#
Blake is waiting for his train at Penn Station when Charlie calls him. He’s asking if Blake wants to hang out later and sounds slightly disappointed when Blake tells him that he can’t.
So, once he’s on the train, Blake calls Mattie, because Mattie probably won’t mind if Blake brings Charlie over for dinner, especially if Blake mentions that he’s not sure if Charlie can actually feed himself. At the age of twenty-six. Because, really, the only things that Blake knows Charlie can make are chocolate chip cookies with so many chocolate chips that you have to send a search party to find the cookie part, grilled cheese that is better than anyone else’s grilled cheese, and pretty much anything you can safely stick into a microwave. Mattie will likely take pity.
Mattie answers his phone after a few rings with a way too cheerful, “Hey, kid. How was your hot date?”
“Mattie,” Blake says at the same time that Mattie’s wife, in the background, says, “Jake.”
“Katie thinks I’m a nosy old man,” Mattie says, still cheerful. “But I think if I have to babysit your suit, the least you can tell me is whether or not your date went well. I’m just concerned for your wellbeing.”
“It wasn’t a date,” Blake says.
“Okay. Good talk, kid.”
“Wait, I actually called for a reason.”
“Oh, did you? Thought you wanted to check up on your suit.”
“Can I bring someone to dinner?” Blake says, immediately regretting that he said someone instead of mentioning that it’s Charlie he wants to bring.
“Who do you wanna bring? Your girlfriend?” Mattie asks.
Blake rolls his eyes. “No.”
“Boyfriend?”
“Jake,” says Katie, voice muffled.
Blake really needs to think of something to say, and eventually goes with another, “No,” because it was obviously a joke, Mattie didn’t mean anything by it, but it caught Blake off guard. He tries to laugh it off, and says, “I wanted to bring Charlie.”
“Oh, Choo Choo. Yeah, you can bring him. Doesn’t look like he knows how to even make a Kraft dinner, poor kid.”
“Thanks, Mattie.”
“Sure thing. I’ll see you later. Same time as usual.”
Blake thanks him again and hangs up, texts Charlie and then rests his head against the window with a sigh, still hung up on the boyfriend comment.
He considers calling Noah, then decides to wait until he’s home, because he can’t say shit on the train where people might be listening. At home, he flops into his bed, where he’s immediately joined by Squid, who meows at him accusingly. Right. Food. Blake gets back up again, takes care of that and then flops back down, this time on the couch, because it’s the closet comfortable surface.
He’s eternally grateful that Noah answers pretty much immediately.
“Couldn’t wait to see me in person tomorrow, huh?” Noah says.
“Can I talk to you about something?”
Noah sighs. “I hate that you’re even asking me this question. What’s up, babe?”
“Are you alone?”
“Yeah. What’s wrong?”
Squid hops onto the couch, making himself comfortable on Blake’s stomach. “Do you think…” Blake stares at the ceiling for a moment, trying to find the right words, even though he knows that with Noah he doesn’t really have to talk his way around the issue. “Do you think my entire team knows that I’m gay?”
“I don’t know, have you told your entire team that you’re gay?”
“No, but… I’ve never had a girlfriend. Doesn’t that make it pretty obvious?”
“Okay, but… Think about it this way… Most of those guys haven’t even known you for your entire career. Some of them have maybe only been around a year, two years… There’s barely anyone who’s known you from the start. And the guys who did know you from the start are probably, like, the core guys, like your captain and Matthews, and, honestly, I don’t think they’d feel like it’s any of their business.”
“I think Mattie knows,” Blake says lowly. He’s still convinced that the boyfriend thing was a joke, but, in all honesty, how could he have not figured it out by now?
“Listen, if anything, he suspects. Is he being a dick or something?”
“No, he’s not.”
“Then what’s the issue?”
“I don’t know,” Blake says. Everything’s off-kilter and this secret is getting too big for him. There’s nothing he can do about it, though. “How’s your, uh…” Noah said there was someone, but Blake never asked, figured Noah would tell him if there was anything to tell, but Blake is somewhat desperate to change the subject, because he thought he knew how to talk about this, but, as it turns out, he doesn’t.
