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Shane is glad that he was only halfway through changing out of his gear when a chorus of shouts drew him out into the hallway. He’s glad that he isn’t the only out omega on the team, and he’s especially glad that his team listens to the concerns of its omega teammates and employees. He’s glad that, of the alphas and betas who make up his new pack, none of them would get near an omega when their heat comes on suddenly.
He just wishes his scent got that memo. That he’s glad.
“Breathe, Haasy,” he murmurs into Luca’s hair. Luca takes another deep inhale, then exhales with a stutter that rattles through both his and Shane’s bodies. Shane very carefully doesn’t tighten his grip on the back of Luca’s neck. “I know. Believe me, I know.”
The smell in the room is overwhelming. Shane’s scent, which doesn’t exactly smell good on the best of days, is soured by stress. Luca either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care, with the way his face is buried in the skin next to Shane’s scent gland as his own scent carves through the room, musty and powdery.
That scent was the first problem of the night. Shane took his time with his gear after practice, as he always does, and half the team beat him to the showers, as they often do. Ilya, as he often does, chose to meet with Wiebe to go over their plan for next week before he got undressed, since he knows how long Shane’s post-practice rituals can take. The only unusual moment, in hindsight, was Luca only stripping halfway before he bolted to the showers like someone was chasing him.
“Jesus fuck, Haas!”
“Out! Everyone get out!”
“The smell, oh my god—”
“I said out!”
Shane bolted out into the hallway at the first shout, and it took him a moment of blinking back tears from the sheer intensity of the pheromones filling the space before he realized that everyone who had tried to head to the showers was blocked from the room—pushed out by a deceptively calm Harris Drover.
“I can’t shower at home smelling like this, Drover,” Bood complained. “I was supposed to go on a date tonight.”
“We all know your wife is a beta, Zane,” Harris said as he crossed his arms. His eyebrow quirked upward, expression closer to disappointment than real anger, but his scent kept the pack at bay: smoky, almost gentle, save for the fact that it meant his patience was running thinner by the second. “No one is going back in there until Luca gives the okay.”
“It’s not like we’d—”
Barrett snarled wordlessly—Shane knew it was Barrett by scent alone—and Bood went quiet. The air in the room shifted. Everyone had heard stories of what alphas might do to help omegas through their heats, what omegas might be forced to do to help alphas through their ruts. Evidently, most of them would have preferred to leave those stories in the realm of bad porn tropes and scandals that were swiftly dealt with, and Shane in particular would have preferred to never think about any close calls he may or may not have had over his career.
But the presence of Troy Barrett, former friend of one Dallas Kent, forced the issue. If there wasn’t at least the possibility of such a situation happening, Barrett’s gentler beta scent would be fully smothered by the scent patches he applied with the same religious fervor Shane once had. As it was, the air tasted sharp with Barrett’s stress in a way that always jarred Shane, less of a smell and more of a slap.
“Hey,” Shane snapped. The warring scents in the hallway demurred at his voice. “You heard Harris. If you don’t want to shower at your houses, there’s a motel down the street.” Some of them got the memo and stepped past Shane to gather their belongings. Others, unfortunately, weren’t so eager to submit.
“C’mon, Hollywood,” someone in the crowd—Hayes, maybe, or one of the other betas—said. “It’s just us. We’ll be quick.”
And if it was any other team, any other omega, Shane would probably give in. He’d smother his displeasure under a scent patch and let Harris handle it, or wait for Ilya to be out of his meeting with Wiebe, or tell Luca to lock himself in a bathroom stall so the team wasn’t inconvenienced. It wasn’t as if he was captain. He didn’t have any sway over the pack.
But after so many years of being polite, being Canada’s golden boy, being so close to perfect that no one would dare question his place in the sport, he was tired of giving in.
“Are you insane?” he growled. When he stepped forward, the pack stepped back, then parted for him as he moved to stand between them and Harris. The last place any sane omega would stand was between an omega in heat and a pack of alphas. Shane didn’t care. “He’s in heat. I don’t give a fuck about your fucking shower. Send me a fucking bill if you have to.” Token protests rose from the pack, but they finally wandered back into the locker room—everyone except Barrett, who waited for the room to empty before he practically dove into Harris’s arms.
“That was so stupid,” Barrett mumbled into Harris’s neck. Shane stepped back as Barrett burrowed in, and Harris sighed, partly with fondness, mostly with relief. “So fucking stupid.”
