Max Help Wanted
Max
Help Wanted
Sweat drips down my forehead, blurring my vision as I dig my skates into the ice. I’ve been floating across this frozen glass for most of my life, but even Coach Perkins’ post-game sprints weren’t enough to prepare me for my current challenge.
"Bro, I’m going next," Miles shouts.
"It’s my turn. I already called it," Brady whines.
It doesn’t take long before the mites are brawling for the chance to race me, and while I’m a little proud, I’m also fucking tired. I spent my morning in the gym, then met some guys here for a skate, and now I’m racing kids for no other reason than their enjoyment.
"Listen up, if you don’t quit fighting, I’ll make you race each other until someone gives up.
" My ultimatum straightens them out instantly, but it also means I have to go again.
"Miles, you had a turn already. Get outta here.
" I wiggle my eyebrows up and down, trying to keep a stern face.
"Alright, Brady… think you can take me?"
Brady just turned eight, and while the kid has potential, he also looks like a flailing duck on a frozen pond when he gets going too fast.
"Eat my dust, Skibidi," he spits out before taking a head start toward the opposite end of the rink. I let him get almost to center ice when I take off after him—he’s a funny kid and by far my favorite, sue me for giving him a little bigger advantage than the rest.
I chase after him, handing him a clear victory, before fist-bumping his tiny gloved hand and nodding toward the exit.
His mom waves at me with a shy smile as her husband stands with his phone plastered to his ear on what I can assume is another work call.
I’ve noticed he’s usually preoccupied, which is fine, but I’ve spent enough time around Brady to know it affects them both.
I toss her a wink, smirking. Every woman deserves a little harmless flirting to make them feel good.
The same way my very devoted mother used to love getting hit on at the gas station.
It’s a reminder that despite what she may get at home, she’s not invisible—someone still notices.
No different from the boy beaming up at me being the real reason I help coach this team.
I love kids and hockey—volunteering here is the only thing that’s keeping me sane after everything I’ve lost.
Brady glides to the boards and steps out of the rink, and I move around the circle picking up the cones from practice. Finishing my cleanup, I follow not far behind the mini version of myself, stepping out and taking a seat on the bench to undo my skates.
"Max, a word?" I look up to see Brady’s dad, Thomas, standing behind the bench.
"What’s up?" I’m probably about to pay for the kind gesture I showed his wife.
"I was thinking if you put Brady at goalie, he’d have a better shot at making a college team." What? The kid is eight, and we are thinking about college?
"Uh, yeah… maybe. But at this age, we like them to learn all the positions." Thomas looks at his too-expensive watch and raises an eyebrow at me, so I continue, "I wouldn’t lock him into a specific position just yet. He’s got potential, but it’s a little early to tell what his sweet spot will be."
Thomas huffs and crosses his arms. "Do you know how much I’m paying for this?"
"I do." I stand at my full height, skates still on, putting me at least a foot taller than this jerk. Backing down from an overzealous parent isn’t my style. If he’s not above trying to pull strings, maybe our size difference will make him back off.
"And frankly, that’s cheaper than it’d be in Golden City, Tommy"—I pat his shoulder—"you aren’t gonna get very far making demands in this sport. "
His cheeks turn pink, but he glares at me anyway. "You’d know, since you never made it out of this rink." With that, he walks away, and I squeeze my hands into fists so hard that my nails bite into the skin on my palms. Fuckin Asshole!
I sit back down and finish removing my skates, skin still vibrating with rage from the reminder that I did not, in fact, fulfill my dreams. I’ve spent most of my life working to be the best hockey player I could be, but like most professional sports, it’s not that easy to break in.
You have to be either incredibly lucky, know someone, or just be so talented that there’s no denying your ability.
For me, I’m good, some would say great, but it never panned out.
On top of that, hockey isn’t a gentle sport.
When I suffered my last concussion, one of many over the years, my doctor gave me an ultimatum: quit or risk serious brain damage.
