Page 34 of Knot So Lucky
The message loads, and I scan it quickly while continuing to brush in slow circles.
To: All Team Personnel
From: Richard Pemberton, Performance Management
RE: URGENT: ONLINE USER NEEDED
Due to unforeseen circumstances, our registered participant for this morning's Virtual Championship Qualifier has withdrawn from the competition. We require an immediate replacement with verified racing credentials to maintain our team's standing in the preliminary rankings.
The competition begins at 7:00 AM EST. Encrypted login credentials are attached. Any team member with relevant virtual racing experience should respond immediately.
This is a time-sensitive matter. Our reputation in both virtual and physical racing circuits depends on adequate representation.
I blink at the screen, toothbrush pausing mid-stroke.
Dante dropped out.
That cocky motherfucker actually dropped out of the virtual qualifier.
A small, vindictive part of me wonders if it was because of my comment yesterday about him sucking at the virtual leagues. The idea that my words actually got under his skin enough to make him rage-quit brings me an inappropriate amount of satisfaction.
I spit toothpaste into the sink and rinse, still staring at the email.
Virtual Championship Qualifier.
I haven't done serious virtual racing in months—not since the last time I competed with Auren and Wren, back when we'd spend entire weekends in VR, pushing each other to be faster, more precise, more ruthless in our pursuit of the perfect lap.
Auren was a fuckingproat virtual racing.
She could read the physics engine like it was written in her native language, could exploit every quirk and feature until she was shaving milliseconds off times that shouldn't have been possible. Racing against her had made me better—sharper, more adaptable, more willing to take risks that seemed insane until they worked.
But that was before.
Before Auren's championship win. Before everything got complicated. Before I threw myself so completely into being Rory Lane that Aurora's hobbies got shelved in favor of maintaining the performance.
I check the time on my phone.
6:47 AM.
The competition starts in thirteen minutes.
My first instinct is to delete the email and pretend I never saw it.
I have work to prep for.Dante's mess isn't my problem.Let Pemberton scramble to find someone else or accept the forfeit.
But then I think about the team.
About Marco and Jenna, and the other techs who've had my back. About proving that we're not just a second-rate operation coasting on family money and lucky breaks.
Deep down, it’s about the fact that I'm actually good at this.
Good enough to beat professional trainers in virtual environments? Maybe…
But what do I have to lose by trying?
I finish rinsing my mouth and wipe my face with a hand towel, studying my reflection with narrowed eyes.
The question isn't whether Icancompete.
