“Sorry,” Blake says as they head back out into the street. “That was a bit… I didn’t know you’d broken up.”
“Yeah, I didn’t want to… I don’t know. I guess I could have mentioned it, but then time passed and… yeah.”
“Sorry, that sucks. I’m not gonna ask what happened, but if you wanna talk about it…” Blake trails off, because Elliot probably doesn’t want to talk about it, because if he did, he would have mentioned it way earlier.
Elliot shrugs. “She wanted to get married and I… didn’t.”
“No?” Blake tries not to sound surprised. They never talked about it, obviously, it wasn’t something that was on their minds when they were eighteen, but why wouldn’t Elliot want to get married?
“I don’t know,” Elliot says. “Maybe at some point, but maybe… not to her. Shit, that sounds terrible. I’m a terrible person.”
“You’re not,” Blake says. He means that. Elliot is one of the kindest people he’s ever met in his life.
“I don’t even know how this happened, I mean, I was in love with her, but then it also wasn’t enough somehow? I didn’t trust her with my secrets and I couldn’t see us together, I wasn’t sure about her.”
Blake doesn’t ask about the secrets. He already knows what Elliot is talking about. It’s them, what they were back then, the one thing Elliot never wanted anyone to know about him. So he says, “Yeah, you can’t just get married, because… I don’t know, because it’s what you’re supposed to do.”
“Exactly, but maybe I’d have been sure about her in two years, but I don’t know and I don’t know if I want kids either and it turned into this huge mess, and I guess it was good that we broke up, because now she can go find someone who loves her so much that he thinks about marrying her two months after he meets her and I can… I don’t know. Figure out what it’s like to love someone enough to want to marry them, I guess.”
Then Elliot falls silent and takes a sharp left into a building. Blake has some trouble keeping up. Elliot’s building has a doorman, and his apartment is on a totally different level than Blake’s, really bright and polished, but Elliot’s crap is lying around everywhere, shoes in a pile by the door, a jacket slung over a chair here, a tower of cookbooks on the counter there, and socks all over the place.
“Nice,” Blake says, despite the socks.
“Yeah, it’s, uh… I was gonna clean up, but then Adam invited me over and I didn’t have time. Sorry.” Elliot shrugs and leads him to the couch. “How’s your, I don’t know, your… significant other doing?”
Blake was really hoping that Elliot wouldn’t ask. “Not so significant anymore.”
“Shit, sorry.”
“It’s okay.”
Noah got traded before the Draft, first to the Seals, who almost instantly flipped him back to the East, to the Foxes, so Noah’s in Philadelphia now. He seems to like it well enough and told Blake that he might stay if he likes it and they still want him after the end of the season.
Elliot hands him a box of dumplings and suddenly Blake understands why Elliot got thirty.
While they eat, Elliot tells him that he’s been trying to cook more and bought a few new cookbooks over the summer, and that he destroyed three pans in the process, because he gets distracted when he cooks, because he doesn’t have the patience to stand next to the stove and watch, so he starts looking at his phone and suddenly stuff is burning.
“How are you still alive?” Blake asks. He’s truly baffled that Elliot hasn’t burned this place down.
Elliot laughs. “Sheer dumb luck, I guess. My food is actually pretty good, though. When it’s not burnt.”
“Crispy,” Blake says.
“Oh, I forgot, you actually like crispy stuff. Although sometimes there’s really too much crisp.”
“No such thing.”
“I’ll cook for you sometime,” Elliot says. “I’ll make it extra crispy. So crispy it’s unrecognizable.”
Blake huffs at him.
“I can cook, though.”
“Didn’t say I didn’t believe you,” Blake says. “I’m sure you’re very talented. Especially when it comes to making things crispy.”
Elliot shakes his head at him. “I bought you dinner and this is how you treat me?”
“Sorry, I totally appreciate the dumplings.”
“You’d better.”
“Hey, tell you what,” Blake says, “whoever ends the regular season with the most points, like our teams’ points in the standings, buys the loser fifty dumplings.”
