Page 73 of Full Body Hit, Part 1

Chase stared, mouth open, probably looking dumb as fuck. Had that been a goal?

Noah knocked into him, followed by the defenders. It took Auston significantly more time to appear, tapping him one on the helmet.

Not even Auston’s obvious reluctance to celebrate could knock the smile off his face—he’d fucking done it. His first NHL goal.

He was shaking as he went to fist-bump the guys on the bench, laughing when Sammy reached out and knocked a fist into his shoulder.

He sat next to his fellow Omega after the celebrations were done, the cheers of the crowd ringing in his ears.

He wasn’t even supposed to have been on that line. It had been an odd line change as they kept pressure on the offensive zone, players going off to change one by one—Chase hadn’t had to, staying by the goal, not moving enough to need to freshen up his legs.

His mouth flooded with a bitter sweetness as he realised—his first goal had been assisted by Auston. Kid-Chase would be having a panic attack in excitement.

Current-Chase didn’t know what to feel.

It was only when the game was over, and he was being told to pose with the puck he’d scored with, that he realised someone must have grabbed it—he had been too busy celebrating.

“Auston got it,” one of the equipment managers said when Chase asked them.

A fucking knot tied around Chase’s heart, slowing the flow of blood until his head felt a little airy. He glanced over at Auston, who was half-undressed, big, furry chest on display.

“Oh,” Chase mumbled. What the fuck was he supposed to do with that piece of information?

He rubbed the edge of the puck, holding its familiar weight, feeling the texture of rubber under his thumb. First NHL Goal was written on the tape wrapped around the edge.

The knot in his heart loosened, and the beat of blood in his head took over. Vertigo slammed into him, making the world spin.

Maybe he could do this. Maybe he really could survive as a member of the New Orleans Spirits.

The PR lady handed him a Polaroid version of his photo. She insisted on taking another picture with him holding the Polaroid and then let him go.

Some of the guys crowded him, elbowing and jostling him playfully. He managed to untangle himself, laughing, ending up almost at Auston’s feet.

He looked up, and Auston was already staring back, eyebrows quirked up.

The visceral memory of Auston behind him on the hotel bed hit him between the eyes. It’d been almost a week since the incident, and he was still haunted by it, the sensations ambushing him out of nowhere.

He’d debated telling Aunix, but what would be the point? It wasn’t like it meant anything. And Chase was trying really, really hard not to think about it.

Auston had apologised again when they were home, but Chase had insisted that it wasn’t the Alpha’s fault. It was just a thing that had happened, like a natural phenomenon they had no control over. A storm that had washed over the room, rumbling the walls and drowning them in steaming water and then disappearing as quick as it came.

They hadn’t been in control of it, so they weren’t at fault for it, and that was that.

“Uhm,” Chase muttered, “thanks for grabbing the puck.”

Auston shrugged, waving the thanks away. “Let’s see the picture, then.”

Stupidly, Chase took a second to process the meaning of those words, too busy trying to keep his eyes above Auston’s clavicle instead of slipping down to his bare, broad pecs. “Oh.”

He handed the Polaroid over, twitching as his fingers brushed Auston’s.

He could feel his face heat as Auston inspected the photograph—did he look dumb in it, all sweaty and dishevelled and gross?

Auston held out the picture. “Cute,” he said, and the word kicked Chase in the chest. He reddened further.

“Yeah,” he replied dumbly, taking the opportunity to escape.

What the fuck was that?