“Here,” Blake says and reaches for him, pulls him closer until Elliot’s head is on his chest. His hair is still damp.
“I’m so tired of losing all the time,” Elliot whispers. “I know we’re better than this, I don’t know why we never make it.”
Blake doesn’t know what to say. For the past couple of years, the Ravens were okay. They weren’t terrible, but they weren’t great either, always only barely making the playoffs, sometimes slipping out of a wildcard spot altogether. They only made it past the first round once. It’s better than not making it at all, but Blake gets it. He would probably be hiding in bed for a week if his team got swept in the first round. He curls his fingers around the back of Elliot’s neck and drags his thumb over the soft skin there.
Elliot sniffles.
Blake doesn’t try to talk to him, leaves him be, because there’s nothing he can say anyway. The Ravens lost. It’s part of the game. And it hurts. And Elliot will get another chance next year, but next year is ages away. Blake can’t believe Elliot came to him after all this, sort of wants to ask him how he can even stand being in the same room as him right now.
He stays very still, and doesn’t realize that Elliot has fallen asleep until Angus joins them on the couch and Elliot doesn’t reach out to pet him. Blake runs his fingers through his hair for a while, grabs his phone and texts Noah.
Elliot sleeps through the entire movie and Blake isn’t really paying attention either, scrolling through Twitter and Instagram, posting another picture of Squid that he took this morning.
“Hey, Angus,” Elliot whispers, scaring the crap out of Blake.
He nearly drops his phone on Elliot’s head.
“Did I just… nap on you?” Elliot sits up and tugs his fingers through his hair. “Sorry, I haven’t been sleeping and I–”
“It’s okay,” Blake says quickly. “Hungry?”
Elliot nods. “You know,” he says, “I think you owe me fifty dumplings.”
“You want those today?” Blake asks.
“Nah, I think I can wait,” Elliot says and gently pats Blake’s chest, then pulls his hand away and sits up.
Blake almost wants to pull him back against him. “I’ll throw something together for dinner, okay?”
“Do you mind if I cook?”
“Um… if you want to?”
So he ends up watching Elliot dig through his kitchen, putting together a stir-fry, shooing Blake away every time he asks if he can help, giving him the evil eye – which is not very evil in Elliot’s case – every time he tries to steal raw vegetables from Elliot’s cutting board.
“Careful,” Elliot hisses. “I’m gonna cut off your fingers and then what?”
Blake snorts and ducks out of the way, grabbing them two plates while Elliot mutters about how Blake’s pans are all inadequate somehow. He does manage to cook their food in the end, frowning down at his chosen pan like this is part of some high-stakes operation, like they can’t order pizza if dinner doesn’t turn out to be edible.
And it does turn out fine, even though Elliot is grumbling about how the chicken isn’t exactly the way he wanted it to be.
“The chicken is great,” Blake says.
“But I wanted to–”
Blake kicks him under the table, and Elliot kicks him back, and then it goes back and forth a couple of times until Elliot winces.
“You okay?”
“Yeah, I just have a gigantic bruise on my leg, it’s fine, though, don’t worry.”
“Sorry,” Blake says.
Elliot shrugs and kicks him back one more time.
#
Elliot arrived at Blake’s without much of a plan, fully expecting that Blake would tell him to go home.
He realizes that he’s making things harder for both of them, because Elliot is far from making up his mind about anything, has barely had time to gather even a handful of coherent thoughts. He dragged himself through their playoff games, one game after the other, worried about nothing but hockey. He doesn’t know what’s going to happen next, other than that he’ll be on his way to Prague soon.
“I’m going to play at Worlds,” Elliot tells Blake when they’re cleaning up after dinner.
Blake’s smile is soft. “I’m glad.”
“And you’ll go as far as you can.”
“Obviously.”
“Until you win the Cup.”
Blake rolls his eyes at him. “I’ll do what I can.”
“I know you will,” Elliot says. “I want you to win it.”
“Elliot, everyone wants to win it. But there’s thirty-two teams in the league and half of them get a playoff spot. Even if you’re in the playoffs, you’re still competing against fifteen other teams.”
