Page 53 of Knot So Fast (Speedverse #1)

NEGOTIATIONS OF THE HEART

~ A UREN~

The remnants of our lunch sit between us—empty plates that once held perfectly seared fish and vegetables arranged like art, glasses with the last drops of expensive wine clinging to their curves.

We're waiting for dessert, some elaborate creation the waiter described with the kind of reverence usually reserved for religious experiences, but my attention is entirely on the man across from me.

"So," I say, swirling the remaining wine in my glass, "what did you want to talk about?"

Lachlan is more relaxed now than he was during the press conference, the tension that had been riding his shoulders finally easing. He's nursing his whiskey—his third, not that I'm counting—and there's something contemplative in the way he watches the amber liquid move in the glass.

I'm on my second glass of wine, maybe third if you count the one I had during the appetizers, and it's making me pleasantly tipsy.

Not drunk, just... soft around the edges.

Calm in a way I haven't felt in months.

The anxiety that usually sits like a weight on my chest has loosened its grip, replaced by something warm and languid.

He doesn't answer immediately.

Instead, he rises from his seat with that fluid grace that makes everything he does look choreographed. Before I can ask what he's doing, he's sliding into the booth beside me, close enough that I can feel the heat radiating from his body.

I smirk, unable to resist teasing him.

"Getting cozy, are we? Need I remind you we're in a very public space?"

His answering smirk is dangerous, all predator and promise. Without warning, his hand finds my thigh, fingers wrapping around it with firm possession. He deliberately slides his hand higher, high enough that my breath catches, high enough that the intent is unmistakable.

"Being in public wouldn't stop me if that's what you're trying to pull," he whispers, his breath warm against my ear.

Before I can formulate a response— something witty to deflect from the heat suddenly pooling low in my belly —he kisses me.

It's light, barely a brush of lips, but somehow more intimate than if he'd claimed my mouth properly.

Then he's pulling me closer, tucking me against his side as he relaxes back in his seat, reaching for his whiskey with his free hand like this is the most natural thing in the world.

"I want to know," he says, his voice dropping to something more serious, "if you genuinely want to try this Omega thing with my pack."

The question hangs between us, weighted with implications I'm only beginning to understand. But the thing is, I don't really feel the need to think about it. Not in the way you'd think about a business decision or a strategic move.

This feels... different.

I'm silent for a moment, not because I'm uncertain, but because I'm wondering what it's going to be like. Having a pack. Being part of something bigger than just myself and my carefully controlled world.

"The idea seems so smooth," I admit finally. "Almost easy. Like it's meant to be effortless."

"But?" He knows there's more, can probably feel it in the way I'm holding myself.

I give him a saucy look, but then I'm resting my head on his shoulder, letting myself sink into his warmth. I know people could be watching us, probably are watching us. Someone's definitely taking photos that will end up on social media within the hour.

But I'm too relaxed to give a damn.

I close my eyes and just breathe him in. That scent that's uniquely his—pine, motor oil, and something clean, something safe. It wraps around me like armor, like protection, like home. Just his presence makes me feel safer than I've felt in a year of careful supervision and medical monitoring.

I think about how this year has gone. Really think about it. Cooped up in that luxury space like a bird in a gilded cage, playing video games to pass the endless hours.

Breathing but not living. Existing but not thriving.

"I know my parents mean well," I say, keeping my eyes closed as the words spill out. "Anyone would, after the accident I went through. But I wasn't living."

The admission feels like releasing a pressure valve, truth hissing out after being contained for too long.

"I was just a breathing being. Similar to a robot who found escape in technology because life seemed so suffocating.

Every day was the same—wake up, take my pills, eat the approved meals, attend the approved activities, be the good little recovering Omega who doesn't cause problems or ask difficult questions. "

My fingers find his where they rest on his whiskey glass, tracing patterns on his knuckles.

"I enjoyed playing those games because I felt alive again. Racing, even virtually, even with fake cars and fake tracks, it was the only time I felt like myself. Or at least, like who I might be if anyone would let me find out."

