Chapter 28
Coming Home, Moving Forward
~AURORA~
The garage smells like I’m returning home.
Motor oil and rubber, welding fumes and that particular metallic tang that comes from high-performance machinery being pushed to its limits. The scent hits me the moment I walk through the side entrance, and something in my chest unclenches with relief I wasn't expecting.
I'm wearing baggy clothes—deliberately oversized hoodie and loose jeans that hide my shape, comfortable sneakers that have seen better days.
My hair is freshly cut, maintaining the short masculine style I've cultivated for years.
The binding is back in place, flattening my chest into something that reads as male rather than female.
Back to being Rory Lane, pit tech extraordinaire.
Except now everyone knows I'm an Omega, which changes literally everything while somehow changing nothing at all.
I bite into the apple I grabbed from the break room, the crisp sweetness bursting across my tongue as I survey the organized chaos of the garage floor.
And immediately spot a problem.
There's a group of techs—maybe eight or ten of them—clustered around someone in the center. Voices overlap in confusion and accusation, the particular pitch of an argument that's been going on too long without resolution.
"For the twentieth time," a familiar voice cuts through the chaos, frustration evident, "I'm Roran. So can y'all stop acting like I'm trying to be my sister?"
Roran. My twin brother, who apparently walked into the garage and immediately got mobbed by people who can't tell us apart.
The irony is not lost on me.
"He's probably fooling us," one of the male techs argues, crossing his arms. "Rory's been gone for a whole week. This is probably some twin-switch bullshit to fuck with us."
"Are you all blind?" Jenny's voice rises above the others, sharp with exasperation. One of the few female techs on our crew, she's never had patience for incompetence. "That's clearly not Rory. Different stance, different mannerisms, completely different energy."
Sarah, the other female Beta tech, nods emphatically.
"Right? Like, I know we're in a male-dominated field, but you can't tell me none of you notice the obvious differences?"
Jenny sighs dramatically, looking at the ceiling like she's praying for patience.
"Men."
I roll my eyes so hard I practically see my own brain, taking another bite of apple while I watch the circus.
The differences between Roran and me are obvious if you know what to look for.
He carries himself with the particular confidence that comes from being raised as the golden child—shoulders back, head high, taking up space like it's his birthright.
His smile is easier, more open, untainted by years of hiding fundamental aspects of his identity.
We have the same face, same coloring, same genetic foundation. But everything else—the way we move through the world, the masks we wear, the weight we carry—is completely different.
"Break it up already," I call out, pitching my voice into the lower register I maintain at work. "My brother needs to be winning races, not dealing with your noisy asses."
The group falls silent, heads swiveling toward me in synchronized shock.
Marco spots me first, his face breaking into a genuine grin.
"Rory! Holy shit, you're back!"
My regular crew members practically swarm me—Marco, Jenna, Chen, and Rodriguez, the core team I've worked with from the get-go. They welcome me back with the kind of enthusiasm that makes my chest tight with emotions I wasn't prepared for.
"We thought you quit," Marco says, clasping my shoulder in that particular way male coworkers do. "Or transferred because of the race incident and the press conference."
The press conference.
Right. The one where my Omega status apparently got revealed to the world before I got kidnapped, and then went into heat for five days.
I smirk, taking another bite of apple to buy myself a moment.
"Nah, I just got kidnapped and went into heat. No big deal."
The casual delivery makes the words hit harder.
Complete silence descends over the garage.
The guys are gawking at me with expressions ranging from shock to horror to confusion. A few mouths actually hang open, which would be funny if the circumstances weren't so absurd.
The female Betas—Jenny and Sarah—react differently.
"Wait, seriously?!" Jenny's eyes are wide, concern overriding everything else. "You were actually kidnapped? Are you okay? Did they catch who did it?"
"And your heat?" Sarah steps closer, lowering her voice even though everyone can hear. "That must have been terrifying, going through your first heat while being held captive. Oh my god, Rory."
I shrug, trying to project casual nonchalance I don't entirely feel.
"Yeah, but I'm good now. Safe. The kidnapping situation is being handled by people with the appropriate skill sets."
Which is code for: Cale and Elias are probably torturing information out of the assholes as we speak, but I can't say that out loud.
