Page 98 of Out Of Time

She leaned her head onto his shoulder. “I know. I don’t know why I offered that.”

“Could you maybe try and tell me what’s going on in the game?” he asked, his voice cracking as it came out.

Remi looked over at him, a single-dimple smile on her face, her eyes sympathetic and kind. “I can try.”

“I’d really like that.”

“I don’t know the proper terminology,” she said.

He leaned in and kissed her forehead. “That’s okay. I don’t think anything could make me happier right now than you trying to explain hockey play-by-play to me, in my jersey, at the Stanley Cup finals.”

Remi laughed, but not her happy-go-lucky laugh that he had gotten used to. This laugh was love, understanding, and the emotional depth that he never realized a single laugh could hold.

“Okay,” she said, steadying herself next to him. Her chest puffed up as she prepared to take on the role of his personal announcer for the remainder of the game.

He looked over at her, her eyes were wild and so blue, but then the lights came up in the arena.

He blinked.

He blinked again.

She was still there.

Nothing else mattered.

“Okay, so they are going at it behind the net, and the Storms player is like, pinning the Condor up against the wall-thingy,” she said, then laughed, “I’m going to butcher your sport, and you are going to dump me.”

“No way.” He smiled over at her. “Keep going.”

“Okay. So, the big dude finally eased up. Your guy has the puck and he’s going with it…”

He corrected her. “Is heskating it up the ice?” he asked, giving her some proper terminology.

She looked over at him and pressed her finger to his nose. “Ding-ding-ding,” she said, booping him. “Those are exactly the words I was looking for.”

He laughed, the box around them was noisy, the drinks were flowing, and no one was focused on them, and even if they were he didn’t care. His secret would come out after the playoffs were over anyway, he might as well enjoy this last game on his own terms.

“Ohhhhh,” Remi shouted, “Brown just made a super good save.”

Max felt his body recoil. Remi leaned in and kissed his neck, and his skin heated instantly. “He’s good, but he’s no Max Miller,” she whispered.

The crowd was loud, a drumbeat played out on the speakers and the fans knew to clap and cheer,“Go, go, Condors. Go, go, go!”

Remi joined in, clapping and chanting. She looked over at him, her brows lifted, challenging him.

He rose to the occasion. “Go, go, Condors,” he shouted, clapping along. “Go-go-GO!”

They laughed, and Remi gave him her best play-by-play into the end of the second period. The Condors were up 2–1.

***

Remi leaned into Max, her hand in his, gripping it tight. The emotions in the box, hell, the emotions in the entire arena were high, and the excitement in the air was so thick you could cut it.

“Three minutes,” Remi said. Her play-by-play of the game had turned into a countdown. A loss of words swept over her as she experienced the best hockey there was for the first time in her life—playoff hockey—Stanley Cup hockey.

“Two minutes…” She paused, bringing her hands to her chest in panic. “Fuck, I thought they had that one.” She released a deep breath, and went on, “Two minutes, or less than two now.”

Max didn’t even try to watch the ice at this point. He didn’t even care what the blurry figures below looked like, not when he could watch the final moments through Remi’s facial expressions. Her deep inhale of breath, followed by a sharp exhale. She gripped his thigh and then dug her nails into his arm, then slapped his leg in excitement.

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