“It was the right thing to do,” Harris replied as he scratched his nails over Barrett’s scalp. Both of their scents softened: no longer overwhelming sharpness or warning smoke, just the gentle crispness of a ripe apple, a sweet floral note before Barrett’s scent patch swallowed it. “You had my back. So did Shane.” Barrett nodded, then extracted himself from Harris’s arms to duck his head in Shane’s direction.
“Thanks, man,” he said, voice a little hoarse, but Shane politely ignored it to nod back. “What can I do to help?”
“You can watch the door,” Shane replied. Barrett eyed him warily. “I don’t think… you know the guys better than I do.”
“They wouldn’t,” Barrett confirmed, but he kept a protective arm around Harris’s shoulders.
“I’d still like someone out here,” Shane said. “The last thing we need is for some alpha to wander in.” It would be impossible, Shane thought, for an alpha to thoughtlessly wander in. The smell was strong enough even in the hallway that his eyes stung, and if anyone were to open the door, he was certain that he would be able to smell it all the way back in the locker room.
But it didn’t need to be thoughtless. It could be instinctual. Protective. Even the sweetest alpha could turn possessive under the right pheromone conditions—Shane had seen it happen to the alphas in his life, especially after he was outed as an omega. His stomach curdled at the scent memory of Hayden’s alpha posturing: burnt cinnamon and sour milk.
“And me?” Harris asked, straightening his spine. “I can get Terry.”
“That would be great, yeah,” Shane replied. “Can you let Ilya know as well? He probably heard it from the others, but he should know to not come looking for me. I’ll go in and check on Haas.” Barrett and Harris exchanged a look, then nodded at each other before Harris darted down the hall.
Shane stepped forward, and Barrett shoved a hand over his nose before he flung the bathroom door open.
Overwhelming. That was how Shane would describe it. He managed to get inside, to let Barrett close the door, but he had to take a few seconds to breathe through the tangible distress filling the air. The simple, subtle smell that Shane typically associated with Luca was smothered in something that reminded Shane of the little house his grandfather lived in before he died: old and musty and stale, not rotting, just… still.
“Haas?” he called once he got his bearings. There was a whimper from the back of the room. He walked with purpose, ignoring the squeak of his bare feet against the tiles, ignoring the way the smell in the room took on a thick, powdery quality as he got closer, as if it was a physical thing hanging in the air.
When he rounded the corner into the communal showers, Luca looked up from the floor, face green, glasses missing, naked except for a towel draped over his lower half.
“Es tuet mer leid,” he said, voice weak and pained, before he ducked his head back down between his knees.
Which is how Shane found himself on the floor with a woozy and overwhelmed Luca leaning against his side.
“‘M sorry,” Luca murmurs, another pained shiver wracking his frame. “I didn’t want—no heats, not here, never….” He mumbles something that could be German, but could just be too slurred to understand, as his hands spasm against Shane’s thigh.
“I can give you my doctor’s contact info,” Shane says. “She’s good. Discrete. I haven’t had a heat during the season in years.” Under normal circumstances, he would never discuss his heats so openly, but he doubts Luca will remember the details once his heat passes, given how out of it he is. It’s more than a little worrying, how easily he takes the admittedly minor comfort Shane gives him. If someone less kind had found him first…. “What are you taking now?” Luca hums, his nose nudging against Shane’s scent gland. Every few seconds, his breath stutters with pain.
“I thought about this, sometimes,” he slurs, “when I was young. Wishing Shane Hollander would talk me through my heat.” Shane does his best to not stiffen at the confession. “My heat is too… strong. Hurts. I wished for someone who understands, someone I look up to….” A shuddering gust of too-warm air breaks from Luca’s mouth, and hot tears sting Shane’s skin.
A lot of kids looking up to you, Yuna told him over and over, the excuse for why he couldn’t be anything but perfect. But here he is, struggling with his emotions, dragging a shitty team out of the mud through sheer force of will, no longer captain, out as an omega, mated to his former rival, and somehow, people still look up to him.
“I do understand,” Shane says quietly. He tilts his head to rest his cheek against Luca’s hair. “Have you always had painful heats?” Luca nods with a second, softer sigh. Understanding rolls through Shane like a wave of nausea. “Are you taking stronger suppressants than you need?” Another nod. Shane exhales, his body subconsciously curling around Luca’s. “That’s dangerous.”
