Sneak Peek
Knot Today
Chapter 1 - Willow
The flash of a camera goes off to my right just as Oopsie Daisy and Wrecker, my blockers, clear a path for me. I twist, rolling off the back of an opposing skater. My wheels tap together—shit—tripping me up at fifteen feet.
Four points.
My knees smack the track, pain jolting up my legs, but I pop back up, cursing the timing of that blinding flash. Finn Reed’s camera. I should be used to it by now, but somehow, it always catches me off guard.
A sharp swat lands on my ass.
“Nice trip,” Smack ‘N Cheese—Cheese for short—laughs, skating up beside me.
I shove her playfully, finding my place in the pack as we tighten up. They’re the only pack I’ll ever need. I learned that lesson really well a few months ago.
“Get it together, Jinx,” Equi’Knox growls, her sharp tone cutting through the pulse of the game.
I ignore her and push forward, flying with my blockers as we weave through the chaos. Coach Crusher always says, if you’re not falling, you’re not trying.
But my fall wasn’t just trying. It was Finn. His damn camera. And, okay, maybe a little clumsy footwork.
Finn Reed is a huge roller derby fan. If fandom had levels, he’d be a skyscraper. Except, he doesn’t just love derby—he’s obsessed. With me.
The girls call him my stalker.
I’d argue, but they’re not wrong.
He's harmless, aside from his habit of flashing his camera at the worst possible moments. And he’s not bad to look at. Bonus points for not being an alpha.
I shove the distraction out of my mind, locking back into the game. A shoulder check comes fast, but Cheese keeps me upright, her body absorbing the hit.
We break past The Black Devils’ blockers. Knox skates up, signaling she’s open. Their pack is gaining ground, caging me in.
Some jammers suck at teamwork. I’m not one of them.
I yank the star from my helmet and pass it to Knox just as their jammer lunges at her, throwing a desperate elbow that misses. She flies forward, seamless, like she was made for this.
We’re still in the lead.
Sweat rolls down my temple, sticky against my skin. The scent of peaches ghosts through the air. I ignore it. No one here cares that I’m an omega. The only thing that matters is skating.
One more jam session, and we’re going to States.
Less than five minutes.
The buzzer sounds, signaling the end of the jam, and my pack swarms around me as we skate back to the bench.
I collapse onto the seat as Twinkle Toes takes the star, slipping it onto her helmet with practiced ease. A fresh lineup hits the track.
Grabbing a towel, I run it over the back of my neck, then press it to my face, blotting away sweat. It comes away streaked with the blue sparkles of my eye makeup. I toss it aside, elbows resting on my knees, and watch Twinkle move.
She’s like a ballerina out there, gliding across the track as if her skates barely touch the ground. The Black Devils don’t stand a chance.
She taps her hips twice, calling off the jam.
The announcer bellows into his microphone, feeding the electric energy in the crowd.
“Pretty in Pink is one round away from the state competition! Can they keep the lead? We’ll find out as Jinx is back on the floor!”
The arena erupts, a tidal wave of cheers rolling over me.
“One point and you can call it,” Coach says.
I nod, tightening my pink laces, checking my wheels, and pulling up my black-and-pink striped socks. I secure my gear, pop in my top mouthguard, and roll back toward the track.
The excitement in the air is a live wire.
Finn moves to the edge of the crowd, camera up, lens locked on me. His lips—the only part of his face I can see—curve up, pleasure evident in the slight smirk.
A jolt of awareness streaks down my spine, settling low and unwelcome. Oh, no, that got us in trouble last time.
His bow-shaped mouth parts. His tongue darts over his lower lip. Click. Another shot captured.
He rarely speaks. I have no clue what he does with the photos.
It doesn’t matter.
He only knows Jinx.
Not Willow Delong—the spoiled millionaire’s daughter who has never wanted for anything. The girl who had every indulgence handed to her, including the luxury of avoiding a pack, of rejecting tradition, of refusing to make babies. The girl who dyes her hair on a whim, books flights to anywhere, and found a home in roller derby with a team full of betas. And had her heart torn to shreds by her scent match. Yeah, that girl doesn’t exist out here on the rink.
