Page 1 of Full Body Hit, Part 1 (Alpha Omega Hockey #5)

CHASE

“ S it still,” Chase’s mom ordered with a sharp tap to his bouncing knee.

Chase locked his leg in place. He knew he should have better control over his body—he was fourteen, not some unruly kid—but he was shaking all over and couldn’t stop .

He clenched his jaw, trying to keep his teeth from chattering, hands tucked under his thighs so he wouldn’t pick at himself. Every deep breath got stuck halfway, lungs too constricted to accept any air, making him choke.

He’d been scared out of his mind for the past few days, and even though his first heat—or whatever the fuck that’d been—was over, it was as if something had shifted permanently inside him, or broken, or maybe something new had grown, some ugly, mishappen thing that was pressing into his organs and not letting him breathe.

Chase jumped as the doctor stepped into the room.

He tucked himself away from the look his mom shot him, the one that was all crunched up, eyes thinned into slits, mouth just a bitter line.

The doctor didn’t seem to notice. He sat on the only remaining chair in the exam room, face round and dark, glasses perched on his nose.

“Thank you for waiting,” he said, and Chase felt like ripping his skin off even though the doctor didn’t smell like anything, thank God.

That had been what had existed these past few days— scents .

Every drop of pheromone that hit his nose had his stomach churning, bile coming up, head filling with a wild static that made him feel as if he were being hunted.

He’d been surrounded, and his body had given in on him—the pain had been excruciating, like someone was carving out whatever was floating just north of his pelvis.

People had recoiled when he’d walked in, and he’d been ushered into the exam room quickly instead of waiting for his turn with the rest of the patients.

“So, Chase. This was your first heat, correct?” the doctor asked in a low, soothing voice.

Chase’s mom jumped in before he could respond. “So that was definitely a heat? You’re sure?”

“Yes. Not a usual heat, but I can confirm Chase is an Omega.”

Chase’s mom’s scent soured. It scraped against his throat, his gut, his bones. He shivered hard, pushing down the bile that threatened to rise.

“Here,” the doctor offered, taking something out of his pocket and handing it to Chase. “Put just a little bit under your nose. It’ll help.”

Chase glanced between his mom and the doctor, opening the tub slowly and scooping a little of the jelly out. It smelt strongly of menthol, covering up the sting of his mom’s scent instantly.

His shoulders loosened slightly. His muscles ached from how tightly he’d been wound for days now, a deep-tissue bruising he could feel to his core.

He was so fucking tired. He blinked at the doctor as he started to talk.

There were a lot of words. Something about an endocrine system, and the nervous system, and his pheromones, and how scenting and scent production were linked in the brain.

He explained how Chase had developed all wrong—he was producing so many pheromones that it would overwhelm those around him, and he’d be overwhelmed by other people’s scents, too.

“ Disorder ,” the doctor said, and the word carved Chase open.

“What about hockey?” Chase blurted out. “Can I still play hockey?”

“Oh. Well—yes. But do understand this is bigger than that—the treatment you will undergo will neutralise your ability to produce pheromones or to scent others. We’ll do this slowly, allowing you to have heats as scheduled, but you won’t have a true scent.”

He stared at Chase intently, as if trying to communicate how severe this was, but Chase didn’t get it. “So I can play hockey?”

The doctor’s eyebrows bunched. “Yes, but…”

“So it’s fine, right?”

There was a little pause. “Well, I guess that’s the right attitude. Now, it says here you’re not on any medication.”

“No. Well, the Aletadone, I guess. But nothing apart from that.”

The doctor’s head snapped up, eyes going to Chase’s mom and then back to him. “Say that again? What are you taking?”

“ Uhm …Aletadone?” He peeked at his mom. Her white face was still and calm, brown eyes uncaring, but Chase could see beneath that—the tightness at the corners of her mouth, the tic in her jaw.

Chase had said the wrong thing.

The doctor flipped through the papers he was carrying. “I don’t see a mention of that,” he said, directing the question at Chase’s mom.

“I didn’t think it was relevant. It’s been prescribed by a doctor, so—”

“You didn’t think the medication packed with Alpha hormones was somehow relevant to a sudden dysregulation during presenting? How…why would Aletadone be prescribed to a fourteen-year-old?”

“He was having trouble presenting—”

“Fourteen is absolutely within the average range of presenting. Which doctor prescribed this?” the doctor cut in.