I chose to keep what’s left of my functioning brain cells intact.
It hasn’t been easy. I still find time to pass the puck around with my former teammates, and I coach the little kids, but nothing will ever give me the high that came with stepping out onto the ice prepared for battle.
And finding a job that makes a decent wage beyond the private lessons I teach is even harder.
Unlike my older brother, Sam—he left the sport to open his own tattoo shop—I never considered anything outside of the rink, so looking now just feels like settling.
"Hey, Max. Good to see you back out there." Coach Perkins smiles at me as he walks toward his office, clipboard in hand.
I hurry to follow, wondering if maybe he knows what I should try next. He was in a similar situation back in the day, and let’s be honest, I promised my mother I would ask. Mabel hasn’t stopped worrying about me since the MRI results came in.
"Coach, wait up. Do you have a second?"
He spins on his heel, checking the time on his phone before nodding. "Sure, but only five before I have to meet with the league affiliates to discuss the schedule for next season."
We duck into his office, where he takes the worn rolling chair behind his grey desk, and I slump into the single metal folding one opposite.
"I was wondering if—"
"Max, I can’t pay you." His face twists, mirroring the way my stomach feels.
"No, I know. I was just wondering if you knew of any openings. Something that would keep me close to the sport but also put me somewhere above my mom’s leftovers and ramen."
He scans his computer, likely prepping for his next call.
"Maybe… let me do some digging and see what I can find." Perkins turns his lips in, pausing as if he doesn’t know how to tell me what’s coming next.
"But you’d probably have to move. And I don’t know if I want to be on Mabel O’Reilly’s shit list."
"I’ll handle Mabel when the time comes. Just let me know if you find something. I can’t lose hockey altogether, Coach." He nods at me in understanding while pity forms on his face. Over the years, we’ve spent so much time together that I know he gets what this means to me.
Walking out of his office, a knot forms in my throat.
I don’t want to leave Mage Hollow, but it was always the plan.
If I had made it to the NHL, the closest I would have been able to stay was Golden City—and the chances of that were slim.
Coach Montgomery only recruits the best—not twenty-eight-year-olds with more concussions than years left playing.
That’s life, though. If being an athlete has taught me anything, it’s how to pick yourself up and set a new goal. Now, I just have to figure out exactly what that is.
Waltzing through the back door of Union Tavern, it’s immediately apparent that the lunch rush is over.
There are a couple of locals lingering at the dark wood bar, but most of the place is empty.
I enjoy coming here on a summer afternoon.
It’s peaceful in this lull—one we rarely get during the fall tourist season, with people pouring in from all over to learn about Mage Hollow's witchy past. It’s an opportunity to catch up with my friend without having to fake a smile.
Howie and I have become pretty close over the last several months, and he’s helped me through some of my darkest days.
Most of them when I was four beers deep and stuck in my head.
On top of that, last fall he helped my future sister-in-law, Olive, when she was unexpectedly cursed by a witch named Irina—that witchy past isn’t as far back in history as most believe.
Between knowing our secrets and always showing up for me, he’s practically family.
"Max, how’s it going?" Instead of standing across from me, Howie grabs two beers from the cooler, pops the tops, and rounds the bar to slide onto a stool next to me.
"Pissed off a dad at practice, and asked Coach Perkins if he knows of any job openings, so… an average day. You?" I shrug and take the first sip of my lager.
"I had to host the town meeting, and a few of the elders hung out after lunch. I also got a weird text from my cousin saying her sister’s back in town.
" He chugs down half his beer, and it takes everything I have to stifle my laugh.
I know for a fact that Howie hates hosting the town meeting.
All the shop owners flood his space, make him race around for food, and then forget that tipping still applies at a private event.
"Do I know this cousin?" I rack my shitty memory to figure out who it could be. There’s one that works here. I’m basically a regular in her section on Saturdays for lunch. But I didn’t think I knew there were more actually living in Mage Hollow.
