Page 90 of Knot So Lucky

After a long moment, I shrug with feigned casualness that fools neither of us.

"And what was my dear brother going to do?" I keep my voice light, detached, like we're discussing something that happened to someone else. "Throw away the potential future you'd been building since you were ten years old? Abandon everything to protect your tomboy sister from the cruel reality of life?"

I shake my head, looking anywhere except at his face.

"That's not fair to you, Roran."

"But it was never fair toyou, Aurora." His voice breaks on my real name, and his grip on my wrist tightens. "It was never fucking fair."

I pause, finally meeting his eyes.

Those storm-green mirrors of my own, currently glazed with drugs and pain and guilt that he's carried for years without knowing the full story.

I try to smile.

Know it doesn't reach my eyes, doesn't carry any genuine warmth or reassurance. It's the smile I wear at family dinners when relatives make comments about Omegas knowing their place. The smile I use when Alphas at the garage make assumptions about my capabilities.

The smile that protects everyone except me.

I lean down, whispering close enough that only he can hear.

"Hurry up and get better. It's annoying not having you to fight with. I can't deal with only Cale's obnoxiousness."

I straighten and move toward the door before this conversation can go any deeper, before the carefully constructed walls I've built around that particular trauma can crack.

"Sorry, I couldn't protect you," Roran whispers just as my hand touches the doorknob.

I don't turn around.

Don't acknowledge them because if I do, I'll break down completely, and there's a race in less than thirty minutes.

Instead, I blink rapidly, forcing back tears that threaten to form, and walk out.

The hallway is cooler than his room, the air-conditioned atmosphere a shock against my flushed skin. I lean against the wall for just a moment, letting myself feel the weight of everything before I have to set it aside and become Rory Lane the racer instead of Aurora Lane the damaged Omega.

Then I move.

The locker room is mercifully empty when I arrive; everyone else is already at their stations preparing for the qualifier. I grab one of Roran's racing suits from his personal locker—we're identical enough in build when I'm bound and layered that it should work—and strip out of my tech coveralls with mechanical efficiency.

The binding comes first. Fresh wrapping because the one from this morning is still in the hospital waste bin. The pressure around my ribs makes breathing difficult, makes my injuries protest, but it's necessary.

The racing suit is form-fitting enough that any hint of curves would be immediately noticeable.

I pull on the fire-resistant underlayer, then the suit itself. It's slightly loose in the shoulders—Roran's been working out more than I have—but otherwise fits well enough.

The helmet is next, and I pause before putting it on.

The mirror shows Rory Lane staring back. Short blonde hair with strategic highlights. Sharp features that read masculine at first glance. The star crescent tattoo under my right eye currently hidden beneath makeup.

I reach for a makeup wipe and carefully, deliberately, remove the concealer covering the tattoo.

The star crescent emerges in sharp relief against my skin—identical to Roran's placement, one of the few physical markers that distinguish us as twins rather than just siblings.

If I'm going to do this—if I'm going to race in his place—I might as well look the part. Might as well be as close to my twin as possible for anyone who's paying attention.

The woman in the mirror stares back with storm-green eyes that carry too much history and not enough sleep.

Then I put on the helmet, and she disappears entirely behind the dark visor.