“Everybody in my family presented when they were no older than twelve.”

“That’s really not relevant here. He may take after his Alpha parent. Who prescribed this?”

Chase followed the conversation as if he were watching the worst tennis match in history, heart pumping faster with each lob.

Chase’s mom’s face was as red and as etched in stone as he’d ever seen it. She and the doctor stared at each other. Chase had no fucking clue what was going on.

His mom was telling the truth. Or, well, most of the truth. He’d never gone to a doctor to get those pills, but his mom had said they were necessary to help him present. He’d taken them willingly—most people hit their growth spurt after presenting, especially if they were an Alpha.

Which Chase was supposed to be.

He’d never entertained otherwise. Well, okay, he’d tried not to think about being an Omega. About how nice it sounded. He liked the look of nests, of gentle and pretty things. He liked the idea of being told he was doing a good job. Of being tender.

Those were Omega things, his mom had insisted—Alphas weren’t that soft. Alphas were strong. They were leaders. Trailblazers.

They were hockey players.

Never mind that there were plenty of Omega hockey players in the league. Chase had given up on arguing with his mom a long time ago—it was just not worth the berating that followed.

Chase had wanted to be an Alpha. Or, at least, he’d wanted to want to be an Alpha. He’d taken the pills without complaint. If that was what had messed him up, it was his fault for being an Omega in the first place.

The doctor and his mom were still arguing. His head was full of cotton.

He jumped into the fray. “I asked for those pills. I wanted them to…to be a better hockey player. Sorry.”

The edges of the doctor’s mouth pulled south. “When my child asks to have candy for dinner, I say no because I know better and, as a parent, it’s my responsibility to make sure my kids don’t endanger themselves.”

Chase blinked slowly. What the fuck did that have to do with anything? His thoughts were like treacle dripping through a sieve. His head hurt. He wanted to lie down and make the pain stop.

The doctor let out a sharp explosion of breath. Chase flinched. He hated making people angry—it filled his heart and gut with ants, made him want to scoop himself out and make himself small.

“We’ll start you on this treatment, but you have to tell me if you take anything else.

Got it? This is a delicate medication. You also have to be consistent in taking it.

Releasing your pheromones could put you in danger.

Could trigger someone to bite you without your consent. Or their consent, really.”

That got Chase’s attention. “Wait, so if someone smells me, they’ll, like…go crazy and bite me? Mate me?”

“Well, if they’re attracted to Omega scent and unmated, it’s a possibility. The heat that would hit you would also be debilitating without the aid of pheromones of someone you find compatible. So. Please be careful. We’ll do regular checkups at the beginning, just to make sure everything is okay.”

Chase nodded. “So, wait…I can’t show anybody my scent? Ever? ”

“Well…if you do get mated, the issue will settle. So. Not until then, I’m afraid.”

“Oh. Okay.” That seemed like an impossibly long time away.

Chase tried his hardest to listen to the rest of what the doctor said. He took the first dose of the treatment, lying on the exam room bed for twenty minutes afterwards as they made sure it had no immediate adverse effects. He almost fell asleep right there, but his mom tapped him awake each time.

“Keep the menthol with you—you’ll still be able to smell for the next couple of days, so stay home. Give us a call if anything unusual comes up,” the doctor ordered.

Chase mumbled an assent. The pain was diminishing, his skin settling. He didn’t feel like crawling out of it anymore, and the tiredness was hitting him instead.

He flopped into the passenger seat in the car, blinking slowly.

“Well,” his mom said as she closed her door, “you don’t need your scent to play.”

Chase nodded. He was supposed to feel better about that, but he didn’t feel anything at all.

***

Chase was thrown into wakefulness, his body running at a thousand miles per hour. His hands clenched the sheets of his bed as his gaze darted around his gloomy room, heart racing, breath coming quick.

There was nothing there. No danger. Whatever it was that was making him feel like this was deep inside the folds of his intestinal lining. It was making him sick.

He sat up, blanket pooling on his lap. He took a breath. Another. His hands were barely shaking. Sleep clung to him in a sticky substance, but at least it wasn’t the debilitating exhaustion of earlier.

He looked at his phone. It was seven in the evening. He’d been unconscious for five hours.

He lay down again, closing his eyes as the events of that morning replayed, images already distorted and unsure.