Page 121 of Close Contact
“Christ,” I muttered, leaning forward despite the protest from my ribs, the tenderness in my chest. She’d run straight for me, cars still passing the wreck while she ignored every rule in the book. It was reckless, dangerous, and so... Aurélie. My vision blurred for a moment.
“She could’ve gotten herself killed,” Dominic said, his voice pulling me back to the present.
“She didn’t care,” I muttered, eyes never leaving the screen. “She didn’t even fucking think because she thought I was dead.”
He didn’t answer. He didn’t have to. The footage kept rolling, and it broke me. She was still thrashing in the arms of the marshals. The cameras zoomed in on her, helmet still on but visor up. The flood of tears on her scrunched cheeks was clear, her skin mottled red, the anguish written all over her a tangible thing.
“He’s my fucking safety! Do you understand? I’m not leaving him! Let me go!” Her voice broke.
Finally, she relented, head hanging in defeat as she trudged back to her car with a marshal escorting her. Her hands trembled violently, her shoulders shaking.
My chest ached, and it had nothing to do with the crash.
The camera angle panned wide, and I saw my own body—limp, practically lifeless—being lifted out of the cockpit. And the flames, fuck, the flames had already started licking at the lower sidepod when they’d pulled me free.
And I just… watched. Watched the woman I loved completely unravel at the thought of losing me.
There was nothing in the world worth making her feel that way again.
When I regained consciousness moments later, caught on the replay I was watching, the first thing I’d thought of washer. My eyes opened, and I saw clear blue sky above me, and I wondered briefly if I’d gone to heaven or hell. That is, until I felt the rocking of the gurney below me and I turned my head to see my charred car crushed against the metal fencing.
My ribs had flared with pain, but I didn’t feel anything from my waist down at first. But it didn’t matter—only one thing mattered. The first thing I’d done was tell them I wasn’t going anywhere until I saw Aurélie. I threatened to get every single one of them fired if they took me away before she could see I was alive and breathing.
A marshal had run to flag her down. She’d just climbed back in like she hadn’t just watched me nearly die.
I was watching it like a man seeing his own funeral from afar.
The screen froze on her face, mid-shout, her eyes rimmed in salt and fury and something I didn’t deserve.
When I saw her emerge through the crowd of medical staff and safety workers, I knew I was okay. And then, as if she knew what I needed, she grabbed my hand, and I felt alive like only she could make me feel. Because for a moment there, I wasn’t convinced I was until her hands touched me.
The cameras showed her getting back into her car, and then as she drove off. Her radio popped up with her team principal talking to her.
“You stopped mid-race, Aurélie. I’ll have to ask the FIA if they’ll even let you finish.”
“That’s your job, isn’t it? And while you’re at it, go ahead and ask what they plan to do about Morel. I warned them this would happen, and they didn’t listen. Not to me. Not when itmattered,” she replied, sounding bitter and angry in a way I’d never heard from her before.
Her voice on the radio sent a fresh wave of adrenaline through me. That edge to her tone, the venom she spat when she mentioned Morel—it was a side of her I’d never heard before. And yet, there was something comforting in it. Even in the middle of her own chaos, she’d thought to stand up for me. To demand justice. To do what no one else on the grid had the guts to do.
I closed my eyes for a moment, her words echoing in my mind. She didn’t just care about the sport—she cared about people. About me. That realization struck harder than any of the blows I’d taken today.
No one had ever fought for me like that—not the team, not even myself. But she had.
And I had missed her so fucking much while our PR teams worked overtime to keep us apart.
The footage panned back to the wreckage, and all I could hear was the panic in her voice pleading with me to stay with her, that help was on the way. I never wanted to hear it again. Wanted to die just thinking about what she must’ve felt in those moments before I regained consciousness.
“Restart it,” I demanded, and the medic obeyed. As the footage looped again, I forced myself to watch the spin, the flips, the shattering of carbon fiber. I tried to separate the man from the machine, but it was impossible. Every frame felt like I was back in that car. Forty-eight Gs. Most drivers didn’t walk away from impacts like that. Hell, most didn’t even survive them. My hands trembled at the memory of weightlessness as the car flipped, the sickening realization that I had no control. For the first time since I’d stepped foot in a car, I’d truly thought it was the end.
I forced myself to watch it for a third time. Then, I saw it—the red flags waving in the background.
“Pause it,” I said, pointing at the screen. I bit back a groan as I leaned forward, the pain in my ribs sharp enough to steal my breath. The medic fumbled with the remote, freezing the frame. The flags were clear as day, their bold color standing out against flying debris and swerving cars.
“She was still in her car when the flags went up,” I muttered, my voice firm. “She didn’t break protocol.”
Dominic stepped closer, his gaze narrowing as he studied the screen. “You’re sure about this?”
“Positive.” My hands clenched into fists, the adrenaline coursing through me like a second wind. “We’re taking this to the FIA. Now.”
