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T he hockey season for the Condors continued on without Max, as he knew it would. He watched the games with Remi, and sometimes he resented his team for winning so effortlessly without him in front of the net, and some games he cheered them on with nothing but respect and admiration for a team he loved so dearly.

Max found himself doubling down on his time off the ice. He could sit back and let his disability become his entire identity, or he could ready himself for the future with it. He had his moments where he still freaked out, and nights where he laid awake angry and bitter, his heart questioning his misfortune. There were also days where nothing filled the void of hockey, not Remi, not the beach, not sex, food or even his newfound love of music.

This was to be expected.

He tried to show himself grace when he wasn’t the best version of himself.

Sometimes he failed.

And sometimes he slept too long.

Sometimes he just needed to get out of the house, so he found himself in a stranger’s home, his Busy Bee Cleaners shirt on as he mopped the floors while Remi scrubbed a toilet in the next room over. Max was grateful that she shared her outlets with him, invited him to get his hands dirty with her, to be a part of her day-to-day.

He was happy she wasn’t sick of him yet.

“Hey,” she said, as they loaded her cleaning cart into the back of her Subaru after they finished cleaning the last house of the day. “I was thinking that tomorrow, if you’re up for it, I can take you to check out Lighthouse, that rehabilitation facility I told you about.”

“I’m nervous,” he admitted, slamming the trunk shut and circling around to get in the passenger side.

“Tell me what about it makes you nervous.”

He had a long list of reasons why he was apprehensive about visiting the facility. This wasn’t the first time he had thought about taking the recommended steps for preparing for the future with his disability, but something about acting on it felt so final. He still technically had his vision; he could drive during the day, he could watch TV—even if blurry—and he could still do the simple acts of life with just his peripheral vision being affected, though he knew it didn't stop there. He knew what came next, and he knew the best thing he could do was prepare himself for it.

But getting there was hard.

“I’m afraid I’m not emotionally ready to learn what this looks like in depth. Right now, I have a general idea, you know, the common misconceptions of what life looks like with a vision impairment. I know enough, but I’m choosing not to be informed, because the more I know, the more real it will become and I’m struggling with that.”

“That’s a very valid thought process, Max. But don’t you think the unknown might be scarier than just ripping the Band-Aid off and speaking to people who are not just living, but thriving with a vision impairment? Maybe what you’re really afraid of is thinking there is no silver lining, and because of that, I think you might want to go take a look for yourself and see that there is so much technology and support out there for you. I know it’s out there, because after we met with your dad I started to dig. I wanted to be informed, so I did some research. I wanted to understand this, I wanted to know for myself what we are up against, because I’m in Max, I’m all in, and we have a lot of fucking life to live together.”

Max took her hand in his, bringing her knuckles up to his lips to kiss. “Okay. Let’s go.”

“Yeah?” she asked.

“Yeah. I think I’m ready.”

***

Hand in hand, they entered the Lighthouse Rehabilitation Agency. Remi could feel Max’s nerves in the stiff way he held her hand, his palms clammy against hers. The facility was welcoming, the lights were bright, and the room was free of any unnecessary clutter. Along the far wall was a line of desks with computers, and in the far-right corner there was another desk where a young man sat as an older woman explained contrast and labeling to him. At the far back of the facility there were two closed-off rooms, one for counseling, and one that Remi had visited last time, which was the office that belonged to the facility manager, Nicole, and her sweet dog, Shepard.

“Right back here,” Remi assured Max as she led him through the facility slowly, giving him time to take in the surroundings.

“It’s nice,” Max said.

“It’s very nice. It’s one of the top-rated facilities in California.”

“Everyone seems… happy.”

Remi gave his hand a squeeze. “Of course they are. Look at all this amazing technology and support. This is going to be really good for us.”

“Us,” he said under his breath, giving her hand a squeeze back.

Remi knocked on the doorframe of Nicole’s office and announced that it was her and Max. She had been researching ways to be respectful of the vision-impaired community, and one of the things she read was announcing yourself, and making your presence known.

“It’s Remi and Max,” she said.

Nicole’s face lit up with a huge welcoming smile, and the beautiful golden retriever next to her sat up, ready for action, his tail wagging at the sight of new visitors.

“Come in,” she welcomed. “Make yourself comfortable.”

They entered the small office; Max took a seat across from Nicole as Remi went to properly say hello to Shepard.

“Hi, buddy. Remember me?” she asked the happy dog.

“He remembers everyone. He’s a people person.” Nicole beamed.

Remi went to take a seat next to Max.

“Welcome, Max. It’s nice to meet you. I’m Nicole, the facility manager, and Shepard here is the mascot. He is also my seeing-eye dog,” Nicole said, formally introducing herself.

“Hi,” Max said awkwardly, and Nicole giggled. Remi had warned her he was a man of few words.

