Page 75 of Crossing the Top Line

I step more fully into the room, and his head lifts, the movement sluggish even to my eyes. On instinct, I take a few quick steps forward, hands out to soothe and check him over before I catch myself.

“It’s okay, Tor. I’m not hurt as bad as they’re making it out,” he says, pulling off his glove before holding out a hand to me.

I take it, his skin warm and grip sure as he pulls me closer until I’m standing between his legs as he sits on the exam table.

“That…that was a shitty hit, completely uncalled for,” I start, my words catching in my throat for a moment before I clear it and continue.

Spencer chuckles, reaching up to brush some hair away from my face. “Were you worried for me?” he asks, tone light and a little teasing.

I give him a sharp look. “I’m worried for everyone, especially with the way the Wardens have been out for blood all night,” I reply as a little heat rises in my cheeks.

“But if Owen took that hit, would you have run down here in such a hurry?”

I open my mouth to argue that I would have rushed down here if anyone on the team took a hit like that, but the sincerity in his ocean eyes catches me off guard. And the protest tastes sour on the back of my tongue, a skip of my heart revealing the truth. No, I don’t think I would have sprinted down four flights of stairs if anyone got hurt, just a select few.

Movement outside makes me jump, and I step back in time to avoid the trainer catching me in a compromising position. But right behind her comes Logan and…Oliver, of all people.

“What the hell was that?” Logan demands, raising his voice for what might be the first time since I’ve met him.

He’s not speaking to Spencer, but to Oliver, who simply hops up on the exam table beside Spencer’s, removing his gloves. He hisses as he flexes his fist, testing his range of motion.

“Comeuppance, Coach. That was comeuppance,” he replies simply, not looking at Logan.

“You could get suspended for shit like that,” Logan snarls, advancing on Oliver.

“They sent out the goon squad, Coach! You think I’m not going to step up and defend my teammates when the gloves get dropped?” Oliver replies, getting heated as he glares at Logan.

Logan turns away, running his hands through his deep brown hair as he takes a few paces in a small circle. I’m on the opposite side of the room from the door, so I can’t make my escape without drawing everyone’s attention. So instead, I try to blend with the wall behind me, pressing my lips together.

“Well, I hope you’re satisfied. King won’t be back in the game, but neither will you. And you’re damn lucky we can’t afford to bench you on this trip, or you’d be up in the press box at San Jose,” Logan growls, pointing a stern finger at Oliver.

There’s something off about his tone, but it’s not until the trainer flees from the room that I realize what bothers me. Logan closes the door, his shoulders relaxing before he turns to look at me.

“Sorry you had to see that, Victoria. Though I hope I can trust in your discretion,” he says, giving me a small, apologetic smile.

My mouth opens and closes several times in confusion, brain reeling from the sudden shift in his mood.

“I hope you benched King for at least a month,” Spencer grumbles, adjusting the plastic bag of ice on his shoulders.

“With any luck, I broke more than his nose,” Oliver replies with a chuckle, still checking out his fingers.

“You didn’t break your fucking hand, did you? I told you not to—”

“No, just tender. One of his teeth got me before I managed to knock it out.”

I let out a bark of manic laughter at the exchange between Logan and Oliver, drawing the attention of all three alphas. I look between them, trying to figure out what’s going on, or what drug I must be on to hear a coach condoning fighting among his players.

“We told King we were going to knock out his teeth for the shit he said to you this morning, Victoria. And I don’t make empty threats,” Oliver says with a smug smirk.

I turn my attention to Logan, trying to find reason to this madness. He simply shrugs before crossing his arms over his broad chest.

“They refused to share the specifics, but I picked up on the basic idea from the chirping. Report him for harassment,” he says, but it sounds more like a command than a suggestion.

I shake my head, finally gaining some of my mental faculties back. “I tried that when he was on the Mystic, but nothing happened. I’m sure that he’s gotten the attitude adjustment he deserved, though,” I say, looking to Logan first before shooting a glare at Oliver.

He doesn’t flinch, his smirk growing somehow wider. Logan, however, is giving me an assessing look, and I straighten my spine.

“So you’re as headstrong as all the rest of these chuckleheads. Great,” he sighs, running a hand through his hair again.

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