Seriously, Max loved him so much.
The past few weeks with Grady had been incredible. Max had been so busy being head over heels for him that he’d almost forgotten about the Cup.
Today, forgetting was impossible. Max got to spend the whole day with the Cup. And the people he got to share it with were the icing on the cake.
He took a quick shower in the master bathroom, complete with the fancy organic sulfate-free dolphin-friendly shampoo Grady bought him. Today he hoped he would be forgiven for brushing it wet instead of attempting some kind of product-and-style thing, because he was going to be outside all day in the sun wearing a Piranhas hat, so it wouldn’t matter.
He did relish dressing for the event, though. Soccer slides, check. Jean shorts Grady would spend the entire day twitching over, check. And to top it off, literally, a Piranhas Stanley Cup Champions tank in rainbow tie-dye.
Too bad Grady was wearing his Trophy Boyfriend hat. It would really complete the look. However, in its absence, a Piranhas snapback and a can of Moosehead would do in a pinch.
He might possibly need more glitter, but he could get that at the parade.
When he got back downstairs, Grady was doing his mom-check of Gru’s go-bag: treats, cooling mat, travel bowl and water bottles. Max mentally addedwe can never break up anyway because my dog will be sadto the list of reasons they should get married.
Then Grady stood up and looked at Max, and his face did athing. Max loved when he made that face, a perfect mashup of offended and baffled. “What the fuck are you wearing.” He said it without a question mark.
Max did a little turn, arms spread out at his sides. “You like it?”
Grady’s right eye twitched. Success. “It’s… bright,” he said finally.
“Well, I gotta match Phil’s tie.” Max slid his sandals on and grabbed his snapback from its hook. “Okay, I’m ready. Let’s do this.”
Phil drove Max into town, but Gru didn’t get to ride in the Cup car—Max wondered vaguely if the Hockey Hall of Fame didn’t pay the pet deposit on rental cars or what—so Grady was following in Max’s car. Which was too bad. Max should’ve ridden with Grady. Because then he would’ve been there when Grady realized—
“Did you plan your Cup parade for Pride Week?” Grady asked practically before Phil even had the SUV in Park.
“No.” Max grinned and pushed up his sunglasses. “I volunteered tobringthe Cup to Pride Week.” The streets in town had been decked out in rainbow flags. “It’s very efficient. You like efficiency. Means they only have to shut down the streets once.”
Okay, Grady probably would prefer the entire downtown be a pedestrian-only zone all the time. But still.
He looked a little gobsmacked when he said, “This is a Stanley Cup Pride parade?”
“Nah.” Max bounced a little on the balls of his feet. “This is a Pride parade with the Stanley Cup in it.”
Did Max know for a fact that Grady had never been to Pride? Yes. Had he, in fact, heard Grady say words to the effect that he had no interest in parades unless there was a Cup involved? Also yes. Did Max think that was kind of sad and take it upon himself to bring the mountain to Mohammed or whatever? No one could prove it.
After a moment Grady smiled and shook his head. “Well, that’s one way to keep the bigots away.”
“If they don’t love me at my drag queens, they don’t deserve me at my Stanley Cup,” Max said cheerfully. “Come on, I want to see if someone has glitter face paint.”
Max might not have an engagement ring on his finger, but he had a Cup ring coming and the trophy itself beside him on a firetruck flying a Pride flag. He had his family by his side. Baller and his husband and their kid had come too and were at the front of the procession in an old-fashioned flatbed truck bearing the Moosehead logo.
And he had Grady walking Gru alongside the float, wearing a rainbow stripe on one cheek and Max’s Trophy Boyfriend hat, chatting with Ivanna Tuchyakup and Avery Goodtime. He wished Grady would take his shirt off like every other self-respecting gay man, but Rome wasn’t built in a day. Either way, Max’s heart was full.
THE PARTYstarted at three, so Max and Grady had time to come home, shower, and nap after Max’s parade appearance. Grady scrubbed the glitter away as carefully as he could, not because he was a bad sport but because he could feel his skin trying to break out underneath the paint. A Pride parade might not be his natural habitat, but face paint aside, he didn’t hate it.
He maybe hated how many compliments he got on his hat, but he just told people the truth—it was Max’s.
He still didn’t know how he’d gotten into a discussion about riding crops with a drag queen named Tanya Hyde, but he suspected she knew Max, which was explanation enough. Anyway, Max would appreciate it later.
By three fifteen the yard was teeming. Max’s brother had set up a makeshift stage by the patio. One of his friends was performing a mix of traditional East Coast reels and contemporary covers. A month ago Grady would’ve thought he’d feel out of place—everyone wanted Max’s attention, which Grady unfortunately understood all too well. But East Coasters in general and Max’s family in particular were so friendly it was hard to feel left out. Besides, he needed to pick Aunt Max’s brain about the enormous slugs that had declared war on his garden.
He’d just finished saving her notes in his phone when something stumbled into his legs. Grady looked down expecting to see Gru, but instead found himself looking into the eyes of a very startled Reyna Martin-Baltierra.
“Sorry, wrong legs.” Baller scooped her up from behind and blew a raspberry against her stomach before she could burst into the tears that looked to be threatening. She laughed instead. “You know how it is. Everybody’s knees look the same.”
Amused, Grady looked pointedly at Baller’s knees, which were several shades darker than his own. Maybe the kid had been looking for her other daddy. “No harm done. You put her in the Cup yet?”