“Ohhh, wait a second, are you deflecting?” Noah says. “I’m working on my… whatever it is. We’ll get there. I’m an optimist. Now back to you.”
“No.”
“Yuh-huh. You called me, Fishy. Tell me what’s wrong.”
“I…”
“Out with it.”
“I stayed at Elliot’s last night.”
“Oh, shit.”
“Nothing happened.”
“Nothing happened, my ass,” Noah says, gleeful. “You slept there? How’d you end up there in the first place?”
“We had dinner and I fell asleep, it’s not a big deal, but…” Blake covers his face with his hand, because he’s pretty sure that his cheeks are flaming red and it’s not like Noah can see him, but Blake is so embarrassed that he doesn’t even want Squid to see. “Fuck.”
“Oh, Fish.”
“He’s still Elliot, you know?” Blake says, like that explains anything at all.
“I wish I could help you with this, but I don’t think you have too many options here.”
“I have options?”
“Well, either you get over him, or you… don’t. But if you choose not to get over him, you’re either going to suffer or you need to talk to him.”
“Yeah, no.”
“Is he seeing someone?” Noah asks.
“That’s not even… It doesn’t matter. He doesn’t want to be with… a guy. We broke shit off before the Draft. He didn’t want to take the risk. Which is… It’s what he wanted and I said it was okay.”
“But that was years ago.”
“So?”
“So people change their minds,” Noah says.
Blake blows out a long breath.
“Listen,” Noah says, “I need to head out in like two minutes, but here’s my incredible advice on this… Figure out what you want and either take yourself out of this or jump right in.”
“I don’t think that’s helpful.”
“Never said I was helpful. Love you, Fishy. I’ll see you soon, okay?”
“Okay,” Blake says.
Doesn’t really matter what he wants. He’s fucked either way.
Chapter Fourteen
Blake gets invited to three New Year’s Eve parties.
Three.
He doesn’t want to go to a single one.
One of them isn’t even a party. Mattie invited him over, but Blake already spent Christmas at his place, so he can’t impose on Mattie and his family any more than that. The other two are parties, though. The rookies are having a party at their house, which Blake, even though he’s not even one of the oldest guys on the team, is way too old for, the other one is a party that Brammer’s girlfriend’s friend is throwing. It’s in the city. Blake isn’t going to that one either.
He’ll hang out with Squid, and maybe Angus if he’s having a good day, and go to bed at ten.
In all honesty, he’s never been a fan of all the New Year’s stuff, people asking for your resolutions, like they don’t forget all about what they promised themselves about three days into the new year. It has no significance, January 1st is just another day, and everyone will be the exact same person that they were on December 31st. “It’s just a fucking reason to have a good time, Fish. It’s not
that deep,” Brammer said when Blake told him exactly that.
To be fair, Blake wasn’t being grumpy for no reason, it was because Brammer wouldn’t stop bugging him.
They play in Hartford the day before New Year’s and return home late, so Blake sleeps in, two cats in his bed with him, walking all over him, and then screaming when he won’t get up and feed them. They won’t get to sleep in his bed the next time he tries to sleep in.
He makes himself breakfast, scrolls through Instagram for a bit and posts a picture of Squid, because the people love him. The whole Instagram account for the cats thing was a joke in the beginning. He needed a distraction from being miserable, but then Blake actually kept posting photos and now his cats have followers.
Angus doesn’t make too many appearances, because he usually only glares when Blake takes a picture of him, but Squid is a natural and tries to look extra pretty when Blake points his camera at him. He’s still fiddling with filters when someone knocks on the door.
It’s Charlie, smiling when Blake opens the door.
“Hey,” Charlie says.
“Hey, you wanna come in?”
“I actually wanted to ask what you’re doing tonight,” Charlie says, but comes in anyway.
“Hanging out here, I guess.”
“You’re not going to the party Brammer was talking about?”
“No, why?”
