Page 15

T he east coast road trip was going how Max wanted it to go, as far as his team winning. How they were winning, not so much. Brown had gotten the start in all three games on the East Coast, after Max fumbled his way through practice, putting the Condors back in the rankings. His career's future looked bleak from the bench, and the way the boys were talking to him was torture. It reminded Max of how people spoke to a dying person.

He wasn’t dying for fuck’s sake; he just needed an eye exam and maybe some glasses or at least that’s what he told himself to get through the day with the fear of it being something bigger sitting in the pit of his stomach.

They would fly out tomorrow for two games in Florida, then back to the West Coast for games against Arizona and L.A., before heading home for a game in Anaheim.

The whole time he was gone he hadn’t texted Remi like he said he would. He couldn't. He felt defeated and was too scared to talk to her because he was reckless when he talked to her—open and honest. Saying it out loud would make it all too real, and he didn’t want her to know that his night vision had been elevated to code red. Every time the lights went from dark to light, he was met with intense strobe-like flashing. This was bigger than he let on, and he didn’t want Remi to know what he thought was happening to him. He didn’t want to tell her because he was still trying to lie to himself. Hide it from himself. Denial was his only companion.

When he got back to his room after dinner, he was surprised to find his coach and Patrick Carter, his captain, sitting on one of the beds in the room. Normally Max roomed with a rookie, Nate Kinder, the other token weirdo of the team, but from the looks of it, Coach was shaking things up tonight.

“Hey?” Max said hesitantly, putting his things on the dresser.

“Have a seat, son,” Coach said.

Max took a seat on the bed across from them.

“Max, what I’m about to tell you didn’t come easy. It’s something I’ve been considering with staff, and after talking with Carter, I think it’s in everyone’s best interest if we put you on leave for the rest of this trip and bring Brody up from the minors. We have to keep what’s best for the team at heart here, and right now, Brown is on a winning streak, and Brody has been standing on his head in San Diego with the Waves. It doesn't make sense to keep you on the bench when we have a goalie in the minors who is better equipped to step in and give Brown a break. We all wanted to see you in front of the net in Florida tomorrow, but after your morning skate, we think you need to take some time off to reset. When we get back to Anaheim you can skate with the team and we can go from there.”

Max saw this coming. To be honest, he thought they would have put him on leave sooner.

He stayed silent.

The words on the tip of his tongue stayed put. He heard Remi’s voice in the back of his head, do scary things.

“You good man?” asked Carter.

“Yeah. I saw this coming.”

“Do you have any idea why your game is off? Is there something we can help you with? Are you injured, or maybe it's something different, something you need to talk about?”

“I…” Max faltered. “I just have a lot to think about,” he said.

“Max, if you get yourself healthy, you’re in. If I see you out on the ice performing at Max Miller level, you're in, no questions asked. But I need you to figure out whatever it is you’ve got going on before I can do that. I’ve arranged an appointment with the team's physician when you get back to Anaheim tomorrow. I want you to go and talk with her. Tell her what's going on, and maybe we can get to the bottom of this.”

“Do I have to?” Max asked, and he watched as his coach's face fell with disappointment.

“No, son, I can’t make you. But when I say I want to see you trying, I mean on and off the ice. So, take that how you will. Carter is rooming with you tonight. Get some rest, and I’ll see you back in Anaheim next week.”

Max didn't watch as Coach left, he just sat there, paralyzed with anxiety. The dizziness crept in, the floor becoming Jello under his feet.

“You know,” Carter said, “Coach means well. We’re all worried about you. The whole team is worried, Max.”

“I know.”

“We want you back on the ice with us. We love Brown, don’t get me wrong, but he’s not you, he's not Max Miller. It doesn't feel right winning without you.”

“I don’t know what you want me to say,” Max said, because words were hard, and right now, they felt impossible.

“Say you'll get help. Say you'll talk to someone and find out why one of the best goalies in the NHL suddenly can't skate to the net in a straight line, let alone save a puck most days.”

“It’s complicated,” Max mumbled.

Carter leaned forward on his knees, getting closer to Max, begging him to look up, make eye contact, and be real with him. “What is? Losing? Not playing well? Talking? You give us nothing Max. You don’t talk to us. We’re your family, we want to know if you're okay, but no one knows how to ask.”

“I know I don’t make it easy on you,” Max admitted.

“That's for damn sure.”

“It’s just hard for me.”

“What is, Max? What’s hard for you? You can tell me anything. I know it's scary sometimes, but we gotta do scary things.”

Max’s head sprung up at Carter’s last words, the image of Remi telling him the same thing the last time he saw her playing over in his mind. Was this some kind of joke? Had she somehow contacted Carter? Was this a fucking intervention? “What the fuck did you just say?” Max asked more aggressively than Carter had ever seen from the gentle giant.

“I said I know it's scary to talk about stuff sometimes, especially as a professional athlete. I know we're expected to be tough all the time…”

“No. What did you say? Word for word, what did you say?”

“I don’t know, I was just talking from my heart.”

“You said, we have to do scary things,” Max repeated.

“Yeah, absolutely we do. And I want you to know I’m here for you, no matter what you say, I’m here.”

Max stood up, the lighting in the room making it hard for him to make out the contrast of the space around him. He took two steps towards the dresser to grab his water bottle and tripped over something he hadn't seen at his feet. Falling into the entertainment stand, Carter hurried over to grab the TV before it came crashing to the ground.

“Max,” Carter asked, placing a hand on his back to steady him, “you okay, man?”

He just stood there, his body trembling from the fall.

“Just… stood up fast… just need a second and I’ll be fine,” he managed.

“Here,” Carter said, handing him his bottle of water. “Drink.”

Max took the water bottle from his captain just to do something, to deflect the attention from his stumbling.

“I’m fine,” he lied.

“I don’t think you are, man.”

“Just stressed,” he said. This was not a lie, but it was also not the full truth.

“Come on, let's get you sitting down.”

Max, despite not wanting to show any more weakness in front of this man, accepted his help.

“I know something’s not right,” Carter said, his voice shaking with an underlying hint of anger. “I know you've got something going on that you're not telling us. Hell, you might not even be admitting it to yourself, but I know what I see, and I know that whatever it was that happened when you stood up just now is not normal. And for the sake of your career, the team, and honestly, for the peace of mind of all of us who love you, I hope you take this time off seriously and get the fucking help you need you stubborn asshole.”

The last part made Max chuckle. He sat back down on the bed and allowed himself to laugh through the shit show he found himself in. What was he waiting for? Why hadn’t he gotten help yet? What was he so afraid of? Whatever the results came back as, it couldn't be worse than this. It couldn’t be worse than being sent home while some rookie came up from the minors to take his spot in front of the net.

That was his net, and he wanted it back.