Page 85 of Crossing the Top Line

“We’ll do whatever we can to help, Victoria,” he says emphatically.

For the first time since this all started, Tori’s gaze softens as she looks up at him. Something inside me twists, that recurring jealousy I don’t deserve trying to force its way into my heart. But I shove it down.

“Thank you. I…I don’t know what’s going to happen. All my doctors ever told me was not to miss a dose, ever,” she says, fear skittering across her expression before it vanishes.

I turn away, heading into the kitchen. Oliver has this handled, and it’s clear my presence isn’t needed or wanted.

I go straight to the box of liquor I’d bought to share with my teammates, pulling out a fresh bottle of tequila, cracking the seal with one firm twist of the cap. Finding a glass, I pour a quadruple shot and throw it back. I’ve sobered up quite a bit, and the burn of it feels like a weird form of penance.

“They say only alcoholics drink alone.”

I look up at the sound of Elijah’s voice, my shoulders slumping as I lean forward against the island counter. He’s halfway between me and the entrance to the living room, a sharp silhouette obscuring his expression. I shake my head, looking back down at my glass as I consider pouring myself another drink to prove his point.

“Did you really not know?” he asks, voice softer but much closer.

When I look up, he’s next to me at the island, staring up at me expectantly.

I shrug. “That leaving would fuck her up this bad? No, absolutely not. I thought… During onboarding, they said that omegas could request a new alpha at any time, and alphas weren’t obligated to finish a heat if they weren’t comfortable. They made it sound like it would be no big deal,” I explain, forcing as much honesty into my words as I can manage.

“No one at home taught you anything about heats? Your mother?” Eli pushes.

I can’t tell if he’s trying to give me the benefit of the doubt, or talk himself into hating me like Oliver clearly does. But there’s a glimmer of hope, and I reach out to seize it with both hands.

“No. My mother’s an alpha, a psychologist. She never had a bond mate or any pack mates, and her understanding of omegas was purely academic. I got the basic birds and the bees, but…”

Eli nods, expression pensive. I want to keep explaining myself, but I don’t know what else I can say that wouldn’t dig this hole I’ve made even deeper. After what feels like an hour, he looks back at me.

“With a family as big as mine, we weren’t given the luxury of ignorance when it came to designation relations. Sonya, my biological mother, was an omega, and she made sure me and all my brothers were taught every gory detail. And based on all that, and what little I remember from my pre-med courses, the next few days aren’t going to be easy,” Eli starts, words as distant as his gaze.

I want to ask, but nerves strike my heart and still my tongue. It’s not like I’m going to be able to escape it, the truth of that emphasized by another ear-splitting crack of thunder outside. Eli shakes himself free of whatever thoughts were swirling in his head and looks up at me, brow set.

“I’m not sure what the next few days are going to be like in this house, but we’re going to go at Tori’s pace. Whatever she wants, or doesn’t want, goes. Understood?”

I try to read between the lines of his cryptic words. But the tequila clouds my senses, and I blink, trying to clear my double vision. After a long few heartbeats, I nod, moving to pour myself another drink. However, before I can even grab the bottle, Eli is there, taking it away. I look at him, confused and irritated.

“You’re going to need your wits about you, I think,” he says simply, putting the cap back on.

I want to argue, but as I turn to follow him as he puts the bottle back with its friends, I sway on my feet, nearly falling to the floor.

He wins this round.

It’shardtosleepwith the noise of the hurricane battering the roof above me, and that’s only made worse by the thick alpha scent clinging to the bedding around me. Elijah, judging by the cranberry and cinnamon notes.

I don’t know how long I’ve been in this room, the smallest bedroom they allegedly have. It’s still about as big as my entire living room and kitchen, so “small” is relative, it seems. I need to take whatever medicine I can soon, I think. It’d been midafternoon when Spencer came to get me, and what little light had been able to make it through the storm clouds is long gone. I don’t know how these men are on time to anything, because I’ve yet to find an analogue clock anywhere in this house.

As I roll over to another section of the queen mattress, I hope to find somewhere that isn’t quite as saturated with Eli’s scent, but it’s no use. My body is exhausted, but my mind is refusing to power down and give me a moment’s peace. Giving up, I haul myself out of bed and pad through the carpeted second floor back down to the living room. All the other doors are closed here, which bodes well for me. I need some semblance of privacy while I can manage it.

The storm isn’t as loud on the first floor, and I set to snooping, hunting for clean linens of any kind. It takes a few tries, but I manage to find a closet and an extra spare sheet and comforter from a space-saving vacuum bag. I sigh with relief as the weirdly comforting smell of Play-Doh hits my nose. Scent blockers.

There’s nothing to be done about the sectional cushions and pillows, but covering them with my scavenged bedding helps significantly. And once I find a comfortable position, I close my eyes and breathe, trying to center myself with the mindfulness techniques I’d learned in therapy.

Step One: Identify the feelings.

Fear tops the list. Fear of what will happen to me without my medication. Resentment, specifically toward Spencer. He did this to me in more ways than one. He brought me here, rushed me out of my house before I could make sure I had everything I needed, hurt me so deep that I need the medication to begin with.

Step Two: Think the unhelpful thoughts.

I’m going to relapse and self-harm without my medicine. Oliver and Elijah will hate me for putting them in a position to take care of me. I should have refilled my emergency purse supply when I got back from Ottawa.

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