Page 92 of Unrivaled

Grady unblocked Max’s number. Then he hit Edit Contact and erased the name. Max didn’t deserve that, and Grady was past caring what other people thought.

He entered Max’s full first and last name and touched Save.

Now for the hard part.

I fucked up.

No shit. But what else?

He took the rest of the flight to figure it out.

MAX CONSIDEREDhimself an easygoing guy. He got up, he worked out, he ate, he played hockey, he went to bed. The circle of life. He left work at work. He had, like, Zen chill or whatever.

But Coach Wells was an energy-sucking vampire who consumed all Max’s chill and fed it back to him as distilled rage. Considering Max was already having a certified Bad Time, he didn’t need Coach Wells in his life.

They were halfway through the third period, trailing 3–2 in a game they had no business losing, but Wells had his idea of what each player’s strengths were and didn’t care about reality.

When he finished telling Hedgie to make a play that was way more in Max’s wheelhouse—Hedgie had good hands but Max had him beat for speed, which this plan called for—he turned to Max. “Lockhart—”

“Yeah, yeah,” Max said. “Tie up the third man and piss him off so he takes a penalty.” He bit down on his mouthguard hard enough that he heard an ominous crack.

That was the second one this week. Max was going to have to see a dentist if this kept up.

Nora would gloat. Horrible.

Wells gave him a look that said Max would pay for his insubordination after the game, but Max didn’t care. If Wells scratched him, at least he’d have a game off to rest. Max had taken more retaliatory hits in the past two games than in the two weeks before that. Bruises marked his skin from elbows to shoulder and down his flanks. He’d even taken a spear under his ribs, and the skin there had turned a mottled purple.

But he did his job. He got up in that third man’s space and took it away. He got in the way. He didn’t worry about making plays, but he made sure this guy couldn’t even look at the puck. Finally, in frustration, the guy slashed Max’s legs—at least he’d chosen a place Max wasn’t already black-and-blue—and Max exaggerated enough to get called for embellishing.

Oh well, he thought as he skated to the box, maybe Wells would stop asking him to do this.

Needless to say, the Monsters did not pull off a surprise win. Max did his media duties as blandly as he could, even when a reporter tried to bait him into criticizing Wells. Max had been in the league ten years. He knew a trap when he heard one.

By the time he got back to his hotel room, he was so exhausted he considered turning his phone off when the screen lit up with a notification. But he unlocked it instead and found a message from Grady.

I fucked up.Then another,I want to apologize.

Max went over the edge. He stabbed Call before he could think about what he wanted to say.

Grady picked up on the second ring, but Max didn’t let him get a word out.

“You have a lot of fucking nerve.”

“I know—”

“No, you don’t. Shut up.” The words poured out, filled with acid. “You ghosted me for weeks and now you think you’re going to get a word in?”

“Max—”

“Fuck you,” Max said. “You spent months convincing yourself I’d fuck you over, but guess what, Grady? You not only fucked yourself, you fucked me too. I thought we were going to—but you disappeared without a trace. You didn’t even have the stones to say something to my face. You’re a coward.”

“You’re right.”

God damn him. Max clenched his jaw and closed his eyes. He had a whole list of shit to read Grady the riot act over, but he couldn’t get the words out past the lump in his throat.

Grady took advantage of his silence. His voice was rough and quiet and left no doubt as to his sincerity. “Max, I’m sorry. I jumped to a stupid conclusion and I hurt you. I ruined something good that could have been—”

Could have been.But now it wasn’t.

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