“Fifty?” Elliot laughs, eyes crinkling. He reaches out to shake Blake’s hand. “I’m in.”
#
The Ravens’ home opener this season is a game against the Knights, because of course it is. They saw a lot of each other during the preseason already, but Elliot has to admit that it’s a good matchup for a home opener.
These games have potential to get nasty, although it’s early in the season, the third game for both teams, so they’re starting with a clean slate.
The Knights have already won two games on home ice, the Ravens have won two on the road, but tonight one of them is going home with their first loss of the season. The Ravens are off to a good start, score five minutes into the period and it goes back and forth from then on out, until they’re tied 3-3 at the beginning of the third.
Elliot said hello to Blake during warmups when Blake was stretching close to the center line, but Elliot hasn’t otherwise interacted with him. He hasn’t scored on him yet, only has an assist on Adam’s goal and another one on Crab’s that they got during a power play. Towards the end of the third, when both of their teams are getting antsy, things start to get a little rougher.
Elliot ends up sliding into Blake’s net – thankfully not into Blake – about forty seconds before the end of regulation and Adam gives Blake a nudge, so Elliot can get back out of the net, which Trainor takes issue with, pulling Adam away by his jersey. Blake, unimpressed by the pushing and shoving, gives Elliot a poke with his stick. Elliot can barely feel it, that’s how gentle of a poke it is.
“Get the fuck out of my net, Moo,” Blake says.
Elliot fights the insane impulse to stick his tongue out at him and crawls out of the net without provoking another fight.
Their game goes into overtime and Elliot so very nearly scores the game winner. He has no idea how Blake gets his stick on it. Elliot thinks he has him, shoots and can practically see it going in, except it doesn’t. He stops after, stares at Blake, who’s staring back at him, unimpressed. Elliot shakes his head and skates off.
The Ravens win in the shootout. After six rounds.
It’s Andreas who finally scores.
Elliot texts Blake after the game, says he’ll buy him a drink.
When Blake meets him outside the arena, he looks a lot happier than Elliot thought he would.
“Why are you so happy?” Elliot asks, even though it’s rude as shit.
Blake actually laughs. “I’m sorry, I know I just lost a game and I should be crying on the floor, but we watched a replay of when you nearly scored on us in OT and your face…”
Elliot rolls his eyes. “How the fuck did you do that?”
“I don’t even know, but it was the highlight of my night. I should be buying you a drink.”
Elliot elbows him in the side.
He takes him to a bar not too far from the arena that’ll have a table for them because he’s a Raven. They won’t have to wait.
“You have curfew?” Elliot asks.
“Nah, we’re practicing in Newark tomorrow and we’re flying out after that. I told them that I’d find my own way home, they’re usually cool with that unless we have a game the next day. I mean, this was practically a home game.”
Some people shoot them looks when they slide into their booth, but no one comes over to talk to them. Maybe no one cares about hockey anyway; maybe no one even recognizes them.
Blake doesn’t really look like he does in the prom
otional photos the Knights keep using. In those pictures, Blake’s face is clean shaven, his hair pulled into a bun, but the Blake across from Elliot is scruffy, beanie on his head, hair loosely hanging down to this shoulders, the tips still damp.
He looks good with the longer hair. More like himself.
“By the way,” Blake says, “tell Crab he’s back on the shit-list.”
Elliot grins. “Please be nice to the child, Blake.”
“He actually does look like he’s twelve. He’s probably like you, he’s gonna look like he’s twelve until he’s forty.”
“I don’t look like I’m twelve.”
“You do. And right now you also sound like you’re twelve.”
Elliot kicks him under the table.
“Dude, if I walk out of here with an injury, my team’s gonna murder you.”
“I know that was a joke,” Elliot says, “but I’m pretty sure they actually would kill someone for you.”
Blake’s lips twitch. “They’re good guys. Even the insane ones.”
“Looks like Trainor’s fitting in well,” Elliot says.
