Page 30 of Citius

Tyler sat frozen, tongue floundering as he tried to muster an apology. But I didn’t care. He wasn’t the first alpha patient to mistrust my treatment plan, nor would he be the last.

“You’re all set,” I said and put the tape away, unable to resist closing the drawer with a touch too much force.

Tyler retreated to the locker room.

I turned to Landon. “What’s up?”

“Well, just…” He frowned, uncertain how to approach the subject of Garvey’s behavior. “Want me to kick a ball in his face?”

“Accidents happen,” Amir added, punching a fist into his palm.

Shouts echoed from the locker room, ordering the guys to head to the field. They looked at me expectantly.

I shook my head and waved them off. “Business as usual. Focus on the game.”

As they filed out, Reyhan Parsha, the other sports medicine fellow—a beta—hurried over, a restless bundle of flustered decency, his dark hair sticking out at odd angles.

“You have to tell Dr. McEwen this time.”

“No need.” I had no interest in making a fuss, but that didn’t mean I’d suffer for nothing. “Could you handle Tyler from now on?”

“I don’t want to interrupt your treatment plan, but—” Reyhan’s face fell when he realized I was serious.

“It’s just a sprained finger. You can swap cases with me if it will make you feel better.”

“Not particularly.” Reyhan’s gaze traveled around the room, teeth worrying at his bottom lip. “Are you sure we shouldn’t tell Dr. McEwen?”

“Don’t worry about it, Reyhan.”

His eyes went wide. “Oh, come on! He’s demeaning and just so—so gross.”

“Doesn’t matter,” I said with a touch of forced lightness. “Nothing technically happened beyond a difference of opinion. But, since you insist, I’ll mention it.”

“Thank you. And yes, I’ll take care of Tyler.” Reyhan sighed, fishing the discarded support glove out of the trash. He gave it a thorough once-over, brushing off imaginary dirt. “Because I have nothing better to do than tape his hand six ways from Sunday.”

“My hero.”

He pulled a face—and we headed toward the locker room together. Time to get back to work.

***

“Are you okay?” Alijah hurried into the stadium’s medical office, where I was in the middle of my pre-game pain prevention ritual. “Reyhan said Garvey was—”

“Nothing happened,” I said, dumping two pills into my palm. Sorely tempted to add a third. “I’m fine.”

“You sure?”

His fingers tightened around the strap of his digital camera. A bit of sweat dripped from his brow, trailing along the edge of a prominent cheekbone. What had Reyhan said to make Alijah run here?

“Promise.” I swallowed the pills with a mouthful of water. “Because I know the secret. Nothing irks an entitled alpha more than someone who doesn’t react.”

I offered a hard-won smile.

“Especially when you’re too busy doing your own thing to pay them any attention. Coach Garvey can say and do whatever he wants, but I don’t have to care. I have better things to do. A game to cover. PheroPass to work on. My attention is for better, more talented people—like you.”

Alijah looked at the floor, weighing my words against his own experiences. “You make it sound easy.”

“Focus on what you can control, and the rest will sort itself out.”

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