Charlie shrugs. “I was just wondering.”
“Oh,” Blake says. He’s a little suspicious, because Charlie isn’t much of a party-goer either. When they go out after a game, it’s usually Charlie and Blake who lead the way to the next best pub. They don’t do dancing. He’d suspect that Brammer put Charlie up to this, but then Charlie isn’t the kind of guy who’d do Brammer’s dirty work.
“It’s just…”
“Yeah?” Blake prompts.
“I… Okay, this is embarrassing, but…”
“Yeah?” Blake says again.
“I haven’t really… I kinda want to go to the party. Because it’s been so long since I…” Charlie’s face is redder than Blake has ever seen it, which is quite the feat. “I’m bad at talking to girls. And, like, I’m not asking you to be my wingman or anything, but the other guys are always so… They’re not subtle. And they’re mean. And they’re gonna be assholes about this if I show up alone, but if you’re there… it might not be so bad.”
“So what you’re saying is that you want me to come so Brammer won’t embarrass you in front of a girl with his juvenile bullshit?” Blake says.
“I guess?”
“I…” Blake really doesn’t want to go. Especially if he’s going to have to watch Charlie pick up a girl.
“I’ll pay for the cab fare.”
Blake presses his lips together. Still doesn’t want to go.
“I bet they’ll have really good food. And free drinks.”
Not really enough to sway Blake. He has food and drinks in his fridge. It’s right there in the kitchen and he doesn’t have to go to some Upper East Side party to get it.
“Please?” Charlie says.
“Fine,” Blake says, because he can’t stand the look on Charlie’s face. He has actual puppy eyes.
Charlie honest to God hugs him. “You’re the best.”
#
“Come on, it’s gonna be fun.”
“I don’t know…”
“Moo, it’s time.”
“For what?” Elliot asks as he fiddles with his elbow pads.
“To get back in the saddle,” Andreas says with a wise-beyond-his-years kind of voice.
Elliot rolls his eyes. They shouldn’t have taught Andreas idioms.
“No, he’s right,” Adam says. “Moo, it’s time to get laid. Come on. You’re not seventy years old. Honestly, seventy-year-olds probably have more sex than you. It’s been months. I mean, what else are you gonna do? Be alone forever?”
“Yeah,” Elliot grumbles. He’s not in the mood for a party. They just played a hockey game and he wants to take a nap. “I’m tired.”
“Go home, take a nap, then come to the party.”
“Whose party even is this?”
“Oh, it’s…” Andreas looks at the ceiling, clearly thinking hard. “It’s my girlfriend’s friend. They were in the same soro… soriety?”
“Sorority,” Elliot says.
“Yeah, that. What even is that? It sounds like some sort of sect when she talks about it.”
“I think that’s exactly what it is,” Adam says.
“She told Carly that she could invite me and that I could bring as many of my teammates as I want.”
“Are you sure she didn’t say single teammates?” Elliot asks.
Adam snorts. “Probably what she meant. But you are a single teammate, Moo. The ladies will love you.”
“I’m going to the party, but only if you promise that you won’t give a shit whether or not I go home alone,” Elliot says.
“I can live with that. But you have to talk to girls.”
“Okay, maybe I will, but don’t be weird about it, okay?” Elliot says. His worst nightmare is his teammates setting him up on dates and introducing girls to him at bars, because he’s currently not at all sure what he’s looking for. It’s awkward to have someone pushed at him and it’s even more awkward to talk to someone he didn’t choose to talk to, someone who probably also didn’t choose to talk to him, but was lured over by one of his teammates.
“We’re never weird,” Andreas says, solemn.
“Don’t give anyone my phone number.”
“Of course not.”
“Don’t like… pull one of those weird moves–”
“We’re never weird,” Andreas interrupts.
“Let me find people to talk to.”
“But can we give you suggestions?” Adam asks, hope in his eyes.
“Maybe.”
Andreas grins. “Yay, Moo is coming. Hey, I’m gonna double-check with Crab to see if he’s still planning on dropping by.”
