Page 6 of Full Body Hit, Part 2 (Alpha Omega Hockey #6)

He managed to wait through a series of endless drills to approach Chase again.

“Good work,” he called out as the whole team jostled each other to get off the ice first.

Chase blinked at him, looking over his shoulder as if he were expecting Auston to be talking to someone else. It soured the back of Auston’s throat, but he kept it off his face.

“You wanna stay a while? Help me practice my shot?” He now knew Chase enough not to suggest they practise Chase’s shot, or he’d think the worst.

Amazingly, Auston was learning.

Chase had stopped skating to the exit, mouth open, staring up at him. “I…help you ?”

“It’s okay if you don’t want to.”

“Oh, no—I mean, of course I want to. I mean…yeah. That’d be cool.”

Auston let a grin spread on his face. “You having a fanboy moment?”

Chase scoffed. “Shut up.”

Auston laughed, taking a detour to tell one of the assistant coaches that they’d be using the ice a little longer. She gave him the go-ahead and the bucket of pucks they’d just collected.

He turned, pulse thrumming, but his body froze as he saw Sammy standing with Chase, deep frown on his face. Auston skated closer slowly, Sammy homing in on him the second he was close enough.

“His slapshot is fine,” Sammy bit out.

“Sammy,” Chase complained. “We’re practising his slapshot.”

It was amazing how fucking scary Sammy could be, considering he was on the small side for a hockey player. Auston would rather fight with one of the 6′5 behemoths in the league than face off with Chase’s best friend.

Chase touched Sammy’s arm. “Seriously. It’s good.” Then lower, as if Auston couldn’t hear him, “He’s been nice since the concussion thing.”

Auston’s heart squeezed.

Sammy remained unconvinced, raising a sceptical eyebrow in Auston’s direction. Chase whispered something Auston didn’t catch, and Sammy softened around the eyes, turning back to Chase.

“Okay, but I’m checking on you later,” Sammy claimed.

“Sounds good.” Chase grinned, jumping on Sammy to give him a big hug, and Auston had to watch as they wrestled unsteadily on the ice before Sammy skated away with a last glare in Auston’s direction.

Chase winced sheepishly. “Sorry.”

“What does he think I’m gonna do to you?” Auston grumbled. “I’m not a fucking serial killer.”

Chase shrugged. “He’s just protective. Uh…by ‘help’, did you mean feed you pucks? Because that’s as much as I can offer.”

“You know that…Michigan goal better than me.” Auston regretted saying that the moment it left his mouth, recalling how he’d barked at Chase in the middle of a game after the kid tried the move—scooping the puck with the blade of the stick behind the goal and trying to stuff it into a corner of the open net.

It was one of those moves that the old guard just wasn’t into—too sneaky as the player tried to pull something from where the goalie couldn’t see. Too showy.

But it took balls to try and pull it off…especially as a rookie.

Predictably, Chase’s face twisted. “I thought you weren’t a fan of that,” he pointed out.

“I think we should all just collectively forget everything I’ve done and said for the last few months. That was Dick Auston. This is…Real Auston.”

Chase considered him, eyes searching his face. “That doesn’t seem possible, you being two completely different people.”

Auston’s lungs clenched. “Then…give me a chance to be better. I want to be better for you.”

That might have been a bit too much. Chase’s eyes widened, lips parting, the silence falling between them heavy the way only vulnerability could make it.

Auston fought the urge to clam up. To take it back.

Chase took a deep, audible breath. “Okay. Yeah. I can do that.”

Auston gave a jerky nod, hope a wash of clear liquid that drained the tension out.

He kept the extra practice light, suggesting a game of keep away, not unlike that day they’d had to make a video and had ended up playing tag with a coat.

God, he should have known he was weird about Chase—that there’d been something there from the beginning.

It was forty-five minutes into messing around that Chase asked him to help him with his shot. “You don’t need the help, but my one-timer is shit.”

“Hey, now. No need to be so critical.” Which, yeah, was ironic coming from him. “I’ll give you some pointers, though.” He nodded to where Chase should stand. “Show me what you’ve got first.”

Auston fed him a couple of pucks, analysing how the kid hit them.

“Okay,” Auston called out, skating over. “You’ve got to go lower. Let me show you.”

Auston hit a few pucks from Chase, getting down low onto his knee to slap it into the right corner of the goal.

“Jeez,” Chase said. “I’m never gonna get it like that.”

“Yes, you will. It’s about momentum more than strength. Come here.”

Chase slid sideways, making a small noise when Auston grabbed him and positioned him with his back against Auston’s front.

“You have to use your whole body, yeah?” His heart was pounding, mouth dry as what he was doing hit him.

This was Charlie. His Charlie—the one who had fucked himself desperately for Auston the night before.

His baby.

Auston’s hands clenched on Chase’s hips. God, there was barely an inch separating them. Even in the cold air of the empty arena, Chase was all warmth, cheeks red, mouth parted, slick and dark inside.

What would Chase do if Auston pressed them closer?

He moved Chase along with his instructions, showing him how to twist his torso. “That’s good,” he murmured and watched Chase shudder at the words.

Fuck. Fuck.

He let Chase go, body burning.

This wasn’t what he was there for. He wasn’t supposed to be seducing Chase—just befriending him.

“There you go. Try that,” Auston ordered, voice scraped through with sandpaper.

Chase took a long moment to move. The first few shots he tried shaky, going wide, but then he focused again, moving just like Auston had told him.

God, the kid was brilliant. Auston had been so fucking blind.

They had to stop eventually, but even as they got showered and changed, Auston couldn’t let go just yet.

“You wanna grab lunch? You can come to mine. I can cook something,” Auston suggested.

“Oh. You really don’t have to,” Chase said, fumbling with the shirt he’d been putting on.

“It’s okay if you don’t want to.”

“No, I…yeah, that sounds good. Thanks.”

Auston smiled.

He hoped it didn’t look as feral as it felt.