I can feel him listening, really listening, not just waiting for his turn to speak. It encourages me to continue.

"I guess I'm realizing it was aiding me back then—keeping me sane when everything else felt like a prison. But now that I've felt what it's like to be on the track again, despite my amnesia, despite everyone thinking I'm crazy... I want to strive for it again."

I open my eyes slightly, watching the city sprawl below us through the glass barriers of the terrace.

"I want to prove the world wrong. I want the spotlight to be my way out of that cage, even if it's going to come with its share of problems. Even if it means dealing with reporters asking if I'm pregnant or suggesting I can't compete with men who've been racing longer than I've been alive."

I shift slightly, pressing closer to his warmth.

"I really didn't get the chance to take in all your scents and presences back at the suite the other day. I was already overwhelmed and hyperaware of everything from the day. I hope it didn't offend them."

"It didn't," he assures me immediately, his arm tightening around me. "They're all very understanding of the new circumstances. Kieran especially—he knows what it's like to have enhanced senses overwhelmed. And Dex has been commenting on sensitivity to stimuli in racing for years. They get it."

"I want to learn about each of them again," I admit.

"Even if it may be tiring to be repetitive due to my circumstances.

But if everything had been smooth prior to the accident, it shouldn't be any different now.

Maybe it'll even be better—starting fresh without whatever baggage we were carrying before. "

I tilt my head to look up at him, finding his eyes already on me.

"I won't be perfect. Most certainly things will be challenging with the public eye doing everything to find drama and turmoil. But I want to do it. This Omega thing. Being part of your pack."

The question that's been nagging at me slips out before I can stop it.

"Have I had my heat with you before? With the pack?"

"Yes." The simple answer carries weight, memories I can't access but that clearly affect him.

I frown, trying to imagine it, trying to pull something, anything, from the blank space where those memories should be. "What was it like? I can't recall how it's like at all."

His smirk is immediate and wicked. "You were very dominant."

"Get that grin off your face," I tell him, but there's no heat in it.

He chuckles, the sound rumbling through his chest where I'm pressed against him. "You literally had Kieran begging. The control freak of our pack, the one who plans everything down to the second, and you had him on his knees pleading for?—"

"Stop," I interrupt, my face heating with a blush that has nothing to do with the wine.

But he's not done teasing. He leans down, pressing his lips to my neck in a kiss that's barely there but sends shivers down my spine anyway.

"If you can trust us," he whispers against my skin, his voice turning earnest, "I'd want you to stop those meds. Or at least taper off them slowly."

I still at the suggestion, the implications of it rattling through me.

"You can trust us with your heat," he continues. "And I'd want you to ease into it sooner rather than drastically later. Things are going to get heated with the competition—no pun intended—and triggering your heat unexpectedly would be troublesome if it's before or after a race."

He's right, of course. The suppressants have been keeping everything level, controlled, manageable.

But they've also been keeping me muted, dampened, less than what I could be.

And if I'm going to be racing, if I'm going to be part of a pack, having my heat hit unexpectedly because my body finally overwhelms the medication. .. that would be a disaster.

"I can work it out with the doctor my family lets me see," I say. "I'm comfortable with it. With trusting you. All of you."

He pulls back slightly, studying my face, and I know what's coming before he says it.

"About Lucius..."

The name hangs between us like a challenge, like a test, like a complication neither of us wants but both of us have to acknowledge.

"I'm not going to control whether you still want to have a fling with him or not," he says, and I can hear how much that costs him. "But know he doesn't have the intention to commit to you or the pack."

I think about it, about the year of on-and-off with Lucius, about the passion and the fights and the way we can never quite let go of each other even when we should.

"Is he in the pack?" I ask, though I think I already know the answer.

"No." Lachlan's jaw tightens slightly. "We've always been in different packs. Not because I didn't invite him to be part of mine, but because Lucius doesn't seem to feel that sense of belonging. Or maybe he's simply searching for it without trying it out first."