I snap out of my thoughts as Finn lowers the camera.
Then he does something different.
He reaches for me.
His fingers barely brush mine before Cheese cuts between us, her presence solid and unyielding. She doesn’t say a word, just nudges me away like an older sister shooing a reckless kid from a bad idea.
But the damage is done.
My fingers tingle where his skin met mine, a ghost of a touch that lingers through the final jam, through the heat of the game, through the final whistle.
We win.
States.
It’s real. The dream is within reach.
But as I get swept up in the celebration, I can still feel it.
Finn’s touch, light as air.
And I have no idea why it’s still there.
***
“Seriously, Jinx, I can drop you on my way back to my apartment.” Daisy slings an arm over my shoulders, her body warm against mine. “No need to call that fancy driver to pick you up.”
Our hips bump as we make our way back to the bar for another round. Poor Choices is our spot—mostly betas, low risk of running into any alphas.
Drinks flow, spirits are high, and the air hums with victory. But no amount of liquor will make me reckless enough to let my teammates drive themselves home.
“Oh no,” I say, holding out my palm. “My fancy driver will be picking up all of us, or you’re ordering an Uber. Hand over your keys.”
Daisy pouts, exaggerated and playful. “I’m tipsy, not drunk.”
I arch a brow. “Yeah, and I’m a beta.”
Her eyes widen in mock shock. “And here I thought we had a unicorn on our team. Jinx, I feel betrayed .”
I shrug, playing along. “Everyone lies, Oopsie.”
She nods solemnly, then waves at the bartender.
Nate slings a towel over his shoulder, giving us both a knowing look as he approaches.
“What can I get for you, Pink Ladies?” His smirk is in full effect—effortless charm, just enough heat to tempt, but not my type.
Daisy leans onto the cherry-wood bar, voice dripping with flirtation. “Are you on the menu?”
He chuckles. “Maybe later.”
Despite the flirtation, nothing ever comes of it. Daisy always leaves with the pack, no matter how much she plays with him.
“I’ll take a Coolatta with raspberries,” I say before she can flash him any more cleavage.
Daisy tilts her head, pushing off the bar. “Same. And a round of shots for the team.”
I toss two hundred dollar bills on the counter and meet Nate’s gaze. “Keep the change.”
His grin widens as he cashes us out, mixing our drinks before filling a tray with neon shots—watermelon pucker and caramel apple.
Daisy carries my drink, leading the way back to our tables, past the pounding bass of the dance floor. I set the tray of shots down and glance at the dancers—Twinkle’s already out there, ass shaking, body moving in time with the beat.
I take my drink from Daisy and weave my way toward her. “Hey, lady, we’ve got shots.”
“Dance with me!” She snatches my free hand, pulling me deeper into the tangle of bodies.
She twirls beneath our linked hands, spinning in a burst of glitter and sweat before extending our touch as far as possible. A beta catches her from behind, and she moves with him like they’ve rehearsed it—fluid, effortless.
The memory of Landon and me dancing slams into me. A sharp inhale. Two months. Two long, painful months.
I let her go, downing my drink too fast. Brain freeze hits instantly—a fitting punishment for letting even the faintest thought of him slip in. Pressing my tongue to the roof of my mouth, I push through the throng of bodies and drop my half-empty glass onto a passing waitress’s tray.
Heading toward the bathrooms, I pass the men’s room and two betas murmuring close together.
I don’t realize I’m being followed until it’s too late.
A hand—warm, firm—grips my waist. My breath lodges in my throat as a voice whispers against my ear.
“Shhh, you’re safe.”
Strong arms wrap around me, pulling me into the companion bathroom.
The click of the lock is a gunshot to my system.
My head spins.
He lets me go, and I stumble at the sudden lack of restraint. My skin prickles where he touched. I spin to face him, heart hammering against my ribs.
A sharp inhale.
Finn Reed.
He leans against the locked door, as relaxed as if we were meeting by accident and not here, in a locked bathroom, where he dragged me.
His fingers slip into his pocket. A flicker of motion. A muted click.
A camera flash.
My image reflected in the phone screen.
“Beautiful,” he murmurs, eyes trained on the picture instead of me.
