Chapter 17 Consequences And Choices
Consequences And Choices
~CALE~
I'm spinning lazily in one of Richard's office chairs, watching the ceiling tiles rotate past with the kind of detached focus that comes from trying to process too much information at once.
Richard is losing his absolute shit.
He's been pacing back and forth across his office for the past ten minutes, hands gesturing wildly as he processes revelations that are apparently too massive for his brain to handle while stationary.
"Rory is actually a female," he mutters, voice climbing with each repetition. "A female. An Omega at that—"
He pauses mid-pace, spinning on his heel to stare at Aurora like she's a particularly complex engineering problem he can't quite solve.
"How the hell did you finesse the physical examinations?" The question comes out strangled, somewhere between impressed and horrified. "The medical screenings, the background checks, the—"
Aurora shrugs from her position in the other wheely chair, legs crossed with casual elegance that's somehow more feminine now that the secret's out. She's still in Roran's racing suit, hair mussed from the helmet, fingers flying across her phone screen as she finishes typing something.
The relief that crosses her face when she hits send is palpable.
"Roran's stable," she announces, looking up from her phone to address Richard's question like an afterthought. "He was admitted to the private hospital two hours away. Dr. Reeves says he's responding well to treatment."
My stomach flips with uncertainty at that information.
Two hours away means serious. Which means they needed facilities and specialists that our local medical setup couldn't provide. Whatever Dante gave him was bad enough that even our family's considerable resources couldn't handle it locally.
"How bad?" I ask, keeping my voice level despite the rage simmering beneath the surface.
Aurora's frown deepens, storm-green eyes darkening with an emotion I can't quite name.
"Bad. Doc said if he hadn't been admitted when he was, he could have lost his gallbladder. Maybe his stomach entirely, depending on how the poison progressed."
The casual way she delivers that information—like she's discussing minor mechanical failures instead of her twin brother nearly dying—makes my chest tight.
Because that's how Aurora processes trauma.
By compartmentalizing, by focusing on solutions instead of emotions, by presenting facts with clinical detachment that hides how much she's actually feeling.
Richard stops pacing long enough to ask the question we're all thinking.
"Who drugged Roran?"
"Dante," Aurora and I answer simultaneously.
Our voices overlap with perfect synchronization, and we exchange a glance that carries entire conversations. Agreement that Dante Moretti needs to face consequences. Shared fury at what he did. Recognition that this situation just became exponentially more complicated.
Richard groans, pinching the bridge of his nose with the kind of dramatic suffering usually reserved for Greek tragedies.
"This isn't going to fucking work." He collapses into his desk chair with the gracelessness of someone whose world is actively falling apart. "They're going to finalize the new team merger within the hour, and we're—"
Aurora sits up straighter, uncrossing her legs and leaning forward with sudden intensity.
"What do you mean, new team?"
The question hangs in the air while Richard visibly debates how much to reveal versus how much to hide until he's had time to process.
He settles on brutal honesty because, at this point, what's the use in sugarcoating?
"The race was designed to disqualify anyone who didn't have an Omega on their roster," he explains, words coming out flat with exhaustion. "But the team mergers were officially decided before the race results came in. Based on preliminary rankings and projected compatibility."
Aurora and I share another look—this one carrying confusion and growing concern.
"Okay," I say slowly, spinning my chair to face Richard directly. "But what does that have to do with us?"
Richard's expression suggests he'd rather eat glass than deliver this news.
"Team expansion allows up to four drivers per team now," he says, each word clearly costing him. "Which means you and Rory…or rather, Aurora…are officially partnered with Luca Thorne and his team."
The silence that follows is so complete I can hear the air conditioning cycling through the vents.
Aurora's jaw drops, eyes going wide with shock that would be comical if the implications weren't so catastrophic.
"How the fuck did that even happen?" she demands, voice climbing several octaves above her usual carefully controlled register.
Richard spreads his hands in a gesture of helpless frustration.
"I have no fucking clue. The racing commission made the decisions based on some algorithm that supposedly optimizes team dynamics and competitive balance. Probably designed by someone who's never actually worked in racing and thinks drivers are interchangeable parts."
