Page 41 of Out Of Time

He hit call, he asked, was denied, and then scratched a line through the number.

He called the next number on the list, he asked, was deniedagain, and he scratched a line through the number.

Repeat.

Only forty-six more Jim Alan Millers to go.

When he saw the number of missed messages lit up on his phone, he opened the text thread with Remi. She was worried, and she had every right to be. He couldn’t respond, because he knew if he did, she would ask the tough questions, and he was all out of passes. He was low on words, and it would take a fuck ton of them to explain everything; what the doctor had said, the conversation with his mother, and the phone call he was trying so desperately to have with his estranged father. On top of all ofthat, he was struggling with the idea that, in two days, he was going to report back to the locker room with no answers for his coach or team, and possibly even for himself. And he was scared.

He was so fucking scared.

His house felt so big with him being there alone, but he didn’t know how to ask her to come. So, he denied her calls and avoided her texts and didn’t listen to her voicemail.

Each deep breath he took before he called the next Jim in the phone book echoed in the sterile space around him.

He hit call.

He hit call.

He hit call.

“Hello?”

Max took a deep breath. “Hi, ummm, my name's Max Miller, and I’m looking for my father.”

The phone went silent, and for a second Max thought the person had hung up. It wouldn't be the first time that had happened today, but then he heard the man clear his throat.

“I was wondering when I’d get this call,” the man said.

“You were?” Max asked, completely shocked.

“I was. I knew she would never tell you about me, but I still followed your career, been watching you since you got drafted to Anaheim. And I just knew that one day you would call poking around, looking for answers.”

“Why didn't you…” Max paused, unsure what he was going to ask.

“Why didn’t I reach out?” his father responded.

“Exactly,” Max said.

“Do youknowyour mother?”

This made Max laugh because hedidknow her. “Yeah, she can be…” Max trailed off again, words escaping him.

“A bitch?” his father asked.

“I was going to say hard, but that works too,” Max agreed, allowing himself this one time to speak poorly of her.

“Well, go on then, son, ask me what you called to ask, and I’ll try my best to help you understand it all.”

“I just need to know if…” Max paused, took a deep breath, and then said the words he dreaded ever leaving his lips, “I need to know if you’re blind.”

Remi let herself into the beachfront house of Max Miller to clean as she had so many times before. Only now, when she entered, she felt like an intruder. Having the code to his front door felt like a conflict of interest.

Now that he wanted nothing to do with her; his simple thumbs-up emoji— even though she said she would settle for it—followed by his silence led her to accept that whatever they had shared between them romantically, had ended as quickly as it had started. What hurt the most about his silence was that he asked her to say yes to everything, only to take away her opportunity to do it before she could.

Motherfucker.

She called out to announce herself after letting herself in, giving him any chance he might need to run and hide like the coward he was.

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