Page 155 of Citius

But the second email was harder to swallow. A rejection from Ballantyne University.

It’s okay, I told myself. It’s just part of the job-hunting process. Besides, this saves me the hassle of turning them down. Even before Cal entered the picture, I never wanted to move to Minnesota.

However, the Northport metro area didn’t have many openings that were a good fit for my background and designation, let alone the health accommodations my condition required. Most of the local hospitals didn’t offer much in the way of sports medicine. Even the children’s hospital hadn’t posted a suitable position in months.

Despite Dr. Flemming’s hints, I doubted the university would interview me for the sports medicine clinic opening. Even if they did, there was no way they’d make me an offer. Not when I was competing with hundreds of other candidates with years of experience under their belt. Healthy candidates. If they did opt for a medical fellow, Reyhan, the reliable beta, would be the obvious choice.

What if I couldn’t find a job?

No. I would find a sports physician position at a reputable organization. Nothing less would be acceptable—not after slogging through ten grueling years of medical school, residency, and this fellowship. After everything I’d put Kelsey and the rest of my family through, there had to be a tangible result. To prove how far I’d come. That I’d recovered.

But—had I?

My pulse raced, its rhythm at odds with my pounding head. A fresh wave of nausea hit, knocking the wind out of me, flooding my mouth with bitterness. I leaned against the steering wheel, fighting the urge to dry-heave as I grappled with the possibility of abject failure.

Focus, I told myself, focus on what you can control. Right now, that means being a conscientious doctor during the basketball game. Then go home early. Text Kelsey and Cal that you’re okay. Pass out until tomorrow. It’ll all work out somehow—so long as I maintain control.

Five things. Start by looking for five things.

A dorm room across the parking lot still had Halloween decorations in the window. Two girls shuffled toward the Rhine Fieldhouse wearing matching narwhal onesies and carrying shiny green pompoms. A television reporter touched up her lipstick while she walked, using her phone camera as a mirror. The sun was about todip into my line of sight, reminding me to swap out my sunglasses.

And Wyatt’s car was parked across from me.

My bottle of pain meds opened on the fourth try. Everything was fine.

Forty-Two

Wyatt

“Come on, save,” I ordered the damned recruiting spreadsheet on my office computer. “Wrap it up. Time to go.”

Paperwork was my least favorite part of the job. Recruiting interviews? Loved them. I could talk about the program all day. Fundraising cold calls to alumni? A breeze so long as you followed the script. But I would rather dislocate a rib than type detailed notes. At least the computer had spell check.

It was just after nine when I walked out of the side entrance of the gymnastics building. The campus was dark and mostly quiet, except for the rustle of dry leaves and the distant sound of drunken laughter. It was an unspoken rule in college that weekends began on Thursdays.

Only a handful of cars remained in the lot—including Morgan’s. No, that couldn’t be right. The women’s basketball game ended hours ago. And yet… I halted, looked at the car again to ensure I wasn’t imagining things, and headed over.

It was Morgan’s boxy black sedan. The windows and tires were all intact. No oil was leaking on the pavement. Everything seemed to be in working order—but I didn’t like it.

Maybe she was working late or had to escort a player to the hospital, I thought as I dialed her number. The call went to voicemail. Rather than leave a message, I opted to send a text.

Where are you?

Nothing. As much as I wanted to believe I was being paranoid, Morgan was a creature of habit. A stickler for routine. And she never stayed out late on weeknights—especially if she was feeling under the weather.

Could someone have picked her up? Kelsey and Rory were in Tacoma… With a short-lived jolt of excitement, I remembered that Piper was in town—but I didn’t have her number. While I could get it from Joaquin or Alijah, that would take too much time.

Cal was my best bet, even though I’d been ignoring his texts asking when I planned to come clean to Morgan about my waning syndrome diagnosis.

Is Morgan with you?

Thankfully, the parking lot was deserted, so no one saw me jump when my phone started to ring. Why was I surprised? Cal was a normal human being who knew how to communicate via telephone, unlike my brother.

“What’s going on?” Cal demanded.

“Did you pick Morgan up after the basketball game?”

“No. She texted me just before seven. Said she was packing up and turning in early. Why?”

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