Page 2 of Full Body Hit, Part 1

The doctor flipped through the papers he was carrying. “I don’t see a mention of that,” he said, directing the question at Chase’s mom.

“I didn’t think it was relevant. It’s been prescribed by a doctor, so—”

“You didn’t think the medication packed with Alpha hormones was somehow relevant to a sudden dysregulation during presenting? How…why would Aletadone be prescribed to a fourteen-year-old?”

“He was having trouble presenting—”

“Fourteen is absolutely within the average range of presenting. Which doctor prescribed this?” the doctor cut in.

“Everybody in my family presented when they were no older than twelve.”

“That’s really not relevant here. He may take after his Alpha parent. Who prescribed this?”

Chase followed the conversation as if he were watching the worst tennis match in history, heart pumping faster with each lob.

Chase’s mom’s face was as red and as etched in stone as he’d ever seen it. She and the doctor stared at each other. Chase had no fucking clue what was going on.

His mom was telling the truth. Or, well, most of the truth. He’d never gone to a doctor to get those pills, but his mom had said they were necessary to help him present. He’d taken them willingly—most people hit their growth spurt after presenting, especially if they were an Alpha.

Which Chase was supposed to be.

He’d never entertained otherwise. Well, okay, he’d tried not to think about being an Omega. About how nice it sounded. He liked the look of nests, of gentle and pretty things. He liked the idea of being told he was doing a good job. Of being tender.

Those were Omega things, his mom had insisted—Alphas weren’t that soft. Alphas were strong. They were leaders. Trailblazers.

They were hockey players.

Never mind that there were plenty of Omega hockey players in the league. Chase had given up on arguing with his mom a long time ago—it was just not worth the berating that followed.

Chase had wanted to be an Alpha. Or, at least, he’d wanted to want to be an Alpha. He’d taken the pills without complaint. If that was what had messed him up, it was his fault for being an Omega in the first place.

The doctor and his mom were still arguing. His head was full of cotton.

He jumped into the fray. “I asked for those pills. I wanted them to…to be a better hockey player. Sorry.”

The edges of the doctor’s mouth pulled south. “When my child asks to have candy for dinner, I say no because I know better and, as a parent, it’s my responsibility to make sure my kids don’t endanger themselves.”

Chase blinked slowly. What the fuck did that have to do with anything? His thoughts were like treacle dripping through a sieve. His head hurt. He wanted to lie down and make the pain stop.

The doctor let out a sharp explosion of breath. Chase flinched. He hated making people angry—it filled his heart and gut with ants, made him want to scoop himself out and make himself small.

“We’ll start you on this treatment, but you have to tell me if you take anything else. Got it? This is a delicate medication. You also have to be consistent in taking it. Releasing your pheromones could put you in danger. Could trigger someone to bite you without your consent. Or their consent, really.”

That got Chase’s attention. “Wait, so if someone smells me, they’ll, like…go crazy and bite me? Mate me?”

“Well, if they’re attracted to Omega scent and unmated, it’s a possibility. The heat that would hit you would also be debilitating without the aid of pheromones of someone you find compatible. So. Please be careful. We’ll do regular checkups at the beginning, just to make sure everything is okay.”

Chase nodded. “So, wait…I can’t show anybody my scent? Ever?”

“Well…if you do get mated, the issue will settle. So. Not until then, I’m afraid.”

“Oh. Okay.” That seemed like an impossibly long time away.

Chase tried his hardest to listen to the rest of what the doctor said. He took the first dose of the treatment, lying on the exam room bed for twenty minutes afterwards as they made sure it had no immediate adverse effects. He almost fell asleep right there, but his mom tapped him awake each time.

“Keep the menthol with you—you’ll still be able to smell for the next couple of days, so stay home. Give us a call if anything unusual comes up,” the doctor ordered.

Chase mumbled an assent. The pain was diminishing, his skin settling. He didn’t feel like crawling out of it anymore, and the tiredness was hitting him instead.