Page 19 of Full Body Hit, Part 1

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.”

“Nah, it’s fine. I’ve never had churros, actually.”