Knot Today (Hiddenverse #5)

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’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 barks from across the floor, the command hitting as hard as any check.

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, as though 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 as graceful as 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. It runs through my veins like a drug. This is what I live for.

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, the way an older sister would shoo 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, a sly smile curving her lips. “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 think she has as many commitment issues as I do, but we don’t talk about it.

“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—fluid, effortless.

The memory of Landon and me dancing slams into me. A sharp inhale. Two months. Two long, painful months. And still I can’t forget. Little moments bring it roaring back.

“Fancy moves,” I tease, trying to maintain some semblance of control even though my heart feels like it’s about to leap out of my chest.

“Maybe I’m trying to impress you,” he says, voice a rough purr that makes my knees go weak.

“You already did that back at the house,” I reply, half out of breath. “With the flowers.”

He huffs a laugh, pulling me in closer so my chest brushes his. “I’ll have to keep working on it, then. Can’t let you get bored.”

Fuck. Why can’t it just stay in the past? The mark on my neck burns as if it knows I’m not with him anymore, that it’s a matter of time before it fades.

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 presses to my waist—warm, firm. My breath catches, lodging in my throat. Hot breath grazes my ear as he leans in, guiding me forward.

“Shhh, you’re safe.”

Before I can struggle, he’s pushing us 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. I suck in a broken breath.

Finn.

He leans against the door, casual and immovable all at once.

The blue of his eyes is too sharp in the dim light, cutting into me until I want to look away.

His mouth—bow-shaped, almost soft—doesn’t fit with his expression.

Scruff shadows his jaw, darkening angles already too defined.

His nose, crooked just enough to hint at a past fight, keeps him from being conventionally perfect, and that only makes him worse.