Page 116 of Close Contact
A marshal hooked his arms under my armpits, hauling me to my feet. I knew they wouldn’t let me near him, wouldn’t let me see him, wouldn’t let me touch him. They were talking to me, but I couldn’t hear them. This—I couldn’t handle this. I couldn’t do it. Losing Callum meant losing myself. What was life without your soulmate by your side? What was the point?
One of the marshals—the one speaking to me—wrapped an arm around my shoulders and guided me back to my car, probably to make sure I didn’t try to interfere more. Every step felt heavy, like a final nail in the coffin. My ears were ringing. The tears wouldn’t stop. My chest felt like it was caving in.
It was a long walk back, because my legs didn’t want to work. I shuffled slowly, feeling hopeless and heartbroken. He could be dead, and I wouldn’t know for certain because they wouldn’t allow me to.
I hiccuped on a sob, and I was grateful my helmet was still on and no one could see just how much of a mess I really was.
I glanced over my shoulder and stumbled over my feet. They were carefully carrying the gurney across the barrier.
Oh my fuck.
I would kill Adrian Morel.
My blood boiled as the marshal tugged me forward. We reached my car a minute later, my legs moving on autopilot, and I gripped the halo for balance, trying to breathe.
“You need to return to the pit lane, ma’am,” he said before stalking off.
My body shook so hard I nearly collapsed against the car. I was supposed to get back in, probably return to the race, pretend nothing had happened. But I couldn’t move. I wanted to quit. To collapse. To curl up beside Callum in our peaceful little bubble.
I don’t know how long I stood there, but finally I felt steady enough to swing a leg over the halo to climb in. Just as I was about to sit, I heard someone screaming my name.
“Aurélie! Miss Dubois—STOP!”
I turned, confused, my lungs constricting. The marshal who’d walked me back was sprinting toward me, helmet bobbing, waving his arms like a madman. I stared as he reached me, gasping for breath.
“He’s awake,” he panted. I blinked. “Callum’s awake. He’s asking for you.”
I looked past him, still standing in the cockpit of my car, completely frozen. Across the track, through the flashing lights and red flags, I saw him. Still on a gurney they were wheeling toward the open doors of an awaiting ambulance. His helmet was off now, and his eyes were open, one arm gesturing wildly while the other clutched his side.
Oh, mon Dieu.
For a moment, all I heard was my heartbeat thundering in my ears, and my vision darkened at the edges as I struggled to breathe. I yanked my gloves off. My hands fumbled to undo the chin strap of my helmet before I yanked it off along with my balaclava. They clattered to the floor of the cockpit, but I was already leaping out of the car again.
I didn’t pause or wait for the marshal to catch up to me, I just ran—faster than I ever had before, back across the grass, the track, the runoff. I wasn’t sure how long it took me, but every stride felt like it took too long. Like for every meter I covered, two more separated us.
Callum was alive and asking for me. Nothing could stop me from reaching him.
Every step was powered by desperation. Every beat of my heart was fueled with love. Every breath brought me closer to him in a moment where I thought I lost him forever.
When I got to him, he was still on the gurney, the safety crew preparing to lift it into the back of the ambulance. Over the sound of people yelling into radios, I could hear him speaking, and I’d never been so relieved to hear someone’s voice in my life.
Until I heard what he was saying.
“... can’t feel my legs.”
My stomach dropped, and my blood froze in my veins. I told myself we didn’t know anything yet.
The crew parted, and there he was. His hair was sweaty and matted to his forehead, and blood seeped from a tear in his race suit along his ribs. It was a terrifying shade of red that coated the hand pressed on the wound and smeared across his temple. But his eyes, brilliant blue like the sky above, were scanning, searching. Until they found me.
“Callum,” I breathed, pushing my way to his side.
His gaze was glassy but locked on mine, relief breaking through the pain. He exhaled shakily. “There you are…”
“I’m here,” I said quickly, grabbing his trembling hand—the one not clutching his ribs. “I’m right here.”
He winced, swallowing hard. “You’re okay?”
A surprise laugh tore from my throat. “You’re askingmethat?” My voice cracked as the tears started falling again. “You scared the hell out of me. You—God, Cal—your fucking car.”
