Dennis doesn’t chirp him when he puts that picture on their fridge.
#
The Knights face the Ravens in the first round of playoffs and if Blake wasn’t so preoccupied with their own playoff race, he might find the time to be sad that he’s not in Newark to win that series with the Knights. The Knights don’t make it past the second round, though, but that only means that Mattie and his entire family are in the stands in Samuels jerseys when Blake gets to lift the Calder Cup.
That night, Blake has an entire bottle of champagne poured over his head and after that he has almost an entire bottle of champagne poured into this mouth, thankfully much slower, but still with little precision. Some insanely smart person has covered their entire locker room in plastic, so no one even blinks when Dennis lies down on the floor and starts making champagne angels, although at this point there’s probably some beer mixed in there, too.
They take the party and their Cup to a local club that has likely never seen so many people and someone starts buying shots.
Blake has never been this drunk in his life.
He knows that because he doesn’t even protest when the boys drag him onto the dance floor. Someone’s shouting something about getting tattoos – Blake got two last summer, is working on a sleeve, but at least his brain is alert enough to consider spontaneous tattoos a terrible idea.
“Blake, this is Elena,” someone shouts into his ear and then he’s dancing with a girl who smiles at him and laughs when Blake gives her a twirl. He doesn’t know how to dance. He doesn’t know what to do with a pretty girl.
She wraps her arms around his neck and Blake does his best not to disappoint in the dancing department, then he asks her if she wants a drink, but she shakes her head and they keep dancing. When the song fades into another, he tells her that he’d also buy her mozzarella sticks, or whatever else she wants, because it’s not like drinks are the only thing on the menu, and she laughs and says that she’s just fine right here.
Blake kisses her, because that’s what’s expected from him here, right? He kisses her, because maybe it won’t be so bad.
He should feel something. Anything. He wants to sleep. The room is spinning and he needs some fresh air. He excuses himself and escapes to the bathroom, slips into a stall and sits down, leans his head against the cold wall, and breathes. The smell makes him nauseous, but he can’t go back out there yet.
This isn’t him, he can’t kiss a girl and pretend that it’s okay or that it’s what he wants. He left that behind when he was fifteen. Or so he thought. He misses being close to someone, and it’s not even so much about sex, a hug would be fine, but maybe one that doesn’t end.
He needs to drink some water.
“Yo, Fish, is that you? You okay in there?”
“I’m fine,” Blake says.
He’s fine.
Everything is fine.
He makes it out of the club, makes it home, curls into bed and gets back up to throw up in his bathroom a little while later, only barely making it to the toilet bowl.
Dennis finds him there in the morning, nudging him with his foot. “Shit, dude, wake up.”
Blake blinks at him and glares. Dennis looks like he just crawled out of bed, his hair all over the place. Blake doesn’t know how Dennis is standing up straight right now. He wants to be on this bathroom floor forever. “No. I live here now.”
“Come on.”
Someone behind Dennis snorts. Probably his girlfriend. “I’ll get you both some water.”
Blake sits up and immediately regrets it. Somewhere, something is buzzing. “What’s that noise?”
“Probably your phone.”
It’s on the floor. Why is his phone on the floor?
Blake only stares at it.
Dennis reaches down to ruffle his hair. “It’s okay, Fish, we all feel like we’re dead, but the show must go on.”
“I wanna sleep.”
“Yeah, me too. Nap time is later. Breakfast time at Timo’s house is now. Come on, Liz is gonna drop us off.” Dennis wanders out of the bathroom, muttering, “Fuck, I hope I don’t throw up in the car.”
Blake takes a deep breath. Yeah, he needs to get off the floor.
“Calder Cup champions, baby,” Dennis shouts downstairs. “Braden, Oscar, time to wake the fuck up! And Braden get your fucking shoes off the couch, you savage. Who raised you?”
Blake had no idea that Braden and Oscar were staying over. He grins, but doesn’t move yet. Things could be worse. Yes, he’s on a bathroom floor and, yes, he’s one wrong move away from a slow and painful death, but that’s just because they won the Calder Cup.
With a sigh, Blake closes his eyes.
“Don’t sleep, Fish!”
Something soft hits him in the face, presumably a clean shirt.
Blake groans.
#
Elliot can’t decide if he should give Blake a call back. To see if he’s still alive. He sounded beyond wasted on the phone last night.
Pictures of the Raiders show up on Twitter not too much later, from the team breakfast they were having at their captain’s house and Blake is holding a mug that might have once said something like World’s Best Dad, except someone’s put tape over the last word and scribbled Goalie on it. He looks tired and rumpled, but he has the smallest of smiles on his face.
Elliot is so proud of him and he told Blake that last night on the phone, but only because he was reasonably sure that Blake wouldn’t remember. Blake essentially won the Raiders the final series. He’ll play in Newark soon enough.
Elliot’s season ended earlier than
