Blake pushes those memories away.
He and Elliot are done.
#
Blake is in close proximity to New York City and Elliot is in Toronto, which is probably for the best, because Elliot couldn’t handle seeing Blake in person right now.
He likes New York. His rookie year is a fairy tale.
When he got his roster spot, Elliot moved in with Adam. They’re pretty good at being roommates as long as they don’t try to watch a movie together. Hockey games work, because they usually have the same priorities, but their taste in movies couldn’t be any more different. Adam likes thrillers and horror movies; Elliot likes comedies and superheroes. They stay out of each other’s way, at least movie-wise, and only watch hockey together. It works well enough.
Sometimes Elliot eats food that isn’t his and then Adam will give him the evil side-eye, but he usually forgives him quickly when Elliot cooks him pasta. Because Adam will eat pasta for breakfast, lunch and dinner if you let him, and Elliot knows his way around pasta, because he will also eat it for breakfast, lunch and dinner if you let him.
The guys in the room actually seem to like having him around. He got pranked into oblivion early in the season, but it appears as though the guys have finally settled down. Tape balls hitting him in the neck are still a daily occurrence, though, because he sits close to Moby and Moby needs to bother at least one teammate a day and usually that teammate is Elliot.
They’re halfway through February and Elliot is tired, sleeps more than he ever has in his life, is skinnier than he’s ever been, but there’s a buzz under his skin that keeps him going. They’re working their way up to a wildcard spot. There’s a chance they’ll actually make it there.
“Earth to Moo.”
Elliot looks up.
Riley is looking back at him expectantly. They’ve been plane buddies ever since Riley got traded to the Ravens to be their new backup goalie a month ago, with their other backup out long-term. They hit it off instantly, like the same shows, and Riley’s from Oshawa, so they grew up pretty close to each other, know the same people.
“What?” Elliot asks. “Sorry, I kinda zoned out there…”
Riley snorts at him. “You wanna come to my parents’ house for dinner tonight? You said your parents both have other stuff going on, right?”
“Oh, uh…” Elliot hadn’t even thought about it. His mom is working late at the hospital, his dad is out of town for work, so he won’t even be able to make it to the game tomorrow. His mom will be there, though, and some of his childhood friends, too.
“It’s cool if you have other plans, but I figured I’d ask because you said you weren’t seeing your mom until tomorrow.”
“Yeah, thanks, that’d be nice.”
“Cool,” Riley says and goes back to watching whatever he was watching.
Elliot grabs his laptop, too, because his only other choice would be to think about Blake again.
He’s not doing that to himself.
#
In the summer, Blake finally caves.
It’s four days after the NHL Awards, where the Carolina Comets’ Jamie O’Rielly won the Calder. Blake wouldn’t say that Elliot deserved it more, but he did deserve it at least just as much and Blake vividly remembers Jamie O’Rielly skating right into him during a game in juniors, so Blake is somewhat biased.
He’s sitting in the backyard of his grandma’s house, his grandma and Evan out to buy some new clothes for Evan, because the boy can’t dress himself, and Blake decided to stay out of it. He didn’t want to be the one to explain to his grandma that neither of them has ever developed much of an interest in fashion, but he has at least enough sense to wear shirts without holes when they’re at her house. Evan brought this upon himself.
So Blake is left alone with his thoughts, a glass of iced tea, a book he’s not going to read, and his phone, replying to teammates’ messages, deleting stuff he doesn’t need anymore, all mindless things he forgot to do during the season.
He’s going through his photos when he stumbles across one of him and Elliot that they took before the Draft, maybe the day before. Elliot, with those big brown eyes and the almost-curly hair, in a shirt that was Blake’s once, smiling like he won the Stanley Cup. Something in Blake’s stomach twists and after that his brain signs the fuck off and lets his heart do whatever the hell it wants.
So he calls Elliot.
And Elliot, of course, answers after the first ring.
He sounds breathless when he says, “Hey, Blake… uh, hey.”
“Hey,” Blake replies. And then he says nothing, because… Why did he do this? Hearing Elliot’s voice feels a punch in the gut. Or at least he imagines that this is what being punched in the gut feels like. He’s never been in a fight.
There’s a small pause, a hitch of breath that might be hidden laughter, then Elliot says, “What’s up?”
“Well,” Blake starts. “My grandma was asking how you’re doing and I… wanted to ask… how you’re doing.” It’s not even a lie, Blake’s grandma did ask how Elliot was doing and Blake didn’t have the heart to tell her that he had no idea, because the only word they seem to be able to say to each other is congratulations.
“I’m okay,” Elliot says. “How about you?”
“Yeah. Me, too. The team is great and… yeah. All good.”
“Good.”
“Yeah,” Blake says. “Good.”
Silence falls, but Blake can’t say goodbye yet and Elliot doesn’t say anything either. His grandma’s cat, Angus, comes over the garden wall and plops down next to
