Page 7 of Full Body Hit, Part 1

Auston didn’t even glance at him. Not even once. Didn’t matter how hard he pushed, it went utterly unnoticed.

It was stupid to feel as disappointed as he was, as if someone had grabbed an ice cream scooper, emptied out his insides, and replaced it with something heavy, something dirty that would leave a residue even if it was removed.

They weren’t even teammates yet. There was no reason for Auston to pay him any attention. It was his own dumb fault for obsessing over the Alpha. For using him to comfort himself when things got rough.

The thing about not having a scent was that Alphas eventually caught onto the fact that there was something wrong with him. He was good-looking, so they’d fuck him, but every single one would eventually realise there was something missing.

And Chase was totally fine with just hooking up. He was twenty years old. He didn’t want a mate.

Or, at least, he didn’t want to want a mate. Which was practically the same thing.

What was there to complain about, really? He was hot and young and athletic. He could go into any bar, and there would be someone who wanted to fuck him.

It was just that maybe, sometimes, Chase thought about what it would be like to be in a relationship. To have someone to go home to. Someone safe. He wondered what it was like to have an Alpha tell him he was good enough, even though there was something wrong with him. To show him that despite all the pieces that were missing, the ones that were misshapen and ugly, he was worth keeping.

Perhaps his Alpha would even give him big, crushing hugs every once in a while. Not all the time, obviously; he wasn’t a child, but maybe after he did something really well, like playing a great game. They’d wrap him up in strong arms, squeezing tight. Would tell him that he’d done good.

That he was good.

But that was where Chase had fucked up—not only imagining all those ridiculous scenarios but starring Auston in them. Every time he used one of his dumb stories to calm down after his mom berated him, or after a bad game, or after one of the Alphas he’d thought could maybe like him told him they didn’t want to see him anymore. Those had been a million tiny little fuckups that had led him to that moment, standing there staring at a real-live Auston and not getting even a slice of attention.

So he was bound to be disappointed no matter what happened. He’d been expecting too much. He knew that.

So he was totally chill about being ignored that first practice. And the second one. And the one after that.

Chase had to earn his way onto the roster to be friends with Auston, he decided.

And then the coach put them on the same line.

Chase didn’t freak out. They’d been in training for almost two weeks—they were a skip away from the preseason. Chase had habituated to Auston. Or, almost habituated to Auston. Which was practically the same thing.

They were practising two-on-one breakaways. Auston and Chase were supposed to careen towards the goalie while Noah tried to stop them, Sammy far behind, trying to catch up.

Auston had the puck. They were in the offensive zone. Chase’s head was filled with cotton, Auston’s presence burning, fraying his nerves.

Auston sauced the puck perfectly over Noah’s stick and onto Chase’s tape.

Chase took the shot.

The puck bounced off the side of the near post and away.

Chase’s cheeks burned. That had been a perfect feed from Auston; the least he could have done was get a shot on net.

The whistle sounded.

“Again. Chase, your puck this time.”

Fuck. Chase nodded. Breakaways were easy. Either shoot the puck or send it to your partner to shoot.

The point of the exercise was to shoot it to your partner, maybe have the other person bounce it back to you to get the goalie moving. You weren’t supposed to shoot the puck yourself unless you were confident you get it in.

Chase shot the puck. It went over the crossbar, missing the net entirely.

Again.

“Come on, kid,” Auston complained. “I thought you were the next big thing.”

In another world, that would have been a simple chirp, but it landed all nasty, Auston’s voice low and rough, eyes flat. Chase knew it wasn’t just him being a wuss—Noah frowned and Sammy skated between them with a, “It’s all a process.”