"And the heat was... fine," I continue, feeling my face warm despite my best efforts. "I had help. It's over now, and I'm ready to get back to work."
Help.
Such an inadequate word for five days of biological madness with four Alphas who are now apparently my permanent pack.
But the crew doesn't need those details.
"What did I miss?" I ask, deliberately changing the subject before they can ask follow-up questions I don't want to answer. "Give me the updates."
The crew shifts immediately into work mode—bless them for being so easily redirected.
Marco launches into a rapid-fire explanation of the mechanical updates they've implemented.
"We redesigned the brake cooling ducts based on your diagnostic from before the incident. Turns out you were right about the mounting bolts—all three prototypes had the same calibration error. Fixed it across the board."
Chen chimes in about aerodynamic modifications.
"Added vortex generators to the front wing endplates. Should improve downforce in high-speed corners without increasing drag."
Rodriguez discusses tire compound testing.
"Pirelli sent the new prototype slicks. We've been running simulations, but we need actual track data before the entry races."
I'm nodding along, mentally cataloging the information and already thinking about how these changes will affect performance, when Richard's voice booms across the garage.
"PLEASE TELL ME BOTH LANES ARE PRESENT!"
Richard Pemberton storms toward us with the kind of manic energy that suggests either very good news or complete disaster. His Alpha scent is spiking with excitement rather than aggression, which suggests good news.
Probably.
I smirk, unable to resist needling him.
"Aww, Richard. Thought I was gonna leave you high and dry?"
He groans, but there's genuine relief in his expression.
"Thankful you didn't run for the hills. But Rory—" he pauses, and I can see him visibly recalibrating, "—your Omega status being public knowledge was a complete surprise."
"Tell me about it," I mutter.
"But," Richard continues, his grin becoming almost predatory with satisfaction, "it just secured us twenty-seven new sponsors."
The garage goes silent again.
Everyone turns to stare at me with expressions ranging from shock to calculation to something that might be respect.
"What?" I blink, certain I misheard. "What do you mean, twenty-seven sponsors?"
Richard's practically vibrating with excitement now.
"We have a list of companies and organizations putting money into both the races specifically and our organization generally. They want to associate themselves with you, with this story, with the narrative of an Omega breaking barriers in racing."
He pulls out his tablet, scrolling rapidly.
"And five of them, five major corporate sponsors, want to talk to you privately about starting initiatives that will cater specifically to Omegas who wish to enter the racing realm. Not just drivers, but specialized positions like pit tech, engineering, race strategy."
The words leave me utterly speechless.
Initiatives.
For Omegas in racing.
In positions beyond just driving.
Recognition that people like me exist and deserve opportunities.
Everyone in the garage is gawking now—at me, at Richard, at the tablet he's holding like it contains the secrets of the universe.
"That's what I'm talking about!" Roran's voice cuts through my shock, enthusiastic and proud in ways that make my throat tight.
He pushes me toward Richard with both hands on my shoulders, propelling me forward with gentle but insistent force.
"He'll totally hold the fort and handle the press," Roran continues, grinning at Richard. "Make them think he's me if it means securing these deals. Go, sis. This is important."
I want to argue. Want to say I need time to process, that I'm not ready for this level of responsibility and public attention.
But the opportunity is too significant to dismiss.
These aren't just sponsors throwing money at a novelty. These are organizations willing to invest in systematic change, in creating pathways for Omegas who've been excluded from racing industries for generations.
This is bigger than me.
"I'll be in your office in a moment," I tell Richard, keeping my voice steady despite the emotions churning in my chest. "But I need to steal my brother for a second first."
Richard nods, already typing on his tablet.
"Ten minutes. Then we need to start making calls."
I grab Roran's arm and tug him away from the crowd, navigating through the garage toward my private office. It's small—barely more than a glorified closet with a desk and some filing cabinets—but it's mine and it has a door that closes.
The moment we're inside with the door shut, I let out a long breath.
Roran leans against my desk, watching me with those storm-green eyes that mirror mine exactly.
Waiting patiently for me to process whatever I need to say.
"Are you okay?" The question bursts out before I can formulate something more eloquent.