by Kallie Frost
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The Full Moon Mates Series
His Omega Roommate
Icing the Omega
Espresso for his Omega
The Last Alpha Dragon
An Alpha a Day
Beneath His Alpha’s Wings
Chapter One
Carrick
Reid dropped into an impressive split, but the puck squirted past him into the net. I scooped another puck toward me and fired.
Goal
Goal
Block
Top shelf!
Miss
Goal
Block
Ping! Off the post!
Goal
Block
Goal
Goal
Goal
Miss
Post!
Block
Goal
Goal
I rocketed the last puck home between the post and Reid’s glove.
The coach blew his whistle. “That's twelve goals in twenty shots,” the coach said. “That puts you in fourth place. Not bad!”
I smiled, knowing that I could've done much better if I wanted to. The truth was I had been playing hockey since before any of these humans were born. I wasn't so self-centered to think that Reid couldn't have blocked all of my shots, but I was confident only one or two would have gotten by him, if I was really trying.
Of course, that was one of the downsides of spending time with humans. While never aging meant that I was in my hockey playing prime for all eternity, it also meant that, unless I wanted to draw attention to myself, I had to play with the knowledge that I couldn’t be too good in the back of my mind. Things like missing on purpose if I got too many goals in a row or sending a lazy shot that the goaltender could stop. Not that I never turned on the heat during an important game, but every shifter tries to stay out of the spotlight.
Holding back in sports never bothered me too much, not like the other downside of being a shifter; one that I was dreading it as it approached. It was almost time for my year away. After eight years of playing hockey with most of these guys, I could easily see that they had aged. None of them had noticed my youth yet, but it was only a matter of time before it occurred to somebody that I didn't look a day older than I had a decade ago. Before that time came I would have to leave. It sucked, in all honesty. Most of my family did their best to avoid getting too up close and personal with humans, but I loved sports too much, especially hockey, to do that. As hard as it would be to leave all of these men behind, I thought it would be a lot harder for me to never get to play.
Reid congratulated me on my effort and skated off to the side to do some stretching before our scrimmage. The coach waved us all over to him, earlier than he usually did. Once we were gathered he waved at the bench and a guy I had never seen before slid over the rails and skated toward us. We were a local amateur team that accepted every level of player, from the guys who never strapped on skates before, to college grads who had experience playing for higher tiered teams, and everything in between. This guy seemed like none of those. I had more than enough decades of experience to be a good judge of skating ability. In spite of his nervous expression, I could tell that he knew his way around the ice.
I was, however, a much worse judge of human ages. I couldn't for the life of me have said how old he actually was, but I was willing to bet that he was quite a bit older than anyone else on the team, aside from me of course. His brown hair was sprinkled with gray, particularly around the temples. A couple of guys on the team had gray hairs, but they were always bitching about being too young for it, and the other guys teased them. The corners of his eyes were creased by bird-feet or whatever humans called those wrinkles.
He was big too, bigger than me. He was either a power forward or a defenseman. If he had been a little more unsteady on the ice I would've figured him for a goon.
But, beyond the gray hairs and the laugh lines, it was his smile that had me captivated. He may have looked nervous, but even then his smile was warm and inviting. He was handsome. Quite a bit more handsome than I typically gave humans credit for. I found my own mouth parting into a smile just looking at him.
For a fraction of a second I entertained the idea that he was my true mate. I dismissed it just as quickly; a nice smile was probably not one of the signs that you just met your soulmate. I didn't expect a ray of light or heavenly choir or anything like that, but I figured there must be something more than just a compulsion to return a grin.
“This is Brooks Littleton,” our coach said. “Brooks?”
His nervous smile widened and he lifted a hand in a wave. “Nice to meet you.” He was talking to all of us, but it felt like he was talking to just me. “I'm Brooks… I uh, just moved down here from Minnesota. Used play hockey a while back, I got out of it… missed the game.” He laughed nervously. “I'm sure some of you get that. So, here I am. I don't know anyone in town, or the state actually, yet. So, I'm hoping to play some games and meet some folks.”
Everyone nodded and muttered their own greetings. Then the coach broke us up to get into position.
“Silv!” He waved me over. I joined them, feeling almost a little too eager to get close to Brooks. “Brooks here plays D. I figure since you’re our most senior on the D-line, you can show him the ropes and how we do things here.”
“I'd be glad to,” I said. Coach Rory nodded and skated off to talk to Reid. I turned to Brooks with a smile.
“Sorry, I didn't catch your name,” he said.
“Carrick,” I said. “Carrick Silvanus. Everyone on the team just calls me Silv.” I extended a hand which he took it in a firm grip. I found myself wishing that we weren’t wearing gloves.
I gave him a quick rundown of what to expect from one of our games and a few different signals and plays to be aware of, as well as a couple of tricks to use against different forwards who would be opposite us in the scrimmage.
