Page 93 of Crossing the Top Line

Snuggling farther down into the soft blanket I’ve cocooned myself into, I pull up the back to cover my head and leave just my face exposed. Now that the game is over, I can wallow in my misery uninterrupted.

The impulse to check my phone flashes through my mind, but I shove it away, like I have every other time it’s occurred to me. I know what I’m going to find there, and it’s not worth it. I don’t need the temptation to reach out to Oli or Eli right now, because I know I won’t be able to resist them. And I’ve come up with plenty of very good reasons I have to.

One: I’m not the sort of person, or omega, who can be in long-term relationships. My job means too much to me, and if I can’t give a partner as much attention as my career, then I shouldn’t have one.

Two: Getting involved with one person, let alone two or even three people, is messy. Can some people make poly relationships work? Sure. But Oliver has shown himself to be jealous, and I won’t make him choose between Eli and me.

Three: There are at least a dozen HR policies I’m breaking by not reporting a relationship between myself and another member of the Mystic organization. Even if we’ve never done anything inappropriate on the clock, the policies are there for a reason.

All of those, and the two dozen or so other reasons I’d thought up over the last four days, should be dealbreakers. And yet, here I am, heart aching and tears in my eyes, wrapped up in a blanket and wearing the same clothes I put on the morning I left their house. Why? Because I can still smell them. Cranberries, spearmint, bergamot. Cool, refreshing, crisp. And heartbreaking.

A sharp series of knocks on my front door pulls me from my spiraling, and I sit up abruptly, brow furrowed. I glance at the clock above the mantel, frown deepening as I realize a few hours have passed since the end of the game. It’s past dark, the few lamps I turned on earlier giving my house a low, warm glow to match the orange streetlights outside. The knocks come again, harder this time, making my heart lurch.

I edge off the couch, trying not to make any noise as I crouch walk my way to the hall closet, extracting the solid wood baseball bat I have tucked just inside. I can’t make out much of anything through the rippled glass of my front door, but there are at least three figures on my front porch. Two taller, and one shorter.

Creeping forward, bat raised and ready to swing, my eyes check that the chain is engaged even if the door isn’t locked. It’s a quiet neighborhood, but I’m a single woman living alone. I should know better. There are muffled voices from outside before someone tries the handle. I let out a wild war cry as I launch myself forward as the door cracks open, swinging the bat into the gap. A hand catches my bat and holds on, even as I try to tug it back.

“Woah! Holy shit, Tori!”

Eli’s voice cuts through the surge of fear, and I blink. Oliver, Eli, and Spencer are all staring at me like I’ve gone mad, Oli with his hand raised and fingers wrapped around my Louisville Slugger.

“What are you doing here?” I croak out, realizing with a jolt those might be the first words I’ve spoken out loud in days.

“Can we come in?” Spencer asks simply, eyes darting around my face.

I’m suddenly aware of the tangled mess of a messy bun I piled my hair into, and that I haven’t washed my face in days. I flush and pull back, Oli releasing my bat as I lower it to my side. I should slam the door in their faces, tell them to get lost and forget about me. But…I can’t. So I simply nod and they step back long enough for me to disengage the chain and open the door fully. But I turn on my heel and retreat into the kitchen.

“Do y’all need anything? Water? Hard liquor?” I ask, opening my fridge just for something to do other than look at them.

“We need to talk, Victoria.”

I wince at Oliver’s gentle words, still not turning around. I should have expected this, prepared for it. But I thought I’d have more time. At least until after they got back from Arizona. But they’re here, looking at me and waiting for my response. I can’t put them on Do Not Disturb when they’re in my living room.

So, I close my fridge door and move to lean on the breakfast bar, glad I have something between me and them. They’re dressed in athletic clothes, Spencer’s curls still damp from the shower. They must have come right here after the game.

“First, how are you feeling? Did you get your meds sorted?” Oliver starts, advancing a step toward me before catching himself and stopping.

I swallow, throat suddenly raw. Of course, his first question would be about me and my well-being. I nod, looking down to my hands as I twist my fingers around each other. There’re several more seconds of silence, but then Eli sighs.

“Can we sit down? Together?” he asks.

When I look at him, I find him motioning to my dining room table, a simple square with four chairs. The others are already moving, finding seats. I take a shaky breath before slowly making my way to them, staying as far out of arm’s reach as possible until I have no choice. I take the seat across from Spencer, with Eli on my left and Oli on my right. Even then, I still scoot my chair back away from the table, putting distance between myself and them. I pull one leg up to my chest, wrapping my arms around it. Because if I’m clutching my leg, I can’t be touching them. And if they touch me, my very shaky resolve will crumble.

“So, we should probably start with what happened,” Spencer begins, his voice even.

I don’t look at him, waiting for the demands, the accusations. I should apologize, but I can’t open my mouth, can’t form the words.

“I’m sorry for rushing you, Tori. I was worried about getting you to safety and didn’t think about making sure you had everything you needed,” Spencer goes on.

My eyes snap up to his, blinking. “Wait, what?” I blurt.

“I’m sorr—”

“Yeah, I heard you. But why are you apologizing? It’s my fault that I didn’t make sure my meds were with me,” I counter, confusion unsticking my tongue at last.

“But if I hadn’t—”

Oliver sighs, rubbing his face. “We can play the blame game all we want, but that’s not going to fix anything. Tori, you made a mistake. It happens. Spencer, yes, you were probably pushy, but you didn’t know to ask,” he interjects, words coming out a little harsh.

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