Elliot lets out the deepest sigh.
“Come on, old man,” Adam says and gives Elliot’s ear a flick. “Four point game. Captain of a hockey team. You’re a catch. You gotta put yourself out there.”
“Hey, I agreed to come to the party, didn’t I?”
“Yeah. But when you did it, you looked like you wanted to stab us. We’re trying to help. You keep telling me that you’re lo–”
“I’m not lonely.”
“Well, then sexually frustrated. Same difference.”
“I will pay you to stop talking,” Elliot says.
“Really, how much?”
Elliot almost throws his jock at him. Almost, because he’s a good captain and Adam is his best friend, and maybe he deserves it, but he also doesn’t want to subject the locker room to Adam screeching like a little kid.
“Hey,” Adam says and leans over, keeping his voice low, “do you want me to come over before the party and help you pick something to w–”
Elliot has a sock off his foot so fast that Adam doesn’t have time to duck out of the way before Elliot slaps it right into his face.
“MOO!”
“You deserved that one,” Elliot says.
“Hey, Elliot?”
“Yeah?”
Tara, one of their social media people, holds up a phone. “Could you say ‘Happy New Year’ to our fans real quick?”
“Yeah, for sure,” Elliot says. “Anything in particular you want me to say?”
“No, you just go for it,” Tara says.
It’s Elliot’s least favorite thing to hear. He isn’t bad at talking to the media, not at all, but he likes doing stuff like this a lot better when they give him clear instructions. Tara usually does a few takes, so Elliot tries a few different things, says he hopes everyone is safe out there tonight, says he hopes they’ll see them all at the arena next year, thanks them for supporting them, even does one with Adam, who gives him bunny ears.
“Are you using that one?” Ad
am asks.
Tara smiles at him, like you might look at a small child who asked you if the Easter Bunny is real. “No, but I’m sure it’ll go into the outtakes compilation that we’re planning on doing.”
“Outtakes,” Adam mutters and trots away to take a shower.
#
Elliot puts on a striped shirt for the party, because when he doesn’t know what to wear and a suit it too fancy, a striped shirt is usually a good idea. He puts on jeans, dismissing the thought that he could be on his couch in sweatpants. His hair is… curly. Messy. As always. He had the sides cut a little shorter and he likes it well enough. His mom is still appalled every time she sees him.
Adam comes by to pick him up, in a cab, because he’s not driving, but he clearly doesn’t trust Elliot to actually show up at the party if he doesn’t have an escort. Elliot wouldn’t trust himself either. Lou smiles at him when he slides into the cab and tells him he looks nice. She looks nice, too. Sparkly.
The party is in a penthouse on the Upper East Side, the place already teeming with people, mostly girls. One of them detaches herself when they arrive – she’s tall, blonde, her teeth so white they seem to sparkle with her silver dress. “Hey, Andy’s teammates. Glad you could come. I’m Chrissie.”
“Oh, hey!” Andy’s girlfriend comes over as well, clearly a few drinks ahead of them.
“Hey, Carly,” Lou says and hugs her, their dresses sparkling together.
“Come on in, Elliot, Adam, you look dashing, come meet my friends,” she says and ushers them further into the apartment. She very quickly introduces them to about fifteen girls, whose names Elliot has no chance of remembering, then she hands them over to Chrissie, who offers them drinks, then food, and then darts off to greet more guests.
The party is thankfully big enough that no one will notice if Elliot tucks himself into a corner with a plate full of food. It’s all excellent, probably from a catering company. He doesn’t want to know how much it cost, because even with the money he makes now, he doesn’t understand how some people spend theirs so freely, when he’s more concerned with saving it all up for whatever comes after his playing career is over. He bought the apartment, but that was his only expensive purchase, apart from the stuff he bought for his mom and dad.
Whoever lives in this apartment – probably Carly’s friend, although maybe her parents own the place – likely has a few more millions to spend than Elliot does. It’s all marble and golden picture frames, soft carpets, and dishes that most certainly didn’t come from IKEA, like Elliot’s.
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