Page 51 of Close Contact
Auréliewasn’t just here to compete. She was here to win. To make history. To change the game.
And I was hopelessly, completely, undeniably proud of her.
Today was hers. The win. The history. The crown. But my eyes? My heart? They were hers as well. Not just as a competitor, but as the woman who had completely dismantled my carefully controlled world.
The cameras could chase her all they wanted. Let the world fall at her feet.
I already had.
Putain, je l’aime.
She didn’t just win Monaco.
She’d won me, too.
The crowd’scheering was deafening, but it barely registered over the pounding of my heart. I stood atop my car, arms raised high, the weight of everything I’d just achieved pressing down on me and lifting me at the same time. My chest heaved as the rain soaked through my race suit, droplets sliding off my visor and catching the track lights like diamonds.
I’d done it.
I raised my fist again, this time for me. For the girl who’d spent countless nights in a simulator, chasing a dream everyone told her was impossible and always living in the shadows. For the women and girls who stood on the sidelines, told they didn’t belong. For every doubt, every sneer, every roadblock. I hoped someone was watching today and feeling inspired to chase their dreams.
Because this was my dream, and it just came true.
I climbed down from the car, the roar of my team greeting me like a wave. My feet hit the asphalt, and for a moment, I froze. The world around me spun—blurred faces, flashing cameras, the rain-soaked barriers gleaming under the lights. This wasn’t just a victory. This was history.
Someone grabbed me—René, a mechanic—and pulled me into a bone-crushing hug. “You’re a legend,Auri,” he said, his voice cracking. “An absolute legend.”
I let out a breathless laugh, my arms squeezing him back. The rest of the team swarmed me, their shouts and cheers filling the air as they took turns hugging me, clapping my back, shaking me by the shoulders. For a moment, I let myself sink into it, setting aside the hesitation that whispered I didn’t belong in this moment.
Familiar voices congratulated me, and maybe it was my ego getting to my head, but I turned to the group of three men who’d made comments about my body earlier this week.
I pushed my visor up to pin them with a glare. “Not too bad for a girl with a nice body under a race suit, huh?” I sneered, and I hoped my eyes conveyed the disgusted look on my face. All three of them paled and had the audacity to look appalled.
Then I heard it—footsteps pounding against the asphalt. I turned, and there he was.
Callum.
He didn’t stop. He didn’t hesitate. He reached me in three long strides, pulling me into his arms before I could say a word. I held onto him, my helmet clinking against his, the damp fabric of his suit pressing against mine. For a second, I didn’t care about the cameras or the people or the noise. It was just us.
It was all I wanted.Hewas all I wanted.
But then he’d gone and saidmy love.My head was already spinning from the win, but that? That sent everything off-kilterin a way no corner ever could. I’d told him not to say that unless he wanted me to fall for him.
And then he said it anyway.
Before I could even react, Marco’s shout tore through the chaos. Cameras flashed. The spell broke. By the time I’d hugged Marco and spun in the rain withKimi,Callumwas gone and retreating to the cool-down room and post-race obligations like the professional he was.
But that moment stuck with me. Branded behind my ribs.
My love.
He said it as if it was a fact. As if he already knew. And maybe I did, too.
I turned toward the barriers, and the sight stole the breath from my lungs. Signs waved in the air, waterlogged but proud:
WOMEN DO BELONG INMOTORSPORTS
HER-STORY IS MORE IMPORTANT THAN HIS-STORY.
