Page 67 of Knot So Lucky
"Yeah," I interrupt, the word taking effort to push through my damaged throat. "But if I hadn't surged forward to prove a point, I would've caught onto the kitten long before."
His frown deepens, creating a small crease between his eyebrows that I have the irrational urge to smooth away.
"Weren't you doing a test drive to determine what was wrong with the model prototypes?" he asks, and there's genuine curiosity beneath the concern. "That's what I understood from the team communications before everything went sideways."
I manage to arch an eyebrow—barely, but the gesture is there.
"Why do you speak like someone who appreciates tech?" The question comes out more accusatory than I intended, but he doesn't seem offended.
"Because I am someone who appreciates tech." His smile is small but genuine. "I'm a lead mechanic and AI systems engineer for Thorne Racing's prototype development division. I was transferred here due to the potential new rules going into effect for the Formula One entry races."
Thorne Racing.
The name registers even through my current state. That's Luca Thorne's team. The reigning champion. The one I beat in the virtual qualifier this morning—was that this morning? Time feels elastic right now.
"I walked in when I heard that other douche driver say something about your mom," Elias continues, voice carefully neutral but with an undercurrent of anger. "That's when everything escalated."
The memory surfaces with unwelcome clarity.
Dante's words. The way they cut through every defense I'd built up over the years, exposing a wound I thought had scarred over but apparently was just barely healed.
I appreciate that Elias is calling me "he" even though I'm pretty positive if he's here—alone with me, judging by the lack of other voices—it means Cale and Roran approved him enough to allow this.
Which means they're probably both getting scolded by our parents right now.
The thought would be funny if it wasn't also tinged with guilt.
My parents will go easier on Roran because he's the golden child, the legitimate racer, the one who's supposed to be taking risks. But Cale? They'll lecture him for hours aboutresponsibility and appropriate boundaries and probably dig up every past infraction just to really drive the point home.
They enjoy lecturing Cale for literally nothing. It's become a family sport at this point.
The confession comes out before I can stop it.
"I was raped when I was thirteen."
The words hang in the air between us, sharp and ugly and so raw that I immediately want to take them back.
What the fuck am I doing? Why am I telling this stranger—this Alpha I just met—something so personal that even Wren doesn't know the full details?
But my mouth keeps moving, propelled by exhaustion and painkillers and the strange sense of safety his presence creates.
"It's not on the record, per se," I continue, voice getting quieter with each word. "Obviously I'm male on all official records. But my birth certificate says female. Always has."
I watch his face for disgust or disbelief or the particular kind of prurient interest that makes my skin crawl.
Instead, I just see focused attention.Concern.Carefully controlled anger that's not directed at me.
"My parents wanted me to embrace the male persona. I'd always given off those vibes at a young age—more comfortable in pants than dresses, preferred playing with cars instead of dolls, all the stereotypical stuff." I take a shaky breath. "But it only seemed to get worse after the incident. I didn't want to look like a female unless it could be used as an advantage. A disguise more than embracing my true self."
Elias's hand has stilled on my cheek, but he hasn't pulled away.
The warmth of his palm grounds me, keeps me from spiraling completely into the memories I'm dredging up.
"I don't know how Dante could have gotten that information," I admit, frustration bleeding into my voice. "Buthe probably realized I could have been the one to take his place in the online race this morning. He was mad, so maybe he did some research and found the report."
The pieces are fitting together in my drug-addled brain with surprising clarity.
"The only place that information would be available is in my health records. But him accessing those is against multiple privacy regulations. He had to have done some serious digging." I huff, the sound weak but indignant. "I guess he didn't find proof I'm actually female when it happened, just that something traumatic occurred. Better than him actually saying I got raped, I suppose."
