Page 82 of Unrivaled

But he knew what he wanted. He thought he knew what Max wanted. He was pretty sure it was the same thing. The last step was admitting it out loud to each other.

And he’d have his chance after the game.

“All right, boys, just like last night, eh?” Coop said as they headed onto the ice in Newark. Grady bumped his fist the same as everyone else.

Monsters fans hated Grady the way Firebirds fans hated Max—they booed every time he set foot on the ice, every time he touched the puck. They cheered when someone knocked him on his ass. But the noise never bothered him. It always felt right.

Tonight it sent a frisson of energy down his spine. Grady caught Max’s eye during warm-ups and Max winked at him. Grady skated away laughing.

If anyone on the team thought his good mood suspicious, no one said anything to Grady. Maybe they attributed it to last night’s win, to momentum. Either way, it felt good to give the Monsters a fight for once. Puck possession and scoring chances were about even going into the second, with the score tied at zero. Coop spent two minutes in the box for tripping Max, the Monsters’ goaltender got slapped with a slashing penalty for trying to break Grady’s ankle—just another rivalry grudge match. Grady’s bruises had bruises and his blood sang in his veins.

Early in the second, he and Max got into a puck battle against the boards. Grady was fighting for possession with everything he had, and if Max’s cursing was any indication, he was too. After fifteen seconds Max let out a giggle at the absurdity—they were wedged into the corner with their sticks on the puck, neither of them giving ground. Itwaskind of ridiculous, enough that Grady found himself fighting back a laugh too.

But that was all the window Max needed to leverage Grady’s stick off the puck and flick it back to his team. Grady cursed and took off for the defensive zone with Max on his heels.

He shouldn’t have let his guard down, but he couldn’t blame Max for it. Besides, he might’ve lost that battle anyway. He’d win the next one.

With a few minutes left in the period, Grady chased the puck into the corner and got the business end of one of the Monsters’ sticks across the cheek. The crowd roared as the ref blew the whistle, and Grady pulled off his glove to touch tentative fingers to the sting on his face. They came away bloody, which meant a power play for the Firebirds.

Grady went to the bench to have the cut glued shut and then skated back to the dot to take the faceoff.

Hedgie lined up across from him, smirking. “Hey, Ace. You have a good Christmas?”

Max probably told him they spent it together. That was a normal thing to tell a friend, and it wasn’t like he was being mean. He was making small talk, hoping it’d throw Grady off. That wasn’t Max’s fault. He couldn’t control what his teammates did.

Grady exhaled sharply, rapped his stick on the ice, and bent over to signal he was ready for the linesman to drop the puck. “Better than yours.”

But uneasiness ate at him, even after the Firebirds scored. Could Jess have been right? Had Grady made a mistake trusting Max?

Doubt crept in. He did his best to focus on the game, but two minutes after the Firebirds scored, Grady turned the puck over to a rookie defenseman who had no business picking his pocket, and the Monsters tied the game.

He took another deep breath. Things happened. He couldn’t control everything.

Coop patted him on the shoulder as he went back to the bench, a show of wordless support.

Grady let himself lean into it and refocused on the game.

The clock ticked away to the end of the period, and Grady went over the boards for the last shift. All of Newark jeered when he got the puck on his stick and crossed the blue line into the offensive zone.

He was ready for the hard check to his shoulder—he’d already dropped the puck back for Coop.

But he couldn’t account for his skate blade catching in a crack in the ice, and he went down hard. He lost his stick, and the player who’d hit him tripped and fell too. He landed half on top of Grady and knocked the breath out of him.

“Fuck. Jesus,” Hedgie said. Somewhere in the distance, Grady registered the horn signaling the end of the period. “Think I just cracked you like that lobster you like so much.”

Grady’s mind went blank.

Oh God.

You crack me open.

Max had told him.

Shaken, he got to his feet and collected his stick, ignoring Hedgie. Coop met him at the tunnel, concern etched on his features. “Hey, you okay?”

“Fine,” Grady said, numb. Nothing hurt—not his chest or his arm where Hedgie had landed on it or the cut on his face. “I’m fine,” he repeated when Coop tried to catch his elbow, and jerked his arm away.

Coop raised his hands. “Okay! All right, I just—”

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