Page 124 of Close Contact
“It wasn’t me,” he interrupted, his lips pressing into a thin line. “Fraser stormed in like a man possessed. Dragged Dominic with him. The FIA didn’t stand a chance.”
The air left my lungs. “Callum?” I whispered, the sound barely audible even to myself. I’dheardhim say he couldn’t feel his legs. He’d just survived an extreme crash, and he had gone to the FIAhimself? “Was he—is he?—?”
Henric’s expression softened for a fleeting moment, a rare glimpse of humanity in his usually hard demeanor. “He stood on his own two feet the whole time, but I’m pretty certain he’s headed to the hospital now. You should focus on the race, Aurélie. You can thank him later.” He hesitated, then added, “That man’s willing to fight for you in ways most wouldn’t.” Then he walked away, leaving me reeling.
Exhaustion washed over me as I turned on my heel and stalked away, slipping my helmet under one arm. The garage was still frozen, but I didn’t slow until I reached Kimi. I grabbed his elbow and hauled him out into the pit lane without a word. He stumbled after me, confused, until I marched him all the way down to the Vanguard garage.
Marco spotted us immediately, tension written all over his face as he pushed off the pit wall and crossed to meet us, eyes searching mine desperately. Kimi was still stiff beside me.
“Aurélie?” Marco asked, sounding strained. “Is he…” He swallowed, his face pale. “What happened? Did Callum make it?”
“He was unconscious when I got to him,” I told them in a hushed tone, my eyes burning at the too-fresh memory. “And they held me back. I’m sure you both saw his car catch on fire.”
They both nodded.
“They had to use extraction tools to get him out. They had todismantlethe cockpit. I…” Words failed me. I wanted to give them reassurance that Callum was okay, but truthfully, I wasn’t sure if he was.
Marco’s face broke. His shoulders dropped like the wind had been knocked out of him, throat bobbing as he turned away and braced both hands on the garage wall. His chest rose and fell as if he’d just finished a dead sprint. Then a raw, whispered, “Fuck,” escaped him. Nothing else, just that, as though it was the only word he could summon.
Kimi dragged his hands down his face, shaking his head back and forth, muttering something in Finnish that I didn’t understand.
I let them have their moment before I pressed on. “He didn’t wake up until after they loaded him on the gurney. The marshals came back for me, because he asked for me. But when I got to him, I heard him telling the medical team that he couldn’t feel his legs.”
Marco slammed a fist into the garage wall, the sound causing me to jump, before he turned around and leaned back against the wall. The crews turned to look at us, so I stepped closer and dropped my voice more.
“Henric told me he was on his own two feet up in the stewards’ room. So I think he’s fine, but I don’t have any details right now.”
“Jesus Christ, Aurélie, why didn’t you lead with that?” Marco snapped, color returning to his face.
“Sorry,” I mumbled, my lower lip wobbling as I fought tears. “I’m just—I’m sorry. My nerves are—how do you say it? Frizzled? Fried? Frazzled? Whatever. You guys know what I mean. They’re fucked.”
Kimi chuckled, but it sounded deflated. “And yet, your brain manages to malfunction at the worst possible time.”
I winced. “Yeah, sorry about that. I can’t control it.” A long, slow sigh escaped me. “I grabbed my phone when I stopped into my suite to change. I want you both to hear what I tried to give the FIA.”
I pulled my phone from the pocket of my suit. My hands were shaking again, rage and grief and adrenaline still coursing through me. I opened the audio file from Monaco and hit play. The sound was a bit grainy, but the voices were unmistakable. Morel, Schreiber, Kowalski, and Takeda snickering, scheming, plotting. They talked about how they’d box Callum in to fuck with my head. How Marco was also a target. How they’d do it even if it was dangerous.
Because they wanted it to hurt and ensure that I was off the grid for good.
Marco rolled his shoulders back, eyes now red-rimmed and glassy with fury. “Holy fucking shit. They meant to do it.”
“They fuckingorchestratedit,” I hissed. “And the FIA called it ‘locker room talk.’ How fucked up is that?”
“They knew,” Kimi muttered. “And they still let those fuckers race.”
My phone buzzed in my hand. It was a text from Ivy.
Ivy
Tell me he’s okay. Whatever you need, I’m here.
I locked the screen and tucked my phone back into my pocket. I’d deal with her and the press later. Right now, I needed to channel my rage into something.
“So, I said coldly. “We’re done playing by their broken rules that do nothing for the safety of their drivers. Callum’s alive, but if I have anything to say about it, Morel’s career isn’t. And maybe the rest of theirs too.”
Marco sniffed and wiped his nose. “Tell me what to do. I want their names. I want their families to know what they almost fucking cost us.”
“We finish the race,” I told them. “Then we go public. Every driver who’s ever been targeted, everyone they tried to silence, every concern that’s been ignored because they didn’t want to stop a Grand Prix. We make noise until they can’t ignore us.”