He runs a hand through his red hair, releasing a long breath. "Remind me exactly how many times you’ve been hit in the head with a skate." Howie shakes his head before continuing. "She tutored you in high school."
I don’t correct him on his assessment of how I got my concussions. A skate to the dome would have been more scarring, but he doesn’t need to know that.
"Does she have red hair?" His mouth gapes at my question, but to be fair, I had a redhead phase and at the time a handful of girls would have called themselves my tutor—even if studying wasn’t typically the priority.
I remember having an actual tutor junior year, but it was only for a few weeks to prepare for exams. She was incredibly smart, so intelligent that I was nervous to be around her.
She was witty too, and would work on crossword puzzles while I was finishing whatever assignment she gave me.
But she was nothing like Howie. I would be surprised if they were related.
Howie drains the rest of his beer, stands and moves to the POS machine behind the bar and punches something in. Once he’s done, he spins on his back heel, pulls another beer for me out of the cooler and uses the gun to fill a plastic cup with Diet Coke.
"No, Max. She does not have red hair, and she definitely was your tutor. Does the name Sadie ring any bells?" He shifts on his feet, staring at his shoelaces. "I’m worried about why she’s here."
"Smart Sadie? I can’t believe I forgot her name." I wouldn’t have been eligible to play if she hadn’t helped me pass that test. She changed my life in just a few short weeks, and I went on to have a record-breaking season. "Why? Isn’t it a good thing when family comes to town?"
Howie glances around the room after rolling his eyes at me. "It’s just Sadie, and she doesn’t visit. She hasn’t bothered to make the short drive home in three years. I think it’s a little out of character for her to show up out of the blue, and Mal seemed concerned when she messaged me."
I take a drink and wonder what could be so bad about coming to Mage Hollow. I can’t imagine that I’d stop visiting regularly if I took a job elsewhere. Especially one that is close. But maybe that’s what everyone thinks before they leave.
"Maybe you should just talk to her… check in. If there’s something going on, you already know we will all do whatever we can to fix it. It’s the least we could do for you."
"I know"—Howie smiles at me and reaches over the bar to pat my shoulder—"you’re a good friend, Max. Sadie isn’t really the type you check in on, though. She’s independent, doesn’t like to ask for help, ya know?"
"Okay, but back up a second." I point to my temple, my usual sign for saying Hey, I have a shit memory, explain it to me. "Who’s Mal?"
"My cousin, Sadie’s sister." He shakes his head and chuckles under his breath.
"And she lives in Mage?"
"Yes, Max." Howie glances around the bar, likely checking to make sure no one needs his attention.
"Could you talk to her sister again? See if she knows more?" I run a hand through my hair. I would help because it’s the right thing to do, but also this might be the first interesting thing to happen around here in months. The busybody in me can’t miss an opportunity to be a part of what I’m sure will headline Mage’s rumor mill soon.
Howie laughs. "Mal is supposed to send me an update, but maybe it’s better if I wait for Sadie to come to me. It worked last time. Ariella and Olive reached out first when they were dealing with the Irina stuff."
"But this is family. According to Mabel, it’s okay to be a little extra when it comes to your genetic line." I smirk, thinking about how very much my mother would be up my ass if I forgot to tell her that I was coming home. "How is Ari anyway? Haven’t seen her in a while."
The door jingles with more guests filtering in for happy hour, and Howie shifts on the balls of his feet. He’s clearly eager to get on with his shift. Or he’s avoiding talking about the crush he has on my sister-in-law’s best friend—a crush he can’t seem to let go of.
"She’s noncommittal—"
"Can I get a little help over here?" A patron seated at the other end of the bar calls out.
"It’s about to get busy here. I’ll just text you if I need anything, and don’t tell Ollie I said that about her friend." His face contorts as a nervous laugh rolls out of him. I nod my head, stand from my chair, and make my exit when he hollers out to me. "Give Benny a hug from his uncle Howie!"
"Will do, How. Will do."