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M ax had somehow made it into December without hurting himself or his teammates while on the ice. Each game felt harder than the last, and now it was his last game before the holiday break, before quality time with Remi, the woman he loved, who he had somehow convinced to love him back. He had never been so excited for a break from hockey.

It all felt too heavy, each game, each puck drop, each save.

But something about tonight felt different.

He took his spot in front of the net knowing he didn't deserve it. Not with Brown on the bench, healthy, and fully aware of what Max was up against. The lights went down as the Canadian anthem was sung, and then the national anthem came next.

Max kept his eyes on the ice below him. It was dark in the arena, darker than normal. Shifting on his skates, his knees felt weak, and his heart began to race.

Don’t panic, the lights will be up soon , he told himself.

Don’t panic, you’ve been playing like this all season.

Don’t panic, you still have a few more games in you.

The lights came up and the crowd cheered. The puck was dropped, but his vision did not recover.

Max blinked. That was the trick, right? He blinked again, no improvement.

“ No ,” he said under his breath as the game took off in front of him through a cloudy haze.

Sweat covered his body in a panicked cold chill. He blinked. And blinked. His heart hammered in his chest. The lights were up, he should be fine. He blinked again. His body felt heavy, and the ice moved below his skates. The cheers from the stands echoed in the distance.

He blinked.

“No,” he said again. His chest grew tight—could you die from panic? Could you die from sheer shock and fear?

No amount of blinking was helping, his peripheral vision was nonexistent.

The game raged on, the Vancouver team had the puck, and he could make out the shift of the battle. He could make out his team's colors—white away jerseys with teal blue condors on the chest—chasing the dark blue blur of the Vancouver team. He felt all sense of balance and equilibrium shift.

He blinked.

He readied himself for the puck and looked out at the game around him, only to see the end of his career in front of him in a blur of bodies, and movement without any real defining features.

Max dropped his stick and pulled his gloves off in a panic, he couldn’t breathe like this. He couldn't stop his heart from pounding. Could you die from this, from the weight of it all? Would he die? He ripped his helmet from his head and the quick movement was enough to send him to his knees, his body sliding along the smooth ice.

The whistle blew.

The game paused.

The crowd grew silent.

His team raced to his side, and he heard someone shout, “We need a medic.”

He rubbed his eyes, gouging at them, if he could just get them to focus, he would be okay. If he could just get his heart to slow down, he would be okay. If he could just get a few more minutes, a few more seconds, he would be okay.

“Max, Max , look at me,” the trainer shouted at him.

Max kept rubbing his eyes. “I just need to… focus… I just, it's my eyes. It’s my heart, I think I’m having a heart attack,” he managed.

“Max, we have to get you off the ice, we need to have you checked out. Can you skate for me? Can you make it off the ice?”

“I can skate, I just—” Before he could vocalize what he needed, his captain was by his side, with the team’s trainer on his other side.

“We got you, Miller, let us help you,” the familiar voice said.

They couldn't help him. No one could. This was it. Game over. Lights out.

Time’s up.

They helped him skate off the ice, the deafening cheer of the crowd, their encouraging clapping, and his team patting him as he passed by felt like the final nail in the coffin.

Max knew this was it. This was the last time he would skate off the ice in this uniform, and he didn't know what hurt worse—the way he was leaving or the fact that it wasn't on his terms.

***

Remi watched it all happen from the comfort of her home. She watched as Max completely lost his shit on the ice, on national television, and she had no way to find out what the hell was going on. She realized Max had never introduced her to his team or given her emergency contact numbers, so she called the next best thing, the only person who might have some kind of advice—his dad.

“Hi, it's Remi Davis, Max’s girlfriend.”

“He’ll be okay, hon,” Max’s dad responded immediately.

“Did you see? Were you watching?” she asked as she paced her small living room. The game resumed now that Max was off the ice, but the team was worried. She could see it on their faces as the camera zoomed in to the bench while Brown took his place in front of the net, replacing Max.

“I watch all of his games,” Max’s father went on.

“What does it mean? What do you think happened?” she asked.

He cleared his throat on the other line. “There comes a point in this disease when it hits you.”

“It’s been hitting him,” she shouted.

“Yeah, it comes on slowly… until it doesn't. We call them dips. You see gradual change, but then you blink, and—BAM—you experience a dip, a drastic change in your vision. It’s this moment where you realize it’s gotten worse, and there’s no going back. Maybe you realize you can't drive anymore, or you can’t watch a movie on the TV anymore, or in Max’s case, it was when those lights came up and he couldn't gain focus on his surroundings. When that happens, your entire body responds, because it’s the moment you really comprehend the severity of this disability. It’s the moment you realize you will never see more clearly than you did a split second ago, ever again.”

“But he fell, he looked scared,” she said more to herself, replaying the events she had just witnessed on the TV screen.

“Wouldn't you be scared too? If everything you ever worked for was nothing more than a blur in the blink of an eye?”

“I would be fucking terrified. I should have been there. I should be there,” she said, her voice slightly hysterical.

He went on, “Now picture yourself in Max’s shoes, or skates if we’re being detailed here. He went out there to play that game with the weight of his team on his shoulders, and just like that ,” she heard him clap his hands together on the other line, “he knew he couldn't. He knew his time in front of that net was over for good and the panic set in. What you saw tonight was his ‘oh shit’ moment, darlin’. He’ll be okay, might take some time, but he’ll get through this.”

Remi took a seat on the couch as tears began to stream down her face, because no, he wouldn't be okay. Not now anyway. Her heart broke for him as she watched the TV with her own blurred vision as tears filled her eyes—seeing things the way Max might see them. And the game went on, but he was nowhere to be found.