Page 3 of Full Body Hit, Part 1 (Alpha Omega Hockey #5)

CHASE

“ S hit, fuck,” Chase cursed as he almost spilt the dregs of his iced coffee on his lap. He settled the cup in its holder, pausing for a second to get his shit together.

There was no reason to be this stupidly nervous for his first day of camp.

He was going to crush it this year; he could feel it in his bones.

He wasn’t a big player, but he’d put on fifteen pounds of muscle since he’d been drafted two years ago.

He’d done his time in the OHL and then the Spirits’ affiliated AHL team.

He was faster, stronger, more resilient.

The New Orleans Spirits were gonna beg to have him on their roster.

Chase knocked down the visor, checking his reflection. The team is gonna beg to have me on the roster . Confidence was half the battle in this game—you got nowhere if you didn’t believe you could succeed.

He tilted his head and felt around one of the scent glands on his neck. It was slightly swollen, meaning the artificial scent was taking effect. After five years of using it, he shouldn’t have doubted its efficacy, but it had become a nervous habit to make sure he wasn’t scentless.

He inspected the rest of his reflection. He ruffled his sandy hair, bared his wide, pink lips to make sure there was nothing stuck in his teeth. He’d met a lot of the guys before, but he still wanted to make a good impression.

On the coaches, obviously. But there was one more reason why his gut was bubbling like carbonised soda.

Auston Mazdaki had been traded to the Spirits during the summer.

Chase had almost had a goddamn aneurysm when the news had hit Twitter.

He’d checked and double-checked all the reputable news sources to make sure he wasn’t just having a very detailed hallucination.

Auston had played for the team he’d been drafted to for all his life.

Had won two cups there. At thirty-five, he’d left the game for more than a year to rehabilitate his hips, which had been operated on extensively.

He’d returned to his team for a year, where his contract had ended.

Chase wasn’t sure what he’d expected. Auston was thirty-seven—a hundred in hockey years. The prevailing rumour was that he’d retire. Chase would have just missed playing at the same time as him.

Instead, they were playing for the same fucking team.

Chase’s heart was in full sprint mode as he got out of the car and went into the practice arena.

He could be cool, calm, and collected about this.

Sure, he had Auston’s game-worn jersey framed now, waiting in storage to be shipped to him if he got a spot on the team.

And, sure, Chase might still, occasionally , have had a fleeting fantasy about him.

But all that was in the past now. They were teammates .

Or, well, were gonna be teammates once Chase made the team.

And, who knew? Maybe Auston would take one look at Chase and fall madly in love with him. Would see Chase skate and tell him he’d never seen anything prettier. Maybe he wouldn’t mind that Chase smelt weird and hollow. He’d be able to see past that to who Chase really was.

But mostly, he was being very cool and calm about the situation.

He rubbed the sweat from his hairline, his hands, his upper lip. God, it was sweltering in the building. Had someone turned the heat on?

He made his way to the locker room, which was already buzzing with activity.

Training camp and preseason were always a little chaotic, what with all the extra players trying to make the team, but Chase loved it.

Feeling part of a pack had always been one of his favourite things about hockey.

He didn’t see the rest of the guys as competition—he was just battling against himself and his own potential.

He grinned at the room at large, waving and fist-bumping as he beelined for the guys he knew best—his fellow AHL teammates.

He didn’t feel any bitterness about fighting with them for a spot.

Frankly, he knew he was better than them.

He wasn’t the biggest or the strongest, sure, but he saw the game like a lot of his peers couldn’t.

He could spot passing lanes in less than a millisecond, could see where players would go before they did.

His play was smart . That was what the Spirits’ general manager had told him after his first camp, when he was informed he wasn’t making the team.

He’d looked at Chase and said they believed in him, that usually they’d put him right in, but they were in the rebuild stage—they wanted their players to come in a little more developed.

They wanted him to play big minutes, and that mean being sent to a lower league.

They’d made Noah Lavoie captain that year, though—a massive Alpha known for his physical game. It left Chase wondering if it really was just talent development that management was searching for and not some bulking up.

So he’d done both. Had concentrated on his game and concentrated on his physique.

Had watched the Spirits get better as the rebuild neared the end.

They had great assets in the pipeline—Chase included—and everything was coming together for the team to finally make the playoffs for the first time in seven years.