The game began, and Brooks was a pleasure to play with. Since the team was split in half for the scrimmage, I spent a good amount of ice time playing alongside him. About halfway through our scrimmage an errant slapshot caught me right in the damn collarbone. The unexpected pain nearly brought me to the ground. Even though I insisted to the coach that it wasn't broken, and that I was perfectly fine, I knew I had a pretty good fracture. Luckily, it was something that would heal within a day or two. All I had to do was play it off until the end of practice and hope that the coach didn't do anything like try to accompany me to the ER.
On the bright side, I got to watch Brooks play for the rest of the game.
And he was good. Really good. He wasn't infallible, and made a bunch of mistakes, sometimes rookie ones. But I could tell from look on his face when he screwed up that he expected better of himself. I had a feeling that I was looking at a very talented player who was just past his prime, and probably a little rusty. He started to loosen up as the game went on and his playing noticeably improved. When it was over, we all trudged down to the locker room together.
“Good game,” I told him. “Looks like you're finding your hockey legs.”
He smiled at me, but it was lacking the warmth that it had before. “Yeah… It's been a long time as I was on the ice.”
In spite of my concern, I forced a big grin. “Well, you’ll be back in shape in no time.”
Brooks nodded. “How are you? That puck looked like it hurt. I can't believe it didn't break anything.”
“Oh, it hurt like hell,” I admitted, letting him change the subject. “I guess I've got padding in the right place though.”
He nodded again, this time in parting. “I'm glad. Anyway, thanks for helping me. It was great meeting you, and I appreciate everything. My locker is…” He jerked his head toward the far side of the locker room, on the other side of showers.
I appreciated the thanks, but there was something odd about it. Something final. I couldn't resist watch
ing him as he crossed the locker room toward the showers. Was it my imagination or was he limping just a little bit?
My thoughts were scattered by an exclamation from a couple of teammates when I took off my shirt. I was so busy thinking about Brooks I forgot that my shoulder was sure to look nasty. And indeed, I had one hell of a bruise spread across my collarbone.
I took my time changing, moving slowly to not aggravate the injury, before heading into the shower. Our practice arena was only about a half hour drive from Half Moon Island, but the only way to get to and from the island was down a two-lane highway – if you could call it a highway – that fed into all of the nearby towns on the peninsula. This time of night, it would be absolutely jammed with rush-hour traffic. As long as I timed it right, which I was quite good at, by the time I was showered and ready to go, the traffic would be breaking up and it would be an easy cruise back home.
My shower took longer than usual as I eased my throbbing shoulder under the spray and let the water wash over it. I was almost always the last guy out, even without an abnormally long shower, and was surprised to hear water still running after my shower was done. I stuck my head out and looked around the lockers. Empty; everyone had gone. I tilted my head, listening, and sniffed the air. Not that it made a difference. The locker room was saturated with the smell of sweat, soaps, and too much cologne; even my shifter nose couldn’t tell if someone was here. Add in the possibility they were standing under running water and I would never be able to smell them unless I shifted, but that wasn’t worth the risk. The most likely explanation was someone left the water running. It was still going after I dried off and pulled on my boxers, so I headed over to the offending stall to turn off the water. I shoved the curtain back and jumped out of my damn skin at the equally startled man on the other side.
“Holy shit!”
“Whoa, hey!”
I yanked the curtain closed so fast I hardly had time to process who was on the other side. Belatedly, I realized that it was Brooks.
“I am so sorry!” I said, raising my voice to be heard over the water. I shouldn’t have bothered, it shut off halfway through my sentence, so I just sounded like I was shouting. I cleared my throat. “I'm usually the last one to leave, and I thought someone just forgot to turn off the water.”
“That’s fine, I just kind of got lost in thought.” He stepped out, still wrapping a towel around his waist, just in time to catch me glancing at the clock. He had been lost in thought for nearly half an hour.
He flushed, suspecting I thought his story was a little flimsy. “My apartment has a really crappy shower,” he said. “The water is hardly strong enough to rinse the soap off and the hot water barely lasts five minutes. I’m…” He laughed, but I could see he found it anything but funny. “I'm a little sore after skating. I was just enjoying taking a hot shower and letting my muscles soak a little bit.”
“It's all cool,” I told him. “It's tough to pick up skating again, especially after break.” While I did know that from experience, I had a feeling that an older human probably felt the soreness more keenly than I did.
He headed for his locker and I had trouble keeping my eyes off him. While I dressed I couldn't resist stealing glances. It seemed like he was only getting more attractive. My shoulder was already starting to feel a little bit better, but I still took my time dressing. We finished around roughly the same time and headed up to the parking lot together.
“So, I'll see you at practice on Thursday?” I asked him.
He shuffled his feet nervously and then shrugged one shoulder. “Probably not…”
The thought of not seeing him again caused an odd knot in my throat. “Why not?”
“I… I mean it's been a really long time since I played hockey. Hell, it's been a long time since I was even on the ice, until today. I'm not really as good as I used to be.”
“So?” I laughed, hoping he could tell I was laughing more with him than at him. “There are guys who join the team who have never played before. You’re a little out of practice is all.”
