Unrivaled (Hockey Ever After #3)

by Ashlyn Kane

“It’s not like you’d be the only one!” She gestured over his shoulder to a table three rows over, where a couple of the Orcas were making sappy heart eyes at each other. Kirschbaum was getting the Hart—league MVP. His boyfriend wasn’t nominated for anything.

“That’s my sister.” Now he was cackling. “Oh shit, my bad.” He turned the sink off with his forearm and turned toward Grady. “Don’t worry, though.” He flicked his wet fingers at Grady, splashing tiny droplets on his face. “You’re prettier.” There he went, right under the skin again. Was Grady supposed to be flattered or simply knocked off-kilter? Maybe he was supposed to be offended. Pretty wasn’t always a compliment when you were talking to a dude. “Prettier than you,” he agreed. Lockhart grabbed a couple paper towels and dried his hands. “Too bad.” With a wink, he dropped them in the trash. “If I were up to your standards, we could probably have some fun together.”

“If I don’t text you by ten, assume I’m dead and send someone cute to look for my body.” The idea made him snicker a little as he navigated the depths of the arena. Like, imagine the cops delving into his app history and finding out he’d set up a meeting with someone claiming to be Grady Armstrong, and Armstrong having to answer questions about his Grindr use. He’d look like a wet, grumpy cat, and he’d be about as friendly about it. Max was getting a warm, fuzzy feeling. Sure, in this hypothetical scenario he’d be dead, but he’d be dead and still pissing off Grady Armstrong. God was good, et cetera.

Canadians thought they owned the game and took every win as proof. The only thing worse than losing to Canada in an international tournament was losing to Canada in an international tournament that took place in Toronto.

2–0. Suck it, Canada.

Baller’s actual pep talk was a little more dramatic, and involved standing in his stall and quoting something that might have been from The Mighty Ducks. Grady didn’t watch a lot of movies, even about hockey. Eventually someone threw a ball of sock tape at Baller, and he interrupted himself mid monologue. “Fine, you ungrateful fucks.” He threw the tape back, grinning. “Go beat Canada so I can lord it over my husband.”

Grady flopped backward on the bed. Holy shit, had Max actually annoyed him to death? If so, talk about a plan backfiring. “Uh. Grades?” Grady mumbled something inaudible. Okay, good, he was still alive. Max wanted to have sex with him again someday and he wasn’t into necrophilia.

Max booked the facility and sent Grady a Venmo request ten seconds later. Grady sent him one back—six bucks for the bottled water Max drank in his hotel room. Max texted him a middle-finger emoji,

The only bottle on the shelf read Men’s 3-in-1 Shampoo, Conditioner, and Bodywash. Grady couldn’t even identify a brand name. “Oh Jesus,” he said out loud. “Why?” No wonder Max’s hair looked like that. Reluctantly, he soaped his body—no way was he using that stuff on his hair

“This is not shampoo. This has no business in anyone’s hair.” It had no business in anyone’s shower, but maybe he needed to start small. “You make millions of dollars a year. Why are you putting this on your scalp? Did the straight guys on your team get to you?”

What time was it in Vancouver? Was Max’s game tonight or tomorrow? He couldn’t remember, but this was an emergency. For the first time, he hit the little phone icon next to Shithead. Max picked up on the third ring. “Hhhhwha?” So, pregame nap time. Oops.

“Oh thank fuck she finally told you.” At least Max could stop worrying he’d spill the beans. “We’re gonna come back to why you knew before I did, but let’s focus on the crisis at hand.” “It’s because your wife’s tits got bigger and I noticed.” Now Hedgie was the one with his hand over his eyes. “You’re the worst gay best friend ever.” “I’m bi,” Max said. “And my eyes work fine.”

Grady kept his thoughts on Starry Night Over the Rhone to himself, even if it was silly. The two people walking together in the foreground with all of the beauty of the universe behind them—paying no attention—and somehow all he could think of was that little splash of red on the woman’s dress, and how it reminded him of Max’s lobster tattoo.

“I hope it works out for the two of you.” Grady’s mouth dropped open. “For who?” David lifted a shoulder, easy nonchalance. “You and whoever you were thinking of when you looked at Starry Night Over the Rhone.”

