Jax frowns, and I brace for the alpha lecture. The “you should be more careful” speech. The “think about your health” bullshit. I've rehearsed my counter-arguments a dozen times since picking up the prescription.
But he surprises me.
"You know people are going to find out eventually, right?" he says, his tone devoid of judgment.
The reminder sends a pulse of anger through me. "You think I don't know that?" The words come out sharper than intended. I take a breath, forcing my voice to level out. "I'm not trying to hide it forever. Just long enough to prove I'm still the same defenseman I've always been."
Jax studies me, and I can practically see the wheels turning behind those gray eyes. He's not sure. Weighing the risks, probably. Wondering if I'm making a colossal mistake that will blow back on the team. On him, as captain.
"Is this going to be a problem?" I challenge, feeling my hackles rise. Of course he's going to be an alpha asshole about this, just like Zayn. They're all the same when it comes down to it.
But once again, Jax defies my expectations.
"It's not the worst idea in the world," he murmurs, glancing over his shoulder at the team running drills. "If it buys you time to adjust while showing management you can still play..."
Relief floods through me, though I try not to show it. Having Jax's support, however tentative, matters more than I want to admit. "That's the plan."
I notice Aidan watching us from the drill line, trying to look like he's not eavesdropping. The kid's about as subtle as a fog horn, leaning so far in our direction he might topple over. I catch his eye and smirk.
"Got the idea from a friend," I say, loud enough for him to hear. The smile that breaks across his freckled face is almost painfully earnest.
Before Jax can respond, the familiar scent of leather and arrogance approaches fast. Zayn skates up, stopping hard enough to spray ice.
"What the hell is this?" he demands, glaring at Jax. "You're letting him practice?"
"Last I checked, I'm the captain, not you," Jax says coolly.
He earns some points for that. If he keeps this up, I might even forget the bark thing. Or at least pretend I have.
"He's anomega," Zayn hisses, like it's a dirty word. "He's not cleared to play. And what the fuck happened to his scent? Is he trying to?—"
"He's on blockers," Jax cuts him off. "And suppressants."
Zayn's eyes widen, then narrow dangerously as he turns to me. "Are you fucking insane? Those things are?—"
"Prescribed by a doctor," I finish for him. "It's my decision. My body."
"Darren is still part of this team," Jax says, his voice taking on that captain's authority that makes even alphas hesitate. "That hasn't changed. We're going to practice. End of discussion."
Zayn gives a disbelieving laugh. "Practice? How exactly are we supposed to play when we're all going to be instinctively protecting the omega?"
Something snaps inside me. Before I can think better of it, I've shoved Zayn hard, sending him stumbling backward. "Worry about protecting yourself," I snarl, pushing off and skating toward the drill line.
His outraged shout follows me across the ice, but I don't turn back. I join the lane drill already in progress, slotting in between Dmitri and Jones and Peterson. Dmitri gives me a subtle nod, acknowledgment without comment. Exactly what I need right now.
The drills start simple, quick transitions up and down the ice, nothing that tests my contact ban. I push myself hard, skating faster than necessary, my edges cutting deep into the ice. Every stride feels like a statement.
I belong here. I haven't changed. I'm still me.
When we shift to defensive positioning drills, I feel a surge of confidence. This is my specialty. Reading the play, anticipating movements, using my size and reach to fuck up passing lanes. I might not be able to hit today, but I can still be a wall.
"Looking good, Brick," Coach calls after I break up three consecutive entry attempts. "Sharp as ever."
The praise shouldn't matter as much as it does. I find myself straightening, pride warming my chest despite my best efforts to stay detached.
We move to special teams next, power play and penalty kill rotations. This is where it gets tricky. These drills are built on chemistry, on reading your teammates' intentions, on split-second adjustments. I'm hyperaware of everyone around me, even through the dampening effects of the suppressants. But I manage to tune out what I shouldn't be able to pick up on as a beta.
We run through several more rotations, and I stay sharp throughout. My body feels different. Lighter somehow, more attuned to the space around me, but my instincts remain unchanged. I still read the play the same way. I still make the same defensive choices.
