Page 96 of Out Of Time

“Damn, Remi,” he said, somehow managing to fuck her harder, the sound of his body against hers echoing through her small bedroom. “So. Good,” he said, slamming his body flush against hers one last time as he came; the heat of his orgasm spreading deep inside her.

She wouldn’t be able to walk, let alone clean after that.

Max slowly pulled out, leaning down to kiss the center of her back.

“You sure we have to clean these houses today?” he asked, and she knew why.

She knew he asked because that was the kind of sex that needed a follow-up, and after the follow-up, a shower. And then after the shower some heavy petting. That was the kind of sex that could have very easily led to an entire day of making love on every surface of her tiny house.

“Wehaveto clean these houses,” she said, rolling over onto her back, her legs still shaking and her body aching in the best way. With the throb between her legs, she could feel phantom thrusts against her entrance even with him gone.

“I guess we should get ready,” Max said, looking over at her, his smile still managing to be a little groggy and his beard lopsided from sleeping on his stomach.

“I have a Busy Bee shirt for you here,” she said, and his face lit up.

“I like wearing your company shirt. It makes me feel official.”

Remi leaned over and kissed his smiling mouth, then his nose, then his eyes that fluttered shut under her lips, then his forehead.

“I like seeing you in it,” she said.

“I want to see you in my jersey… before the season is over.”

“I would love that.”

His hands trailed across her bare skin, down her breast, over her nipple, then outlined her tan lines in a non-sexual nature, in a “just because I can” kind of way.

“It’s going to be hard,” he said.

“Seeing me in your jersey?” she asked.

His hands stopped moving. “Seeing you in my jersey knowing it’s the last year that number is mine.”

She leaned over, draping her body across his in a blanketing hug. “Thirty-one will always be Max Miller’s number to me.”

“What if they win the Cup?” he asked, his question lined with some kind of heavy meaning.

“Then you celebrate with them. You’re still a part of the team.”

Max went silent, it still wasn’t an uncommon thing for him to do, to go completely quiet, but this was a different kind of silence.

“If I don’t play a game in the playoffs, or at least get dressed as a backup goalie, I don’t get my name on the Cup.”

Remi sat up, her face twisted with irritation. “Why? That’s so stupid and entirely unfair.”

Max brought his hands up to rub his eyes. “It’s just the rules.”

“Well fuck the rules,” she said, standing aggressively to head to the bathroom.

The playoffs went by in a blaze as Max sat back and watched his team push forward win after win. Brown was mesmerizing in front of the net, making the hard saves look easy; Max found himself toeing the line between jealousy and pride. If he couldn’t be the one making the save, he would be happy it was Brown. Even the few games Brody, the backup goalie, played had left Max feeling like his team was in good hands. He could let them go knowing they would thrive in the future without him.

Free time between playoff games and cleaning houses was filled with visits to the Lighthouse facility. Max was learning how to prepare his home for the future with things like bump dots and playing with lighting options, as well as hiring a painter to paint all the door frames in the house to create a contrast of colors while that would still help. They had also done some simple fixes, removed area rugs that weren’t necessary, got special bump coded cutting boards, and even added floor and table lights to help with his night vision.

He found himself letting go of his denial towards his diagnosis little by little with each trip to Lighthouse. Being around other people with vision impairments helped him accept that he needed to start learning things now, because they would be even harder to grasp later when his vision was gone entirely. He signed up to learn how to use a cane, and how to navigate different apps and technology that would help along the way with things he didn’t even consider, things like telling time, and reading a dinner menu.

Since he found out about his retinitis pigmentosa, he had only focused on the loss of his career. He hadn’t even considered the day-to-day things he would eventually have to relearn to do without his vision.

The community of people he met through Lighthouse were slowly becoming his second family, Shepard the guide dog included. They offered encouragement and reminded him it’s okay to laugh and make jokes, because if you didn’t, someone else would, and why not laugh at your own expense.

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