Page 15 of Knot So Fast (Speedverse #1)

HIDDEN INVITATIONS

~ A UREN~

I settle into the comfortable chair at my desk, phone pressed to my ear as I dial a number I know by heart even if I can't remember learning it.

The familiar sound of Rory's voice answering makes me smile despite the chaos swirling through my head after this morning's revelations.

"Hey, babe," I say, unable to keep the amusement out of my voice as I whistle low. "So tell me, how bad is it out there?"

Rory Lane my bestie spends her time trackside—grease-stained, scent-masked, and hiding in plain sight just so that people don’t realize she’s an Omega in disguised as an Alpha for years just to survive in the testosterone-fueled world of Formula One, playing the part of just another nameless pit tech.

"The mayhem hasn't fucking stopped," Rory groans, and I can hear the exhaustion in her voice even through the phone.

"I swear I'm going to get a migraine from all the frustrated testosterone saturating the air.

These Alphas are losing their absolute shit because they're not getting what they want for once in their privileged lives. "

I burst out laughing, the sound echoing through my quiet apartment.

"Christ, I wouldn't want to be out there working with those fuckers when they're having their collective tantrum. Sounds like a nightmare."

"It's getting harder and harder to blend in as an Alpha when I want to tell half these assholes exactly what I think of their precious egos," Rory admits with a laugh that sounds slightly manic around the edges. "But if I have to keep playing my part as the Mulan of racing, so be it."

"Oh, how heroic of you," I tease, grinning at her dramatic tone. "Truly inspiring stuff. I'm sure Disney would love to option your life story."

"Hush, you're not helping," she shoots back, but I can hear her smiling through the mock irritation. "I'm having an identity crisis over here, and you're making jokes."

We're both laughing when her tone shifts to something more serious and concerned.

"How are the memories going? Any breakthrough moments, or are you still floating in that frustrating fog?"

I groan and let my head fall back against my chair.

"Going absolutely nowhere, and I'm just thankful I at least remember my best friends because fuck, it's hard out here when you can't trust your own brain."

"Want to talk about it?" Rory's voice softens with genuine concern. "What's eating at you today?"

I pause for a moment, organizing my thoughts before diving into the mess that's been my life lately.

"I'm still riding that toxic ex who doesn't see eye to eye with me about literally anything. You know, the one who makes me question my sanity on a daily basis."

Rory groans so loudly I have to pull the phone away from my ear.

"Auren, Wren warned you that he was trouble both the first time you met the fucker and again when you couldn't remember him after the accident. And what do you do? Make him your regular fuck buddy like that's going to end well for anyone involved."

"Hey, third time's the charm, right?" I offer weakly, knowing how pathetic that sounds even as the words leave my mouth.

"Fuck no," Rory says emphatically. "Third time is when you finally learn your lesson and find someone who doesn't make you want to commit homicide on a daily basis."

I shrug even though she can't see me, walking over to my desk where there's a stack of mail that the concierge delivered earlier.

I settle into my chair and lower my cup of herbal tea—some special blend that's supposedly designed to help with mental stability and memory loss. It's probably bullshit, but at this point I'm willing to try anything that might help me piece together the fragments of my missing life.

"Look, I know we're toxic as hell," I admit, taking a sip of the earthy-tasting tea. "But I can't lie—I'm completely addicted to his cock. Like, embarrassingly so."

"God, I'm so jealous," Rory sighs dramatically. "I can't be riding anyone's cock right now, and it's slowly driving me insane."

I raise an eyebrow at that confession.

"What about that guy you've been seeing at that masked bar? The one with all the tattoos who you said was hung like a horse?"

Rory huffs, and I can practically hear her rolling her eyes.

"I'm taking a break from him because he was getting possessive and clingy.

Even though he's basically a walking canvas of ink and knows how to use what God gave him, he was starting to get too comfortable with my scent.

I didn't want him getting attached and figuring out what I really am, so I've been avoiding that whole situation. "

"Trouble in paradise?" I tease, sorting through the pile of mail absently.

"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.

"Is this some kind of audition?" I murmur to myself, studying the official-looking pass.

The timing can't be coincidental—not with the Formula One announcement this morning and now this mysterious invitation appearing in my mail. Someone clearly wants me to participate in whatever this event is, but who? And more importantly, why?

I pout my lips, turning the ticket over in my hands while my mind races with possibilities.

The photograph suggests I was not only involved in professional racing but was good enough to be partnered with someone like Lucius, who I'm starting to suspect might be more important in the racing world than anyone has told me.

The message about potential not being wasted feels like both an encouragement and a challenge.

Someone out there believes I have abilities worth developing, skills worth nurturing despite my memory loss.

But participating in whatever this is would mean stepping back into a world I can't remember, trusting instincts I'm not sure I can access.

My phone suddenly rings, interrupting my internal debate, and I glance at the caller ID to see "Mom" displayed on the screen.

Perfect timing, as always.

I sigh and set the mysterious ticket aside, my mind still spinning with questions about who could have sent it and what they expect me to do with it.

The idea of getting behind the wheel of a real race car is both terrifying and exhilarating, triggering something deep in my chest that feels like recognition mixed with hunger.

But I need to think about this carefully. Getting involved in racing again—assuming I was ever involved in the first place—could be exactly what I need to trigger my lost memories. Or it could be a dangerous step backward into a world that nearly killed me once already.

The phone continues ringing, and I know I can't avoid my parents forever. They're probably calling to confirm tonight's dinner plans, which means I'll have to face their protective concern and carefully worded questions about my recovery progress.

Maybe tonight I'll finally get some real answers about my past.

Or better yet, I'll work up the courage to ask the hard questions about why everyone seems so determined to shield me from my own life story.

As I reach for the phone, I steal one more glance at the racing photograph.

The woman standing next to Lucius looks confident and fearless, like she belongs exactly where she is. She looks like someone who was born to race, who found her purpose in speed and competition and the rush of pushing limits.

If that woman is really who I used to be, then maybe it's time I stopped letting other people decide what I can and can't handle.

It's time I figured out what "potential shouldn't be wasted" actually means.

The phone rings again, and I know I have to make a decision—not just about answering my parents' call, but about whether I'm brave enough to find out what I'm truly capable of.

Looking at the driver admission ticket one more time, I feel something shift inside me. Something that feels like the beginning of remembering who I used to be, even if I can't access the specific memories yet.

I think about the Formula One announcement this morning, about Rory hiding her true identity to survive in a world that doesn't want her, about the way Kieran and Luke seem to know more about my capabilities than they're willing to share.

“It's time I stopped being a passenger in my own life and started taking back some control,” I whisper to myself.

Time I found out whether the confident woman in that photograph is still somewhere inside me, waiting to be rediscovered.

The decision feels both terrifying and inevitable as I finally reach for my phone, ready to face the revelations tonight's dinner might bring. But first, I need to figure out whether I'm brave enough to use that mysterious ticket and find out what kind of driver I really am.

Because something tells me that discovering the truth about my racing abilities might be the key to unlocking everything else I've lost.