Page 224 of Knot So Lucky

I try to reach for the harness release, but my arms are too heavy. Or maybe they're injured. Hard to tell when everything feels equally numb and distant.

Sirens ring from somewhere far away. Emergency response mobilizing, but will they reach me before the fire does?

Through the ringing in my ears, I hear other sounds. Voices shouting commands. The particular mechanical sounds of fire suppression equipment deploying. Someone screaming my name—Luca, maybe, or Cale finally arriving on scene.

My last coherent thought before consciousness slips away completely is of Aurora waking up in that hospital.

Will she understand what I did?

Why I drove in her place, why I exposed myself to this danger?

Or will she think I abandoned her, that I put racing glory above her safety, that I'm just another Alpha who couldn't protect what matters?

The darkness isn't painful.

It's almost gentle—welcoming, even, like falling asleep after exhausting work.

I hope she understands.

I hope she forgives me.

I hope?—

The world goes black, and with it, all hope or fear or feeling.

Just silence, smoke, and the distant sound of sirens that may or may not arrive in time to matter.

CHAPTER 44

Awakening And Revelations

~AURORA~

Consciousness returns in fragments.

The first thing I register is the beeping. Steady, rhythmic, the particular electronic pulse of medical monitoring equipment that speaks to hospitals and emergency rooms and situations where someone's vital signs need constant observation.

The second thing is the hand holding mine.

Warm. Calloused. Familiar in ways that make my chest ache before my brain fully processes who it belongs to.

I try to open my eyes, but they feel heavy. Weighted down by exhaustion or drugs or both. The effort required seems disproportionate to the simple act of seeing, but I force myself through it anyway.

Fluorescent lighting. White ceiling tiles. The antiseptic smell of medical facilities mixing with something else—dark chocolate and gunpowder, the particular scent signature that belongs to only one person in my life.

Luca.

He's sitting beside my bed in one of those uncomfortable hospital chairs that nobody could possibly sleep in. Except he's somehow managed it, his head tilted back at an angle that's going to give him a killer neck ache when he wakes up. His eyes are closed, mouth slightly open, and he's snoring quietly—soft sounds that would be endearing if I wasn't so confused about why I'm here.

Where is here, exactly?

I try to piece together memories, but they're fragmented. Scattered like puzzle pieces that don't quite fit together yet.

The garage. I was in the garage, checking the car one final time before the race. Everything looked good, no anomalies, no signs of tampering.

Then Adrian arrived with coffee.

The memory crystallizes with uncomfortable clarity. The coffee tasting off, bitter in ways it shouldn't be. Adrian taking a sip and confirming something was wrong.