Breaking The Ice [bxb]

Chapter Twenty-Eight [Eli]

Elliott must have gone shopping, because I have cereal for breakfast when I wake up.

I can hear my brother getting ready in his bedroom while I eat. He comes out eventually, holding his jacket awkwardly over the bend of one elbow as he arranges his silver tie over the black uniform button-down.

"You heading out to work?"

He looks surprised, stopping in his tracks and turning his head to face me. "Yeah. Why, you need anything?"

There's a moment of silence. Elliott just stands on his way to the door, looking at me. I look down at my soggy cereal, which I left resting too long in the cold milk while I turned my brain inside out trying to prepare for what's next.

Elliott walks over to the kitchen table, keeping his eyes on me. That astute, silent look is the exact same I used to see on Dad. Makes me want to avert my gaze somewhere else again. 

"Just had something I wanted to talk about..." I mumble at the table surface. "But it can wait."

"Yeah?" 

Elliott doesn't move, though. For better or for worse, I got his attention. Shouldn't I just go ahead and get it over with then?

"When did you start working Saturday mornings?" I ask, needing something to fill the silence, something to slide under the spotlight of my brother's attention.

I know I'm stalling. But I just need to stall a little. Just long enough to see if I might need to push this conversation off one more time, like I've been doing for a whole week since I crawled over to Liam's doorstep like a sorry weeping idiot.

Elliott shrugs. "I don't have to go, but there's always some things to resolve on Saturday morning that'll save me a couple of headaches on Monday morning."

I nod. And I think I kinda know what he actually means, because in reality we both know the answer to the question I asked. Elliott started working Saturdays, and Sundays, and holidays, after I moved back in. Or maybe even before that, when he was left alone in the house after the car crash and my first foster family. And we both also know why he goes. It's for the same reason I stay back after practice until the rink closes.

"I don't want to keep you," I say down to my cereal.

"Okay." Elliott nods. He grabs his coat again, which he'd set over the back of a chair, pauses in mid-turn and turns back around. "Is it school related? Because if you have any papers I need to sign I can do that before heading out?"

"No, it's nothing with school."

Elliott nods.

I clench a fist. "It's personal," I murmur.

Elliott hangs back, standing a little awkwardly. "Should I sit down?" He asks calmly.

And I realize this is it. I set it up, I need to say it now. I have to talk to someone. I did it with Liam. I admitted to myself that I am not okay and said it out loud for someone to hear. And Liam listened. He didn't tell me I was being dramatic, or that I'm broken in some way — he was calm and concerned and understanding as he told me I need to tell someone. Someone who could help.

I need help, that's all I have to say. But to Elliott? When did I last say anything to Elliott?

Morning. Night. 'Sup. Hannah needs you in the dining room. Bye. Need a ride? Morning. Night. That was a summary of our interactions for what seemed like forever.

Which isn't true at all. There is a seven-year difference between us, so we had never had friends in common or went out together much, but we were brothers. We still are, but we used to act like it.