“You’re dragging your feet,” Rhodes grunts. “It’s also pissing Daddy off.”
“Dammit. I’m trying here,” I say, dragging my fingers through my hair. I haven’t styled it in a few days, so I have a feeling it’s sticking up in all directions. “When I was sixteen, I went to a hockey camp and it was incredible. I didn’t know my designation. I was just a very determined kid in a sea of teens. I was smaller than the other high schoolers though, so the coach made a point of calling me into his office.”
“For what?” Skylar asks, confused. “To point out your smaller stature? All kids have to grow into their full potential. Height, strength, maturity all come with time. Designation can be a factor as well.”
“Well, that’s the reason he called me into his office,” I admit, blowing out a breath. “He told me he thought I was going to be an omega and I should quit.”
“He…quit? Your stats are insane,” Skylar says, his hand waving in the air angrily. “Other teams make a point to attack you on the ice because you’re a strong player. I don’t understand why he’d say this to a sixteen year old.”
“Coach Foster’s thought process was I would be an omega, and as such, an easy mark,” I say, leaning forward to rub my temples.
I’ve never spoken about this before.
Something icy is pulled over my scalp and face until I can’t see.
“Ummm?”
The eye part is pulled up and I suddenly can see again. The tight and icy hug around my head also helps and I realize it’s a migraine skull cap.
“This helps Skylar when he gets a migraine,” Rhodes says simply. “I could feel your head hurting.”
That’s going to take some time to get used to.
“Thank you, Rhodes. This is amazing.”
Rhodes nods before signaling for me to continue with a flip of his wrist. Ugh, I’m not getting out of this. At least the cold is helping to numb my mind of the clawing anxiety Coach Foster always makes me feel.
“The coach began to tell me horror stories of omegas in hockey getting raped by their teammates,” I finally force out. “He said alphas would never take me seriously, and they’d simply use and abuse me. No one would care, it’s part of hockey culture.”
“No, it’s not,” Skylar grits out. His arms cross over his bare chest as he listens to me, getting more and more annoyed by our conversation. Oh well, they started it. “Who the fuck does this guy think he is? It’s truly inappropriate that he scared you with the assumption that you’d be raped by the people you’re supposed to trust. Your team fucking goes to war for you on and off the ice. They care about you.”
“I’ve been playing hockey for ten years,” I explain. “I’ve been teased, ogled, and inappropriately groped before. I’ve also insisted on being traded the second it happened. I refuse to be someone’s fuck toy.”
“Fuck,” Skylar mutters. “That’s not what I meant when I called you that?—”
“I would have fought you harder if I thought you did,” I reply, blowing out a breath. “I’d also already be gone. I love my team, but I can’t handle living in fear every day just so I can play hockey.”
Shifting in my seat, I watch as Rhodes' large body hunches in his loungewear, listening to me intently. On the other hand,Skylar appears to be struggling to hold back some very choice words about Coach Foster, and I appreciate his support.
“I was lucky enough to immediately click with them. I’m currently the only omega on the team, but they don’t care,” I say. “I keep trying to get Coach Foster’s words out of my head. I just can’t. They keep following me. I ended up leaving the locker with my shit after his little speech and showered at home. I didn’t tell my parents either. I didn’t want them to make me quit playing.”
“Do you think they would have?” Skylar asks.
“Possibly, or my father would be in jail for beating the hell out of my coach,” I say. “I didn’t want either thing to happen, so I didn’t say shit.”
“Rape culture in hockey rooms isn’t as prevalent as your coach told you,” Skylar says. “Most places have cameras everywhere, and they’re simply too busy for that to happen. There’s also fraternization clauses.”
“No one seems to care about a fraternization clause here,” I chuckle.
“No, they don’t. I’m finding that Coach Weightman does whatever feels right for his team,” Skylar says. “If it comes up, I’ll file for pack rights which overrides the clause.”
“Wow,” I mutter.
“You shouldn’t be surprised by this,” Rhodes says. “Is it fast? Maybe, but scent matches tend to move quickly. Instincts and need supersedes the need to feel things out.”
He’s not wrong. My mind is still reeling with everything. It’s too new for me not to have concerns.
“Coach Foster is retired,” Skylar muses, glancing up from his phone.