“Sorry,” Luca whispers. “I’m going off during the off-season, but….”
“But there’s too much suppressant still in your system to have a proper cycle,” Shane finishes.
This was one of the considerations that went into his own cocktail of medications while it was still being properly dosed. The body of an omega who can’t cycle properly—even once a year, like Shane—will just force the hormones to build until they break through even the strongest suppressants. If Shane had to guess, based on how Luca has been acting at practice and during games, he’s been on the edge for a few weeks, and probably manually upping his suppressant dose as a preventative for even longer.
“Fuck, Haasy.” Luca winces, and Shane pulls him closer. “I’m not mad. I’m just worried. I care about you.” The last thing either of them need is for Luca to get rejection sickness on top of everything else.
“Merci,” Luca murmurs. His skin is scalding at every point of contact, even through the fabric of Shane’s under armor. “Back home, they have places… places you can go if there’s nowhere else safe, with daycares for pups. Not like the hotels here. Mini Mama would take me when she—” He yelps suddenly, his body jolts with pain, then he curls in on himself with a whine. Shane pets his shoulder and shushes him. “Hurts….”
“We need to get you off this floor,” Shane says. If Luca’s heat could pass without any further intervention, Shane would stay in the showers as long as he was needed, but the failed suppressants are a complication that won’t be solved without proper care. Luca needs a nest, badly, and medication for his cramps. “Do you want to go back to your apartment?”
It’s not something Shane would dream of suggesting if Luca didn’t need immediate comfort. Not that he doesn’t trust the other rookies to be gentle with Luca, but all four of them are split across two neighboring apartments, which means Young—an alpha—will be right next door. Even aside from the risks, Luca’s pheromones will only get stronger as his body purges his pent up hormones, which will make his pain worse, which will make his scent even stronger—it would overwhelm any other scent in the space. Sending Luca back to his apartment would be cruel to the other rookies, and Young especially, but they might not have another choice.
Luca trembles from head to foot and doesn’t give Shane an answer, so Shane asks again, “Luca, can you talk to me?”
Luca nods, brow furrowed. “Mhm. Yes, Holly.”
“Are you saying yes to me asking if you can talk?”
“Yeah….” Luca’s mouth twists in embarrassment instead of pain. It’s so cute that Shane can’t help but scent Luca’s cheek with his inner wrist. “Ask again…?”
“Do you want to go back to your apartment?” Shane repeats. Luca sighs, his lips turning downward before he buries his face in Shane’s neck. Before Shane can say anything else, there’s a knock at the door.
“Hollander? Haas?” That’s Terry’s voice. Luca whines, but doesn’t make any attempt to move.
“Come in slow,” Shane calls out. “He’s really out of it.” The door opens, and Terry swears as the smell hits him.
“Christ, kid, you’d think you were on uppers.” The words are quiet, but they echo across the tile. After a moment, Terry wanders over, face pinched with concern and maybe a bit of disgust. Shane can’t really blame him—or couldn’t, if he hadn’t spent the last ten minutes holding Luca. Something protective surges up within him as Terry kneels in front of them, and Terry notes it immediately, because of course he does. The only thing he really does about it is keep his movements slow for Shane’s sake.
“He said he’s been taking more suppressants than he needs,” Shane says, and his mouth goes dry as Terry presses the back of his hand to Luca’s forehead, but Luca fortunately doesn’t flinch away. If anything, he leans into the touch, a soft, wordless mumble escaping as his head tips forward. His unfocused eyes don’t quite lock onto Terry’s face, but his lashes flutter at the new contact. “How the fuck did he get more than he needs?” Terry’s gaze meets Shane’s as his hand shifts to the pulse point at Luca’s jaw, and Shane flushes belatedly at his own accusatory tone.
“Probably bought them the same way alphas get steroids,” Terry says. “Or forgot them on a roadie enough times that he had a backlog.” He gives Luca’s cheek a swift pat before he pulls back, which does make Luca flinch before he buries his face in Shane’s neck again. Shane pulls him closer, one leg shifting so Luca can slot more securely against his side. “A question for later this week, once he’s not heat high.”
Shane really, really wants to ask how Terry could have possibly missed Luca skipping his heat for over a year, maybe since he joined the team, but he gets the feeling that if he didn’t like Terry’s answer, he would do something he would regret later.
“Do you know how long he’ll take to come down?” he asks instead.
