Page 117 of Knot So Fast
I answer the phone before I can talk myself out of it.
"Do you want me there?" Lachlan's voice is gentle, concerned but not condescending.
I laugh, but it comes out shaky and wet. "Unless you want another trending topic to go viral: 'Four-time Formula One Champion Seen Entering Female Washroom. Is He Coming Out?!'"
He sighs, but I can hear the slight amusement underneath the exasperation. "I'm going to have to take your phone away. Or at least remove the social media apps."
"If I can't track the latest game releases, hell no," I protest weakly, but then my voice cracks as I realize how close I am to crying. A whimper escapes before I can stop it, the sound small and vulnerable in a way that makes me hate myself a little.
"Auren," he whispers, my name a gentle caress through the phone.
"I shouldn't be so emotionally moved," I say, the words tumbling out in a rush. "But maybe because I know in my soulI want this. And not everyone is going to be happy with my success or participation but fuck... I'm scared."
The admission hangs between us, heavy and honest.
"And I guess that's what's frightening me," I continue, needing to get it all out before I lose my nerve. "That one wrong mistake and the world will ruin me. They're already trying, and I haven't even officially signed yet. Twenty thousand people want me dead for coming in second place. What happens when I win? What happens when I take a podium spot that some Alpha thinks belonged to him?"
The tears are falling now, hot and unwelcome, tracking down my cheeks and probably ruining the makeup I spent way too long perfecting this morning.
"I'm just overwhelmed," I whisper, my voice thick with tears. "And I kind of wish I had the courage to talk to my parents. Just... I don't know, have their support. Know that someone besides you and the pack believes I should be doing this."
Lachlan doesn't interrupt, doesn't try to offer solutions or platitudes. He just listens, his breathing steady through the phone, anchoring me to something solid while I fall apart in this ridiculous marble bathroom stall.
I wipe at my cheeks with toilet paper that's probably more expensive than my monthly phone bill, taking shaky breaths that taste like expensive air freshener and my own fear.
"I'm not going to back down," I say finally, trying to inject some steel into my voice. "I'm going to sign, and I'm going to race, and I'm going to prove every single one of those bastards wrong. But it's just... it's really overwhelming."
"If you want to talk with your parents," Lachlan says carefully, "I can arrange it so you do it but not alone."
The offer hangs between us, and I think about the 287 missed calls from yesterday. About the radio silence that's stretchedbetween us since my dramatic reveal. About the disappointment I know is waiting for me when I finally face them.
But I can't run and ignore their calls forever. At some point, I need to bridge this gap between who they wanted me to be and who I actually am.
"Okay," I agree quietly. "But give me five more minutes. Tell them I'm taking a dump or something."
He sighs, but there's definite amusement in his voice now. "Very ladylike."
"You know if you need me, I'll be there in a heartbeat, right?" he adds, his voice dropping to something more intimate.
I smile despite the tears still drying on my cheeks. "I know. And thank you for just... listening. That's what I really needed. Not solutions or strategies or someone trying to fix it. Just someone to hear me."
"Always," he says simply, and the weight of that single word makes my chest tight with emotion.
I hang up and finally leave the stall, my legs shaky but functional. The bathroom is still empty—one of the benefits of being in the VIP section of the building where only the highest-level personnel have access. I wash my hands with soap that smells like something botanical and expensive, then splash cold water on my face.
My reflection in the mirror is a mess. Mascara slightly smudged despite being supposedly waterproof, eyes red-rimmed and puffy, the kind of vulnerable expression I never let anyone see. But underneath the mess, there's something else. Determination, maybe. Or just stubbornness too deep to be washed away by tears.
I tilt my head back, closing my eyes and taking one more deep breath to center myself.
"If you're trying to get something for the tabloids," I say to the seemingly empty bathroom, my voice steady despite theresidual shakiness, "it's going to be a waste of time documenting one's conversation in the washroom at that."
There's a pause, then a voice that makes my blood freeze in my veins.
"Or if you answered your phone calls, it would have made things easier."
I frown, my entire body going rigid as I recognize the voice. The accent, the particular way she emphasizes certain syllables, the underlying tone of disappointment that she's perfected over decades of practice.
I turn my head slowly, like maybe if I move carefully enough this will turn out to be a hallucination brought on by stress and too much caffeine.
