PROLOGUE
KOEN
My legs move through the exercises and drills the coach and his assistants push us through, my mind never once thinking about quitting. I’m smaller than the other guys at this development camp, which means I need to skate harder than the others.
That’s not exactly a surprise, I’ve always had to do this.
I’m sixteen years old, working my ass off for a chance at my dream. Some of the guys teaching us are former professional hockey players, and their advice is invaluable. I'm a sponge each day I’m at camp, and eating up all the tips that are being given. The only thing I care about is showing that I can not only do the work, but that I have what it takes to grow too.
Anyone can have talent. If they’re not willing to put their ego aside, then what the fuck good is it for?
I haven’t found my designation yet, and I don’t much care what it is. Alpha, beta, omega, it’s just a biological thing that people put too much emphasis on. Who the fuck cares?
The ice, biscuit, and getting it past the goddamned goalie is all that matters.
Taking my first full breath since camp started, I drag myself to the locker room to change for the last time. It’s been ten grueling weeks of training, and it’s finally over. Now, we’ll all move on to continue working our asses off. There are so many ways to get onto a professional team, it’s just a matter of finding what works for me.
I should be exhausted, and while I am, I’m also excited. I held my own out there. I know I can do this.
“Jeffries!” a yell comes from behind a glass window. It’s where the coach works from while we hustle in and out of the locker room. The blinds are down, but I would swear he has superhuman hearing.
No one fucks around in his locker room.
Pulling off my jersey, I drop it on the bench as I walk in my skates toward the office. My blades are covered to protect them, and my body aches as I move. Still, I force my jelly-like legs to hustle so I won’t keep him waiting.
Everyone else ignores me as they talk excitedly about what they’re going to do with the rest of their summer.
“Yes, sir,” I say, poking my head into the office. He’s a coach to a really successful team, and all of his training has been solid. I’ve grown in huge ways this summer, and I’m excited to see what senior year will look like for me.
“Close the door for me, son,” Coach Foster says, his dark eyes narrowing as he glances up.
I fucking reek. I know it, he knows it, the entire camp does. The locker room is one of the most disgusting places in the world, yet after a while, it stops affecting you.
Shutting the door, I remain standing because sitting isn’t possible. I’m sweating so much, I’ll just leave a giant wet spot on his chair, which is gross.
No thanks, I’ll stand.
“You’re sixteen, right?” he asks, leaning forward on his arms.
“Yes, sir,” I reply, though I know he has to know all of my stats. What’s the point of this?
“The rest of the guys out there are twice the size you are, even without pads,” he murmurs.
“Maybe, but I’m quick on my feet and I’ve got soft hands. It’s not all about who can beat the other guy into the boards,” I remind him.
God, what are either of us trying to prove? I don’t think the coach should be measuring everyone else’s performance against mine on the last fucking day of camp. I’m one fucking kid. Why is he riding me so hard, and why now?
“You can’t evade every hit,” Coach grunts. “One day, your teammates won’t be there, and you’re going to get hurt. Think about it, Jeffries. There are so many bright eyed kids working for their break. You’re almost delicate looking, kid. How is an omega gonna hit the ice and not get hurt? Hockey is full of dick heads who take what they want, sometimes by force.”
My mouth fills with saliva, the way it does right before you vomit. Forcing myself to swallow it down without it reflecting in my face, I give the beta a blank stare.
“I think I need a little more context, sir,” I say slowly. “I don’t know my designation, and speculating things about force is a bit concerning.”
Coach slams his palms on the table angrily, causing me to jump.
“It should be!” he screams, his face turning red before he forces himself to take a breath. His words return to a quieter tone, but they’re no less malicious. “A lot of shit goes down in locker rooms that no one talks about, Jeffries. You’re not going to be able to fight the alpha pheromones or barks if you’re an omega. No one will care, and they will not stop until you’rebroken. No one will respect you if you’re the team’s plaything. Quit now. Your future is already written in stone. I can see it. As the smallest one in this camp, I know you’re not gonna be an alpha or even a beta.”
“So I should quit because I may get brutally raped while doing my job?” I ask, my eyes burning.
