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R emi pulled her bleach-covered gloves from her hands and placed them in the bathroom sink to answer her phone, knowing Max would be finished with his early morning practice. She had been waiting for the call. Lately, she felt like she was always waiting for this call, it had become a part of her life over the past few weeks. The moment she picked up his call she would know the answer to the million-dollar question from the tone of his voice alone: Would Max Miller get the start in front of the net?

“Hey, how was practice?” she asked on pickup.

He sighed. “Not great.”

“That’s okay. Everyone has off days,” she said, offering up optimism in a hopeless situation.

He laughed on the other line, and it sounded out of character for Max: cruel and annoyed.

“An off day is being overly tired despite going to bed early, struggling to focus, or something. I’m not having an off day, I’m going fucking blind, Remi, there’s a big difference. No one else is having a few days off that will ultimately lead to an entire life off,” he said, his tone snippy and harsh, catching her off guard.

“ Hey , don’t do that,” she said gently, trying her best not to poke the bear. He was her bear, her big cuddly, redheaded bear, who was evidently not handling his situation well tonight—which was to be expected from time to time considering.

“Don't do what? Don’t be mad that I’m going fucking blind at twenty-six? Don’t be mad that my team is set to make the playoffs and I’m the number one thing that could stop them? Don’t be mad that I gave up my entire adolescence training for this sport, only to have it ripped away from me by genetics passed down from a man who has never spent a day of his life trying to be my father? I’m mad, Remi. I’m mad as hell.”

She could hear his heavy and erratic breathing on the line.

Remaining silent for a moment, she let him sit with his words. They were good words for a man who at times, didn't have any.

And then she spoke.

“You done?” she asked.

“No,” he snapped.

“Okay then. Say whatever else it is you need to say. Yell, scream, cry, then start your Jeep, and drive home safely. I’ll meet you there when I’m done cleaning for the day. We can eat good food and go down to the beach and do something fun. Will it still suck that you’re not getting the start? Yes, it will absolutely suck. But we can, at the very least, try and take your mind off of it.”

“It’s just, I don’t want—” he said, then paused.

“You don’t want what, Max?” she asked, gently.

“I don't want to lose hockey,” he said, his voice cracking.

She felt her heart breaking for him, and she wanted to save him, even if it meant lying and telling him he wasn't going to lose hockey. She wanted to lie, just to make him feel better in this moment. But she didn’t, because Remi was a lot of things; she was brash, loud at times, and a little bit of a perfectionist, but she wasn't a liar. So, she stayed silent as the man she loved so much grieved the loss of his first love, his passion, his entire identity, and she silently accepted that some things he had to mourn on his own. Sadly, this was one of them.

“I don’t know who I am without it, Rem,” he said, and she could hear the defeat he was feeling through the phone.

She took a shaky breath and then offered the only thing she thought might help him understand this, process it, and maybe even find a place to lay blame for it all.

“Max, I think you need to meet your dad.”

He was silent on the other line for just a beat.

“I know. I’ve been thinking the same thing,” he finally admitted.

“Should we arrange it? I can go with you,” she offered.

“You would do that?” he asked.

“Yes, I would go with you. I said yes to everything, Max Miller.”