Page 85 of Love Me Knot, Part One (Knotty Omegas #1)

My jeans are already ripped and stained, so I don’t bother changing into my spare uniform.

After Moore’s little meltdown about the NOS, I decided to overbuild the engine so it won’t fail when he inevitably overexerts it.

That means configuring the highest horsepower the car could get to, then using that as our baseline.

With the engine change, I ordered some aftermarket main caps, the design meant to prevent them from moving when he does something stupid with the nitrous.

Sawyer and Missy help change the rod bolts and pistons to be more durable.

She uses her teensy fingers to mount the nitrous tank in the trunk so it’s easily accessible and even pops a mini fire extinguisher beneath the driver’s seat.

Anyone with a classic car knows that’s the most valuable thing to keep around.

Throughout the build, we talk. I learn about Missy’s dating woes—mansplaining cars to a mechanic, woman or not, is the most idiotic shit I’ve ever heard—and Sawyer tells us about the neighbor he was into that found a pack and moved away.

My heart breaks at the longing in his voice and I understand now why our situation hurts so much.

He thought he’d be in the same position right now.

Eventually, Missy heads out, and it’s just the two of us working silently.

I’ll need to call around and find a few more parts because the ones we have won’t work with the rebuild, but everything else in on schedule.

I’ll have to take a trip out of town to get these parts, which sounds like torture right now.

I don’t want to leave Daph for a second, let again overnight.

Leaving a sticky note on my station to remind me to call my contact in the morning, I turn back to Sawyer when he asks, “How are things going with your omega?”

Even the mention of Daphne makes me fucking giddy. “Great. She’s had a rough go of it, but I think she’s finally trusting us.”

“That’s amazing.” He looks away and again, there’s that raw, aching wound right there for me to see. Normally, I’d let it go, but Sawyer’s amazing. If there’s a chance that he could be as happy with his omega as I am with Daphne, he deserves it.

“Have you called her?”

He shakes his head. “It’s complicated.”

“Love sometimes is, but it’s also the most uncomplicated thing in the world. I bet she’d like to hear from you.”

“She’s bonded with a new baby.” Sawyer swallows back hurt so thick I can feel it. “There’s no chance she’s waiting around for me when she has an entire pack to dote on her.”

I think of Daphne, who was left alone all the time. Neglected, abused, and so sure she’d never find peace or comfort with alphas again because they felt like the best the world had to offer. “Maybe. Or maybe she’s waiting for you to come for her.”

“I went to see her once,” Sawyer admits, looking down at his grease-covered hands. “She’s got this big, beautiful house and these handsome alphas. How can I compete with that? Even if they wanted me to join, how could I contribute?”

Sawyer’s cracks run deep and as much as I want to help him, it’s not my place.

He’s got to heal this part of himself alone.

But I can offer support. “It’s your choice, obviously, but if you both felt a connection, why wouldn’t you try?

Money isn’t the only thing that matters in life.

If it’s about your designation, I’d hope someone you love wouldn’t bond alphas like that. ”

“Maybe you’re right.” He looks at me. “You’re a good listener.”

I laugh, leaning against the wall. “I’ve had a lot of practice.”

“You good? I know I haven’t asked before, but?—”

“Don’t sweat it,” I wave him off. “I’m good. Really fucking good.”

And I’m going to keep it that way.

An hour later, I’m at the pack house for the first time in months.

Connor let Shelby choose the place and it’s gaudy as fuck in a prestigious area I know he and Dez couldn’t afford when they moved in.

Especially with the business in its infancy.

But Shelby always got what she wanted, and her biggest desire was to keep up with her family’s circle of friends.

Rich assholes who didn’t care that my brothers were working themselves to the bone, only that they weren’t loaded doing it.

The thing about gaining wealth is it’s a lot easier to do when you’re born into it.

Not having to worry about paying for food, insurance, or medical bills frees up a lot of time to follow your dreams and reach your goals.

It’s why marginalized communities are so often stuck in cycles of poverty throughout generations.

