Page 49 of Close Contact
In more than one way.
Not now, Aurélie.
The remaining laps were a blur of adrenaline and determination. Fraser was still there, pushing me to the limit, but the gap grew with every corner. My vision blurred at the edges, my body aching, but I didn’t let up.
On the penultimate lap, I found my moment. A perfect exit fromTabacgave me the momentum to pull away. The gap grew, and for the first time, I allowed myself to believe.
The checkered flag loomed, and as I crossed the line, time seemed to stop.
The world erupted. The roar of the crowd faded as realization dawned. I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. I could only feel. The victory. The pain. The pride.
I did it.
I fucking did it.
I fucking did it!
A sob tore from my throat when I raised my fist in the air, slowing the car to wave at the crowd that maybe also believed in me.
I finally showed the whole world what I was capable of. I proved to my family that I wasn’t the second-string twin on the one weekend they decided to visit me. I showed my ex that I didn’t need him. I pulled ahead of Morel and his posse and avoided a potentially catastrophic outcome given the rain.
My hands covered my visor briefly in a moment of overwhelm.
And most of all, Iwon.I beat three world champions.
Iearnedmy spot.
I thought ofÉtienne’sface when he saw me take pole. Of the sleepless nights in the simulator, chasing perfection. OfCallum’svoice, low and certain, telling me I was more than enough.
I. Belonged. Here.
Monaco. Victory. Legacy. History.
One small step for sports, one giant leap for women in a male-dominated industry.
The rain had soakedthrough every layer of my race suit by the time I crossed the finish line inP2. My grip clenched around the wheel, breath caught in my throat asAurélie’snavy and gold car sailed past the checkered flag ahead of me. The roar of the crowd pierced through my helmet, a deafening reminder that I wasn’t the story today.
She was.
I slammed my fists against the wheel in frustration and pride—because I gave it everything I had. But it wasn’t enough. Not against her.
Auréliehad just won Monaco.
“P2,Callum. Great drive, mate,” my team principal crackled in my ear, his voice carrying a mix of exhaustion and disbelief. “We’ll take this. Both Vanguards on the podium again this year. You two are like magic together.”
I didn’t respond for a moment. My throat felt tight, and it wasn’t from the adrenaline or the effort of the race. It was her. She’d done it. She’d fucking done it.
Auréliehad earned that win. Every corner, every overtake, every calculated decision—she’d fought for it and taken it right from under my nose.
And she used my favorite overtake method to beat me.
I let out a slow breath. “Copy,” I muttered, the word hollow in my mouth. I should’ve been frustrated—angry even—but all I could feel was a strange mix of pride and something deeper, something that twisted uncomfortably in my chest.
As I rounded thecooldownlap, I could hear the crowd roaring through my helmet. Monaco was her stage now, the crowd’s cheers amplifying with every corner I took behind her. My heart thudded, every beat a reminder that I needed to see her. I needed to tell her… something. Anything.
After parking inParcFermé, Iunclippedmy belts and HANS device, removed my steering wheel, and pulled myself out using the halo. The flashing lights of cameras blinded me before I’d even pushed my visor up.
The moment my feet hit the asphalt, my eyes locked on the blue and goldLuminiscar parked at the front of the line. And there she was, already out, helmet still on, visor up. She raised her arms in triumph, her feet on the nose of the car. She looked like a goddess carved from the chaos—untouchable, euphoric, fucking unstoppable. As if she’d just conquered the world. And in every way, she had.