“I know, but… what’s the point if you don’t believe in winning it?”
“I’m trying to be realistic,” Blake says with a shrug.
Elliot chews on his bottom lip, trying to keep all his thoughts in. He knows that most of the stuff he’s thinking is completely ridiculous and he’s putting himself down, because that’s what you do after a loss like that.
“Hey,” Blake says, because of fucking course he can see it all on his face, and then Blake’s hand is cupping his cheek and Elliot can’t keep it in after that.
“I stopped thinking we could win against you at some point,” Elliot says. “What if I jinxed it because I thought there was no way we could win it anymore after we’d lost three?”
“Elliot,” Blake says, stepping closer.
“I know it’s stupid, but I can’t stop thinking about it. I thought about it all of last night. I didn’t do enough and–”
“You did everything.”
“But it wasn’t enough.”
“You’re not the only guy on your team,” Blake says.
He pulls Elliot closer, against his chest, and Elliot doesn’t really cry easily, maybe he’ll have tears in his eyes after a sad movie, but you won’t really find him on the couch, sobbing into his bowl of popcorn or anything.
He cries now, though, because he’s been trying to hold it back for days, telling his guys in the locker room that they’d get another chance next season, that he’s proud of them for giving everything, that he couldn’t possibly have any better teammates. But now, with Blake, he doesn’t have to be strong or hopeful or proud of anything.
Blake doesn’t say anything, just holds him tightly and kisses the top of his head, hand running up and down Elliot’s back. He doesn’t let go.
Elliot doesn’t pull away either, head bent down, face pressed into Blake’s shirt. Even when he’s done crying, he holds on, just can’t bring himself to let go. Blake doesn’t seem to get tired of it either, pulling Elliot with him when he leans back against the counter, keeping his arms firmly wrapped around Elliot. Blake will hold him like this however long Elliot needs him to, won’t even ask if they can sit down, so Elliot eventually convinces himself to pull back and says, “What now?”
“I don’t know,” Blake says and reaches out to wipe a tear off Elliot’s cheek. “What do you need?”
“I’m okay. Do whatever you’d do if I wasn’t here.”
Blake brushes his hair back and scrunches up his nose. “I sort of need to feed the cats and clean their litter box.”
“Okay, you do that and I’ll… I’ll go sit on the couch. Unless you want help. I can help.”
“No, go sit down and pick something to watch and we’ll… hang out.”
Elliot nods and shuffles into the living room. He pulls up Netflix and starts clicking through movies, eventually flopping down on his side, Squid hopping up onto the couch, curling up next to Elliot’s chest, purring as soon as Elliot starts scratching his head. He can hear Blake move about the apartment, softly saying something in another room, probably to Angus. Squid leaves when Blake puts out some food in the kitchen.
Blake comes back, sits down next to Elliot’s head and pulls a pillow into his lap, patting it gently. Elliot takes that as the invitation
that it is and scoots closer to put his head in Blake’s lap and closes his eyes. He’s not really tired, but his eyes are itchy now, and he doesn’t want to watch a movie either. Lying here is great, he’ll keep doing that.
“You can watch the Eagles-Cardinals game if you want to,” Elliot mumbles.
Blake is very quiet for a moment, which means that he probably wants to. “No, you don’t–”
“It’s honestly okay.” Elliot gets it. He’d want to watch it if he was in Blake’s position. Blake will be playing against one of those teams soon and it’s in his best interest to watch it.
“Really?”
“Really,” Elliot says. He’ll probably fall asleep anyway.
Blake’s fingers sneak into his hair, then Blake leans forward to get the remote. At first there’s silence, then the telltale sounds of a hockey game, skates on the ice, sticks hitting the puck, then the voice of an announcer, telling his audience Josh Roy’s goals per game average in the playoffs. It’s more than one goal a game. Elliot’s is more than one goal a game, too, but he hasn’t played as many playoff games as Josh Roy.