Most people can’t get out because they’re too busy trying to survive.

For Shelby’s people, the idea of working toward a comfortable life felt as alien as it was to go to one of their obscene expensive dinner parties where they air kissed each other’s faces over drinks that cost more than most people’s yearly rent.

I unlock the house, wanting to get in and out as soon as possible.

The air is stale in the foyer, uncycled and drowning in resentment.

Memories embedded in the drywall, practically screaming their reminders.

We’ve worked hard the last few years to get our shit together, find our way back to each other as brothers, but this house was bleeding us dry. Cutting us open every chance it got.

In some ways, it reminds me of my family’s house, shuttered and unused for so fucking long.

Now that the grief is shifting, it may be time to decide what to do with it.

My parents paid off the place before they died and had a trust for the property taxes that still has plenty in it.

They didn’t want Ella and I to lose our home if were left without them and for the first time, I’m grateful.

It’s not an albatross around my neck. It’s a beacon of a life well-lived, even if it ended too soon.

The pack house is nothing but carnage everywhere I look.

“Fucking hate this place,” I mutter, heading for the kitchen. The marble countertops and top-of-the-line equipment gather dust, but I don’t bother with them. Instead, I turn to the lilac hutch settled against the wall in the kitchen nook.

The knobs are mosaic with pretty bronze toppers on all three glass-paned doors, every drawer and cabinet too.

My mother loved this hutch. Found it in a resale store for fifty bucks and nearly cried at how perfect it was.

Damn thing weighs a ton and almost didn’t fit in the door, but Dad and I made it happen.

The smile she gave us when we settled it in my family home was fucking priceless.

When we moved in here, it was one of the few things I insisted we bring. Shelby hated it, but when Connor told her it wasn’t going anywhere, she shut up and left it alone. It’s one of the few things in the house that doesn’t hold her stain.

Behind the glass doors are shelves of cookbooks; some bought, some written. I head for the thick red one; the spine cracked and worn from years of use with notebook papers tucked into the pages.

Nostalgia is a beating heart as I flip through, spotting the splash of cake batter I spilled on one page and the faint stain of orange from a pumpkin roll Ella attempted to make on another.

My grandmother’s handwriting is sprinkled here and there.

My mother’s, too. A lifetime of cooking lessons and family moments, memories that survived in the fibers when the rest of us didn’t.

My chest aches with the unfairness of it, but above that, I just feel at peace. Nothing will bring my sister or our parents back, but their ghosts live in me. Their history survives with my pack and our family. They’re gone in body, but I feel them around me. Their love, their support, their hope.

I find the red velvet recipe that I’ve tasted a million times and the urge to make it for Daphne is so strong, I have to fight myself to stay still.

Texting her for the umpteenth time today is second nature. If we’re not together, we’re talking all the time. Sometimes, it’s about little things like what we ate and the things we’ve seen in the world. Sometimes, how hard life is and our fears and worries.

Most of what I’ve learned about her exes has been over text because it’s easier for Daph to admit what they did when I’m not in front of her.

It doesn’t upset me. It’s how she processes.

I can respect that. Plus, it’s something that’s ours.

Our little bubble of safety in the confines of our message thread.

Me

Hey, baby. When is your birthday? Don’t think I ever asked.

Daphne

It was a few days before we met.

Disappointment steals the breath from my lungs. Dez’s birthday is coming up, then mine and Connor’s, but waiting a whole year for Daph’s will be torture when there’s nothing I want more than to share my family’s traditions.

Me

Next year, I’m going to give you the best birthday you’ve ever had.

Daphne

I bet you’re the best planner in the pack.

I haven’t been, not for years, but it’s about time I went back to my roots. Starting now.

Me

Stick around, kitten. I’ll show you what a birthday’s really supposed to be like.

Daphne

I look forward to all of it 3.

Smiling, I tuck the cookbook under my arm, intending to come back for the rest. Pulling out of the pack house driveway for what I hope is one of the last times, I head for the store. Time to make someone else’s day brighter.