Baller grinned widely. “Like ten times. Never gets old.”
Unlike the kid, Grady thought, who had grown like a weed in the weeks since Grady last saw her. “You going for another one?” Baller’s contract with Anaheim had expired July 1. For weeks rumors about which team he’d play for next had circulated, until news finally broke that he’d signed with the Miami Caimans, another excellent team.
“Kid or Cup?” Baller planted a loud kiss on Reyna’s chubby cheek. “Because Cup, obviously. I’m not dead yet. But we’re tabling future kid talks. I already had to promise we’ll be out of Florida before this one’s school-age. And that we’d get a house by a golf course.”
Grady made a face. “Golf courses are—”
“Environmental disasters, yeah, I know, but marriage is about compromise.”
Was it? Grady wondered what that would look like. He and Max mostly agreed on the important stuff. When they didn’t, it was usually obvious that one of them cared more than the other, like Grady’s insistence on farm-fresh eggs when possible and growing what he could of his own produce, and then Max just let him have what he wanted.
Didthey compromise? What about things that Max wanted? Grady racked his brain trying to think of what mattered to Max. He didn’t want to be the kind of guy who got his own way all the time and never gave back.
But Max asked for so little. He wanted Grady to come home with him in the summer, which didn’t count since Grady wanted to be there. He wanted Grady to pin him to the mattress and fuck him until his teeth rattled—again, no sacrifice on Grady’s part.
Did watchingPride & Prejudicesix times a year without complaining count as compromise? It wasn’t like Grady watched a lot of TV in the first place—
“Bro.” Baller snapped Grady out of his musing with a hand on his shoulder. “It’s not that deep.”
Grady flushed, mortified Baller had seen through him so easily.
“I told you to put a ring on it.”
“Shut up,” Grady hissed, sure he was scarlet now. If someone overheard—
“Relax. You’re at your ex-rival lover’s Cup party wearing a hat that says Trophy Boyfriend.” Baller gave him a sympathetic smile, one laced with amusement as well as mockery. “Cat’s out of the bag, bro. You’re whipped. It’s okay to admit you like it.”
“It’s Max’s hat,” Grady said mulishly. Fuck. Hedidlike it.
Baller laughed outright. “It’s cute that you think that makes it better.”
At least Grady didn’t have to worry that he sucked at compromise. Oh well. He’d already admitted to himself he’d give Max whatever he asked for if it was important to him. He just hadn’t thought of that in these terms before.
He glanced around, gauging the distances. There were a lot of people here, but it was a big yard, full of ambient noise. Nobody seemed close enough to overhear. He shoved his hands in his pockets. “I don’t know how to ask,” he admitted lowly. “Like, how do you…?” He’d never evendatedproperly before Max. Early in their relationship, they’d gotten what they wanted from each other through juvenile bets and mutual antagonism. Well, okay, Max had done most of the antagonizing, but Grady had happily—grumpily—played along.
For a moment he expected Baller to laugh at him or make a joke. Instead, he caught someone’s eye over Grady’s shoulder and gestured with his head. Gabe Martin showed up a moment later. Baller handed him the kid. “Hold this for a few minutes, would you?” He tickled the little girl’s stomach and then kissed her nose while she was still laughing in delight. “Me and my countryman gotta have a chat.”
Gabe glanced from his husband to Grady, mouth curling. “Mazel tov,” he said to Grady, and then he turned back toward wherever he’d come from. Waiting his turn for a steak, maybe.
Baller fished a couple fresh beers out of the nearest cooler and swept his arm out toward the trees. “Walk with me, talk with me.”
Despite what he said, they didn’t do any actual talking until they cleared the trees and made it to the rock slab by the bay. The tide was low at the moment, revealing a collection of barnacles and seaweed-like things and some kind of tentacle sticking out from under a ledge. “Nice,” Baller said approvingly, and he plopped himself down at the top of the slab and patted the spot beside him.
Grady sat and opened his beer.
Baller didn’t say anything until they were each a few sips deep. The lap of the water coming in lulled Grady into a kind of meditative state. It really was beautiful here.
Finally Baller set his can down. “There’s not a formula or anything. I think that’s what’s making it hard for you. There’s not a right answer. No amount of training is going to prepare you. You’re just gonna have to rawdog it.”
Grady was glad he was already sitting. He flexed suddenly nerveless fingers. “Is that what you did?”
“Nah.” Baller leaned back against the rock. “I have more patience than you. Plus Gabe needed softening up, you know? He’d divided his life into things he could have now and things he could only have after hockey.” He paused. “Plus I was, like, way too young to get married.”
A warm breeze ruffled the hair on Grady’s calves. Closer to the water, something skittered over a rusted chunk of chain. Someone must’ve lost their anchor. Grady squinted and made out a tiny crab. It made him think of Max’s dumb tattoo.
“Max doesn’t need softening up,” he said eventually.
Baller snorted. “No shit.”
