#i am being very brave in refraining from getting distracted with kent and owen's entire backstory

[workingforitallthetime]

drawn arrows unseen

part 11 / previous installments/tags

Two days later, the coaches call them all down for a meeting, or at least all of them who haven’t already had a positive test. They announce that the tournament is canceled. Omicron wins. 

The room rumbles with disappointment and frustration. Next to Mason, Connor’s silent. His expression above his mask is typically impassive. This must be easier on him. He’s got so many more world Js ahead of him. Mason tries to count how many more years Connor will be eligible, but he stops when it starts to get depressing.

This might be Mason’s last shot, but he can’t even be mad about COVID fucking his life up yet again. Distantly, he hates the loss of any opportunity to compete, to win. But he’s holding his entire body tense at Connor’s scent seeping through the edges of his mask — he’s been doing the same thing for weeks now — and he’s wrung-out and exhausted and grateful just to leave, to get away from the terrible flood of want that Connor’s scent threatens to unleash.

He thinks it’ll get easier once he leaves Connor behind. But his flight to Ottawa is excruciating. He’s restless and sweating, tugging at his mask to try to get away from its bleached factory scent. When they land, the only thing that stops him from shouldering his way up the aisle to escape the stifling confines of the plane is the obviousness of the Team Canada gear he’s wearing.

In his billet bedroom, he tips his suitcase onto the floor and unzips it. The scent that wafts out, preserved all the way from their hotel room in Red Deer, brings him to his knees. He stays there like a supplicant at a Samsonite altar and gets a hand on himself, and when his knot swells he curls up on the floor to ride it out with his face in his dirty laundry, waiting for the relief that’s surely going to come when his knot recedes.

The relief doesn’t come. But Mason does. Again and again. After the next knot, he fumbles for his phone and bites down hard on the inside of his cheek to clear his head long enough to send a couple of texts. He tells the trainer from the Petes and his billet parents something about a positive COVID test. Then he locks his door for the next three days. He gets through his first rut alone, just him and his hand and the fading scent from his untouched suitcase.

After he emerges, they tell him he’s getting traded. Hamilton’s a contender. He’s going to have a chance to go for a championship, maybe a Memorial Cup. All Mason feels is relief that he’ll never have to see that billet room again.

“Welcome, brother.” Arber Xhekaj is one of the first guys in Hamilton to greet him, giving Mason a back-thumping hug.

Mason flicks his eyes around the room in a silent question, and Arber claps him on the shoulder and answers loud enough for everyone in the stalls around them to hear. “No, only one alpha on this team.” He gives Mason a wolfish smile. “Two now.”

Mason locks eyes with him and waits for Arber to look away first. Arber smells like cinderblocks, but Mason feels like an avalanche. He wants to fight. With Arber, against Arber, it doesn’t even matter. He wants to hit and take and howl, and that’s what he does all spring. 

He leans into the aggression that’s supposed to come with being an alpha, hunting every puck, winning every board battle, taking whatever he wants. Is he fearless because he’s an alpha, or because he just doesn’t care? There’s nothing for him here except to win, so that’s what he’s going to do. He barrels through everything in his way, straight to an OHL championship and the finals of the Memorial Cup.

After they lose, he gets a text from Kent. i know it fucking sucks, sorry. Mason remembers talking to him after the Frozen Four. Kent gets that going to the NHL doesn’t make up for losing when it counts. They’ve been in touch off and on since the aborted world juniors. Kent shit-talks USA Hockey with Mason and tells him how Luke Hughes keeps saying he wants to be a beta because he has one brother who’s an alpha and one brother who’s an omega (what is the deal with all Trevor’s friends, Mason wonders) and he doesn’t want to deal with all their bullshit.

Mason doesn’t ask Kent about Connor. But sometimes Kent tells him about something that happened in their training group or a sick roller hockey goal he scored off Connor’s feed. Keeping in touch with Kent feels like keeping alive Kent’s theories about Connor, about Connor and Mason. Like cupping that tiny spark in his hands, making space for the possibility, even as Mason keeps telling himself no and he’s sixteen.

In July, he texts Connor hbd, how’s the beard coming? and updates his mental refrain to “He’s seventeen.” Connor reposts another photo from his girlfriend. She looks like she smells like a pink macaron. Mason wonders if Connor’s into that. Then he reminds himself that Connor can’t smell anything yet anyway. He must date whoever he wants.

(next)