When he entered the house, Max was sitting in the living room in his boxers, eating a bowl of cereal. He paused the TV and looked up when Grady entered. Grady looked over Max’s shoulder at the TV screen. Apparently he was fifty-seven minutes into Pride & Prejudice. “Don’t judge me.”

Fucking shit, he was going to have to buy a gift for someone who legitimately had a subscription to Consumer Reports—a man who Max was in love with and who could not find that out. Max’s life was officially the worst.

“Nice goal last night,” Grady commented when he met Max in baggage claim. “You really committed.” Max had basically followed the puck into the net because Kipriyanov tripped him, which was the only reason the goal hadn’t been called off for goaltender interference. “Commitment is my middle name,” he said, and then immediately wanted to punch himself in the face.

“How come you’re always the lobster?” Max laughed again. “What?” “You’re not a lobster. Lobsters have tough shells, and they snap.” He made a little pincer motion with his hand. “You’re, like, a fake lobster. Maybe you’re only a lobster on the ice. Off the ice, you’re soft.” To demonstrate, he used his pincer to nip the flesh at Max’s waist. “How much did you have to drink?” Max sounded amused. Grady ignored him. “I’m the lobster. I’m prickly.” “Oh yeah,” Max said. “Look at you. You’ve got half a palm tree in your hair.” He carefully carded his fingers over Grady’s scalp. “Terrifying.” But now he was leaning over Grady, too close to ignore that softness any longer. It called to Grady’s, a reassuring whisper that he could take off his armor. “I should be the lobster,” Grady repeated quietly when Max’s fingers traced down the side of his face. “You crack me open.”

“Uncle Grady, are you and Uncle Max going to get married?” Grady’s first impulse was to say no very loudly. He’d spent the past fifteen years determined to keep everyone he could at arm’s length because he couldn’t lose what he didn’t have. His second thought was, I should be so lucky, which made him want to run screaming into the Atlantic. It was a wild swing from his gut reaction and a huge leap from where they stood now—they hadn’t even used the word relationship, never mind defined it—to that potential future. Somehow his feet stayed planted and his mouth stayed shut, for which he was grateful. No one else seemed to have heard the question. Grady took a deep breath and held it for a moment. Then he pitched his voice low enough not to be overheard and hoped he wasn’t jinxing anything. “Tell you what. If I’m around for Christmas next year, ask me again.”

This was so stupid. What did he want to say? I wish you hadn’t been traded. I miss you. I was looking forward to spending the rest of my life getting you to pretend you’re annoyed with me. I know all this started with a stupid bet, but I think I’m in love with you. I think you’re in love with me too.

Baller had sent HEY 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.

“Who do you think they’re going to go for?” “Kirschbaum?” “No chance, the whole city of Vancouver is married to that guy.”

“Okay, wait, wait, wait.” Farouk sat down on his other side. “Am I jumping to the right conclusions here? Your special friend you sent a shirtless selfie to the other day is your archrival?” “Oh my God.” Grady lifted his head. “I’m not a supervillain.”

“Oh, yeah, that reminds me,” said Baltierra from the front seat. “You can use my nickname around the team, but try not to around the kid. It gets awkward when strangers think she’s talking about my testicles.” “Tetticles!” Reyna agreed loudly. They stopped at a light. Gabe covered his eyes with one hand, and his shoulders shook with silent laughter. “See what I mean?” Gabe took his hand away from his face. “Day care loves us.”

Bishop, welcomed him to the team with a back slap that rattled his teeth. “Fresh Fish!” he bellowed to the locker room. “Beware the Fish!” the rest of the team yelled back, stomping their feet. Oh God, Max had joined a cult.

It wasn’t just that Baller was an incurable romantic and the league’s biggest busybody. He wanted his friends to live happily ever after, and if that meant meddling in their love lives, that was what he’d do. “He thinks he’s everyone’s fairy godfather.” Max snickered. “Aren’t you older than he is?” “Four months,” Grady confirmed. “He says it’s because he became an Old Married at a young age.”