“Depends on how long he’s been suppressing,” Terry replies. “Yours are on the longer end, right? Not likely he’ll go much longer than that. There’s only so much the body can take.” Shane feels sick, suddenly, at the thought of Luca’s heat lasting for five whole days, a heat that’s unbearable even in the first hours.
Shane still remembers his first heat at the cottage after his medicine was dosed correctly, how terrifying it was to be so delirious and needy, how utterly alone he was for the first three days before he finally gave in and called his dad, and the cottage had been almost overprepared for a heat. If Luca has been looking, as Shane suspects, for something like the places he grew up with—somewhere private with personalized caregivers available—he probably wouldn’t be happy to spend his heat at his apartment even if the physical space was perfect for him.
And then there’s Terry’s other implication. Only so much the body can take. What if something goes wrong? Suppressant complications, high fever, rejection sickness, even something as simple as running out of food that can actually be stomached past the pain Luca is obviously suffering through.
“Is there anywhere he could stay?” Shane asks. “I don’t think it would be a good idea to send him back to his apartment.” Heat hotels are an option, but those are typically for mated pairs or someone with a hired escort. Luca’s current state makes proper consent an impossibility, and it would be irresponsible to send him anywhere alone.
“Well, for cases like this, we typically try to reach out to his billet family,” Terry explains. “Most of ‘em remember how cycles usually go, even if the player has already moved out. Haas was billeted with Hayes—”
Shane shakes his head sharply. Hayes is a beta, and so is his wife. Betas can take care of alphas and omegas through their hormone cycles—it would be impossible for them to form relationships otherwise, which they categorically do—but it’s harder for them, given their weaker sense of smell. The Hayes family doesn’t even have the benefit of frequent proximity like the two beta rookies.
Terry shrugs, then continues, “We also have in-house support in case something happens on the road. We can’t spare the staff to cover him full time, but we can convert the med bay into a temporary living space and rotate who keeps an eye on him.” Shane turns the information over in his mind. One of the staff omegas would be more than suited to the task.
The thought of leaving Luca alone in a sterile med bay for five days, completely at the mercy of anyone who happens to wander through the rink—Shane’s teammates, who Barrett vouched for, but also janitors, admins, people who can’t be vetted or accounted for, people who could hurt Luca—
A growl breaks from Shane’s throat before he can stop it. Luca gasps softly, then whimpers, his teeth chattering with fear and pain as another bloom of his stressed scent wafts through the room.
“Shh, it’s okay,” Shane murmurs as he scents Luca’s cheek again. “I’m sorry I scared you. It’s okay.”
“Holly…” Luca slurs. Shane feels lashes flutter against his neck before Luca practically melts against him. “‘M okay… you don’t have to….”
And that settles it, doesn’t it? Shane locks eyes with Terry, who gives him a very weary sigh. He doesn’t know what Terry was expecting. Everyone who knows him knows that he never does anything by halves.
“Can you get Harris?” Shane asks. Terry pulls himself to his feet with a grunt. “Want to talk logistics.”
“Sounds about right,” Terry says dryly. “You let me know if you need help getting him out of here, alright? His heart rate isn’t too high, and his fever is as expected, but it’ll get worse before it gets better.” Shane nods. As Terry leaves, Shane looks down at his rookie, watches the way his chest stutters with pain at every other inhale.
“Shane?”
“Back here, Harris.” Harris walks with more purpose than Terry did, so it’s only a few moments before his face appears around the corner. Also unlike Terry, he doesn’t hesitate to kneel in front of Luca.
“Oh, poor thing,” Harris murmurs. “You’re going to be so embarrassed about this when you come down, aren’t you?” Shane huffs out a soft laugh as Harris cups Luca’s over-warm cheek. “What’s the plan? Terry said you wanted to talk logistics.”
“So I have an idea,” Shane starts.
Harris raises his eyebrows. “I never know whether to brace for impact when you say that. Okay. Lay it on me.”
“I have this cottage in Lanaudière,” Shane says. Harris’s eyebrows raise even farther, and Shane smiles. “Fuck off. Yes, that cottage. We have it cleaned after we leave for the season, so there won’t be any weird smells that could set Haasy off. There’s a heat room in the basement, built for me, so it’ll be good for any other omega. I can make some calls to get the place ready on the drive over.”
“What, the three-hour drive? From here to Lanaudière?” Harris asks flatly. “That’s a lot, Shane. Why not the orchard? It’s less than an hour away.”