Chase wanted to be part of that. Wanted to be a core piece. Wanted people to reflect on the Spirits’ rise to success and say, ‘It couldn’t have been done without Chase Spalding.’

“Yo,” a voice called behind him. He turned to see it was Noah, silly smile in place, blond hair curly and eyes blue. They clapped hands and gave each other a pat on the back in greeting. “Been watching your game, man. Excited you’re here.”

Chase raised his eyebrows. In his experience, NHL players didn’t tend to watch AHL games. Noah was the youngest captain in the league, though, so maybe he was trying to do things right, going that extra mile to be a good leader.

Chase bounced on the balls of his feet, grinning.

“Yeah? Thanks, man. Me too.”

Noah shook Chase’s shoulder with one of his big paws, making Chase laugh and knock him off. “Come get me if you need anything, yeah?” Noah said.

“Yeah.”

Samuel Ahlstrand—or Sammy, as everybody called him—was next, a slim Omega with dark skin and the longest eyelashes Chase had ever seen in his life, holy shit. His big Bambi eyes complimented his round face and small nose. He looked like an ethereal forest creature.

“Hey, man. Welcome to camp,” he greeted in his thick Swedish accent.

Chase nodded. He’d been a little miffed that Sammy had made the team right out of being drafted a year before Chase— the Omega was even slimmer than him, limbs long and graceful.

Sure, his skating was impeccable, but Chase’s wasn’t too shabby either, and he’d had to wait his turn.

Chase opened his mouth, ready to match Sammy’s friendliness with his own, when Auston Mazdaki walked in.

A hush fell over the locker room. Or, nope, that was just Chase’s ears being filled with static as his blood left his brain.

His eyes tracked the Alpha. Fuck, he was even more handsome in person.

His thick, wavy hair and the stubble on his cheeks were shot with white.

His eyes were golden, lips resting in a serious line.

And, Jesus fucking Christ, his shoulders. His thighs. The tight shirt and sweatpants combo was doing absolutely nothing to hide his bulk. And, God, his nose . It was big and strong and dominating his beautiful face.

Like, what was the point of a nose if it wasn’t going to be huge and gorgeous?

“Uh, Chase? Chase ?”

Chase’s gaze snapped to Sammy. Right. He’d been saying something. No idea what, but it definitely had been something .

Sammy peered over his shoulder, spotting Auston and then Chase. His lips curled up in a smile.

Chase fought the urge to knock it off his face.

“You a fan?” Sammy asked, voice light and sugary.

“I mean, he’s a really good player,” Chase said offhandedly, patting himself on the back for concealing the truth, which was that Auston was the best player who had ever lived.

And yes, that included Gayne Wensky, who was, like, practically decrepit now, who gave a shit about him? Sure, he’d gotten like three hundred points in a season, but that was when goalies were practically naked and their primary tactic was ‘standing there.’

“ Mmhm ,” Sammy hummed like he knew anything at all.

Which he didn’t, because Chase was being totally cool about this.

Chase couldn’t help but find Auston again. The Alpha’s bushy eyebrows were tilted down slightly as he nodded at the guys, clapping shoulders and saying hi.

Chase had the sudden, electrifying realisation that Auston would probably put his hands on him in the next few minutes. Even if it was just a fist bump, it would be contact.

Sammy was still in front of him for some reason, pulling at Chase’s shirt. “You can share my stall during camp.”

Chase pouted. He wanted to share Auston’s stall. Maybe their things would mingle, and the Alpha’s scent would get all over his stuff. Chase wouldn’t be able to smell it, but other people sure would.

His gut clenched at the idea, legs getting a little wobbly. His skin was burning with just the thought of getting marked by Auston in any way.

Fuck, he really needed to get his shit together if he didn’t want to pop a boner in the middle of the locker room. That was not the first impression he wanted to make.

The beginning of camp was always a little brutal.

Yeah, they’d all been practising hard during the summer, but the coaches put them through hell to showcase that.

After thorough warm-ups, they started with suicides—going up and down and up and down the rink until Chase legitimately thought his legs would just turn to jelly and he’d melt into a puddle.

Every time his muscles even thought of giving up, though, he’d remember that Auston was watching him. Assessing him.

He couldn’t disappoint him.