Page 8 of Full Body Hit, Part 1 (Alpha Omega Hockey #5)

CHASE

“ Y eah, Mom,” Chase said into the phone, trying not to mumble. She hated it when he mumbled. “I just got to practice, so I’ll talk to you later.”

“Work hard. I don’t know what they’re letting you do out there, but you need to push harder.”

“Yeah, for sure. Okay. Bye.”

His mom hung up without saying goodbye.

Chase sat in his car for a little while, trying to fold up the sick feeling in his gut, to make it smaller, neater, to slot it away where it wouldn’t make him want to fall apart.

Preseason had not been as awesome as he expected. He wasn’t playing his best—he knew he wasn’t. He just couldn’t seem to be able to pull it together and do what he knew he was capable of.

He’d been relegated to the third line, centring the forwards with Marco (Jimmy) Jimenez and Girgory Novikoff on his wings.

It was na?ve to think he’d be in the top two lines—the first one had Noah and Sammy on it, along with Bergerstom, which everybody called Belly, and the second was centred by Auston, obviously, flanked by Brody Reat and Alex Obnizov.

At least Vincent Alamilla and Ian Ginart were paired defencemen on the third line—both of the guys were friendly and patient, something Chase apparently needed.

Not that Simeon Andreev and Advait Singh on the first defencemen pairing weren’t nice—they were just more experienced, expectations higher when playing with them.

The best part of it all, frankly, had been Sammy.

Chase became a staple in Sammy and Noah’s apartment, would be invited by the Omega for lunch, dinner, for a movie, to go to the park.

Sammy was the first person he truly wished he could scent—it’d be comforting, Chase thought.

Chase would try to sniff himself, see if his scent was good enough, even if it was fake.

It was wild, how excited he’d been to meet Auston, but what he’d gained instead wasn’t too fucking shabby compared to that—an actual, real-life friend.

Not that it would last long.

The bright optimism that had glowed at the beginning of camp has died a gory death.

He didn’t know what was wrong with him. During games, it was like his brain and body disconnected.

He’d see the play he should make, but his muscles hesitated, missing his chances and killing plays because of it.

He’d panic at the last moment and do something stupid, causing turnovers left, right, and centre.

It was pathetic, and his mom made sure he didn’t forget that.

He just didn’t know how to fix it .

Every time he tried to push harder, to be better, the image of Auston’s disdainful snarl rattled through him like a hit.

He should have passed the puck. He knew that. He’d just fucking frozen. Auston’s intense eyes piercing through him, the fear of failure making him block out everything else.

The incident was weeks ago, but it still clung to him, a never-ceasing stink.

And that was without thinking about what happened outside the bar the other day. Chase still couldn’t think about that without wanting to rip his skin off, how he’d gotten all upset watching Auston flirt, downing drink after drink until he was so dizzy he’d had to step outside.

It had helped for a bit, but then Auston had practically crashed into him. Chase should have just let it go, but the very sight of Auston—the sharp, smooth planes of his face, his dark eyes, his broad shoulders, it’d made the jealousy and frustration flare again.

Chase hadn’t been able to control it. Had run his mouth, probably not even comprehensibly, until Auston had taken him back inside like he was a child.

They had barely spoken two words to each other since then, which was quite the feat, seeing as they were on the same damn team.

If only Auston had gotten the memo.

He’d heard the phrase ‘Don’t meet your heroes’ before, but he hadn’t quite understood it.

He did now.

His skin was itchy, mouth dry as he stepped into the practice arena. Management had called him into a meeting. Preseason was over—he was about to be relegated to the farm team.

He’d been so sure that this was the year for him. That the universe had aligned so he could play with his idol.

Instead, the idiot Alpha was the reason he was being sent down. Yeah, Chase was the one playing like shit, but he refused to take all responsibility. Vets weren’t supposed to shit on rookies that were trying to claw into the league.

He made it to the coach’s office, also finding the GM there. Fucking great, a two-man firing.

Or was it a demotion? It didn’t matter. His heart was going to be equally bruised.

Chase sat down. Tried to school his expression, grateful, for once, that he didn’t have to worry about his scent giving his devastation away.

The GM began talking. He was a stocky guy, eyes droopy but bright, nose bulbous and permanently reddened, skin like old leather. Coach was the opposite, skin smooth, eyes thin, hair always perfectly in place.

Chase nodded appropriately as they went over how camp had gone. They were complimenting him now, but that was just to butter him up for the axe.

