Page 86 of Unrivaled

Dawg did not invite Grady to a New Year’s party at his place after Grady’s first home game as a Condor. Grady figured that was because Dawg lived in a white-walled apartment with enough furniture to seat one and couldn’t legally buy alcohol. Instead, Grady’s new goalie, Mitch, invited him to the team gathering at his place. Grady went and enjoyed himself, even if he did spend half an hour petting Mitch’s idiotic cocker spaniel, but he caught a cab back to his hotel at twelve thirty, already gritty-eyed.

Being around people was better than dwelling on the party he’d have had back in Philly, with Jess and the girls and Max and maybe Gru.

But when he got back to the hotel, he found himself dwelling on it anyway. He couldn’t fall asleep.

He hated himself for it, but after twenty minutes of tossing and turning, he took out his phone and opened Instagram. Max might be an asshole, but Gru hadn’t done anything wrong, and Grady missed him too.

Except he didn’t see any posts from Gru on his feed, and when he searched for the profile, only a little gray box appeared.No posts yet.

Gru’s Instagram was public.

Max had blocked him.

Grady put his phone back down and scrubbed his hands over his face.

Now he was back to thinking about Max. He’d made an appointment for a blood draw on the third, even though it was probably too soon to know anything. How could Max have touched him the way he did, and been there for him like he was, and turned Grady into this version of himself who could make people like him, and then betray him like that?Whywould he do it?

It didn’t make any sense.

He curled up on his side and forced himself to go to sleep.

He woke up January 1 groggy and disoriented, with his temples and face throbbing, and reached for his phone to check the time. He had a handful of New Year’s wishes from teammates—not just Firebirds and Condors, but Team USA guys too. Hedgie had sent a middle finger, but that wasn’t uncommon. Grady deleted it without thinking about it, because if he did, he’d get sucked down into a festering swell of heartbreak and resentment.

Baller had sentHEY HAPPY NEW YEAR. We should get sushi sometime, you in????

That, at least, Grady could seize on as a distraction.Aren’t we supposed to be rivals now?

He expected it to be a while before Baller texted back—it was pretty early—but maybe he had practice or maybe you didn’t get to sleep in very much when you had a kid, because he got a reply almost right away.Bro we could go on a date to Disneyland and no one would even notice. Ask me how I know.

Then, a moment later,Ok my husband would notice but you get the point.

Grady’s schedule for the day included looking at houses with his Realtor, because when you were staring down that kind of commission you didn’t worry about holidays, but he was free for dinner. Baller volunteered to make a reservation.

He spent a conscientious five minutes in the shower—the water conservation would take getting used to—then grabbed a bite in the hotel restaurant and met his Realtor out front.

Every one of his teammates had an opinion on the listings he looked through online, but Mitch was the judgiest and most helpful.Who has that much lawn in LA???he texted after Grady sent him the third one.Fucking irresponsible smh.He shut down another as “soulless.” Grady agreed. He’d rather live somewhere with character. The others were too far from the arena.

So the list of properties to look at wasn’t long—just three Grady had picked out based on meticulous research of the neighborhoods, amenities, and location. He’d made up his mind to put in an offer on the third, but then his agent asked if he wanted to come with her to a fourth property she was just taking the pictures for prior to listing.

It was only two blocks from the third property, and Grady wasn’t ready to be alone with his thoughts, so he agreed and they pulled into the driveway of an older two-story white stucco home with a red tile roof, half of which was covered in solar panels. The front yard was landscaped with drought-resistant plants. Grady squinted up at the roofline and made out what might be a rooftop patio.

It was a beautiful house. Open and airy, with plenty of natural light for Grady’s house plants. It boasted several environmentally friendly features he’d specifically looked for in the other places, and the setup—with a master suite on the south side of the house, common areas in the middle, and a guest suite on the north—made perfect sense for Jess’s visits.

He held his tongue while his Realtor took pictures, but he couldn’t stop staring at the backyard, which had a lap pool and lounge chairs and threw him forcibly back to Christmas in Florida with Max.

The house was perfect. The patio had built-in planters where he could grow his vegetables year-round. The owners had planted clover in the backyard, which meant no watering or mowing—“And it’s not affected by dog urine,” the Realtor added when she finished explaining why it was a good choice. “Do you have a dog?”

Grady didn’t have a dog, but maybe he should finally get one. His life had been too empty for too long.

It took him two tries to manage, “I’d like to make an offer.”

The ensuing paperwork made him late for his reservation with Baller, but this was a common enough occurrence in LA that he didn’t mention it.

“Took the liberty,” he said when Grady arrived, and nodded at a tall sweating beer glass.

Grady collapsed into the booth across from him. “You’re a saint.”

Baller hooted. “I’m telling Gabe you said that.” In a polo shirt and shorts, he looked relaxed and at home. The restaurant he’d chosen was some kind of Mexican-sushi-fusion thing, and when the server came around, he spoke to her in rapid, familiar Spanish for a few minutes before asking if Grady knew what he wanted to order.