Page 68 of Citius

Curled up on the opposite loveseat, I rubbed Tenny’s belly and waited. Cal had been quiet since I told him how I’d discovered my neighbors’ identities.

I’d even briefly mentioned my history with Wyatt. The abridged version—just enough to make our failed, fledgling relationship seem like nothing. A fitting amount, in the end.

“They really don’t know?”

I shrugged. “Don’t you think Alijah or Owen would have said something if they did?”

Kip snagged the toy’s fluffy tail and rolled onto his back, kicking his legs as he tried to rip it to shreds. Cal gave a few tugs before surrendering the wand to Kip’s ministrations. He rummaged through the toy basket and pulled out a fuzzy green ball, lobbing it to the far end of the kitchen. Kip shot after it in a blur of fur and determination.

Tenny, on the other hand, stayed curled up, his eyes barely tracking the ball when it flew by.

“Do you want a pack?”

The question caught me off-guard. It wasn’t something I’d asked myself in years. “Where’d that come from?”

Cal nodded toward Kelsey’s gallery wall of black-and-white family photos lining the staircase. “Just curious.”

“I did. Before.” I scratched Tenny under his chin, earning a rusty purr. “Omegas canbehigh maintenance. They shouldn’trequiremaintenance.”

“Care to expand on that?”

I shifted, drawing my knees closer to my chest. “Showed a guy my medical record once. Kelsey keeps a hard copy, just in case. It wasenough to fill six binders—three inches thick. He never called me again.” My fingers trailed along Tenny’s side, but he rolled onto his back, pawing my arm for belly rubs. “Pretty sure we’re up to nine volumes now. Literal baggage.”

Cal tossed a catnip mouse from hand to hand, his expression steady, observing me without judgment. “What else?”

“Isn’t it the same for most people living with a TBI?”

“Humor me.”

“Don’t do well with loud noises or bright lights. I don’t cook. Sometimes I can’t drive. I’ve got calendar reminders for the stupidest things—washing the cat’s water fountain, buying Narwhal gear for the winter. Neither of which I’ve managed to do this week.”

The catnip mouse flew over my shoulder toward the front door. Kip emerged from the shadowy realm behind the kitchen island, skidding on the floor as he raced after it. Tenny flopped onto his side, lazily debating whether a moment of fun was worth sacrificing his comfort.

“Kelsey helps out a lot?”

“That’s an understatement. She’s a veritable saint. And I probably don’t even know the half of it.”

A long pause stretched between us as Kip padded back into the seating area, eyes locked on Cal, eagerly waiting for his next challenge.

“Are you happy in sports medicine?” Cal flicked a toy in Tenny’s direction, only for Kip to leap up and intercept it mid-air.

“Yeah, for the most part. It scratches the itch to help people. Keeps me active.”

“But it wasn’t your first choice.” Not a question. I wondered what I’d done for him to figure that out.

“No, orthopedic surgery was,” I admitted without regret. Changing specialties had been necessary, and I’d made peace with it a long time ago. “But I don’t have the coordination or stamina for it anymore. So, I found a specialty that could…accommodate me.”

Cal’s response was sharp, just skirting the line of unprofessional. “Workplace accommodations don’t usually include skipping heats.”

He tossed another catnip mouse toward Tenny—but I grabbed it first. Tenny rolled over, ears swiveled backward, mouth agape. His expression made it clear—that it was his toy to ignore, not mine to steal.

“Not your patient, not your business.” I lobbed the mouse back at Cal. “Aren’t you here to talk about Garvey?”

He let the toy bounce off his shoulder. “Do you like the smell of burnt matches?”

“Does anyone?”

“You tell me.”

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