of player safety.What a joke.

Department of Pretending to Give a Shit.Max could almost see Grady’s bitchy face, hear his voice saying the words.I’ll let you get some rest.

Except Max didn’t think he could sleep. Eventually he plugged his phone in and tried to get comfortable. He managed to find a position that didn’t hurt, but his eyelids felt like sandbags. The rest of his body throbbed distantly.

But his brain was stuck on Grady.

The cat was officially out of the bag that he’d requested a trade. Max didn’t know how, and it didn’t really matter. It could’ve been someone in Philly’s front office or it could’ve been Grady’s agent intentionally letting other teams know he wanted to be on the market. The Firebirds didn’t have to deal him, but Max had snooped into his contract situation, and he figured they probably would. Rumor had it that they’d send him to the Anaheim Piranhas, who were looking for some offensive star power to kick their game up a notch. Grady would fit in there—not a traditional hockey hotbed, so less pressure, and with talented young teammates.

But Anaheim was on the other side of the country. The Monsters only played them twice a year. That would spell the end of their casual hookups.

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