Page 56 of Citius

After I sent the message, I turned to face Joaquin, elbows planted on the arms of my chair, fingertips pressed together.

“State your business.”

“Always so straight to the point.” Joaquin inched his head along the arm of the couch, searching for a comfortable spot that didn’t exist. “Can you humor me for a bit?”

“If I must.”

“Do you remember Miss Montreal?”

“Get out.”

“No, no, listen, I’m not just spouting bullshit.” He sat up, offering a placating hand. “It’s what we—okay, more likeIused to call the girl Wyatt was hung up on in college. That whole dinner thing in Canada, during the world championships, that didn’t happen.”

I laced my fingers together and thought back to the timeframe in question. “That does sound somewhat familiar.”

“Do you know who else was in Montreal for that competition?”

“No.”

“Ugh, this was supposed to be fun.” He scratched his beard, then adjusted his line of questioning. “What do you know about Morgan?”

“Nothing.” I gave him a flat stare. “Because I don’t need to.”

Joaquin sighed and nodded toward my computer. “Look her up, asshole.”

The internet search resulted in more hits than I anticipated. I opted for a news article from a reputable source.

Morgan Van Daal stared back, wearing patriotic sportswear. Self-assured despite her youth, she had perfect posture and a touch of now extinguished naïveté in the corner of her eyes. Her hair was much longer, a rich brunette that I assumed was its natural color.

The bullet points were nothing short of alarming. Traumatic brain injury. Cervical spine fracture. Medically induced coma. Uncertain odds of recovery.

And I’d had no idea. No wonder they admired her.

Joaquin read the headlines over my shoulder, the black pepper in his scent taking on an acrid undertone.

“The omega men used the vault equipment a few hours earlier. No one lowered the height setting afterward. There was plenty of blame to go around, but it boiled down to one employee’s indifference. Saw omega on the event list and didn’t give a fuck about which gender.”

I perused a few more links. Recovery updates, legal proceedings, think pieces about protecting omega athletes, and counterpoints about abolishing omegas in the sport altogether.

“Nothing about a comeback.”

“Never tried, as far I can tell.” Joaquin slumped in his seat. “She went to Wakeland State, you know, but Northport still hired her. Must be one hell of a doctor.”

Her formidable list of gymnastics accolades demanded proper attention. Two-time Olympic gold medalist for team and vault, with a bronze medal on floor exercise. Five world championship medals on the vault—two gold, two silver, one bronze. Numerous vault titles and podium finishes at the international, national, collegiate, and junior levels. Moderate success on the floor exercise and a handful of all-around titles early in her career.

“What a beast, eh?” Joaquin let out a low whistle of appreciation. “Used to think Wyatt was impressive, but he’s got nothing on Morgan.”

He slouched even lower, long legs dominating the space between us, tattooed fingers stroking his chin.

“And I’m pretty sure she’s Miss Montreal.”

I considered his assertion for a moment. “The timing is feasible. We flew out for his twenty-first birthday. He introduced the topic of—”

“Used her as an excuse, you mean.” Joaquin would forever resent that our pack took so long to formalize. While I was the guiltier party by far, Wyatt was an easier target for his scorn. “But yeah, they liked each other and agreed to meet after the event. Except she landed in the hospital. Wyatt went back to Arizona. And then—what do you think your brother did?”

I rested my head against the chair back. The answer was obvious. And regrettable.

“Nothing. Paralyzed with indecision.”

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