Elliot drifts in and out of sleep, squinting at the TV whenever the goal horn goes off, the Cardinals lighting up the Eagles. Elliot grumbles at Blake when he gets up during the second intermission, almost disappointed when he doesn’t get to put his head back in Blake’s lap afterwards, but Blake’s hand is back in his hair a moment later, barely even moving, just there.
Blake wakes him up after the game, the TV already off when Elliot sits up.
“Who won?” Elliot asks.
“Cardinals, six-two,” Blake mumbles and stands up. “You wanna go to bed?”
“Sure…” Elliot has no idea how he can be this tired after dozing on Blake’s couch for three hours, but here they are. “I can sleep on the couch if you want.”
Blake hums. “Because you totally want to sleep on the couch, right?”
“I’m not trying to…” Elliot sighs. “I feel bad for showing up here out of the blue and I’ve already imposed on you enough, so I don’t want you to–”
“Elliot,” Blake says and gently nudges him towards the door. “Just come to bed with me, okay?”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
Elliot just looks at him for a moment, then he says, “Blake?”
“Hm?”
“Thank you.”
Blake only nods.
He finds Elliot a toothbrush and a towel and then slips into bed with him later, keeping a few inches of space between them.
Elliot doesn’t like it. He can’t stand it. “Blake?” he says.
“Yes, you can come over here, but only if you promise that you won’t kick me during the night.”
“I’ll try,” Elliot whispers.
“I guess that’s good enough,” Blake mutters and wraps his arm around Elliot once he’s scooted against him, and Elliot wishes, more than anything, that he could come back to this after every loss.
Chapter Eighteen
Elliot plays his heart out at Worlds.
While he’s in Europe, Blake is nominated for the Vezina and the Knights tear through the Cardinals in five games. Blake plays his first game of the Eastern Conference finals against the Boston Grizzlies the day before Elliot plays in the gold medal game in Prague.
The Grizzlies win Game 1.
Elliot wins the gold medal.
Blake somehow finds the time to call him after, sounding tired in the message he leaves. Elliot doesn’t hear it until later, when he’s already in bed, smiling as he listens to Blake’s voice. Then he listens again. And again.
“Hey, I just saw that you won gold.” A short pause. “Well done.” A long pause. “I didn’t manage to watch all the games, but I did my best.” A longer pause. “Anyway, congrats and…” The longest pause yet. “I miss you. Let me know when you’re back in New York, okay? Have fun celebrating.”
Elliot smiles.
Listens again.
It’s the part where Blake says that he misses him, quietly, like it’s a secret, that he wants to hear over and over again.
Elliot misses him, too.
He falls asleep while listening to the message for what must be the twentieth time. He’s drunk and he’ll have the worst headache of his life in the morning, he’s sore all over, bruises blooming all over his body, but he’ll go home with a gold medal, and Blake misses him.
Elliot flies back to Canada with the team and then goes to Oshawa. His parents were in Prague for two games, but couldn’t stay for the finals, so when he’s home, his mom takes a few days off and they cook together, dig up old recipes, slipping back into Spanish while they cook. His grandma taught his mom Spanish, so his mom insisted on teaching Elliot as well. He wasn’t the most diligent student and he doesn’t exactly get to practice very often these days, so he keeps trailing off, his mom mumbling the words he’s looking for. He learned some Swedish from Magnus while he was still on the team, but he’s forgotten most of it. Andreas has been trying to teach him German and Elliot can at least have a basic conversation now. He knows how to order a beer. They saw each other at Worlds, too, but didn’t end up playing against each other.
It’s nice to be home now. It’s nice to take a break, sleep in every day, eat whatever he wants, just for a few days, before he goes back to running in the morning and watching what he eats and going to the gym. A bunch of the regular Toronto guys are already in town, those whose seasons ended early, some of the guys who played at Worlds with him, and they meet up for scrimmages, and sometimes Elliot plays in the street with the neighborhood kids.
