Page 20

R emi waited patiently, but the passing of time led her to impatience and finally anger. It was then that she let herself worry, just a bit. Her racing mind spiraled into worst-case scenarios and filled her with a fear so deep in the pit of her stomach she thought she might actually puke up the burrito she had just eaten.

Every text left on send .

Every call met with an automated voicemail.

Every breath she took felt like a punch to the gut.

She had been ghosted; by men, by employees, by friends, by her own fucking mother, but something about Max doing it, after he had made her silent promises, and kissed her with his eyes closed so tight, hurt differently. It felt personal.

She hit call one last time.

It rang and rang, and on the third ring, it went to voicemail.

“Max, I don't know what's going on, and maybe it's nothing. Maybe it's just you pushing me away, and if that's the case I can handle it, I’m a big girl. You don't owe me anything. But I’d be lying if I said it didn't sting. I do deserve to know you’re okay. I do deserve to know that you’re safe. So, can you, just for my peace of mind, tell me you’re okay and that I don’t have to show up at your house for a welfare check. Because I will. I’ll fucking drive over there unannounced to make sure you’re not hurt. So, yeah, shoot me a text. I’ll even settle for a thumbs-up emoji at this point, and I hate those. Anyway… okay…”

She hung up, pulled on her checkered Vans, and headed to the only place she knew how to be alone, the beach.

***

Max declined her call, again, hating the notification for her voicemail. The temptation to listen was too much. The temptation to call her back, to drive to her and fall into her arms, to let her comfort him, it was all too much.

He searched for the name: Jim Alan Miller.

Jim Alan Miller, Arcadia.

His father’s name was, oddly enough, a fairly popular name.

He hit call, he asked, was denied, and then scratched a line through the number.

He called the next number on the list, he asked, was denied again , and he scratched a line through the number.

Repeat.

Only forty-six more Jim Alan Millers to go.

When he saw the number of missed messages lit up on his phone, he opened the text thread with Remi. She was worried, and she had every right to be. He couldn’t respond, because he knew if he did, she would ask the tough questions, and he was all out of passes. He was low on words, and it would take a fuck ton of them to explain everything; what the doctor had said, the conversation with his mother, and the phone call he was trying so desperately to have with his estranged father. On top of all of that, he was struggling with the idea that, in two days, he was going to report back to the locker room with no answers for his coach or team, and possibly even for himself. And he was scared.

He was so fucking scared.

His house felt so big with him being there alone, but he didn’t know how to ask her to come. So, he denied her calls and avoided her texts and didn’t listen to her voicemail.

Each deep breath he took before he called the next Jim in the phone book echoed in the sterile space around him.

He hit call.

He hit call.

He hit call.

“Hello?”

Max took a deep breath. “Hi, ummm, my name's Max Miller, and I’m looking for my father.”

The phone went silent, and for a second Max thought the person had hung up. It wouldn't be the first time that had happened today, but then he heard the man clear his throat.

“I was wondering when I’d get this call,” the man said.

“You were?” Max asked, completely shocked.

“I was. I knew she would never tell you about me, but I still followed your career, been watching you since you got drafted to Anaheim. And I just knew that one day you would call poking around, looking for answers.”

“Why didn't you…” Max paused, unsure what he was going to ask.

“Why didn’t I reach out?” his father responded.

“Exactly,” Max said.

“Do you know your mother?”

This made Max laugh because he did know her. “Yeah, she can be…” Max trailed off again, words escaping him.

“A bitch?” his father asked.

“I was going to say hard, but that works too,” Max agreed, allowing himself this one time to speak poorly of her.

“Well, go on then, son, ask me what you called to ask, and I’ll try my best to help you understand it all.”

“I just need to know if…” Max paused, took a deep breath, and then said the words he dreaded ever leaving his lips, “I need to know if you’re blind.”