Page 231 of Knot So Lucky
I shake my head slowly, the movement feeling distant, like it belongs to someone else.
Richard closes the remaining distance between us, and his scent washes over me—pine and gunpowder, yes, but also something warmer now. Compassion. Grief for a man he respected, admired, perhaps even considered a friend despite their professional relationship.
His hands land on my shoulders, grounding and warm through the thin fabric of my hoodie.
Then he's pulling me forward into a hug that I didn't know I needed until this moment. His Alpha presence surrounds me, not demanding or controlling, but offering shelter. Safety. Permission to break.
"Okay," he says quietly, the word rumbling through his chest into mine. "Okay, we call it off."
The garage erupts.
"Richard, you can't be serious?—"
"This is insane! We're fifteen minutes from the biggest race of our lives?—"
"Think about the sponsors, the contracts?—"
"Everything we've worked for?—"
The voices overlap into a cacophony of protest and panic, but Richard doesn't move, doesn't release me from the protective circle of his arms. His scent spikes with Alpha authority, sharp enough to make several people fall silent mid-sentence.
One of the junior techs—Carter, maybe? I can barely focus—steps forward, his young face twisted with desperation.
"Richard, this is your dream . Everything you've poured into this team, into this season. The sponsors alone have invested millions. We've come so far. Next year, we might not even—we might not get another shot like this."
"I don't give a fuck about the dream!" Richard's voice cracks like a whip, making the tech stumble backward. His arms tighten protectively around me, and I can feel the tremor running through him—rage and grief and fierce protectiveness all tangled together. "Our driver—" he pauses, his voice breaking slightly, "—our pack member , just lost one of her pack mates. The love of her life."
Her.
The pronoun lands in the space between them, shocking in its openness after months of careful masculine presentation.
But Richard doesn't correct himself, doesn't take it back.
"Adrian Castellanos," Richard continues, his voice gaining strength, "didn't just throw money at this team. He believed in us when no one else would. He poured tens of millions into this dream, yes, but more than that—he made sure Rory was fed, hydrated, safe. He stayed up running simulations until three in the morning. He fought for every sponsor deal, used every connection in his considerable arsenal to get us here. And he did all of that without telling any of us who he really was, without demanding recognition, because he wanted HER to shine."
I can feel tears pressing hot against my eyelids, but I blink them back furiously.
"You think I give a fuck about losing one championship?" Richard's laugh is bitter, sharp-edged. "We'll have plenty more to come. The money means nothing—we'll find new sponsors. The fame?" He scoffs. "That's just a fairytale high that eventually crashes and burns. But our team? That's our strength. When one of us is down, we're all down. That's what makes us different. That's what makes us worthy of this shot in the first place."
The garage has gone silent again, but it's a different kind of quiet now.
Listening. Absorbing.
"Adrian Castellanos," Richard says, his voice dropping to something raw and painful, "would have been one of our top drivers years ago. Would have been champion already if his former team hadn't crucified him, abandoned him when he needed support most. They destroyed his career over accusations that were never proven, drove him out of the sport he loved because it was easier than fighting for him. He never got to fulfill his dream. So he helped us reach ours instead."
Richard finally releases me, but his hands remain on my shoulders, grounding.
His eyes sweep the garage, meeting each person's gaze in turn.
"The LEAST we can do is honor his legacy by pulling back from this race. We'll come back when we're ready to give it our all—when we're not running on grief and obligation, but on the passion and dedication that got us here. That's what he would want. That's what we owe him."
The silence that follows feels different.Heavier.Several team members are nodding slowly, and I can see a few suspiciously bright eyes, people blinking back tears.
But Jenny isn't one of them.
"No." Her voice cuts through the moment like a scalpel. "That's not what he would want at all."
All eyes turn to her. She's standing with her arms still crossed, her expression hard behind those designer frames. Her Beta scent has gone sharp and medicinal, like a hospital corridor.
