Page 8 of Full Body Hit, Part 1

Auston didn’t reply, not even glancing at Chase.

They weren’t put on the same drill again.

Chase tried to concentrate on the next four players practising the breakaway, but there was a ringing in his head that wouldn’t stop, the canals of his ears vibrating.

He managed not to embarrass himself during the rest of practice. The coach even slapped him on the back as they left the ice, complimenting his ‘good work.’

Ahead of him, Auston snorted, catching his gaze for a moment. His eyes were no longer beautiful. They were empty and mocking.

Chase nodded at the coach even though he wanted to tell him not to lie. To stop humouring Chase if they were just going to cut him from the team at the end of preseason.

Or even earlier if he kept playing the way he had that day.

He managed to swallow it down, a molten ball of sick that made him burn up. He didn’t know if the red-hot feeling was directed at himself or Auston or a mixture of both. All he knew was that he was crawling out of his fucking skin.

He’d played badly when he’d gotten to Juniors, too. He’d been fifteen and had been trying so hard to pretend nothing got to him, that he was the player his last coach had said he was—something special. Someone with talent, with vision.

But those first few weeks in a new locker room had been hell. He’d been constantly paranoid about his artificial scent—the kids in his team were older now, and he was afraid they’d notice something was wrong with him. That one slip-up would reduce him to a squirming, begging slut.

It was fantasising about Auston that had always calmed him. He’d sat on the bench at his stall one day, gear on and minutes away from a game, and imagined Auston there. How all the Alpha’s attention would be on Chase, calling him over, and Chase would know exactly what to do, getting to his knees and bowing his head.

Auston would thread his fingers through Chase’s hair. Would cup the side of his face, maybe, or even slip two fingers into his mouth, casually possessive, showing the whole locker room Chase was good enough to keep.

‘You’re good’, Auston would say. ‘You can do this.’

Somehow, it’d worked. Chase had gone out onto the ice with a steady heart and scored his first two goals of the season.

Chase had been proud of his ingenuity. Now, he couldn’t feel anything but embarrassed for thinking of Auston that way—for being so weak that he’d needed to be reassured by a fictitious version of him.

Chase must have been staring at Auston—the real, cold-eyed Auston—for too long, standing awkwardly in the middle of the locker room while Auston undressed, because the Alpha quirked an eyebrow at him as their gazes locked.

“What?” Auston asked. A few of the guys around them had gone silent. Chase could feel his heart in his throat.

“I’m trying.” The words just burst out of him, washed to shore by a wave of embarrassment. He could feel his cheeks go hot and red. He sounded like a child.

Auston wrinkled his nose. “Are you actually upset?” he poked, and Chase couldn’t make out the tone. Was he making fun of Chase for being upset, or did he not believe Chase was upset at all?

“I…” The words got crushed in his sternum, his throat.

Auston snorted. “Yeah. How about you stop faking it, and then maybe we’ll get somewhere.”

The conversation was over, apparently, Auston turning away as he ripped his undershirt off.

Chase managed to unstick himself from the floor and walk to his own stall.

What the hell was Auston even talking about? What was Chase faking?

A shadow fell over him. “What was that about?”

Chase looked up to see Sammy standing there. “Uhm…nothing. I don’t know.”

Sammy’s eyebrows knotted together. “You sure?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay…well, I was gonna say—let’s go to lunch. Just us two.”

He wanted to say no. Wanted to go back to his hotel room and crawl into bed. Maybe make a nest—just for a few hours. It wasn’t like he needed it; he wasn’t that much of an Omega, but it was nice to have one sometimes even when he was out of heat.