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M ax skated out to the net. The crowd went wild as he took the ice, and he allowed himself to look up into the stands of the arena as the national anthem was sung by a local Condors fan. It was a blur. With the lights down low, the starting line standing in unison, the fans on their feet with hats removed, a sense of home, belonging, and family flooded Max.

He was going to miss this.

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, steadying his shaking body that trembled with nerves, anticipation, and guilt.

Was it wrong of him to take the start knowing there were no guarantees with him? Would his eyes work well enough to make the save? Was it wrong of him to just want one more game, until the clock ran out, until time ran out, and he was forced, prematurely, to hang up his pads and hand over his spot in front of the net to Brown?

One more season was all he needed. He needed to see as much, save as much, and celebrate as much as he could before the small lingering haze in the corners of his vision engulfed him entirely.

The lights came up.

The clock showed fifteen minutes.

Max blinked.

And blinked.

He thought of Remi at home, watching the game, watching him play, and despite the blurred lines on the ice, he managed to smile. Even if hockey seemed like a losing game for him, he found solace in the idea of her. Until now, he never had anything outside these arena lights, cool ice, and face masks designed just for him. Now he had Remi, and she said yes. Yes to everything, and to him that ultimately meant yes to letting him love her, because he was pretty fucking sure she was it for him. She gave him something to work towards, a new goal, a new forever outside the NHL, the Condors, and the Cup. For the first time in his life, his endgame had someone else in it.

The puck dropped, and it was up to the hockey gods now. One save at a time.

He blinked.

And blinked again.

His vision centered, and he watched, with only his periphery blurred, as his captain won the puck and skated towards the San Jose net. The rumble of the crowd's cheers echoed around him, and he wondered if it always sounded this loud. He wondered if it always shook the ice beneath his skates. If he could always feel the intensity of the game but just never noticed because he only ever relied on one of his senses. Now, his body, as if knowing his vision was slipping, was reminding him that there was so much more to depend on.

San Jose regained the puck after a scramble behind their net. Jonathan Pierce, last season’s rookie of the year, skated up the ice with Stanos, a Condors defenseman, on his heels. Max readied himself. He could see enough to make the save; he could see what was in front of him and could read the body language enough to know that he needed to drop to his knees. Pierce was known for his “between the legs” goals, and Max wasn't going to let him pull his signature move on him tonight, not when it was a save he knew he was capable of.

He pulled his leg pads together, leaving no space for the puck to enter. The mad dash of players piled into his space and Max dropped his body to cover the puck.

The score remained zero-zero.

The clock still had twelve minutes on it.

It was just the first period.

There was a lot of fucking hockey left to be played.

***

Watching Max play hockey before Remi knew what he was up against was nerve-wracking. Watching Max play hockey knowing everything he was up against was going to give her a fucking heart attack. She couldn't imagine the pressure he felt to win, to prove himself, and to be able to play one more game.

Nothing was guaranteed for him anymore, and nothing hurt worse than uncertainty.

The puck dropped at the start of the third period, and Remi couldn't take her eyes off Max, no matter where the puck was. She couldn't look away, and she couldn't deny the warmth she felt in the pit of her stomach at the reminder of last night. The weight of his body on top of hers, and the way he took his time with her—her gentle giant, her sweet quiet man, she wanted him to win so he might let her celebrate him tonight.

She would celebrate his wins in front of the net until she had to celebrate him in other ways. The clock ticked down, and she watched as he made save after save, despite his circumstances. He was a fighter. He was brave and good, and he was hers.

A million times, yes.

The game cut to a commercial and Remi opened up her laptop. She used the break in the game to start researching. She pulled up a list of resources for people with loved ones who are going blind. Not another minute of her time would be wasted being uninformed. If she couldn't save his vision, she would prepare for its loss. They would navigate this together, as effortlessly as they could, one day at a time.