“That’s not even the worst part,” Max said around a grin. “The water doesn’t freeze in the winter. Too much movement. So you can’t skate on it.”
Max didn’t even live here in the winter. “You should ask for your money back.”
Laughing, Max jostled Grady’s shoulder and then stood and pulled him to his feet. “Come on. Gru needs his dinner, and so do we.”
“Not sure the kale’s ready for harvest, though,” Grady commented as he followed Max single-file back up the trail and had the pleasure of seeing Max’s ears turn red. It was rare to get him to blush; Grady wished he’d gotten to see it face-on.
“You can file the complaint with my brother.”
So that’s who did the planting. “Nah,” Grady said. “Not much fun in gardening if you don’t get to do any of it yourself.” He wondered if this area had caterpillar moths. He should probably get some screened bed covers, just in case. Nothing would turn you off kale like unexpected protein.
They came out onto the grass, and Max turned and looked at him—too soon, apparently, because he stumbled on a tree root and would’ve eaten dirt if Grady hadn’t caught his hand.
“Thanks,” Max said, sheepish. He rubbed the back of his neck. “You really like it?”
It didn’t take a genius to know he meant more than the house and was too emotionally stunted to outright ask for validation for planting Grady a vegetable garden. Grady pushed past his own emotional toenail fungus and answered with “I love it” as seriously as he could.
And then, before either of them could get hives from talking about their feelings in the sunlight, he said, “Although how many of your cousins are going to puke in my tomato plants at your party?”
“Oh fuck, all of them.” Max smothered a giggle. “Shit, we might need to get some crime scene tape or something. Is vomit a good compost?”
“No. It’s full of stomach acid. And we’ll definitely need the crime scene tape if someone ralphs on my kale.”
Max linked his arm through Grady’s elbow. “We’ll hire security.”
They wouldn’t, but Grady would place chairs strategically and Max would probably spray beer at anyone who got too close. It’d be fine, or close enough.
Grady slid open the back door he’d unlocked earlier. “Speaking of security.” Gru skittered past them into the house. A moment later Grady heard the telltale crunch that indicated he’d found the dish Grady filled. “What are the odds one of your neighbors has a telephoto lens?”
Max lifted an eyebrow, expression full of mischief. “What neighbors?”
Yep, Grady decided as he pulled Max onto the couch in the sunroom, Max’s house was pretty much perfect.
MAX HADnever considered himself much of a worrier, which, when he looked back on the past year, made him feel a little dumb. He’d worried he was falling for Grady too fast and that Grady would never love him back, he’d worried Hedgie might get traded, he’d worried that living with Max would be too much for Grady even if hedidlove him.
Those worries turned out to be unfounded, and Max and Grady’s relationship had turned into a beautiful X-rated fairy tale. Max should be on cloud nine. Maxwason cloud nine.
The trouble was he wanted to build a castle on this particular cloud. Experience said Grady would be into it. But Max had had some kind of watershed moment or something, and now he was aware of that lurking uncertainty at all times.
It was terrible.
On the plus side, that uncertainty spent a lot of time pushed into a tiny corner at the back of his mind. Grady was so in love with him it madeMaxstupid. He’d come out to New Brunswick this summer to attend his former rival’s Stanley Cup celebration party. Hell, with all the input he’d given into the setup and menu—all delivered offhandedly, lazily, and generally also postorgasmically—he was basically cohosting.
So while Max maybe had a little anxiety about, like, asking Grady to lock this down already, it was difficult to concentrate on worrying when his brain was so saturated with sex hormones.
Finally, at eleven in the morning their third full day in Moncton, Max peeled himself off the sticky sheets and said, “We should probably have lunch. I’m supposed to introduce you to Todd this afternoon.”
He must’ve given Grady enough recovering-from-travel time, because he didn’t make a face about having to leave the house to interact with other people. “You’re going to start training this week?”
He’d been giving Max unsubtle glances since the Cup Final—and probably before, but Max had been too tired then to notice—lingering on Max’s arms and shoulders, where he’d lost the most weight, and his belly, which was doing that weird skinny fat thing it did in late seasons when his body had eaten up the muscle for energy. Grady hadn’t made a secret of trying to feed Max extra either, not that Max minded. It was nice to be fussed over. But he would get a complex about his disappearing ass if Grady kept it up much longer.
“Probably not ’til after the Cup party. And I’m focusing on weight training first.” He felt like a newborn kitten. Weight training would keep his calorie use in check and help him rebuild muscle.
Grady, on the other hand, had been out of the playoffs since mid-April. “What about you?” He’d been working out regularly, but mostly physio and conditioning exercises, nothing like the usual frenzy of off-season training, which was weird since Grady was a known workaholic. “You can probably get ice time if you want.”
Now Grady did make a face, apparently at himself. “I’m not going to sit still, but Carla suggested a longer rest and weight training this off-season, with the injury and….” His face went stony.
Oh Lord, now Max had to know what she’d said. “And…?”
