Page 11 of Citius

“Thanks, doc.” Tyler sniffled and slid off the table, holding his taped hand against his chest like a defeated grizzly guarding a mangled paw. But by the time he reached the locker room, his usual enthusiasm had returned, and he was offering high-fives and pumping up the other players

Shaking my head at his quick recovery, I pulled out my phone, intending to turn it off, but the sender’s name caught me off-guard. The messages were all from Grace. My stomach tightened. She usually avoided texting me during work hours.

WTF. I can’t believe it. When did this happen? Did you know he was interviewing? Are you okay? Call me.

The last message included a link to a press release from the University of Northport athletics department—Wyatt Redmond Named Assistant Alpha Women’s Gymnastics Coach.

Oh.

A scent memory—my last scent memory—rushed to the forefront of my mind: the phantom aroma of boxwood hedges and sun-warmed earth. Unwelcome. Overpowering.

I held my breath, gripping my phone so hard the protective case dug into my skin, willing his scent back into the deep, aching pocket of regret where it usually lurked, along with memories of ice-blue eyes, wavy black hair, and the sculpted physique of an ancient god.

“Everything all right, sweetie?” Coach Garvey leaned across the taping table, trying to read my phone screen, turning the heads of a few players nearby. The assistant defensive line coach was an overly inflated jock of an alpha in his late twenties with no concept of personal space.

“It’s just some gymnastics news,” I said, turning away and heading after Dr. McEwen. Pretending I didn’t see Garvey’s flash of irritation.The man had too much spare time—and I was not interested in keeping him entertained. I had actual work to do.

And I couldn’t lose focus.

It didn’t matter that the news kickstarted the ticking timebomb of my emotional control.

Wasn’t I doing better? My defenses should be strong enough to withstand a single press release, but the headline alone threatened my resolve.

No. I refused to get upset. Not now.

Wyatt didn’t matter. He couldn’t matter. Never again.

Five

Morgan

Hold it together, hold it together, I told myself as the Tolliver Yards elevator steadily climbed higher. Almost there.

I rushed through our front door, alarming Kelsey as she unpacked groceries on the island.

“What’s wrong?”

“Jacobi emergency,” I said—bending the truth more than outright lying, or so I told myself. “Eat without me.”

I hurried toward my suite at the opposite end of the loft. Double doors opened onto a foyer with paneled walls and a round velvet ottoman in the center. My private office and library were to the left, with my bedroom straight ahead. The entrance to my nest was behind a hidden panel to the right, but I avoided the space as much as possible.

My TBI caused me to suffer irrational outbursts of anger. I’d rather hurt things than people, so I directed my anger at my nest, destroying it a little more with each detonation.

A tragic fate for a former cave of wonders, decorated in tonal shades of emerald, with upholstered velvet walls and luxurious finishes—all the usual Jacobi flair.

Kelsey only let him weigh in on the omega spaces. She’d decorated the rest of the loft, catering to my preference for comfortable, clutter-free, headache-proof spaces. Plenty of soft furnishings. No loud colors or busy patterns. Ambient lighting.

My singular mark on the space was installing a covert cat tunnel in the wall between my suite and the living room so Tenny and Kip could moveabout the loft as they pleased.

I spent most evenings in the library. Built-in bookcases covered one wall, with an exposed brick fireplace standing opposite. The midnight blue walls expanded the room’s horizons beyond its cozy footprint.

A shallow ledge ran along the room’s perimeter, framing a sunken nest with a peacock-hued treasure trove of pillows and blankets spread out along the upholstered surface, arranged in a pattern that made no sense to anyone but me. A cat tree and faux houseplants filled the far side of the ledge. Teal blackout curtains covered the arched window.

But it was far from a comforting refuge right now.

The pillows didn’t feel right, and my preferred reading wedge hit my upper back in the wrong spot. A body pillow and my favorite gray weighted blanket were the winning combination, made even better by Tenny curling up against my hip.

Only once I was something akin to comfortable did I drop the bomb. I texted the press release to Jacobi and counted backward from ten.

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