Page 108 of Flat Out
Forty-seven. Forty-seven. Forty-seven.
I coasted the in-lap on autopilot, eyes wide, but I couldn’t see the corners anymore. Couldn’t see the track. All I saw was her pinned. Trapped. Broken. My breathing came in short, sharp gasps that fogged the visor until I was blind.
No. Focus, Fraser. Focus.
I swallowed down the bitter taste of panic. “Status?” I demanded, voice clipped and thick with emotion. I was met with static on the radio. “Dom!” I shouted as my stomach churned with unease. “Tell me she’s out. Tell me she’s moving. Tell mesomething.”
Finally, Dom responded. “Dubois is still in the car. Marshals arriving on scene.”
Still in the car.
The words detonated like a bomb in my head. Montreal slammed back into me—the spin, the fire, the cockpit caving in. Metal screeching, sparks flying, straps holding me so tight it felt like I was being squeezed to death. The heat. The smell of fuel. Her voice screaming my name until it broke. That nightmare I’d had, the one I couldn’t shake—her stepping across the track, baby in her arms as Morel came flying around the turn. Suddenly it wasn’t just a dream. It was now.
Jesus, I was going to be sick. Sweat dampened my balaclava and trickled down my spine. I felt the panic attack happening before it fully surfaced. It was my last moment of clarity to slow the car to safer speeds, forgetting the fucking flying lap I was on. The red flags were waving anyway, so it didn’t fucking matter.Nothing fucking mattered if she wasn’t here anymore.
“Update!” I roared, dread shredding my throat. “Dom, I need a fucking update now.”
“Waiting. Return to the pit lane,” was all he said.
I jammed the radio button with my thumb to shut it off and let out a gut-wrenching scream, the kind that tore up my throat and filled the cockpit with sound that didn’t even sound human anymore. My fists hammered the steering wheel over and over until they throbbed, the carbon shuddering under each blow. Tears blurred everything, streaks of red rain lights smeared into nothing as I sobbed and raged at the same time.
No, no, no. This can’t be happening. It can’t be happening. It had just happened to me—it wasn’t supposed to happen to her. Not her. Nother.
WHY DID SHE GET IN THAT GODDAMN CAR? WHY? WHY? WHY?
The words ripped through my skull like vicious talons, over and over, until all that was left was the sound of my own hoarse cries bouncing inside the helmet, raw and broken. My hands slipped from the wheel for just a second, clawing at the sides of my helmet, raking over the visor as if I could rip it off so I could finally fucking breathe.
Darkness flashed across my vision as my gloves covered the visor. I couldn’t see. Couldn’t think. Just panic—pure, animalistic panic—racing through me. My chest heaved, lungs refusing to pull enough air, the belts across me suddenly strangling the life out of me.
Claustrophobia. I needed out.I needed to get out.
I wasn’t a driver anymore. I wasn’t anything but a man begging the universe not to take my heart from me.
The pit entry arrow flashed ahead, and I nearly missed it. A jolt of survival slammed my hands back on the wheel, jerking it straight. I barreled into the pit lane far too fast, tires locking up on wet asphalt as I fumbled to downshift, heart slamming against my ribs so hard I thought it might crack them.
Marshals on the lane blurred past, neon streaks I could barely register. My whole body shook as I aimed for the box.Engineers shouted in my ear, the comms on their end alive with static and panic, but I didn’t hear a damn word. The only thing I heard was her name pulsing in my head.
Aurélie. Aurélie. Aurélie.
I skidded into my marks, half sideways, barely stopping before I was tearing at the belts. The car hadn’t even fully rocked to a halt before I was twisting the wheel off, tugging at the harness, gloves fumbling, desperate, shoving myself free of the cockpit. I staggered off the car before anyone could stop me. My legs buckled, forcing me to the ground, but I forced myself to stand.
They could fine me, dock me points, kick me out of the session—I didn’t give a fuck. She was in that barrier, andno one was telling me if she was alive.
“Callum, session isn’t over—” one of the engineers started.
“Don’t care.” My voice was a snarl, guttural, inhuman. “Is she back here yet? Is she out of the goddamn car yet?”
I couldn’t hear if there was an answer. The rain pounded the concrete, the engines of other cars rolling into the pit lane, impact drills and power tools. So many sounds filled the air, and none of them were her voice.
Breathe.
I stopped cold, turning, swearing I heard her speaking to me. Hoping, praying she was behind me saying it.
But she wasn’t there. It was still just my team.
Jesus fuck.I was already imagining her. Did that mean she was dead? Oh my God, did Luminis fuckingkill herwith that death trap of a car?
My fingers tore at my helmet straps, then I pulled it off with my balaclava so I wasn’t suffocating in my restraints. I gulped the storm air like I’d been drowning. My hands shook uncontrollably, gloves plastered to my skin with rain and sweat. I ripped them off and tossed them on the ground.
