He squared his shoulders. “I’m not going to do that without talking to Max.”
Farouk shrugged, unbothered. “Oh well. Worth a shot. Seriously, though. I have so many questions.”
“Leave them off the ice,” Grady told him.
“Hey, hey, I can be discreet. Unlike that face—”
Finally Grady stood and mustered the remnants of his dignity. “I’m going to shower.”
Farouk and Mitch heckled him as he walked away.
That didn’t stop Grady’s smile either.
BY THEtime Max landed in LA, he was emotionally exhausted. His eyes were gritty. He’d barely eaten all day, and he knew he needed food, but the idea turned his stomach. Traded twice in the same day—who’d want to eat after that? Shaken, hurt, and stuck in an airplane for seven hours didn’t make for a strong appetite.
His agent had told him the team would send someone to collect him at the airport, so at least he didn’t have to worry about that. He spotted the person in the Piranhas polo with LOCKHART on a sign and followed them to their car.
The team had set him up in a hotel near their practice arena. The mini fridge was stocked with snacks, and they’d ordered dinner to be delivered half an hour after he arrived. Max took a shower, the heat cranked up as high as he could stand it.
He’d forgotten to refill his travel shampoo—the one Grady picked out for him.
That might’ve made him sad in Miami, but he was in Los Angeles, where Grady also lived. Grady was probably arriving at the arena right now for tonight’s game. Max could, in fact, get out of the shower, get dressed, and get a ticket. He could be in the same building as Grady in a few hours.
But he was still too raw. He needed time to mourn his old life before he started his new one.
He ate dinner by rote, not really tasting it, brushed his teeth, and then looked at the bed. He shouldn’t get in. It was too early. He’d screw up his internal clock.
But fuck it. He was tired.
Before he crawled into bed, he unlocked his phone and opened a new message to Grady. Realistically, the time he had to work through his hurt had passed. Now it was time to see if they could really make this work in person, instead of long-distance.
No pressure.
Looks like im gonna miss that date in april. reschedule?
Then he put it down and closed his eyes. He had a big day tomorrow.
MAX EXPECTEDto wake up at an ungodly hour, given the time he’d gone to bed and his body clock.
Instead he opened his eyes to bright sunlight and a buzzing from the hotel phone. Max reached for it blearily and brought it to his ear. “Hello.”
“Good morning, Mr. Lockhart!” chirped the voice on the other end. “This is the front desk. You have a visitor. Should I send him up? He says he’s supposed to take you to the arena.”
That sounded vaguely correct. Max sat up and wiped his eyes. “No. Tell him I’ll be down in a few minutes. Thank you.”
At least he’d showered last night.
Max quickly brushed his teeth and threw on a set of athletic gear. After a moment of frantic searching, he found his key card in last night’s pants pocket. Then he picked up his wallet and phone and went down to the lobby to face whatever indignity getting collected from your hotel was.
Was this how Hedgie felt all the years Max had to herd him places?
Shit, who was going to do that now?
But Max didn’t have time to be sad about it because, when he entered the lobby, he found not his chauffeur from last night, but Dante Baltierra in a T-shirt, board shorts, and sandals.
Well, one sandal. The other foot was in a walking boot.
Max blinked at him. “It’s sixty degrees outside.”