“I'm a lot out of practice, and nowhere near as good as I used to be. Honestly, I thought I'd enjoy playing again. But I’m so rusty and out of shape, it’s just kind of depressing… and I'm pretty sore.” As he spoke he unconsciously flexed one leg at the knee.
“You can always get back into shape.”
“And I'm like twice as old as everyone else on the team,” he added with a bitter smile.
“Come on, you can't be that old. What are you, early fifties?” He looked absolutely insulted. “I’m kidding! Just kidding!” This is why I should never guess how old humans are.
“I'm forty-six,” he snarled.
“Sorry,” I said. “I was joking.” He looked at me skeptically. “Anyway, look you want… you want to get some coffee or something? And we can talk about practice?” I don’t know why I was offering. I was suddenly desperate to make sure he stayed on the team. Could he be my true mate? No, surely there had to be more to it. Maybe it was just that it had been a really long time since I'd gotten laid. I tried to think of how long it had been and realized that I couldn’t. Well that explained a lot.
“That's nice of you to offer, but…” He studied me for a moment before shaking his head. “I've got to take a bus and I don't want to keep you. I'm sure you've got better things to do than hang around an old fart like me.”
“You have to take a bus? I can drive you home. Where do you live? Especially since I did just offer you coffee.”
“No, it's probably pretty far out of your way, don't worry about it.”
I swung my stick over one shoulder and put on my best don't-argue-with-me face. “I'm offering and I have nothing else to do tonight. I love hockey and I can tell you do too, and I hate to see someone throw away the game if they don’t have to. Where do you live? Let's get coffee and I'll bring you home.”
“Half Moon Island.” The way he said it gave me the impression that he was just daring me to stick by my offer. Unlike most of the other neighboring towns it was the most inconvenient place to get to from here. But as it happened…
I grinned at him. “Small world. That's where I live.”
His eyes widened, and if I didn't know any better I'd say he actually looked excited about that. “You live on Half Moon Island?”
“Born and raised,” I told him. “I also happen to know the best coffee shop on the Eastern Shore. Let's go.”
“Why not?”
He followed me to my car, we loaded up our gear, and headed out.
We drove in silence for a few minutes, but it was one of those comfortable silences. It wasn't like we were each fumbling for something to say or feeling weird being a couple of strangers hitching a ride with each other… It was just… pleasant.
“I do appreciate you driving me,” he said.
“It’s not like you're really out of my way. But I am serious; I'd like to talk to you more about the game. In my honest opinion, you really didn't look half bad.” I glanced at him as I spoke and he raised an eyebrow at me, obviously skeptical. “Okay, so you definitely looked a little rusty now and again. But, it wasn't a lack of skill. I mean, I've seen rookies play. And even if you hadn't told me you used to play hockey, I could tell you’re no rookie. You look out of practice, but the bones are all there.”
“And then some…” he muttered.
“Some what?” I asked.
He didn’t answer. “I was good once,” he said instead. “But I'm only getting older, and by the time I get back in shape and reach a fraction of my former level, I'll be too old to play.”
“Then we’ll just have to work on getting you in shape sooner,” I said.
“Why do you care? I don't mean to sound rude, I just barely know you is all. We met like three hours ago, played a little bit of hockey, and now you’re giving me a ride, and I’m getting coffee with you, and you seem to really genuinely want me to keep playing.”
I frowned. I really didn't know. Why was I go
ing out of my way to help? I shouldn't have cared. Come April I was never going to see him or anyone else on the team again. Well, I'd see them, but they wouldn’t remember me. And I certainly would never play hockey with him again. He was human. Was I really going out of my way so I could keep playing hockey for a couple more months with this human? He didn’t push me for an answer thankfully; I didn’t have one.
Our conversation turned to a little bit of small talk. He didn't volunteer much information about himself, just that he was from Minnesota, played hockey there, stopped playing, and now here he was. Not much more than what he told us during his brief introduction. In turn, I didn't reveal very much information about myself either. Of course, that was because I never told humans much about myself. There was too great a risk of forgetting what white lies I was forced to tell to protect my identity. I certainly couldn't tell him that I born and raised on the island, but that it was eighty-two years ago. Nor could I say that I would be skipping practice in a couple weeks because I would be in a bunker underground turning into a wolf… Yeah. This was why I tried to steer clear of getting too up close and personal with humans. My family thought I was crazy just being on sports teams for extended periods of time with them.
At last, we passed through the final town before Half Moon. We stopped at the last red light and I caught sight of a shifter on the street corner. He must have smelled me because he caught my eye and we nodded to each other. There were a lot of us on the peninsula, mostly concentrated on Half Moon, but there were plenty of others scattered around. I didn't know him personally, but you can always tell another shifter.
“Friend of yours?” asked Brooks.
“Yeah,” I lied. “A lot of small towns around here.”
He nodded, thankfully not asking me anything more about the man. He was a beta, that was all I knew. Not that I would have given that particular explanation to Brooks.
The town turned into national parkland and the houses gave way to trees and marshes. Shortly after, the pavement turned into crushed oyster shells and the scent of briny marshes filled the air.
