Page 97 of Out Of Time

Max had even let Remi and Nicole, the facility manager, convince him to sign up for counseling. At first, he was hesitant to accept the idea. The last thing he wanted to do was talk about going blind in a stuffy room with someone he didn’t know, when words were not his strong suit to begin with. But, after his first session with Dr. Hill, he realized this was bigger than going blind. He was going to have to rethink his entire lifestyle, so, why not get a head start on the overwhelming anxiety and deep bouts of depression before it got out of control?

He and Dr. Hill didn’t only talk about RP. Some days they talked about hockey. Those days Max left wondering what was harder, losing his vision or losing his spot in front of the net.

He couldn’t be sure.

The hockey season was almost over. Even from the box, with the cool arena air on his warm, anxious face, Max felt itcoming to an end. If the Condors won tonight’s game against the Carolina Storms, they would secure the most coveted trophy in hockey, the Stanley Cup, ending Max’s career for good on the highest note possible.

He helped Remi pull the teal blue jersey over her head, his number thirty-one on the back along with his last name, Miller; it looked so good on her it hurt. He almost wished he had never seen her wear it, and he almost wished she had never known him in this season of life at all, never experiencing these two parts of his world overlapping: Max before RP and Max after.

Even with those thoughts swirling in his mind, he noticed how Remi handled it all so effortlessly, with simple jokes and greeting his fellow Condors with ease, like they were family. A few other players on injured reserve were in the box with him and Remi, and the overall mood was intense. This could be the night; the Condors could win their first Cup in sixteen years. As the arena filled with fans wearing jerseys, some with painted faces, some with his number on their back, Max could feel it, he could feel the win deep in his bones. He knew it was their night, he could feel it in the way the tips of his fingers tingled like they used to when he was in the net.

His goalie intuition had returned one last time.

They went to take their seats; the Cup was in the building and the game was about to start. Remi went to sit on the right side of him, and on instinct Max stopped her. “Not here. You have to sit to the left of me, if you sit to the right, its bad luck.”

Remi took the seat to his left, a small smile on her face, an understanding that only a goalie girlfriend got, even if she had only been introduced to this crazy world months ago. “We’re going to win tonight,” Max said.

“Yeah?” Remi asked.

“Yeah. I can feel it.” He looked out at the ice and it was nothing more than a blur. His stomach dropped. He blinked. Heblinked again, and if he did it quickly, he might be able to wipe away the tears without anyone noticing.

Remi took his hand and in the palm of hers was a tissue. She gave him a comforting squeeze, then placed her head on his shoulder.

“You okay?” she asked quietly.

“No,” he said, glad he didn’t have to lie to her.

“That’s okay,” she said, and he could tell by the way the voices in the box grew hushed that the puck had dropped.

***

The first period ended with the Condors up 1–0. Brown was standing on his head, and their captain, Patrick Carter, had the first goal of the night. Max felt his anxiety growing with every cheer and boo of the crowd on a play he couldn’t see, with every kiss-cam on the jumbotron—he would never know if it was him and Remi on the screen.

But the Condors were winning.

This was going to be okay.

“Max.” Clay Adams, a marketing director for the Condors, greeted him during intermission. “Any word when we’ll see you back on the ice?”

“Well,” Max said, “if they win tonight, it won’t be this season,” he joked, to avoid admitting the truth. Some of the team’s affiliates knew, some didn’t, and in those cases, he found himself bullshitting his way out of admitting his secret.

“Big bridge contract year for you,” he said, and Max could tell it was more a question than a statement, but Clay would have to wait like the rest of the Condors community to find out what the future held. Max wasn’t giving anything away, not here, not now. Not in the box at the Stanley Cup finals.

“I can’t talk about it yet.” Max lied again, remembering the time Remi gave him the green light to tell a lie, or hide the truth if he had to, and right now, Max had to. For his own mental health.

“Ah, right. Big hush-hush until the ink dries,” Clay said, playfully punching Max’s shoulder. It didn’t hurt, but Max instinctually brought his hand up to rub there.

“Something like that,” Max said, but he knew the only ink that would be drying was his signature on his resignation letter.

The lights in the arena went down, and before Max could panic at the sudden shift in lighting, Remi had his hand in hers.

“You’re anxious,” she said.

“I am.”

“Do you want to leave?”

He looked over at her and simply said, “I can’t.”

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