Page 90 of Crossing the Top Line

Her words are sharp and flat, a repetition of the only thing she’s said since we woke up this morning. I sigh and ruffle my hair, not sure how to respond. Her scent is sour, like tea that’s been sitting out on the counter for too long, but I can’t find anything physically wrong with her. She’d sprinted to the bathroom when she’d woken up before either me or Oli could get a word out, emerging dressed in baggy sweats. My instincts are crying out for me to pull her into my arms and purr for her, but I can’t make myself do it. Not after she’s flinched from every attempt at physical touch we’ve tried.

Thankfully, the door to the lower level opens and Oliver strides through, pulling Tori’s attention. He simply nods and Tori moves, gathering her things and rushing down the stairs, not even looking back.

As the door closes, my heart twists. She’s hurting, and it feels like I’m at least partially at fault. But I don’t remember doing anything she didn’t consent to, and she wasn’t so far gone that she couldn’t give informed consent. Oliver wouldn’t have allowed it.

The sound of Oliver’s SUV starting and pulling out of the garage fills the air, and a few minutes later, Spencer shuffles back up the stairs and into the kitchen, not even looking at me. I’m on my feet and moving before I can think better of it. Tori might not want to talk to us right now, but I trust Oliver to sort that out. In the meantime, someone has to talk to Spencer about what happened last night.

I find my linemate at the kitchen island, staring at a half-empty bottle of tequila, a glass clutched in one hand. Empty but damp.

“We have to stop meeting like this,” I start, keeping my voice low, but gently teasing.

But he doesn’t look up, staring into the clear depths of the bottle before him. I know that look well enough to intervene, moving the tequila away before he can pour another glass.

“Maybe you should try to eat your calories rather than drink them,” I try, ducking my head to try to catch his gaze.

“We’ve got to throw out most of what we’ve got. Power’s been out too long,” he drones, looking away and toward the fridge.

“Okay, we can do that. But we have some other stuff that’s not in there. Come on, let’s eat something. I’m starving,” I say, trying to keep upbeat, even as worry clogs my insides.

He doesn’t respond, which is better than an outright refusal. I start working on a pot of pasta, something simple that doesn’t rely on electricity. We haven’t had a chance to turn the breaker back on, not with everyone’s haste to give Tori what she wanted. The rain has faded to a pleasant patter outside, and now that we’ve raised the metal window shutters, I can see the destruction through the hazy mist.

“I don’t think it’s that bad. How was it when you were outside?” I ask, trying to fill the dead air with anything.

Spencer grunts and shrugs, but still hasn’t moved from my side at the kitchen island. It’s only when I finish the pasta and add sauce that he moves, joining me at the dining room table.

“Spencer, I’m—”

“I’m sorry—”

We speak at the same time, and I look up to make the first strong eye contact with anyone in hours. His eyes are glassy, deep purple gashes at the corners. I can’t imagine I look much better, but there’s still a pang in my chest to see him looking so rough.

“I’m sorry for what happened. I shouldn’t—I shouldn’t have come downstairs,” Spencer goes on, words fading to a mumble as he looks down at his plate.

Unable to stop myself, I reach out and take the hand not holding his fork in mine, gripping tight. He looks at it, body going still.

“You don’t have to apologize. We would have told you if we were uncomfortable with any part of what happened,” I soothe, speaking slowly so he doesn’t misunderstand me.

“I’m just…I didn’t expect…”

I let out an ironic chuckle. “Tori to be so bossy? Yeah, you and me bo—”

“No, I didn’t expect to enjoy it.Allof it.”

Spencer’s quiet words make whatever I was about to say die on my tongue, and I can almost hear the record scratch happening in my head. Spencer looks up at me at last, ocean eyes swimming with unshed tears.

“I shouldn’t—and we can’t—”

He stops, looking back down at his plate. I try to finish those sentences, but I can’t find anything that would fit logically. Until a few days ago, I didn’t even know Spencer had any interest in men, and now he’s confessing to enjoying being degraded by them and getting off to watching them?

Taking a deep breath, his jaw clenches and unclenches before he sets his shoulders.

“If you want me to move out, I completely understand. I’m not asking for anything, and I have a lot to work through on my own. But it doesn’t feel right not to say anything after what happened last night,” he says, voice stronger this time.

I clear my throat, looking back down to where I’m still holding his hand. He hasn’t tried to move away, which speaks volumes. His meaning hits me in waves, and then I’m shaking my head, looking at him in disbelief.

“Move out? No, that’s—what are you talking about?” I ask, still trying to get my head around his declaration.

“I don’t want our on-ice performance to be impacted by this new development. And I can keep things platonic, but if this new information is going to make you or Oli uncomfortable, then I’d rather remove myself before it becomes a problem,” he says, not an ounce of humor in his expression.

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