Page 11 of Close Contact
The memory of him in that moment stirred something in me. I wasn’t ready to confront those emotions just yet. Instead, I sank deeper into the couch, the soft hum of the air conditioner the only sound in the room. My heart ached, and my body was heavy with exhaustion. The fight wasn’t over. It wouldneverbe over.
On the track, everything made sense—split-second decisions, the settings of the car, the fight for every tenth of a second. Out here, in the real world, I was spinning out with no grip to hold me steady.
The creak of the door startled me, and I nearly dropped my phone. My head snapped up, heart racing asCallumstepped inside, hesitating for only a second. He didn’t bother to knock.
“Fraser,” I started, my voice cracking as I sat up straighter, trying to compose myself. I wished I’d wiped my tears earlier, because now I probably looked like a mess—and not the fun kind—if the tacky residue of dried tears in my makeup were any indication. “What are you doing here?”
He closed the door behind him, his gaze fixed on mine, intense and unrelenting. His tall frame cast a shadow over the dimly lit space. “Looking for you,” he said simply, his tone unreadable. “You just… went MIA after the media pen.”
“I needed space,” I replied, my tone sharper than intended. I looked away, focusing on the darkened room, anything to avoid him. “Not that it’s any of your concern.”
The reality was, more than anything that had happened today, his rejection hurt the most.
“Everything about today is my concern,”Callumcountered, his voice firm but not unkind. “You kissed Marco in front of the world, then you gave a speech that’s already being picked apart by every pundit out there. You threw my name out there without consulting me, and now you’re hiding in the dark like none of it happened.”
My brows pulled together. “Pundit?” I tested the word, not knowing the translation.
He huffed out a laugh. “It’s like an expert.”
“Ah.” I picked at the scratchy material of the couch. “I’m not hiding. I’m… processing.”
“Processing,” he echoed, crossing his arms. “Right. And what exactly are you processing,Auri? The fallout from your stunt, or the fact that it’s working?”
“Working?” I repeated, my voice rising as I sprung up from the couch. “You think this was some kind of strategy? Somepre-meditatedplan? I didn’t—” My words faltered, the tears threatening again.
Callum’sexpression softened. “Aurélie,” he said quietly, stepping closer. “Talk to me. What’s really going on?”
I swallowed hard, shaking my head. “You wouldn’t get it.”
“Try me,” he pressed.
For a moment, I considered telling him about the mechanics, the comments, my ex. How I felt like a stranger in my own skin, reduced to an object by the very people I’d fought to stand alongside. How the only time I felt alive these days was either going breakneck speeds in a car, or when I was in bed with him, when he was inside me, when his hands were on my skin, when I felt wanted—not watched. But the words wouldn’t come.
Instead, I whispered, “I’m tired,Callum. Just… go. You don’t need to see me like this.”
“Tough shit. I’m not leaving you like this.”
I groaned in frustration and covered my face with my hands. “Callum?—”
He stepped closer, voice gentler now. “I thought we were friends, remember? Friends with… unconventional strings attached.”
That got my attention. I peeked at him through my fingers, voice dry. “This is the unconventional part?”
He shrugged, lips twitching. “No, this is thefriendpart.” He said the word with something akin to disgust, but there was a note of teasing in his eyes. My heart lurched, and I realized just how much I cared about him, and how, until this moment, I hadn’t realized I needed his presence.
He grabbed my wrists to pull my hands away. I let him, because his touch felt nice. Solid, warm, as if the world wasn’t unraveling beneath me. “You’re going to burn out. You’ve got to talk to someone about what’s going on.”
“Better to burn out than fade away,” I mumbled, the deflection automatic. But the look on his face stopped me cold.There was no humor in his eyes, only concern. Real, unguarded concern.
“I mean, most people skip the press scandal and emotional trauma part of casual hookups. If you wanted me alone this badly, all you had to do was ask. I would’ve made it happen in a heartbeat.”
Despite myself, I let out a soft laugh. It was shaky, but real. He knew I needed to laugh rather than break down. “Yeah, well… we never did anything conventionally, did we?”
He shook his head slowly, gaze softening in that way that made it hard to breathe. “No. We didn’t. And maybe that’s why I can’t walk away from this. From you.”
I swallowed hard, the tears threatening again, burning at the back of my throat. “I don’t want to walk away from you,” I whispered, voice splintering. “God, Idon’t. But I don’t know how to stay without it destroying everything I’ve worked for. Without it destroyingme.” My lips trembled, and I blinked hard, forcing the tears back. “It’s just…” I shook my head, a bitter laugh escaping. “Forget it. You don’t get it, Callum. You can’t. None of you can. Not when you’ve always been allowed to wanteverything.”
“Then make me understand,” he murmured, stepping closer. “Help me understand.”
