The Promises We Break

Boston

Elliot sighed as he pulled out of the driveway he had driven into twenty minutes before. He’d driven all the way from Toronto, across the border, to Boston to see Brayden, but the moment they saw each other, he knew it was a mistake.

Brayden’s eyes darted from side to side when he saw who was standing outside of his door. The smile on his face froze, then disappeared as panic paled his face.

“Ellie, what are you doing here?” He asked rapidly in a hushed tone.

“Um...I came to visit?” Elliot said in response. He shouldn’t have come. Whatever he and Brady did couldn’t continue. It shouldn’t have started really, but it definitely couldn’t go on, so what was he doing here?

"Why?" Brayden asked, not showing any sign of wanting to let Elliot in.

“We’re friends, friends hang out, right?” It was a desperate attempt and a half-truth. The two of them were friends. They met in skating class when Elliot was three and Brayden was four. The two of them had been inseparable before Brady left for college.

Elliot had driven all the way because he missed Brayden in a way that wasn’t so simple.

Brayden sighed. He always knew exactly what Ellie was thinking. He knew Ellie had come hoping that they would put off ending their little mistake another week or maybe another month. They’d done it before. Their dirty secret was like a silk string, holding them together just enough to keep it going.

"Ellie, we talked about this,” he said exasperatedly. "We said that...this would be over before my draft. I can’t...this can’t...”

Elliot looked to the ground, shuffling his feet. He really shouldn’t have come. It was selfish of him to come here and make Brady do this again. They were friends, and they had stopped before, but, somehow, this time felt final, and that made Elliot feel unnervingly reluctant.

“I thought maybe we could just be friends.” He tried again.

Brayden looked angry now. His brows knit together fiercely and his lips pursed together. “Ellie, we can’t be friends anymore.”

“Are you really going to make me say it?” Brayden said, squaring up like they were taught to do on ice.

“Say what?”

“I’m not going to ruin my career over this...” He stopped to take a breath then carried on, “fooling around. I wish it never happened, okay? It means nothing to me. You mean nothing to me. Why don’t you get that?”

Brayden’s voice was still hushed, but he was spitting out his words. Each one as sharp as the last.

Boston

Four months later, Elliot watched Brayden’s first NHL hockey game on a TV his roommate had brought to their college dorm. He watched the players zip by fighting back the pain in his throat.

Brady had been drafted first overall to the Islanders. Elliot had watched his best friend walk onto the platform wearing the biggest smile. It hurt to see his face, but Elliot also couldn’t quite look away. The two of them had waited for this moment all their lives. A strong sense of pride had filled Elliot but drained the moment he remembered that they hadn’t talked in four months, not after the draft and not during summer. They hadn’t even trained together.

His dad suddenly slapped him on the knees and said, “That’ll be you next year!” He had a beer in his hand that was almost empty, and he swung the last bit in one gulp. “You’ll be just like your old man!” He exclaimed, setting his beer on the coffee table, completely missing the coaster.

“Jacob Brooke, what did we say about putting that kind of pressure on Ellie?” His mom said, poking her husband.

“I know I know, but you can’t blame me. The kid holds more records than any other player.”

“Junior records," Elliot corrected.

His dad waved him off. “Junior records that the guys playing now didn’t get. That says something. Most shots, most goals, most wins, and longest winning streak. Those say things.”

Elliot shook his head quietly as his dad went on.

“The moment I saw you in skates, Ellie, I knew you were going to make it.”

“You would know...” His mom said, dragging out the last syllable, putting the discarded coaster back under the beer bottle. She’d been listening to her excitable husband drone on about Elliot’s potential for over 16 years now. Becca Brooke could probably recite everything her husband could say.

“He was fast even at two, you know, zipping through the rink. Do you remember what my coach said then?”

“Oh, yes. 'That kid’s gonna be generational.' You really do talk about this a lot. I’m pretty sure everyone you used to play with in the league knows this story.” his mom said almost automatically.

“I know," his dad said, pride leaking into even his posture. He sat back on their couch, eyes gazing at the screen as though he could see into the future.

"Man, Fraye’s fast.” Anthony Howard yelled into the room. Howie, Elliot’s only freshman teammate, was his roommate this year, which was extremely unfortunate. Howie was tidy enough, but he had enough energy to blow the roof off of any room. It worked well on ice when he was taking hits, but, in a dorm room, it was a lot.

"Yeah, he is.” Elliot responded halfheartedly, looking at Brayden sprinting down the ice in a breakaway.

“Dude, he’s fucking flying. Broooo! That shot, oh! So close.” Howie yelled out to no one in particular.

Elliot watched in silence as Brayden made his way to the bench, being substituted for someone else.

“Yo, dude, look." Howie spun around suddenly from his place on the floor and pointed at the new player on ice. "It's Chang.”

"Yeah," Elliot answered. This was going somewhere familiar.

“Do you know him?”

"Not really.”

