Page 91 of Crossing the Top Line

I blink at him, not sure what to say. Thankfully, I’m spared from answering for the moment as I hear Oliver’s engine below us. Spencer tries to pull away, but I hold tighter, giving him a warning look. And to my surprise, he stills, shrinking a little in his seat. And when Oliver crashes through the door and into the kitchen, his amber eyes find us almost immediately.

“How is she?” I ask, not acknowledging anything about the way Spencer and I are situated.

“Her house is fine, only a few inches in the road and it’s draining fast. But she wouldn’t let me into her house to get her settled,” he grumbles, making his way to the pot of pasta and serving himself a bowl.

“She might just need space after…” I offer, speaking to reassure him almost as much as myself.

Oliver grunts and throws himself into the chair beside me and opposite Spencer, digging in without preamble. I give Spencer’s hand another squeeze before releasing him and returning to my own food. But Spencer doesn’t move.

“So we’re not going to talk about it? About any of it?” he asks, voice slightly higher than normal.

Oliver looks up, slowly chewing his bite as he assesses our roommate. And when he swallows, Oli puts down his fork and leans back in his chair.

“What do you want to talk about?” he asks mildly, expression not giving anything away.

Spencer splutters, not able to form a complete sentence before looking at me for assistance. I chuckle, giving him a small smile.

“He thinks we’ll want him to move out because we know a few of his kinks,” I say, paraphrasing slightly, but Spencer doesn’t correct me.

Oli rolls his eyes, smirking. “That seems a little excessive. You know all of my kinks, but you don’t see me asking you to move out,” he throws at me.

I laugh, but Spencer growls. “I’m being serious. I don’t want this”—he motions between the three of us and then out of the window—“and what happened with Tori to make it impossible to play together. Or have you forgotten about what we do for a living?”

Oliver’s smirk only grows at Spencer’s slightly frantic voice, which makes the alpha across the table grit his teeth in a frustrated snarl. Finally, Oli takes pity on the man and sighs.

“We don’t have to decide right now if there’s a ‘this’ to be concerned about, Spencer.” Oliver repeats Spencer’s gesture, though not quite as erratically. “As far as it affecting our performance, Eli and I have been in a relationship for years, and it hasn’t negatively impacted the way we play. Because we don’t let it. We can leave our personal lives at the door. Can you?” Oliver replies evenly, crossing his arms over his chest.

Spencer’s jaw slams shut so hard I can hear the click of his teeth, and he swallows. There’s another long pause before Oliver starts eating again, effectively ending the conversation without waiting for an answer to his question. I keep looking at Spencer, trying to gauge his reaction, but he’s wiped all emotion off his face. And then he, too, returns to his pasta.

I look down at my own half-eaten plate, stomach twisting. I don’t know how to feel about Spencer just yet, but I can’t deny my attraction to the guy.

Though as I sit with my emotions, I finally identify what’s got me so worked up.

Tori ran out of here like a bat out of hell, and she didn’t want Oli near her any longer than was absolutely necessary. And Oli isn’t trying to push for more than what she’s willing to give. And my intuition is sending off warning signals, has been all morning now that I’m thinking about it.

We shouldn’t have let her go, because I don’t think she’s going to come back.

Ittakesfourdaysfor me to notice something is wrong at the arena after the storm. The facility itself is fine; there was minimal wind damage, and it took next to no time for the melted ice to be cleaned up and replaced. No, this is not about the building as the people within it.

Or rather, the person whoisn’tin it.

The first day or two, Coach kept us so busy that I didn’t have a chance to look for Tori. We’d lost valuable practice time, and he didn’t want us to lose our edge or our momentum. But when we play the first of our two rescheduled home games, that’s when I truly notice that she’s not at the arena. She’s not in the press box, not in the executive suite, and certainly isn’t in the tunnels before, during, or after the game.

And at first, I don’t think anything of it. She’s entitled to her space, I remind myself. But when she doesn’t answer multiple messages, and she misses our Tuesday lunch date, that’s when my instincts kick into overdrive.

So when Rachel comes down to mic up another player for the second rescheduled game, I seize my opportunity. I’m in the locker room with Owen, Jari, and Dallas, today’s chosen mic bearer. Everyone’s chatting, mostly small talk about the storm and the upcoming road trip to Arizona and Texas, a trip I know Tori’s supposed to join us for.

“Is everything okay with Tori and the trip? She hasn’t been here in a few days,” I ask, trying to keep my voice casual.

Rachel gives me a searching look, and I focus on keeping my face calm and neutral. I’m just a friend asking after a coworker, like any of the guys in the locker room might. After an agonizing couple of heartbeats, she gives me a small smile.

“She’s taking some sick time and working from home for a while. I’m going with y’all instead,” she says simply.

“Tori? Take sick time? Quick, someone get my boots. I’ve got a snowball fight in Hell to win,” Owen says, laughter coloring his words.

I laugh along with the other guys, but my heart hammers hard in my chest. She seemed fine when I dropped her off, at least physically. Should I have insisted on staying, on helping her get her house back in order? The others drift off into another topic, but I pull out my phone and pull up my text thread.

Me: Hey. Rachel said you’re not going traveling for the Stars/Coyotes trip, and you’re taking sick time?

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