His parents watch the playoffs, cheering for Blake. The first time Elliot sees his mom cheering for the Knights is jarring. Then he remembers that Boston beat Toronto, so of course his mom wouldn’t cheer for the Grizzlies in a million years. His dad is from Vancouver, so his loyalties lie elsewhere. Elliot quietly supports Blake, his mom clearly in the know, because she looks over at him every time Blake makes a save.
“Are you boys still in touch?” his mom asks during Game 4. It looks like the Knights are about to tie up the series.
“Huh?”
“You and Blake Samuels. You were such good friends.”
“Oh, yeah, we’re… yeah.”
“I remember going to your games, you know, we could already tell back then that he’d be big one day. And look at him now. He’s basically winning those boys the game.”
“Yeah,” Elliot says.
On TV, Blake just threw himself onto the puck, like a starfish on the ice, his teammates pushing away Grizzlies players. Blake gets up when the whistle goes, slowly, grabs his water bottle, leans against the net, gives the crossbar a pat.
Elliot has been thinking about calling him. The last time they talked was a few days ago, when Elliot told him that he’d be staying in Oshawa for a while. Elliot misses hearing his voice. He watched a few interviews, Blake looking tired, but seemingly in good spirits, not really smiling, but not scowling either.
“That’s nice, that you stayed friends,” Elliot’s mom says. “How’s his brother? I didn’t really follow him much when he wasn’t playing with you anymore.”
“Oh, last I heard, he was doing pretty well,” Elliot says. All he knows about Evan, he knows from Blake. He should probably text him to catch up, ask him how he’s doing.
During the next intermission, Adam sends him five texts in a row, the first one about car seats, the next one about high chairs, then wtf how do people have babies, and i’m not even the one who has to have the baby, and then, helppp.
“Everything okay?” Elliot’s mom asks.
“Yeah, Adam’s just having a crisis about becoming a dad, I think,” Elliot says and tells Adam to take a deep breath.
not helpful, is the reply he gets a minute later.
“Tell him that nobody knows what they’re doing,” Elliot’s dad pipes up. “I didn’t know what to do with you either. Neither did your mom. We managed.”
“You wer
e crying a lot,” his mom adds.
“All the time.”
“We didn’t sleep.”
“I’m sorry?” Elliot says.
“Oh, sweetie, don’t worry, that’s what babies do. Don’t tell Adam that, though.”
“Or do tell him, so he’s prepared.”
Elliot’s mom shakes her head. “Don’t let us scare you, though,” she says. “It’s rewarding to watch a child grow up. I mean, look at you now. Captain of your team. Just won a gold medal.”
“Yeah, we didn’t think they’d even draft you,” his dad says, voice mocking.
“Dad…”
“Come on, I’m a little bit funny.”
“No,” Elliot says and tells Adam to please be a cool dad and lay off the Brandon Cowell humor.
plz i love your dad, Adam replies.
“Are they having a boy or a girl?”
“I don’t know. Because Adam doesn’t know.”
“Oh, a surprise. Lovely.” Elliot’s mom reaches over to pat Elliot’s arm. “When you have children one day, do you think you’ll want it to be a surprise?”
“Isa,” Elliot’s dad says. “Leave him alone.”
“It’s just a question.”
“Let’s not act like you didn’t try to set him up with the neighbors’ daughter two days ago.”
“She’s a very nice girl.”
“Elliot doesn’t need our help to find a very nice girl. He’ll do fine on his own.”
Elliot silently thanks his dad for his support.
“And maybe he and the very nice girl will decide that they don’t want children and that’ll be fine with us, too.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Brandon.”
Elliot really wants to remove himself from the room before this turns into a discussion about his future that he won’t even be part of. He’s really not sure if he wants kids. He’s really not sure if he’ll ever want to be with anyone as much as he wants to be with Blake, no other man, no other woman.
“Excuse me,” Elliot says quietly, his parents barely noticing over their bickering.
He slips out the backdoor and sits on the porch. The game’s second intermission is over now and he gets a goal notification on his phone no two minutes after he’s sat down. Goal for the Knights, scored by Paul Mooney.
Three Is The Luckiest Number Page 27