Page 92 of Crossing the Top Line

Me: Is everything okay? Do you need anything?

I stare at the screen for a while, hoping thatthistime, she might actually respond, or even read my messages. But like all the messages before, I get the delivered symbol and nothing more. I sigh, standing up and moving into the more private bathroom area of the locker room, debating my next move. When I check the team’s social media pages, there are posts from just a few hours ago, so that’s a good sign. Rachel did say she’s working from home, so I don’t think someone else is posting. I set my shoulders, pulling up my message thread with the team account.

@Ace_trauckas21: Rachel said you’re taking sick time. Are you okay?

My thumb hovers over the screen for a few seconds, really considering. She told me not to do this, but short of driving to her house and beating down the front door, I don’t know how else I can contact her. My instincts won’t allow me to let this go. Ihaveto know if she’s okay, especially after what happened between us during the storm and how badly she dropped after our first time together. So I press send and swallow hard, ready to accept the consequences.

I’m expecting to have to wait and hope and pray for a response, and mentally prepare myself for what I’m going to do if I don’t get one. But to my surprise, the reply comes moments later.

@NOLAhockey: I told you not to message this account with personal questions.

It’s not a warm greeting, but it’s proof of life, at least.

@Ace_trauckas21: You aren’t answering your phone.

@Ace_trauckas21: Are you okay? The guys say you don’t normally take sick time.

@NOLAhockey: Maybe you should take the hint. And I’m fine. Good luck tonight.

@Ace_trauckas21: The hint? What are you talking about?

But that message gets the same treatment as the rest of my texts. Delivered but unread.

Fuck.

I growl low in my throat, worry mixing harshly with frustration. I want to race over to her place this instant, shake her until she answers me, but I can’t.

For the first time in my life, I’m pissed that I have to play hockey tonight.

“Fucking asshole!” I snarl at the player skating by our half wall, throwing myself onto the bench.

It’s the middle of the third period, and we’re still tied at three goals each. And there’s no reason for that. Just a few weeks ago, we beat the shit out of Ottawa on their home ice. Skated almost literal circles around them. There’s nothing different in this game. Well, except for the fact that my head is miles away.

“Who were you trying to pass to? The guy in row three?” Eli asks into my ear, the joke touched with a little frustration and the tiniest edge of concern.

I growl at him wordlessly, slumping over my stick and gritting my teeth. It was a sloppy pass, but I don’t need him to tell me that. I haven’t felt this unfocused since before I met Eli, and the longer this goes on, the more pissed I’m getting.

Tori did this. She got into my head, and now I’m distracted. She let me fuck her six ways to Sunday, let me share her with my future mate, if not in reality than in my heart, and then she just walked away, ghosting us like nothing happened. She said what I wanted to hear, and then tossed me aside at the first chance. And the worst part of it all is that I’m letting her do this. Eli and I have pursued plenty of omegas before her, but none of them have ever gotten into my head like Tori has. Even now, when I close my eyes, all I can see is her mismatched blue irises staring up at me, her smile making them dance like gemstones.

“What’s going on, Ace? You’re trying to melt the ice with your eyes again,” Spencer asks, moving with me as we shift down the bench.

I give him a harsh side-eye, ready to snap. But he’s not angry, at least judging by his expression. No, he’s genuinely worried about me. I take a deep breath, whispering the shortest possible version of the exchange between Tori and me. And when I finish, his frown is thoughtful. But we don’t get the chance to discuss it as Coach taps our shoulders, signaling it’s our time to get back on the ice at the next change.

“Score me a goal and we’ll go after the game,” Spencer says simply.

I look at him, jaw going slack for a moment, but he’s dead serious. His eyes are on the play, following the puck as he edges toward the edge of the bench. There’s no question, no attempt to rationalize her actions. He took my feelings and just accepted them, and is willing to find a solution. When gives me a glance as Owen skates toward the bench, I nod my agreeance.

It takes me thirty seconds to put the puck in the back of the net. And as Spencer comes over to slap my back, he gives me a knowing smile and nod.

We’re going to get answers tonight.

I’dthoughtmymedswere finally getting my hormones under control. I’d felt better today than I have since before the storm, more like myself. But then I look at the bitchy message I sent to Oliver before the game, and I can’t help but reconsider.

It’s been a rough couple of days, made all the worse by the guilt. I know I shouldn’t be ghosting them, especially after how I let them take care of me. But when I finally managed to get my head above the surface of my hormone imbalance, all I could feel was shame. The things I said, the things I did and let them do to me…I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to show my face in the Southern Federal Credit Union arena ever again, let alone face Oli, Eli, and Spencer.

I’m watching the game from my couch, hiding like the coward I am rather than doing my job and being a professional. It’s been a rough one, but Oliver finally squeaks out a goal in the last minute of regulation. I smile a little, pride I’m not sure I’m entitled to filling my chest. Everything personal aside, it’s impossible to say those boys aren’t talented.

I close my laptop after posting about the goal, texting Dee to let him know I’m going to call it an early night. He’s sympathetic, which only adds to the mountain of guilt on my plate. This is the first time I’ve used sick time of my own volition since I started with the Mystic. Sure, I’ve taken some personal days because I had to use them before they expired at the end of every year, but I’ve never had to dip into it for heats or anything like that.

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