Page 17 of Fresh Ice
“Get away from the door,” Alonso ordered as steadily as possible. He had to pretend to be strong.
Alonso waited until he heard shuffling and a muted, “Okay, I did,” before stepping out. He didn’t want to make his fear obvious, but he felt utterly wrung out and terrified.
He’d worked his whole life to get to the NHL and hadn’t managed to keep his body on lockdown for one miserable season. He’d never had an unplanned heat, the aftereffects of it still straining his lungs and heart, the ever-present cramps worse than usual.
More importantly, he’d never been at the mercy of anybody else, but here he was, having just handed every single drop of power to Levy.
It frightened Alonso that he didn’t know what he’d let someone do to him if it meant staying on the team.
Levy appeared as exhausted as Alonso felt, his body hunched over, but at least he didn’t smell actively in rut. He took a slight step forward as Alonso appeared, and Alonso flinched away instinctively.
Levy froze completely. “Olive,” he choked out, sounding distraught, but Alonso couldn’t listen to anything else.
He gave Levy a wide berth and, after a moment, watched him disappear into the bathroom. He stood in the middle of the room for a long while, too overwhelmed to do anything else, the scent of Levy all around him.
Levy came out eventually, looking a lot more put together after cleaning up. “Your stuff is still in there.”
Alonso nodded shakily and went for his own shower.
He’d do anything to wash the previous night away.
Alonso was still trembling, but he didn’t know if it was the medication or how fucking jittery he was. He hadn’t felt this type of anxiety since he was a small kid, wondering what his dad would say to him in the car after a bad loss. There had just been something about being in that small space with him, trapped and unable to turn away from the harsh words, that had made Alonso feel even smaller than he was.
He’d learnt how to bear the brunt of it eventually. This, though, he had no idea how to survive.
He tidied his suitcase in the bathroom, stalling in the hopes that Levy would have gone to the bus by the time he was finished, but no such luck. Levy was sitting on his bed as Alonso stepped back into the room.
Levy straightened at the sight of Alonso. “Hey. Are you—are you okay?”
Alonso fought to keep his face stoic. “Yes.”
“That’s, um, good. I just—”
“We should go downstairs. I don’t want to be late,” Alonso cut him off. Whatever Levy wanted to say, Alonso simply couldn’t take it right now, still woozy from the medication and lack of food.
“Oh. Okay, yeah,” Levy said.
Alonso let out a breath of relief as they finally left their hotel room. He never wanted to see those four walls again.
Killer gave them a wide smile as they made it to the lobby. It was stupid, but there was something about his missing teeth that made him look friendly and approachable. “There they are. Did you two bozos even have breakfast?”
Alonso shrugged. “Not hungry.”
Killer’s eyebrows raised, clearly unconvinced, but he didn’t press the issue as they were all herded to the bus that would take them to the airport.
Alonso glanced at Levy as they got on. His only hope was that Levy wouldn’t tell anybody about Alonso being an Omega until they got home.
A year after presenting, Alonso had been stupid enough to ask his dad why he couldn’t just let people know that he was an Omega—why there weren’t any Omegas in the league despite technically not being banned.
His dad had been blunt in his answer. He’d told Alonso that there was a sanctity to Alpha spaces. That Omegas were seen as sexual things, and Alphas felt like they had to perform in front of them.
Plus, his dad added, he trusted Alonso not to ‘open his legs up’ to just anybody, but the same couldn’t be said about others.
It was when he got older and started hearing how his Alpha teammates spoke about Omegas that Alonso realised the truth behind his dad’s words. He’d watch boys who vowed to be his friend and teammate talking about how easy Omegas were. They’d share pictures of their latest conquests, seeing who could get an Omega in the most compromising position.
There was just no space for people like him in professional hockey. It clashed with the culture that Alphas had built—of being rough, daring, unbothered by the latest politics or social correctness.
If Alonso revealed he was an Omega, he would be harassed and ridiculed and stripped of any opportunity in order to keep the Alpha sanctum of hockey intact.