He shrugs, but it's not casual. It's the shrug of someone who's tried everything and is running out of options.

"I thought maybe he'd realize once we had an Omega—that he'd understand what we could be together. But now that you're in the equation, he still wants to play around. Still wants to have you without having us."

"And you don't like that." It's not a question.

He shakes his head, his expression hardening.

"We wait our whole lives to find an Omega that will complete us.

The pack bonds, the dynamics, the balance—it all clicks into place with the right person.

It's not fair to Kieran, Caspian, Dex to just allow Lucius to do whatever he wants and come back to the pack when it's convenient or when he's in trouble. "

He pauses, turning to look at me fully, and the intensity in his gaze makes my breath catch.

"And it's not fair to you to believe you're not worth dropping the world for."

The words hit something deep in my chest, something that's been wounded and scarred and told to be smaller, safer, less. I smile, just a little, and lean up to kiss him lightly.

"I can't guarantee I won't be tempted from time to time," I admit, because honesty seems important here.

"The chemistry with Lucius is... it's intense.

Probably toxic. Definitely complicated. But I also want to respect your decision.

So if Lucius doesn't want to commit, I guess that does make me off limits until he's ready to prove himself. "

Lachlan's surprise is evident, his eyes widening slightly. "You agree with me?"

I study his face, seeing not just the Alpha or the champion, but the man who's been waiting for me for a year. Who saved my life. Who stepped back when my parents demanded it. Who's been patient and protective and present even when I couldn't remember him.

"Sometimes I think about how it must be," I say softly. "To live a year watching me love another when you truly do care about me. That must have been its own kind of hell."

He doesn't say anything, but his hand tightens on my waist, and I can feel the emotion he's holding back. The pain of watching from afar, of knowing what we had and seeing me unable to remember, of watching his twin brother take what should have been his—ours.

The moment is broken by the hostess approaching, her professional smile in place.

"Would you like the bill?"

"Yes, card," Lachlan says immediately, pulling out a black American Express and placing it on the table with the kind of casual wealth that still makes me blink.

I stand, suddenly needing a moment to myself to process everything we've discussed. "I'll go use the washroom real quick before we go."

His smirk returns, playful now.

"Don't take too long or I'll come after you."

I laugh, unable to resist one last tease.

"You took six minutes and twenty-eight seconds when you went, but who's counting?"

His smile widens into something that makes heat pool in my belly despite our serious conversation.

He gives me a wink that's pure sin and promise, and I have to force myself to walk away before I do something inappropriate for such a public venue.

As I make my way to the washroom, I think about what I've just agreed to. A pack. A commitment. A future that's uncertain but full of possibility. Stepping away from Lucius and toward something that might be healthier, even if it's scarier because it requires real trust, real vulnerability.

The marble washroom is as excessive as expected, and I take a moment to look at myself in the mirror. My cheeks are flushed from wine and conversation, my lips slightly swollen from kisses, my eyes bright with something that might be hope.

I look alive. Really alive, not just existing.

And for the first time since I woke up in that hospital, I'm excited to see what comes next.

Even if it's complicated. Even if it's dangerous. Even if it means letting go of the toxic safety of what I know for the uncertain promise of what could be.

I splash some cold water on my face, touch up my lipstick, and prepare to go back to the man who's waiting for me. Who's been waiting for me for longer than I can remember.

Time to sign those contracts and make this official. Time to stop being a passenger and start driving toward whatever future we're going to create together.

I take one last look in the mirror, square my shoulders, and head back to where Lachlan is waiting.

He's already standing when I return, the bill settled, his hand extended toward me.

I take it without hesitation, threading our fingers together, and he pulls me close enough to whisper in my ear.

"Ready for what comes next?"

I squeeze his hand and give him my most challenging smile.

"I was born ready. The question is, can you keep up?"

He laughs, the sound rich and warm, and we head toward the elevator that will take us back down to reality.

But for once, reality doesn't feel like a cage.

It feels like the starting line.