Page 66 of Out Of Time

“It felt good to help you. Lately, I wonder what my life will look like when I’m unable to do the thing I’ve built my entire identity around. And I worry I won’t know how to fill that space,or how to be fulfilled. But last night was a huge eye-opener for me—no pun intended.” This made Remi laugh, and honestly, it was nice being able to joke about it all with her. If he couldn't laugh about it, he feared it might consume him completely, essentially breaking him.

“How so?” she asked.

“I guess I got to see how important you are to so many people. You come in and you clean people's homes. Some of us pay you to do it, but you do it for some of these people for free, like Mrs. Keller, out of the kindness of your heart. Some of your clients are just too lazy to clean their own homes, and some of them are entitled, like me, but some of these strangers that you help actuallyneedyou, and you show up for them, no questions asked. You help them because you have a good heart, Remi. Not a lot of people have that kind of purpose. Not many people are as quick as you are to give back. I guess it just helped me see that there is no task, no job, no deed too small. You give me hope that when I’m done with hockey, when my eyes won't allow it anymore, that I might be able to find my purpose in something much bigger than being a professional athlete. I might be able to find some way to really give back.”

Remi got up, tears filling her eyes as she took her place in his lap. Straddling him in the small, rickety chair, he feared it might break under the weight of them, but it wouldn't stop him from wrapping his arms around her to keep her there.

“I think you’ll find your purpose, Max. I think your story will be one they talk about for ages. Youknowyou have this platform and this spotlight, and I can see you using it for good. I know that you will bring this unfortunate circumstance from darkness to light in the most beautiful way. And I, for one, cannot wait to see the way you change the world, Max Miller.”

She eased her hand down the plane of his chest, over the black inked lines, her eyes heavy with contemplation.

“What is it?” he asked.

“It’s just, I think it's time you stop counting your losses and started celebrating your wins.”

“It seems silly now, all these immortalized reminders of each game I’ve lost. Had I known then, what I know now, I might have focused more on what really mattered, and less on forgetting what didn't.”

“And what would that have looked like for you? If you hadn’t done this?” she asked, her fingers trailing over the small black slashes covering his bare skin.

“I would have stopped watching the clock countdown to game over and tried harder to enjoy the seconds I had left in the moment. In my team’s wins, and even their losses, the celebrations, the friendships, and just life in general. I’ve spent my whole life waiting for the final minute to be up, and now it’s too late. I’m out of time.”

“You're not out of time, Max. You just need to reset the clock.”

Max pulled her body into his. Her sweet coffee-hinted lips pressed against his, and he kissed her. He kissed her like this moment was theirs because it really was. He was finally done counting down to his end and ready to start living in his now.

Remi pulled her bleach-covered gloves from her hands and placed them in the bathroom sink to answer her phone, knowing Max would be finished with his early morning practice. She had been waiting for the call. Lately, she felt like she was always waiting forthiscall, it had become a part of her life over the past few weeks. The moment she picked up his call she would know the answer to the million-dollar question from the tone of his voice alone: Would Max Miller get the start in front of the net?

“Hey, how was practice?” she asked on pickup.

He sighed. “Not great.”

“That’s okay. Everyone has off days,” she said, offering up optimism in a hopeless situation.

He laughed on the other line, and it sounded out of character for Max: cruel and annoyed.

“An off day is being overly tired despite going to bed early, struggling to focus, or something. I’m not having an off day, I’m going fucking blind, Remi, there’s a big difference. No one elseis having a few days off that will ultimately lead to an entirelifeoff,” he said, his tone snippy and harsh, catching her off guard.

“Hey, don’t do that,” she said gently, trying her best not to poke the bear. He washerbear, her big cuddly, redheaded bear, who was evidently not handling his situation well tonight—which was to be expected from time to time considering.

“Don't do what? Don’t be mad that I’m going fucking blind at twenty-six? Don’t be mad that my team is set to make the playoffs and I’m the number one thing that could stop them? Don’t be mad that I gave up my entire adolescence training for this sport, only to have it ripped away from me by genetics passed down from a man who has never spent a day of his life trying to be my father? I’m mad, Remi. I’m mad as hell.”

She could hear his heavy and erratic breathing on the line.

Remaining silent for a moment, she let him sit with his words. They were good words for a man who at times, didn't have any.

And then she spoke.

“You done?” she asked.

“No,” he snapped.

“Okay then. Say whatever else it is you need to say. Yell, scream, cry, then start your Jeep, and drive home safely. I’ll meet you there when I’m done cleaning for the day. We can eat good food and go down to the beach and do something fun. Will it still suck that you’re not getting the start? Yes, it will absolutely suck. But we can, at the very least, try and take your mind off of it.”

“It’s just, I don’t want—” he said, then paused.

“You don’t wantwhat,Max?” she asked, gently.

“I don't want to lose hockey,” he said, his voice cracking.

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