Page 102 of Citius

The Tolliver Yards gym was off-limits until Cal figured out what the fuck was happening with my pheromones, and there was no way in hell I was using Morgan’s home set-up.

Being in the same space was too painful—not because she didn’t want to rekindle things, but because she never reacted to my scent. My rotten scent, oozing with desperation. For her.

It was eating me alive.

Dumped her. Where the fuck had that come from?

With a pained grunt, I racked the weights and grabbed a sterilizing wipe to clean the equipment. If I cranked the ventilation on high, my stench might clear out before the girls arrived for their morning workouts. Even so, I sprayed everything down twice. Just in case.

Thankfully, my office had an attached bathroom with a sink deep enough to stick my head under the faucet. I stood there, letting the water stream over my face, holding my breath so I didn’t choke my own scent.

Foul. Everything about this situation stank to high heaven. The worst. Just like Morgan’s accident.

I was sitting in the stands, still riding the high of winning silver on the high bar the day before, confident Morgan would clinch yet another world title on vault. No one flew higher than she did. Her speed, her precision—unmatched to this day. Not even the great Grace Arata came close. I had to force myself not to use Morgan’s vaults as the standard when talking to my squad.

Watching her fall…

For months, I blamed myself. I should’ve noticed that the vault height was wrong. Should’ve sensed the danger after the Italian gymnast fell. Instead, I was eating gummy worms when Morgan’s world shattered. Fuckinggummy worms.

The image of her lying motionless on the mat was seared into my mind. Every time I blinked, there she was—ghostly, crumpled, broken. Forever changed.

It took five weeks to connect with her after the accident. She’d just been transferred to a care facility near her parents’ house while I was back in Arizona, struggling with my classes and on the verge of losing my scholarship.

Jacobi texted me an exhaustive list of rules before our first call:

Text Ethan first to see if she’s awake and in a good mood.

Only call Ethan’s phone, not Morgan’s.

Her phone’s off for now.

Voice calls only. She can’t focus on screens or read.

Don’t mention anything too personal, in case her parents are in the room.

Be nice. She can’t help being this way. They say it’s temporary.

All I wanted was one glimmer of normalcy. For her to roast my latest shitty math test score before patiently explaining fractions to me again. But I didn’t know how to handle the snarling impostor on the other end of the line.

She lashed out at me during the first phone call, telling me how wrong it was of me to go back to college, to leave her alone. That Arizona was too far to make things work. Then she started crying, saying how much she missed and needed me. Two seconds later, she couldn’t stand me.

Ethan didn’t help matters.“She’s right about one thing—Arizona is too far.You can’t understand… Tough break, bud.”

I read too much into his words, into her anger, and convinced myself it would be better if I disappeared from her life. There was nothing I could do to help her.

Hell, I even made a subpar verbal punching bag.

It didn’t help that her words overlapped with the echoes of my mother’s constant criticisms.You’re so stupid, second best, defective, an expensive mistake. Runt. Why can’t you ever think for one fucking second?

But I kept calling. Morgan was an emotional wreck during our second call. Semi-feral during the third.

But it was the fourth call that undid me.

Fuck off, Wyatt. Fuck all the way off. Go, just go. Get lost.

When a woman tells a man to get lost, the polite thing to do is honor their wishes.

So, I did.

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