Page 85 of Out Of Time

“I ripped your tights,” he said.

She pushed them down and maneuvered them off carefully, slipping one foot out of her checkered Vans at a time so she wouldn’t step on the disgusting floor. “Yeah, you did. You know, you could have just pulled them down.”

Max took the fishnets from her, turning to throw them in the trash as she ran the paper towels under water to clean up the mess between her legs.

“I know. I thought about pulling them down, but the truth is, I had been thinking about ripping them off you since you showed up at my house wearing them today.”

“Did we just unlock a Max Miller fantasy?” she asked, tossing the paper towels in the overflowing trash can.

“I don’t think it actually was one until tonight, but yeah, that was pretty fucking hot,” he said, pulling her in for a kiss.

A loud knock on the bathroom door startled them apart and the person on the other side shouted, “Are you done fucking yet? I gotta piss. I broke the seal.”

Max looked at Remi like a deer in headlights. “He knows,” Max said, a little worried he might get found out. Hewasstill an NHL player, and he did have a certain reputation to uphold, he didn’t need a Roman Graves situation right before he announced his retirement.

“It’s fine. We’re not the first, and we won’t be the last to fuck in the bathroom of The Pig Pen,” she said, taking his hand and pulling the door open to find the same guy as before, standing in front of them doing the pee-pee dance.

They walked by him, and again, he gave Max a thumbs up and said, “Niiiice.”

Max gave him a smile, because itwasnice, doing whatever he wanted, knowing that his life was his,allhis. Even if he lost hockey, and in the end, his vision too, he could see it being a pretty good life with Remi.

“Should we finish the show?” she asked, as the lead singer announced, “Wehave a few more songs and then you can get the fuck out of this shithole to go do whatever it is people do on Merry Ho-ho-ho night.”

“Yes, let’s stay for the last few songs,” he agreed.

“For tradition’s sake?” she asked.

“Yes. And because I think I really like this.”

The holiday break went by in the blink of an eye. It was crazy how fast time went when you were having fun, and Maxhadbeen having fun. He and Remi ate terrible food and made love as much as his body would allow him—twice in his closet—just because they could, for nostalgic purposes. She showed him old bands that he wished he had known about when they were still together. They laid in bed—hisbed—and ordered random things off Pottery Barn for his house: decorative pillows, a gigantic painting of the ocean for above his couch, picture frames for pictures he hadn’t taken yet, and different jewel tone glass cups, because Remi said they would beaesthetically pleasingto drink fancy drinks from in the fall.

The fun helped.

It pushed away the reality of what he was up against.

The NHL Network had replayed his mishap on the ice several times over the holiday break while giving little insight into“What was really going on with Max Miller?”He hadn’t watched it, he couldn’t. The sight of him stumbling around on his skates, his helmet being frantically ripped from his head inpanic—it was too much to watch happen over and over again when it already lived rent-free in his head.

Max made his way down the cool, long corridor that led to the Condors locker room, where he would find his team getting ready for practice.

This was it.

This was the moment he had been dreading.

His heart hammered in his chest and the words he had to say out loud played over and over in his head. Words he knew well by now. Words he thought he wouldn’t have to speak for years and years to come.

But that didn’t hold true for him anymore.

And now, his exit music would play.

When he entered the locker room, the sound of his team’s chatter went instantly silent, and he looked down at his feet, avoiding their gaze. When he finally found the courage to look up, he found comfort in the gentle smile of his fellow goalie, Brown. He gave Max an encouraging nod, and the simple, silent gesture set the wheels in motion for what came next.

Max made his way to his locker and took a seat. He could feel the pause of motion throughout the locker room in anticipation. The familiarity of this moment was stolen from him by his lack of equipment present, he didn’t have a bag to hang, or pads to put on, not even a protein shake that would carry him through the practice. The blades of his skates were haunting, still dull from his last game, his last skate, his final start. His practice jersey was nowhere to be found, and it was so solidifying, how real this had all become.

The foreshadowing was an awful reminder of why he showed up today.

The team watched on in anticipation as he sat there, his head hung low, his silence a deafening scream.

Brown made his way across the locker room to Max and the team made room for him, like the parting of the Red Sea. Out of respect for Max’s old superstitions, Brown took the seat to the left of him, because the right was off-limits. Even if Max didn’t believe in superstitions anymore, even if he didn’t need them, he was grateful for this simple nod to his legacy.

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