Page 8 of Broken Ice
The only weird little moment between them happened the day after his first heat since arriving in Miami. It had hit him early in the evening, so Beau had barricaded himself in his new apartment and survived the loneliness and the pain and the endless void of what his heats had become. He came out of it at 6am feeling like shit warmed over, but at least it had allowed him to get a few hours of sleep and a thorough shower before going to practice.
Beau was sitting in his stall, zoned out with half his gear on, trying to gather the strength to finish, when he noticed someone looming over him.
There, standing deathly still and with a face set in stone, was Torres. Beau blinked up, and for a single beat, Torres smelt so fucking good that he swayed forwards. God, that rich and deep scent enveloped him the way he’d craved during the entirety of his heat. Torres’s broad shoulders blocked the harsh locker room light, big, long-fingered hands hovering between them.
He wanted those hands to touch him. To scent him. To slip inside him and—
Beau caught himself leaning closer and slammed himself back into his stall, heart slamming against his ribs.
“What the fuck?” Beau snapped, shooing Torres away from him—what the fuck was the guy even thinking?
Torres startled, stumbling a single step away from him. “Why—” The rest of the sentence seemed to be caught behind his clenched teeth.
Beau frowned. There was only one reason Torres would approach him, and it was bound to be about the way he smelt. “My Spidey-Senses are tingling, and they’re telling me you’re about to ask a stupid question,” Beau drawled.
“I don’t want to comment on your scent—”
“Great, that makes two of us.”
“—but there’s something wrong,” Torres finished.
Beau massaged his temples. The sheer patience needed to deal with Alphas was truly enormous. “I’m so glad we agreed that you’d be respectful and appropriate about my scent. Personally, I’m loving what’s happening right now.”
From the side, Pavel stepped in. “Em…”
Torres turned to him. “I’m not—I’d comment on it if I smelt any injury from anyone on the team.”
Beau had to cut in. “But I don’t smell injured, do I? Fucking Christ. I’m fine. I have a condition, okay? My heats are a little wacky. The docs know, we’re dealing with it, it’s none of your business.”
Torres’s frown was impressive both in intensity and form. “You’re okay?”
“Yep. See, us weak little Omegas can also handle tough things. I know it’s hard to understand for such a big, strong Alpha, but it’s true,” Beau snarked.
“Jesus Christ—this has nothing to do with you being an Omega. You smell hurt, you’re part of the pa—team. I’m just making sure you’re okay.”
Against Beau’s wishes, his resolve to be his usual bitchy self softened. Torres actually looked concerned, the edges of his mouth tilted down, the corners of his eyes pained. “Okay, well…I’m fine. Seriously. Thanks for checking up on me or whatever, but this is going to be a recurring theme.”
Torres nodded once, stood there like a freak for a few more seconds, and then pivoted and walked to his side of the room.
Pavel lingered. “You good? Not about the…condition. You want me to talk to him?”
“Nah, he’s fine,” Beau said truthfully. If he could survive one of his heats, he could survive talking about it with Torres.
But it had better not happen again.
***
Beau had been pretty fucking bummed when he’d learnt there was nothing the doctors could do to make his heats more bearable. This whole mess had been caused by putting shit in his body, and now it had to sort itself out until it returned to normal. Suppressants, painkillers, even anti-inflammatories—nothing should be introduced to his system while the heat was happening. The only thing that would help him was a trusted Alpha being there with him, and fuck if Beau was gonna let anybody see him like that.
The worst part was that there was absolutely no lead-up. One second he’d be fine, and the next, he’d be doubled over in pain and wishing for death. The most the team could do was ensure Beau always had a way to get home safely. He had authorised three different staff members to get him to a secure place, whether that be his apartment or a hotel room.
Luckily, most of his heats hit while Beau was relaxed, so they tended to happen when he was already home.
The preseason passed without a hitch, and Beau managed to play in every game. October, November—Beau was too consumed by finding his footing in a new team to have his body unravel in public.
Of course, that meant that the more comfortable Beau was with his teammates, the likelier the chances were that a heat would hit with them present.
Which really, really fucking sucked.