"What about Roran?" I ask because someone needs to address the elephant in the room. "And the Dante situation?"
Richard's expression goes from bad to worse, which I didn't think was possible.
"That's where the problem lies."
Aurora leans forward even further, elbows on her knees, giving Richard her full attention.
"What do you mean?"
"Dante officially pulled out after the press conference," Richard reveals, and there's bitter resignation in his tone.
"Transferred to a different team. Says he got a better offer, and conveniently, their roster already has an Omega, so they weren't at risk of disqualification. They're among the top ten now."
"You've got to be fucking kidding me," I growl, hands clenching on the armrests hard enough that the leather creaks. "Why? How does he just get to leave after poisoning Roran?"
"Because he's an entitled piece of shit with family connections and lawyers who made the transfer happen before anyone could file formal complaints," Richard says bluntly. "And proving he drugged Roran would require evidence we don't have time to gather before the legal window closes."
Aurora rolls her eyes, the gesture so perfectly capturing her frustration that I almost smile despite everything.
"How lovely," she says, voice dripping with sarcasm. "So he poisons my brother, nearly kills him, and gets rewarded with a better team placement. Great system we've got here."
"Welcome to professional racing," Richard mutters.
"Then what?" Aurora asks, visibly trying to stay focused on logistics rather than spiraling into rage. "Does that mean Roran has to be on our team, too? With me and Cale, and apparently Luca Thorne?"
The way she says Thorne's name—with particular emphasis that suggests complicated feelings about being partnered with the Alpha she just beat—makes something protective flare in my chest.
Richard's frown deepens, and both Aurora and I immediately tense.
"What?" we demand in unison.
"Roran could be on your team," Richard says carefully, choosing each word like he's navigating a minefield. "But this means he might be shelved."
Aurora's entire body goes rigid.
"What do you mean, shelved?"
Richard leans back in his chair, steepling his fingers in front of his face like he's praying for patience.
"Four drivers on one team never fucking works," he explains. "It's a logistical nightmare and a competitive disaster. And with them bringing back the Omega clause specifically..."
He trails off, but I can already see where this is going.
The pieces click together in my mind with devastating clarity, and I find myself breaking it down before Richard can soften the blow.
"That means Aurora has to be in every race," I say slowly, watching Aurora's face for her reaction. "Because she's our only Omega, and the regulations require Omega participation. Which means the driving schedule would rotate between me, Luca, and Roran."
I pause, doing the math that we're all avoiding.
"And I have the fastest speed records. But Luca has the best overall track performance and championship history."
Aurora's face goes pale as understanding dawns.
"Meaning competitively," she whispers, voice barely audible, "Roran would be sitting out most races."
The silence that follows is heavy enough to crush bones.
Because that's the ugly truth none of us wants to acknowledge. In a four-driver team with mandatory Omega participation and two Alpha drivers who are objectively better than Roran in different metrics, my best friend—Aurora's twin brother—becomes the weak link.
The one who gets benched while the rest of us compete for glory.
Richard breaks the silence with the reluctance of someone delivering a terminal diagnosis.
"I could trade Roran," he offers quietly. "To a different team. Axel Creed's operation reached out this morning."
Aurora and I exchange blank looks.
"Never heard of him," I admit.
"That's because they're not participating in this Formula One season," Richard explains. "They're building for next year's league. Which would give Roran time to get used to their mechanics, work with their engineers, and help them secure an Omega for their roster before competition starts."
He spreads his hands on his desk, studying the grain of the wood like it contains answers.
"It would also mean he's not sitting on the bench watching his sister and his best friend race without him. Give him a chance to build something from the ground up instead of being the fourth wheel on a team designed for three."
Aurora's expression crumbles.
Not dramatically. Not with tears or visible breakdown.
Just... crumbles.
Like something fundamental inside her is fracturing under weight she can't carry.
"I don't like it," she says, voice small in ways Aurora Lane's voice should never be. "It feels like I'm stealing his spot. Like I'm taking everything he's worked for since he was ten years old and claiming it as mine."
The guilt in her tone makes my chest ache.