“We know you still need some development, but we think you’ve reached the point where being up here will do you more good than being in the minors.”

Chase nodded. Froze. Replayed the GM’s words again. “Sorry, what?”

Coach stepped in. “We’re impressed with your play.

We see you’ve got the jitters, but we think that staying up here will get rid of those.

We’re going to put you on the third line for now, okay?

But we’ll give you enough minutes so that you’re developing.

But you gotta get some confidence back, kid.

All your mistakes are because you’re doubting what you know you should do. ”

Chase’s heart was going to hop out of his mouth. “I made the team?”

Coach snorted as the GM smiled. “Yep. Welcome to the Spirits.”

Chase wasn’t entirely sure what was said next. There were a lot of ‘thank-yous’ from his side, a lot of promises that he’d do better, that his head was in the game, that he wouldn’t waste this opportunity, but everything in between was white noise.

He was bouncing by the time the meeting ended. He practically skipped to the locker room, which was already full of guys preparing for practice.

“Guess who just made the roster?” he proclaimed loudly.

There was a pause, and then Chase was knocked into by a bunch of teammates.

“Hell yeah,” Noah cheered as Sammy kept repeating, “Told you. I told you so.”

Chase laughed, accepting the hair rustling and teasing punches and slaps on the back. He stumbled to his stall—his permanent, NHL stall with his name on the top. He stared at it for a second, blood fizzing.

This was it. This was his actual chance. He turned around, catching Auston’s gaze. The Alpha nodded once, face blank.

Something oily and dark and sticky coated Chase’s lungs at the memory of that night outside the bar. ‘Not yet’, Auston had mocked.

What about now? Chase wanted to demand. Would Auston make an effort now?

It wasn’t worth dwelling over. Who the fuck cared about Auston Mazdaki? Chase had made the team, so obviously the Alpha’s opinion wasn’t worth shit. He was just an old, washed-up loser, too bitter to let the new generation in.

All the gold-plated admiration rusted at that moment, curling in on itself, shrinking into something mangled and ugly.

Chase didn’t have to prove himself to Auston. He was a fucking NHL player, and he wasn’t going to let the dumb Alpha get in the way of that.

***

Chase had been spending a lot of time at Sammy and Noah’s apartment. His mom had insisted that he not bunk with anyone else, that he should be independent.

Chase was too tired to fight, so he’d gotten a small condo and had instantly regretted it. It was too bare and hollow. Didn’t smell like anyone. Didn’t feel like home.

Not that anywhere had really felt like home, but he’d hoped New Orleans would turn into that for him.

Maybe it was too soon. He was always asking too much of the world, expecting to get things right away instead of earning them.

He hadn’t earned safety. He hadn’t earned a home. He had to keep working until he was worth something more.

Chase didn’t know if Sammy had caught onto how lonely he was, or if the Omega was naturally this friendly, but he was constantly inviting Chase over.

“We should order some celebratory food. What do you want?” Sammy asked, scrolling through his phone, presumably on some takeout app.

They were both slumped on the cream-coloured, U-shaped couch that dominated the space.

Noah was sitting on a cushion on the floor, way too close to the massive TV, headset on and playing something with his brother, Beau.

Chase wanted pizza, but his mom’s voice sounded in his head. That would be bad for him. His body wasn’t something to coddle and treat. It was something functional that should stay in line and do what he said. “How about some poke bowls?”

“I mean, I was thinking something a little greasier, but if that’s what you want…”

Noah must have caught some of the conversation, because he knocked the headset to his neck, turning towards them. “You ordering food?”

“We’re getting poke bowls.”

Noah wrinkled his nose. Chase huffed.

“ What? They’re good!”

“I wanted a burrito or something. We can get guac. Ooh, and a quesadilla. Oh, dude, and those churros they make? Sammy, you know the place I mean?”

“We’re letting Chase decide.”

Noah blinked his pleading eyes at Chase. “Dude. Those churros are so good. Trust me.”

Chase had never had a churro in his life. He was pretty sure his mom would have an aneurysm if she knew he was eating fried desserts.

But…it wasn’t as if she were there. And he had just made the team. That was, like, a once-in-a-lifetime thing.

Unless he continued to play like shit and was sent to the minors again. But Chase wasn’t thinking about that.

“Okay. Let’s do that place.”

“ Yesss ,” Noah cheered even as Sammy interjected, “Don’t let him bully you. We can get poke if you want.”