Page 136 of Knot So Fast
I laugh, but there's no humor in it. "It just never stopped. Every milestone just led to another set of requirements, another box to tick on their endless checklist of what constituted a successful life."
"So you escaped to racing?"
"Eventually, yeah. I realized that sure, I wanted an Omega someday. Wanted a pack, wanted belonging. But I wanted to explore first. I didn't want to be stuck in a box or forced into arrangements based on my parents' approval rather than my own choices."
I smile, remembering those early days. "That's when I met Lachlan. He was this cocky kid who thought he could take on the world with nothing but talent and determination. Then came Caspian with his engineering genius and his terrible jokes. Dex with his ability to see three moves ahead of everyone else."
"And then you met me?" she prompts, and there's something vulnerable in her voice.
"Wasn't long before we met you," I confirm. "You came in like a hurricane, refusing to be intimidated by a pack of Alpha males who thought they owned the track. And Luke came into the picture too, loyal and protective and absolutely refusing to be impressed by our collective achievements."
I pause, the next part harder to articulate. "I'd taken a break from talking with my parents by then. Started taking racingseriously, not just as an escape but as something I actually wanted to pursue. When they found out..."
I trail off, remembering that phone call. The disappointment in my father's voice. My mother's tears.
"It was like I'd become the biggest disappointment imaginable, despite winning with Lachlan in our first Formula One championship together. Here I was, achieving something that millions of people dream about, and to them, it was worse than if I'd become a street sweeper."
"That's when you cut them off?"
"That's when I realized they would never be satisfied," I correct. "My happiness was never part of their equation. So I decided to step away from them and just live my life. Haven't spoken to them in two years."
The admission hangs between us, heavy with the weight of burned bridges and choices that can't be undone.
Auren listens—really listens—then reaches across the table to cup my jaw with her hand. Her palm is warm against my skin, her thumb tracing the line of my cheekbone with a gentleness that makes my chest ache.
"I may not understand the true extent of your pain," she says quietly, "but I grasp that it's difficult to be living a life that doesn't feel like yours."
Then she leans across the table and kisses me like we might both survive our histories, her lips soft but insistent against mine. When she pulls back, there's understanding in her eyes that goes beyond words.
"Does that mean you never got to explore what you liked?" she asks, settling back in her seat but keeping her hand on mine.
"What do you mean?"
She tilts her head, considering her words. "You know? Love. Roles... Genders."
The question lands like a depth charge, exploding assumptions I didn't even know I'd been carrying. I smirk to cover the sudden vulnerability, but she sees right through it.
"I didn't," I admit. "Never had the chance. Or maybe never gave myself permission."
"Are you scared to try because you don't want to disappoint them? Even now?"
The question cuts straight to the heart of it. I'm quiet for a long moment, listening to the distant sound of kart engines and the hum of the neon signs.
"Yes," I finally say. "It's hard not to hear their voices in the back of my mind, telling me what's appropriate, what's acceptable, what maintains the family image. But I want to try. Want to explore."
I meet her eyes, needing her to understand. "Obviously that's your call, not mine. You're the one who'd have to be okay with... whatever that exploration looks like."
She squeezes my hand, her smile soft but certain. "I wouldn't be against it at all. In fact, I encourage it."
She strokes my cheek, her touch grounding me in the present moment. "Life's too short to not discover who you really are, what you really want."
I lean in, drawn by something stronger than gravity. Our foreheads touch first, then our noses brush, and I have to ask even though every cell in my body is screaming to just take what's being offered.
"Can I kiss you? Properly this time?"
Her answer is to close the distance herself, her lips meeting mine in a kiss that's nothing like the gentle one from moments ago. This is heat and intention, her tongue tracing the seam of my lips until I open for her. She tastes like beer and hot sauce and something uniquely her that makes my head spin.
I kiss her like I've wanted to since she walked back into our lives—deeply, intently, without hesitation or doubt. My hand tangles in her hair, pulling her closer despite the table between us, and she makes a sound that shoots straight through me.