“Does the Drover family farm have a dedicated heat room and full climate control?” Harris rolls his eyes. “There just isn’t anywhere in the city that I trust. Terry offered the med bay, but we can’t kick out or screen the entire staff to make sure there are no weird alphas in the building. Young lives in the apartment next to Haasy’s, so we can’t send him there, and there aren’t any other omegas on the team besides me.”
“Heat hotel?” Harris asks.
“We both know those are hell when you’re single,” Shane deadpans. Harris opens his mouth to argue, but then Luca full-body flinches, his face scrunched in pain. Harris coos softly and rubs his thumb over Luca’s cheek.
“Harris…?” Luca murmurs.
“I’m here,” Harris says, a burst of his bright, comforting scent working through the air before it’s smothered by Luca’s. “How are you feeling?” Luca shakes his head with a soft whine, avoiding the question.
“He said his heats tend to be painful,” Shane says. Luca shakes his head again, and a single tear rolls down his cheek. “Luca, how would you feel about staying at my place while your heat passes?”
Luca sniffles, then manages, “You don’t… don’t have to….” His breath shudders as he shifts, burrowing into Shane’s embrace.
Shane looks back at Harris, whose mouth is pinched in a thin, worried line.
“You’re right,” Harris murmurs. “Sometimes heat hotels are all you get, but we can do better.” He nods, resolute. “Alright. I’ll ask Troy to pack a weekend bag for me. You should probably have Ilya do the same for you, unless you’re the kind of rich where you keep one of everything you need at your second house.” Shane blinks, and Harris smiles. “What, you didn’t plan for me tagging along?”
“Didn’t expect you to suggest it, maybe,” Shane replies. “I’ll need someone to watch him while I’m at practice, so—” Harris cuts him off with a snorting laugh. “Fuck you! I’m serious!”
“The crazy thing is I know you are.” Harris shakes his head, fond at first, but a note of waxy sadness wafts through the air after a moment. “This whole thing is crazy.” Shane nods, unable to come up with any response that isn’t just agreement. Most omegas don’t get the chance to ride out their heats in comfort and privacy. Most omegas, even if they have superficial contact with someone who could give them that comfort and privacy, either wouldn’t be able to request it or would turn down any offer.
Luca would certainly turn it down if he could. He had tried, twice, to tell Shane that he was fine, that he could handle his heat alone. Shane swallows. The thought of one of his teammates from the Voyageurs—even an omega teammate—taking him in for a cycle when he was young and felt unable to say no… he doesn’t want to be that person for Luca, not when he’s so vulnerable.
“Luca,” he murmurs. Luca hums softly. “I want to help you, okay? I want to make sure you’re safe. If you don’t want me to look after you, tell me, and I’ll find someone else to do it. Terry said you can stay here. There are omegas on staff who know how to get you through this.” He sighs, his heart clenching anxiously, but he forces the emotion down. “Just be honest, please?”
For a long moment, the only sound in the room is Luca’s labored breathing. Then, his breath hitches.
“I want to stay with you,” he sobs. Harris presses closer, murmuring soft noises of comfort as Luca curls in on himself. “Can I stay with you, Holly? I don’t—I don’t want to be alone. It hurts. I don’t want to be alone, please….”
“You won’t be alone,” Shane promises. “I’ll be there with you. So will Harris. We won’t let you be alone.” Harris presses a quick kiss to Luca’s forehead. When he pulls back, his eyes are suspiciously shiny. “We should drive your car. Ilya and I drive together too often.”
“On it,” Harris says. “I’ll send Troy to my place. Shouldn’t be more than an hour. Will Ilya need more time than that?”
“No,” Shane confirms. Harris stands and takes an aborted step, staring down at the two on the floor. After another moment, he shucks his flannel and holds it out to Shane.
“Just—keep him comfortable, okay?” Without another word, Harris darts from the room, already muttering to himself. Shane drapes the flannel over Luca’s shoulders, then shifts both of them, bracketing Luca in with his knees so Luca can lean fully against his chest.
“Just breathe,” Shane murmurs. “You’ll be okay. I’ve got you. Just breathe.” Shane wouldn’t consider his scent to be particularly comforting, but with a plan in place, his body finally seems to have gotten the memo that there’s nothing to be stressed about. Luca sighs in content as Shane’s earthy, medicinal scent washes over them.