“Let’s start with some basic ‘getting to know you’ formalities. Break the ice. I know the first visit to a place like this can be overwhelming and a little unsettling even.”

Max nodded his head to agree, and Remi noticed the realization on his face that he needed to use his words more now than ever. “Yes. I’m feeling a little anxious, that’s for sure,” he agreed.

“That’s completely normal. It’s kind of weird when you think about it; knowing you’re going through a drastic life change and having all these tools to help you transition into that life change, but actually doing them and learning them can be challenging. There’s always this want to hold out a little longer. To try and avoid the inevitable.”

“Yeah, I’m definitely in that phase, the denial phase,” Max agreed.

Nicole gave Max an affirming head nod. “Well, I’m happy you came, and that you have Remi here to give you that little push. It’s nice to have that support right out the gate.”

Remi leaned over and squeezed his shoulder, mouthing I love you to him for encouragement .

“So, Max, tell me a little bit about you. What are some things I should know that might help me understand you better, help you transition into this lifestyle better, and help me understand what tools we have here at the facility that might be the most helpful for you,” Nicole asked.

Max looked over at Remi, seeking strength through her. If she could, she would give him all of her confidence in this moment, all of the words that came so easily for her, she would give them to him—she would give him everything, but this was something Max had to do. These were emotions Max had to portray for himself, because only he could get it right.

“So, the biggest thing I think you should know is that I’m a professional goalie for the Anaheim Condors,” Max said, and Remi watched as the smile on Nicole’s face faltered for a split second.

“Wow. That’s incredible. I’ve never worked with a professional athlete before,” she said.

Max cleared his throat and went on. “It’s already affected my career. I played my last game before the holidays. It ended badly. I’m officially on injured reserve for the rest of the season.”

“That’s got to be hard,” she said, her voice dropping an octave from its usual chipper tone.

“It was the lighting in the arena. The contrast. I struggled to keep focus on the puck, and then at the last game the lights came up and it was like my vision had gotten significantly worse in the blink of an eye.”

“Sounds like you experienced a dip. It happens with RP. Your vision can be slowly deteriorating and then you just blink once and experience a major change—a dip. Those moments are hard. I’m sorry that had to happen to you at a game.”

“I freaked out,” Max added.

“I’m sure you did. It’s terrifying. Even if you had known it was coming, nothing could have prepared you for it.”

“I think I may have been able to finish the game if I didn’t freak out over the ‘dip,’ but I couldn’t keep playing, not well or safely, at least. I knew I was becoming a liability to my team, and myself. So, I finally told them.”

“That must have been a hard conversation to have. I’m so sorry. I’m not a huge sports girl myself, but I can only imagine how important your career is to you.”

Max let out a sigh. “It’s everything to me.”

Remi’s heart ached for him.

As if on cue, Shepard got up from his bed next to Nicole’s desk and made his way over to Max’s side. Looking up at him with puppy dog eyes, he laid his head against Max’s thigh.

“Can I pet him?” Max asked.

“I think he might not let you leave if you don’t pet him,” Nicole said, her sympathetic smile returning.

Max looked down at the dog and brought both of his big hands up to scratch under Shepard’s ears. “Are you a good boy?” he asked, Shepard’s tail instantly started wagging. “Did you come over here to cheer me up buddy?” Max asked, the dog nuzzled his head against Max’s hand.

Remi looked between Max and the dog. It was the best smile she had seen on his face in a while, it was childlike and gentle. With each tail wag and nuzzle of his face against Max’s hand, Remi watched the anxiety in Max’s body melt away.

Max looked up at her, catching her smiling at him and Shepard. “I like the dog,” he said simply.

“Shepard is an amazing boy. Sometimes I feel like he can read emotions,” Nicole added.

Max looked back down at the dog. “Then you must know that you are making me very happy right now, Shepard,” Max said.

The dog’s tail wagged some more.

This was never going to be an easy visit, but Remi was grateful for Shepard lightening the mood.

“Have you ever had a dog, Max?” Nicole asked.

He shook his head and looked over at Remi and smiled. “No, but I have an adopted betta fish named Bozo.”

Remi’s heart warmed with love for this amazing man, pushing back tears from her eyes.

“Well, you can’t have a seeing-eye fish, but dogs are incredible resources for the vision-impaired community,” Nicole teased, and Remi found it refreshing that there was humor to be had here.

Nicole went on for the next hour of their meeting detailing the levels of technology and resources that were out there for Max. Remi took notes and opened tabs in her search browser of things she wanted to have a little more in-depth look into when she got home. And while Remi knew all the technology in the world wasn’t going to make this any easier on Max, she was grateful it was available. Even more so, she was thankful that he was willing to be here at Lighthouse when she knew what he really wanted to do was avoid it altogether, to live in denial until what vision he had left was gone.