Alex Chang was the first Korean American player in the league. It was a pretty big deal when he was drafted but less so now because the Islanders weren’t playing that well the past few seasons.

“Really? I thought you would, cuz, you know." Howie made a strange gesture with his hand, moving it between the screen and Elliot. “You two are both like Asian, right? I saw your mom on move-in day, Asian lady, right?”

And he’s arrived at the familiar place.

“Well, I’m half Chinese. He’s Korean, so...” No, Elliot did not know him. There was also the fact that they grew up in different countries. Canada and the U.S. were close but not that close.

"Oh, I kinda just figured you would,” Howie shrugged, then looked back at the screen but turned back after a few seconds. “Gotta say dude, if I hadn’t seen your mom, I never would’ve guessed it.”

"Yeah, I get that a lot.” Elliot really did look more like his dad. He even had the blue eyes. His mom used to joke that he was a biological anomaly, and maybe he kind of was.

“Like Jenson, I could spot a mile away. He looks way Asian.” Howie went on making even more ‘observations.’ "But dude, like apart from the hair, I’d never have guessed.”

Howie had a big mouth when he was drunk on beer, but this wasn’t anything Elliot hadn’t heard before. He knew what to expect.

“I heard Jenson got hazed hard in juniors. They say the guys made him do their laundry with chopsticks for a month when he was in Vancouver.”

Yeah, that happened a lot. It happened even when you put up good points. It happened even when your dad had been in the NHL, less so but still enough to make sure you knew your place.

“At least you don’t have to worry about that. I mean it’s not like you look Asian.”

And there we were.

On screen, Brayden scored his first official NHL goal. The crowd went wild.

Boston

It was nine p.m. on a Friday, and Elliot had just finished showering off the day’s exhaustion when his phone buzzed with a notification.

Peter Mercy liked your post.

Peter was a singer he had met one night when the team had snuck out to a bar in New York on a road trip. Elliot used a fake ID to get in. It was a tradition for the seniors to give the new class of freshmen on the team their first fake IDs, so now Elliot frequently found himself sitting in a crowded bar or nightclub, second-guessing his life choices. The only time he’d really enjoyed himself was when he met Peter.

He was sitting in a corner booth staring at his lock screen when he heard the crowd suddenly cheer. He looked up to spot a guy tuning his guitar on a small platform in the middle of the bar.

“Alright, guys! How is your night?” He grabbed the mic and pulled it toward him in one swift movement. Elliot stared on at the scene. It wasn’t the set that interested him but the guy. He had dark hair that had been swept back carelessly and the most defiant, confident eyes Elliot had ever seen. He only realized he was staring when the guy locked eyes with him. He looked down feeling a hot flush of embarrassment creep up his neck, but the guy kept looking at him, defiantly interested.

The two of them swapped Instagrams after the show. Peter sang a few songs that Elliot had really liked, but it was that interested look pulling him in.

It had been a few weeks since he was in the New York bar, but he and Peter were still talking. They sent DMs to each other almost every other day. Elliot had developed the unhealthy habit of scrolling through Peter’s feed before he went to bed. There was something about the way Peter lived. Something about that carefree attitude and New York under the night sky that spoke to him in a way that he couldn’t quite describe.

He sat down on his bed and opened his DMs

Hey

--hey! Saw you went to the gym, gotta keep the bod in shape, right?

I have to go. Student athlete...

--you can go for two reasons. Hehe

I guess so. What have you been up to?

--got a new gig in Queens.

Dude! That’s huge!

--haha, I love your jock enthusiasm. It’s just a nightclub.

Hey! It’s impressive!

--not as impressive as, what was it? Elliot Brooke, HOCKEY LEGEND!!!!

Please don’t...

--have you beaten the all-time point record yet?

I just started my first season...

--and your excuse is?

Oh god, you sound like my dad...

--do you like that??

Elliot’s fingers froze in midair. He felt a blush spread across his face again.

--OMG! Sry, forgot who I’m texting. I really have no filter. Sry sry.

[it’s okay] delete

[I don’t mind?????] delete

--do you hate me?

What! No!!!

--jk I know ur not a homophobe. just a hockey player.

[hockey players aren’t all] delete

[I’m definitely not a] delete

Elliot typed out a message and stared at it a moment before he hit send. There are some places that you can’t come back from, and this is one of them.

I kinda liked it...

A second passed before his phone started dancing from the vibration.

-- ha! I knew it!! Gaydar never wrong

--u liked it huh?

--how much??

Um...It felt good?

--I can work with that

Peter started typing for a long time as Elliot waited, watching the three dots flash sequentially.

--do people know?

no...

--poor baby.

-- I’m in Boston for a gig next week. dinner?

[...]

Sure.

[...]

--promise you won’t freak?

[...]

Promise.

This was a big deal, and Elliot knew it. It was a terrible idea, and he knew that, too. It would also be the beginning of one hell of an experience.