Page 73 of Knot So Fast
What I don't say is that his biggest strategic move already happened.
He chose her over glory, love over victory, loyalty over legacy. And in a sport that measures success in trophies and podiums, that kind of choice is incomprehensible to most.
The engines roar to life on the track below, that distinctive Formula One scream that used to make my blood sing. Now it just reminds me of everything we've lost, everything we gave up, everything we can't get back.
Marcus continues his commentary, building excitement for the viewers, but I find myself thinking about later. About the drink we'll all need when this is over, when Lachlan's career officially ends not with a crash or a defeat but with a quiet refusal to compromise his principles.
It's not the ending any of us imagined for him.
The man who conquered Formula One, who made the impossible look easy, who turned racing into art— reduced to a footnote about the champion who walked away rather than accept the new rules.
But that's Lachlan.
Stubborn, principled, loyal to a fault. He'd rather lose everything than betray the memory of what he and Auren had.
Even if she can't remember.
Even if she's currently in his brother's bed, living a half-life built on carefully constructed lies.
Even if it's killing all of us to watch.
The race is about to begin, and I force myself to focus on the technical aspects, on tire strategies and fuel loads and all the things that used to consume my every waking thought. But part of me is already mourning what's about to happen, already preparing for the aftermath.
Because after today, everything changes.
The pack dynamics, the team structure, the careful balance we've maintained for three years—all of it will shift and realign around Lachlan's absence.
And that shift will be enough to finally crack open the secrets we've all been keeping.
Maybe losing Lachlan from the track will be the catalyst that brings Auren back into our lives, memories or no memories.
Or maybe it'll drive the final nail into the coffin of what we used to be.
Either way, by the end of today, the four-time world champion will be just another cautionary tale about the price of love in a sport that demands everything and forgives nothing.
A shame, indeed.
REBELLION IN RACING GEAR
~AUREN~
I tugat the racing suit one more time, adjusting the way it hugs my curves in all the right places while still maintaining the professional appearance required for what I'm about to do.
The material is high-tech, fireproof, and costs more than most people's monthly rent, but right now, all I can think about is whether I look convincing enough to pull off the insane plan my best friends and I have concocted.
"Is this going to work?" I ask, turning to face Rory as she emerges from behind a stack of spare tires.
She comes into full view, and I have to bite back a laugh at how different she looks from the Omega I know she is. Her short blonde hair is styled in a perfect sideswipe bob that gives her serious tomboy vibes, the blue highlights catching the fluorescent lights of the garage in a way that makes them look almost electric.
She's wearing her usual pit crew gear, grease-stained and baggy enough to hide any feminine curves, complete with a cap pulled low over her eyes.
The small star crescent tattoo under her right eye—the one that matches mine and Wren's, our symbol of friendship since we were teenagers—is barely visible beneath a strategic smudge of motor oil.
Rory smirks diabolically, the expression transforming her face from sweet Omega to dangerous conspirator. She reaches behind her and produces a helmet, custom-painted in blacks and purples with lightning bolt accents that probably cost more than a small car.
"It better work," she says, handing me the helmet with a flourish. "Because I'm looking like an actual girl right now for my bestie, and if any of those possessive Alphas on my team see me here instead of on the opposite side of the station prepping their rides, they're gonna lose their shit."
I laugh, the sound echoing in the relatively empty section of the garage we've commandeered for our preparation.
