Page 82 of Knot So Lucky
"I'm sorry I didn't bring you food," Cale adds quietly, and the apology surprises me enough that I look up sharply.
Cale doesn't apologize easily.
Doesn't admit fault or inadequacy except under extreme circumstances.
But here he is, genuinely apologetic that he didn't anticipate my needs before someone else did.
I smile—genuine and soft in ways I usually reserve for private moments.
"I didn't even realize I was hungry until he showed up," I admit, reaching for the soup container. "But thank you. For being here. For caring."
The words feel inadequate for the complexity of what I'm trying to express, but Cale seems to understand anyway.
He settles into the chair beside my bed, watching me eat with the kind of attentive focus usually reserved for race diagnostics.
And as I work through the admittedly delicious food Elias provided, I find myself wondering:
What's going to happen now?
I have a scent match who's apparently willing to accommodate my complicated relationship with Cale.
I have a secret identity that's somehow even more precarious now that another Alpha knows about it.
I have a career that demands my full attention, right as personal complications are multiplying exponentially.
I have two Alphas who want me.
Who care about me in different ways.
Who are willing to navigate whatever complex pack dynamics emerge from this situation.
And I have absolutely no idea how to balance any of it.
But as I eat my soup and exchange looks with Cale that carry entire conversations, I realize something important:
For the first time in years, I'm not facing these complications alone.
I have people in my corner. People who know my secrets and haven't run away.
People who are willing to fight for me even when it's inconvenient or uncomfortable.
That just has to be enough for now…at least until we unravel where this is going to take all of us.
CHAPTER 14
Crossroads
~AURORA~
The garage is pure chaos.
I stand in the doorway, one hand still on the handle, and just... stare.
Bodies move with frantic purpose in every direction—techs scrambling between workstations, engineers shouting coordinates and specifications, the sharphissof pneumatic tools punctuating conversations that overlap in a cacophony of controlled panic.
The air smells like motor oil and adrenaline, rubber and desperation, with underlying notes of coffee that suggest everyone's been mainlining caffeine for hours.
It looks like race day.