Something cold slithers down my spine.
He looks up, blue eyes sharp and calculating.
“What do you want?” I demand, masking the tremor in my voice with steel.
His brow furrows, like my reaction confuses him.
The moment stretches, suffocating. I shift back a step, hitting the sink behind me. My palms press into the cool porcelain.
“Don’t be scared,” he soothes.
His voice is soft, like velvet over steel. His scent rolls through the space, woodsy and clean, like the first breath of air before dawn breaks. Although, muted in the space, still tantalizing to my nose.
I try to steady my breathing, calculating an escape. When he’s just a fan in the crowd, he’s harmless. But here, in this room?—
There’s something else lurking beneath the surface. Something dangerous.
He twists his lips into a reluctant smile. “I can see I went about this all wrong.” He shrugs, casual. “I do that sometimes.”
His calm, measured movements don’t put me at ease. They do the opposite.
I can smell the shift in my own scent—fear spiking, souring the peach beneath it.
I raise a hand instinctively, pressing my fingers against his chest as he steps closer. A warning. A barrier.
“Don’t,” I whisper.
He exhales my name like a prayer. “Jinx.”
His gaze drinks me in, deliberate and slow. He inhales deeply, his nostrils flaring slightly. If he catches the fear curling off me, he doesn’t mention it. Some betas can’t smell omega perfume at all, so it wouldn’t be shocking.
“Congratulations on winning today,” he says, like this is normal. Like this is any other conversation.
“Finn—”
His face lights up .
“You know who I am.”
He’s crazy. That’s the only explanation for whatever this is.
He tilts his head, studying me, as his dark hair flops over his forehead. “It’s nice of your father to let you skate.”
My blood chills.
“I’ve studied Mr. Delong,” he continues. “Brilliant businessman. And the strength it must have taken to move on after losing your mother…” He trails off, shaking his head. “But you know all about that, don’t you? Moving on after losing someone so important..”
He’s more than just a fan.
He knows me. Not just Jinx, but Willow Delong .
Not even my teammates know my real name.
I go still, as if being motionless will make me invisible. If I could crawl into the sink, slide down the drain, disappear into the walls—I would.
His knuckles skim my cheek, featherlight.
“Your skin is flawless,” he murmurs. “I could touch you all day.”
A whimper escapes my throat, unbidden.
He shushes me, trailing his fingers down the curve of my throat. He twirls a lock of pink hair around his finger, considering it.
“This suits you.”
He runs his finger along my collarbone, pausing when he reveals the claiming mark Landon left on my throat. My skin tingles as he traces it, an unreadable expression pulling at his brows.
“This is new,” he says, bringing his eyes up to mine.
I swallow but don’t say anything.
“A mistake on your trip?”
I wince. He’s right. It was a mistake to let my scent match bite me, especially after only knowing him less than a week. But there is no way Finn would know any of that even if he definitely knew I went on a trip.
“Yeah,” I finally say when he just continues to study me. “A mistake.”
He hums out a sound like he understands. “If I were an alpha—there would be no mistake like that—” He watches me like I’m something precious, something worth keeping .
My heart slams behind my ribcage, faster than it ever does when I’m skating.
“I didn’t mean to scare you,” he says, voice almost remorseful.
I don’t believe him.
His fingers circle my throat, tilting my face up with a press of his thumb under my chin. A light hold, that would be hot instead of terrifying if I were here willingly.
“I just need another picture for my collection,” he whispers. “One I can’t get from far away.”
My breath catches. Words form before dying in my throat.
His eyes darken.
At some point, my fingers curled into his shirt. I don’t know if I’m holding him closer—or ready to shove him away.
“You’re an oddity in roller derby,” he murmurs. “Omegas don’t play. Not like you do.” His gaze glows with something raw. “I knew you were special the moment I saw you.”
The camera lifts again. Another flash.
“Finn.”
He shudders. Eyes flutter shut, his long lashes brushing his cheeks.
“Say it again,” he whispers.
His fingers tighten slightly.
My pulse pounds.
And I don’t know if it’s fear, adrenaline, or something far more dangerous curling in my chest. Another bad decision waiting to be made, but I part my lips and breath out, “Finn.”