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R emi woke November first to a raging migraine, a desperation for water, and an ache in her stomach that could only be cured with a McDonald’s breakfast sandwich. The only thing missing was Max. She didn't know when he got up to leave, but her clock showed that not only had she slept through the alarm she set last night as they sat on her carpet, drinking, and laughing, but she had also slept through the entire McDonald’s breakfast window; it would be cheeseburgers or nothing to cure this hangover.

The blankets Max used on the couch were neatly folded up with a handwritten note on top.

Remi,

Thank you for the fun night, and for letting me crash on your couch.

-Max

She couldn't help but smile at his precise handwriting. Each letter was so perfectly written in all caps.

Max-fucking-Miller.

She smiled again to herself. She had spent the night with a professional athlete and yet he had somehow managed to be the most down-to-earth, if not a little odd, guy she had met. It was refreshing, and if she was being honest, it was hopeful.

After their mad dash to her house in the rain, Max switched out his wet black tee for the jersey he had in his car while wrapping his lower half in a blanket with a huge image of the Virgin Mary on it as his wet clothes went through a cycle in her small dryer.

Before she knew it, they had finished an old bottle of vodka she had in the freezer, and they were both too drunk to do anything but laugh and make cat jokes, as Max continued to wear the ears even as he settled in on her couch to sleep.

“ Tonight was cat-tastic,” he said.

“It was purr-fect,” she agreed.

“Thanks for inviting me to the paw-ty,” he said.

“Are you kitten me? I loved having you there.”

“I think I might need to take a cat nap now.” He yawned, pulling out his phone to set an alarm.

“I’ll get you some blankets right meow,” she said, with her final cat pun of the night.

She read his note again.

“Don’t do it, girl,” she said to herself. “Don’t you dare fall for this man.”

But Remi knew it was too late. She knew the second she saw him half naked on his couch that day that Max had instantly become an itch that she had to scratch. After last night, seeing him come alive, watching him smile, hearing him talk without overthinking his every word, she wanted more.

Pulling out her phone she typed up a text. She didn't know when he would be able to check his messages with it being a game day, but she wanted him to know she was thinking about him. What better time was there than the day after Halloween to throw all caution to the wind and allow herself to fall?

Remi:

Hope my favorite ginger cat isn’t hurting too bad today. I had the best time with you last night. I wouldn't mind hanging out again. Cat ears optional.

***

Max finished his pregame warmup and headed to the locker room to change. The lingering reminder of confessing his fears about his health to Remi last night sat in the pit of his stomach. It made it more real, having spoken it out loud, confessing it, owning it; something was wrong with him, and he needed to see a doctor.

He pulled out his phone to check the time, only to find a text from Remi.

His heart raced, and if he was nauseous before with last night's pink vodka threatening to make him lose his protein shake, he was even more so now at the sight of her name on his phone.

He stared at what she had texted him, so honest, so sweet—she always knew what to say. He tried to summon the courage from last night's version of Max. The version of him that was carefree, funny, and intoxicated. He wanted to be that version of himself around her sober, and he knew if anyone could help him accomplish that, it was Remi.

Max:

I would like to see you again.

I kept the cat ears. They're mine now.

She responded promptly.

Remi:

A memento from your first time trick-or-treating.

Max:

Thanks for that, by the way. I missed a lot of normal childhood experiences growing up in billet homes.

Remi:

brB, going to google what a billet home is.

Max:

I have to go meow. Time to get ready for the game.

He smiled in approval at his cat-related text and hoped that Remi would get the reference to last night.

Her response did not disappoint.

Remi:

Okay, let's "paws" this conversation. Text me later. Good luck tonight, Max Miller.

After the game, Max slowly made his way home, ten miles per hour under the speed limit the whole way. Driving at night had become harder over the last month, his ability to focus in the dark a serious struggle on the extensive list of vision-related issues.

The Condors had won. And of course they had won, Brown was in the net. Max forced down the mixed feelings that were creeping in. His gut told him to be angry; angry that he was watching his career come to an end from the bench, while his heart told him to do something about it, talk to someone, see the doctor… but that made it too real. Real was hard, denial was easy.

He made his way to the couch, and despite needing to pack for the upcoming road trip, he wanted to talk to Remi. He had been looking forward to it all day. The memory of last night with her was the only thing that kept him from breaking down completely as he watched Jack Brown make save after save with no signs of slowing down in front of his Condors net.

Max:

Just got home. We won.

He waited for her to respond, crossing his fingers, allowing superstition to creep in. When she finally did, he felt the weight of hockey shift, as well as the weight of his health, his career, and his future.

Why was everything always so heavy?

Remi:

I saw.

I was bummed you weren’t in the net. I love watching you play.

Max:

It was for the best.

Remi:

Did you talk to your coach about seeing a doctor?

Max:

Pass.

Remi:

You’re almost out of passes, Max Miller.

Max:

What happens when I run out?

Remi:

You have to actually start letting me into your world.

Max:

It’s messy in there.

Remi:

Good thing I clean things up for a living.

Max didn't want her to have to clean up his messy life, but he also knew there was no way he could keep her from seeing it. He had somehow convinced her to come into his space. After a half-naked introduction, a broken lamp, an impromptu beach picnic, and trick-or-treating, she still wanted more of him.

Another text came through.

Remi:

You up for an adventure?

He looked at his watch, it was 10:45 p.m. His flight left for the East Coast at 7 a.m. tomorrow, and he wasn't packed. Not to mention he might still be slightly hungover from last night.

Max:

Yes.

He hit send before he could convince himself otherwise.

Remi:

Excuse me? Did you just respond quickly with a yes? Who is this and what have you done with Max Miller?

Max:

Max Miller is a carefree cat now.

Remi:

Having nine lives looks good on you.

Max:

Let me unload my stuff and then I’ll be on my way.