"Nice move," Aidan calls as I circle back for the next faceoff. His smile is genuine, but we both know the truth.
"Don't do that again," I mutter as I pass him.
He blinks in confusion. "Do what?"
"You know what."
Coach blows the final whistle before he can respond. Practice is over, but the unease that's settled in my gut remains.
As we file toward the tunnel, I catch fragments of conversation, snippets that wouldn't have meant anything a week ago but now feel loaded with subtext.
"Malloy's looking good out there."
"Yeah, moving really well for a guy who just had a concussion."
"Different, though. Did you notice how he?—"
I tune it out, focusing on putting one skate in front of the other. The suppressants are wearing thin, fatigue creeping in at the edges of my awareness. I need another dose soon, before the woodsmoke scent returns and confirms everyone's suspicions.
In the locker room, I keep to myself, avoiding eye contact as I strip off my gear. The practice went well. Better than I could have hoped, really. I proved I can still play. Still contribute. Nothing has fundamentally changed about my ability to do my job.
So why does it feel like everything has changed anyway?
Zayn walks past my stall, pausing just long enough for me to notice. "Guess I was wrong," he says, voice pitched for my ears only. "You did great out there."
I look up, suspicious of the sudden praise. "Thanks," I say cautiously.
His smile doesn't reach his eyes. "Though I did notice Jax shadowing you on that forecheck in the third shift. And Dmitri pulling up on the boards. Subtle, but sweet, right? The way they're looking out for you?"
My jaw clenches so hard I'm surprised my teeth don't crack. "Fuck off, Copeland."
"Just calling it like I see it." He shrugs, moving away. "Welcome to the omega experience, Brick. Hope you enjoy being the team's newest handicap."
I want to go after him, to grab him by his perfect hair and slam that smug face into the nearest wall. But the rational part of my brain, the part not overwhelmed by new, volatile emotions, knows he's baiting me. Trying to prove his point about omega instability.
I turn back to my gear, focusing on the routine of packing up. Across the room, Aidan is watching me, concern written across his features. When our eyes meet, he gives me a tentative smile that's clearly meant to be reassuring.
"Good first day back," Jax says, appearing beside my stall. His voice is casual, but his eyes are assessing. Checking in on me without making it obvious. "How are you feeling?"
"Fine." I stuff my skates into my bag with more force than necessary. "Why wouldn't I be?"
He doesn't rise to the bait. "Just asking. We've got a team meeting tomorrow morning before practice. Eight AM."
"I'll be there."
He nods, clapping me on the shoulder before moving away. It's a normal gesture, the kind of casual contact teammates share all the time. So why does it suddenly feel like he's handling me with kid gloves?
The answer is obvious enough.
Because he is. Because they all are.
I finish changing quickly, eager to escape the subtle wrongness that's descended over a space that used to feel like home. As I sling my bag over my shoulder, I catch Dmitri watching me from across the room. The big guy holds my gaze for a long moment, then gives me a single, solemn nod.
I don't like the way he's looking at me. The way they'realllooking at me.
The way they look at an omega.
Yeah, I gotta do something about that.