“Yeah, although the guys keep calling him Choo Choo and I think he’s gonna snap one of these days. I’ll be surprised if we all make it back from that roadie in one piece.”
They finish their drinks and Elliot walks Blake back to Penn Station, like he always does. He’ll take the Subway from there.
“Hey, when’s the next time we see each other?” Blake asks.
“December, I think?” Elliot says, even though he knows it’s December 2nd. He doesn’t want it to look like he has all of their games memorized. He just happened to stumble across the date the other day.
“We should hang out before that.”
“Yeah,” Elliot says.
“You can cook for me. Something crispy, yeah?”
Elliot gives him a shove in reply.
“I swear to God, if we weren’t friends, I’d think you’re trying to injure me.”
“Sorry,” Elliot says and goes in for a hug. “I’ll see you soon, okay?”
“Yeah, we’ll compare schedules,” Blake says and hugs him back, ruffling Elliot’s hair before he goes.
#
They manage to hang out a couple of times, but their schedules usually clash and most of the time there’s no point in going to each other’s places when they can’t hang out for that long anyway. They try to meet in the middle, which is somewhere around Penn Station. It’s not actually the middle, but it’s better than the alternative.
Blake spends most of his time off at Charlie’s, or Charlie will come downstairs, hug both of Blake’s cats and then complain because Blake’s grilled cheese is not as good as his. It’s true. Charlie’s grilled cheese is a revelation and Blake’s grilled cheese is… just regular grilled cheese.
Charlie now sits next to him on the plane, always gripping the armrest, knuckles going white as the plane takes off. Blake offered his hand on their second flight together and Charlie took it, head ducked, probably hoping that no one would see. Blake is pretty sure that only Mattie noticed and Mattie generally couldn’t give less of a shit about chirping anyone. He keeps telling Blake that he’s getting too old for all sorts of stuff, chirping included.
They go to Toronto, then Winnipeg, then Minneapolis and Charlie’s parents come to the game and Charlie’s mom gives Blake a hat she knitted, in Knights colors, and thanks him for showing Charlie around in the summer. Which is funny, because Charlie’s a year older than him and doesn’t need a babysitter.
“She thinks I’m absolutely useless as an adult,” Charlie says to Blake on the plane. “And she’s right. But does she have to say it?”
“You’re doing okay on your own.”
“I had to call my dad the other day because I didn’t know what a roux was. And don’t ask me what happened when I got a Costco membership.”
Blake can’t help but snort.
“See?” Charlie says. “I am useless.”
“You make really good cookies, though.”
“True. My only redeeming quality.”
Brammer’s head appears between the seats in front of them. “Choo Choo, you make cookies?”
“Yeah,” Charlie says, “but only for people who don’t call me Choo Choo.”
Brammer sticks out his bottom lip and disappears again.
“My mom hates cooking, she only bakes, so the first thing I learned how to make were cookies,” Charlie says, voice lower now. “And then there’s obviously the hat thing… Don’t feel like you have to wear it or anything, by the way.”
“I like it,” Blake says.
Charlie’s smile is soft and sheepish. “Okay.” He wiggles in his seat. “Where do your parents live? Do they ever come to games?”
Brammer resurfaces, glaring. “Hey, Choo Choo–”
“Bram, sit down,” Blake says.
Brammer pulls a face, but does sit down.
“My parents died when I was eleven,” Blake says lowly.
“Oh no, I’m so sorry…” Charlie chews on his bottom lip. “I shouldn’t have asked, I’m really sorry.”
“It’s okay, you didn’t know.”
Charlie wiggles again. He’s so nervous on planes, poor guy, and this conversation isn’t making this flight any less awkward for him.
“It was a really long time ago,” Blake says, “and I… I mean, I miss them, and it sucks that they can’t come and see me play, but… I’m all right. It’s not like you can’t mention your parents around me or talk about families or whatever.”
