Page 100 of Citius

“No. Not even close. Maybe that was the appeal for him.” He turned away from the window, deep lines framing his eyes. “My pack was there the night they met. It was a joint fundraiser for an omega charity. Her first real job. Just five months out of college. Chaz was supposed to be canoodling with a senator’s daughter but spent the entire evening asking Laurel about operating expenses and tax deductions instead. She was only twenty-two. He was thirty-six.”

Well, I’d certainly missedthatnauseating little nugget during my spotty internet research. I tried to keep my disgust with Chaz Carling from leaking through.

“Why are you telling me this?”

“Because she would have liked you, and I think…” Dr. Flemming held my gaze, a tenuous understanding forming between us that could never be spoken aloud—at least not here, not on campus. “I watched that boy grow up. Couldn’t be prouder of him. But he… He could use a good friend.”

***

My head was a mess.

I barely made it through my next appointment without cracking. The alpha tackle was firmly on Team Garvey, disagreeing with everything I said out of spite. I had no qualms about benching him for the rest of the week.

As soon as he left, I grabbed my phone and puffer jacket—another of Cal’s choices—and went to Reyhan’s exam room. “I need to take a break. Back in a few.”

He nodded in understanding, his attention never wavering from the notes he was typing at his computer. “Got it.”

I ducked out the side door and headed down the sidewalk, through the security gate, toward the pavilion where I liked to eat lunch.

My head was so full of warring thoughts that it felt like they were dripping down the back of my throat, liable to choke me if I wasn’t careful.

A text dump to Jacobi would help. But where to start? A Garvey update seemed logical but ran the risk of worsening my already foul mood.

I could share my revulsion at the age gap between Cal’s parents. It would be like one of us hitting on an eighteen-year-old—a freshman in college, the same age as Rory. My stomach soured. Hard.

No, I should complain about the threadbare text I’d just received from Wyatt.

Told them. Cal was there. Didn’t go over well.

What was I supposed to do with that stunning lack of information?

After a few thwarted starts, I began typing straight expletives.

“Hey, doc.”

My head snapped up. Joaquin and Alijah sat on the same side of a picnic bench, looking adorably mismatched—Joaquin in worn black leather, Alijah in business casual khaki. Surrounded by empty takeout boxes, they were sharing an order of churros.

“Morgan!” Alijah leaned forward with a sweet smile. “Come sit with us.”

“Oh—hi.”

Was I ready to see these two? After a moment’s hesitation, I steppedinto the pavilion and sat down across from them. Better to have it out, once and for all, and clear the air.

“I owe you an apology,” I said, mainly to Alijah. “I know Wyatt broke the news, but he didn’t give me any specifics.”

“It wasquitethe revelation.” Joaquin licked his thumb and leaned forward, planting an elbow on the table. With deliberate slowness, he dipped a churro into a container of chocolate sauce. “Can’t say it didn’t sting, though. Right, babe?”

Alijah shot a displeased look at Joaquin but still admitted quietly, “I wish you had told us.”

“But, because we’re gentlemen, we’re willing to forgive and forget—for a price,” Joaquin said, taking a large bite.

Alijah leaned over and whispered, “We are?”

He blinked up at Joaquin, who was in the middle of chewing. Something passed between them—maybe a subtle look or a nudge through the mate bond—because Alijah abruptly straightened in his seat.

He turned to me and said with newfound conviction, “Right. We are.”

While they clearly hadn’t planned this in advance, I figured Joaquin’s demands would be somewhat reasonable. Pushing me too far would only upset Alijah and thus defeat the purpose. Joaquin just wanted to make his mate feel better about my omission of the truth.

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