Page 4 of Full Body Hit, Part 1

He stumbled out of his room and into the bathroom, making sure at the last moment not to slam the door—he couldn’t deal with an angry mom right now.

He leaned on the sink, gulping in air. The mirror mocked him with his reflection. His light-brown hair was a fucking mess, his normally pale skin red and sweaty. His lips were even pinker than usual—he must have been chewing on them without noticing.

He leaned over, turning the fluorescent light on and crumpling to the floor, his back against the cupboard under the sink.

His overstimulated brain took a while to silence. The shaking slowed as he breathed, head clearing a little.

Fuck. Shit. He was still hard and wet, but he couldn’t even think of bringing himself off. He just wanted to calm down.

He tucked his face into his knees, letting his mind drift out of the cage of his ribs and to somewhere safe. Somewhere soft. A little cave made of pillows and sheets and good-smelling things.

He wondered what Auston would do if he could see him. Would he be disgusted? No, not Auston. Auston was nice. He had to be. Maybe he’d put a big hand on Chase’s head so he could feel the gentle force of it. ‘You’re okay’, he’d say. ‘You’re good. You’re doing good.’

Maybe he’d hug Chase with his big arms and tell him everything was okay. That Auston would take care of everything. That he wouldn’t let Chase’s mom slice bits of him off until he was nothing.

He pushed the fantasy away—it was pathetic, needing so much praise. He was fourteen. His mom was always saying how he was an adult now.

He had to grow up.

But maybe he was allowed this today. Just this once.

He wobbled to his room. It barely smelt like Auston, just a wisp hanging in the air.

Chase crawled into bed, getting his weighted blanket out. He loved the pressure—it was almost like being held. He’d convinced his mom to buy one, saying how it was good for his muscles, how it helped with recovery.

There was a time when he’d been foolish enough to ask his mom for actual hugs. He’d been seven when he’d realised how ridiculous he was being. His mom had scoffed at him. ‘You’re too old for that shit’, she’d snapped.

The words were seared into his brain. He didn’t think he’d ever get them out. The tone of them, how the letters curled in on themselves in disgust.

It was silly, but nothing anybody had ever said to him had felt worse than that. Not the chirps on the ice or all the other stuff his mom had shouted at him during the years. Not even the bullying about not having presented yet had made that much of an impact.

He knew his mom was right, though. At some point, he had to outgrow needing that kind of stuff. At that age, though, he’d still been reeling from his dad’s death.

What he’d really wanted was to feel like he was still alive.

His dad had given the best hugs. Would pick him up and squeeze him so tight it was like he was trying to press all his love for Chase inside him.

After he died, it was like Chase had been left incomplete. Like there was just this ugly hole in his middle that people could see. He’d worked on covering it up, even if it hurt.

What would his dad say about all this? He probably wouldn’t have let Mom give him those pills, so this wouldn’t be happening at all.

He closed his eyes, sinking into the fantasy again.

Maybe he could stay down on the floor when Auston appeared. They’d be in the locker room together, playing for the same team. Chase would drop something, and Auston would walk over. Would put that big paw on Chase’s head. ‘Great goal, kid’, he’d say, face lighting up.

Maybe Auston would thread his fingers through Chase’s hair. Would pull on it a little, eyes bright and warm and—

Chase pressed his face into his pillow. He always took it too far. He didn’t need that shit. He was stronger than that.

He took a deep breath. Another. Forced his mind blank. Zeroed in on the feeling of the blanket, of the sheets, and drifted off.

Chapter One

CHASE

“Shit, fuck,” Chase cursed as he almost spilt the dregs of his iced coffee on his lap. He settled the cup in its holder, pausing for a second to get his shit together.

There was no reason to be this stupidly nervous for his first day of camp. He was going to crush it this year; he could feel it in his bones. He wasn’t a big player, but he’d put on fifteen pounds of muscle since he’d been drafted two years ago. He’d done his time in the OHL and then the Spirits’ affiliated AHL team. He was faster, stronger, more resilient. The New Orleans Spirits were gonna beg to have him on their roster.