Page 36 of Knot So Fast
"There's trouble everywhere thanks to this new rule about having an Omega on every team," Rory sighs heavily. "The entire paddock feels like it's about to explode from all the pent-up frustration and panic."
I pause in my mail sorting, a thought occurring to me.
"Are you going to participate? I mean, you could probably outrace half those pompous assholes in your sleep."
There's a long pause before Rory answers, and I can almost hear her internal debate.
"I've thought about it," she admits slowly. "None of these fuckers here know I can drive pretty damn fast. I've got luck on my side and more skill than most of them combined, but will these cocky bastards actually let me behind the wheel? Probably not."
I giggle, feeling a surge of affection for my fearless best friend.
"I know you're fast. Even though I don't have any hardcore memories of being some cool-ass racer myself, if I drive the way I do in those simulation games, I'm probably pretty decent too."
The line goes quiet for a moment, and I can sense Rory choosing her words carefully.
"You know I'd tell you everything if I was allowed to," she says finally, her voice heavy with frustration. "But I'm stuck with these fucking NDAs your parents made everyone sign."
I smile sadly, understanding the impossible position she's been put in.
"I get it. My parents are just thinking about what's best for the daughter they almost lost, right? I mean, I'm their only heir,and they're pretty wealthy, so I guess they're concerned. Just a little bit."
"Define 'a little bit,'" Rory huffs, and there's something in her tone that suggests my parents' level of concern might be more intense than I realize.
I laugh, trying to keep the mood light. "Well, I'm going to dinner at their place tonight, so I guess I'll find out exactly how concerned they are."
"Are you getting a ride?" Rory asks, and there's sudden tension in her voice that makes me frown.
"I'm driving myself," I say, confused by her obvious worry. "It's only thirty minutes from here, and I'll be obeying the speed limit like a responsible citizen."
Another long pause, and I can practically feel Rory's anxiety through the phone.
"Fine," she says eventually, "but I'm one call away if you need a ride or if anything feels off, okay? Promise me you'll call."
"I promise," I assure her, touched by her protective instincts even if I don't fully understand them. "Thank you for worrying about me, even when you can't tell me why."
We chat for a few more minutes about lighter topics before saying our goodbyes.
After hanging up, I turn my attention back to the stack of mail, sorting through the usual bills and advertisements until something catches my eye.
There's an odd black envelope mixed in with the mundane correspondence, the paper quality clearly expensive and the weight suggesting something more substantial than a typical letter.
My name is written across the front in elegant script that looks almost calligraphic.
Curious, I carefully open the envelope and find a photograph that makes my breath catch in my throat.
It's obviously from before my accident, similar to the racing photo on my nightstand, but this one shows me standing next to Lucius. We're both in full racing gear, the color coordination making it clear we're on the same team.
Our helmets are in our hands as we stand confidently in front of two brand-new racing cars that look like they cost more than most people's houses.
What strikes me most about the photo is the way we're positioned—not just as teammates, but with a familiarity and intimacy that suggests our relationship was much more significant than anyone has told me.
Lucius has his arm around my waist in a way that screams possession and partnership, while I'm leaning into him with a smile that looks genuinely happy.
I flip the photograph over, looking for a date or some kind of identification, but instead I find a single message written in the same elegant script: "Potential shouldn't be wasted."
Beneath those cryptic words, there's a ticket taped to the back of the photo. It's marked "DRIVER ADMISSION" and includes details for a racing event at a stadium I recognize, even if I can't remember why it's familiar. The date is less than two weeks from now.
I stare at the ticket, my heart starting to pound with a mixture of excitement and confusion.