During the season, it always hurts the most during the dads’ trip, but after a few years of this, Blake knows that it’s coming and their PR team has made sure that Blake could pretty much disappear.
Charlie shoots him a glance, then he whispers, “My dad isn’t actually… He’s my stepdad. The other guy left when I was four.”
“Sorry, man,” Blake says.
“Like, I’m not trying to go for pity points or whatever,” Charlie mumbles, “just… if you wanna talk about stuff. I don’t know. I’m probably not the first person you’d go to, but…”
Blake has never really talked to anyone about his parents, other than his grandma and Evan. When they were home, him and Evan, usually Evan, would say, “I miss Mom and Dad,” and Blake would say, “Me, too.” And then sometimes Evan would pull out stories, mumble them to Blake, and then say, “Sometimes I don’t know if the way I remember them is actually the way they were.” And Blake never really knew what to say in return. When they were little, their grandma would talk about their parents a lot, when they got older, it was a lot more of, “Your parents would be so proud,” and, “I wish they could see you right now.” And Blake never knew what to say in return to that either. That he wished they could see him, too? Of course he wanted them around. Of course he wanted them there to see him do all the things he was proud of, wanted them there for the Draft, still wants them at games. But wanting all that won’t bring them back.
“Thank you, Charlie,” Blake only says.
Charlie nods.
He falls asleep a few minutes later and Blake hopes he’ll snooze right through them landing in New York, because Charlie once told him that that’s his least favorite part.
Blake grabs his iPod, puts on Fleetwood Mac and eventually falls asleep as well.
#
Blake calls Noah after the Foxes’ game against the Lions, after Noah dropped the gloves with Pierce Martin.
“Are you calling to ask if my face is still unblemished and beautiful?” Noah says when he picks up. “To answer your question, yes, it absolutely is, but I look… rugged. How’s that?”
“So you’re okay?”
“Oh, Fishy, were you worried?”
“The only reason I’m letting you get away with calling me Fishy is because you got your bell rung by fucking Pierce Martin.”
Noah laughs, delighted.
“Why the hell did you think that was a good idea?”
“He called one of my guys a… derogative word for what you and I might refer to as a person who’s gay and knowing what you know, I guess I don’t have to explain to you why I found that offensive.”
“Yeah, I get that,” Blake says.
“The Lions are fucking insane, man,” Noah grumbles. “Half the roster is assholes. Anyway, my hand hurts. Fuckin’ Lions. But, hey, thanks for calling to check on me, that’s so sweet.”
Blake huffs.
“Don’t be embarrassed, I already know that you’re all soft on the inside,” Noah chirps. “It’s okay, I won’t tell anyone.”
“Thanks,” Blake says gruffly.
“How are things in Jersey?”
“Pretty good, we’re on a seven-game win streak.”
“I know that, Fishy, I mean, like… How are things in Jersey, you know what I’m saying?”
“I… don’t.”
“Have you managed to replace me, is what I’m asking,” Noah says.
Blake rolls his eyes, mostly for his own benefit, because Noah can’t even see him. He probably knows, though. He’s spent too much time with Blake not to know. “It’s not like I’ve even tried to replace you.”
“Yo, Fish, wrong answer.”
“I didn’t realize there was a right answer.”
“The right answer,” Noah says, “is that I’m irreplaceable and that you miss me.”
“I do miss you,” Blake says. “You know, not… in that way, but…”
“Aww,” Noah says. “I know what you mean. I know. We’ll hang out when I’m in town in two weeks, okay? Drinks after the game? Or dinner the day before?”
“Both,” Blake says.
“You really do miss me.”
“Shut up.”
“Never,” Noah says. “Hey, have you talked to Elliot recently?”
“No,” Blake says, defensive, even though he sent Elliot a text this morning. “Yes.”
“Oh-hoooo.”
“We’re friends.”
“You’re–”
There’s a knock on Blake’s door. It’s probably Charlie, because anyone else would ring the doorbell. “Noah, give me one second, there’s someone at the door.”
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