Page 113 of Flat Out
“I’m so fucking sorry. I don’t think I ever told you enough how strong you are, how much I admire the way you keep getting back in that car after everything they’ve done to you. You’re the bravest person I’ve ever known, Aurélie. And I—” his voice cracked, breaking into something ragged, “—I get it now. What Montreal was for you. Watching me burn, not knowing if I’d make it out alive. I thought I understood when you told me. I thought I did. But I didn’t. Not until today, when I thought I’d lost you. When I thought I’d never hear your voice again. I can’t breathe without you. God, I can’t fucking breathe without you.”
My stomach churned every time I thought about it.
Now, every time the doctor leaned too close, every time a nurse murmured instructions, Callum tensed as if he was ready to tear the place down brick by brick if I so much as winced.
“Bloodwork next,” the doctor said briskly, snapping off one pair of gloves for another. “We’ll draw for internal markers, clotting factors, and–”
“No,” I interrupted. The word came out sharper than I intended, cutting through the room like a blade. “No bloodwork.”
The doctor blinked at me, startled. “Ms. Dubois, it’s standard protocol?—”
“I said no.” I sat up straighter, my spine protesting, my wrists aching. “I’ve been poked, prodded, and peeled out of cars enough for a lifetime. I’m not a pincushion, and Ido notconsent to bloodwork. Don’t take the power of consent away from me.”
Callum’s head snapped toward me. “Auri,” he murmured, his thumb brushing circles into the back of my hand, “Why?” His voice was softer now, almost afraid of the answer. “Why don’t you want them to run it?”
Because I don’t want to know if my body has betrayed me again. Because I can’t handle another confirmation that I might never give him the family he deserves. Because if the wordpregnantshows up anywhere near my name, the rest of me will fall apart.
But I couldn’t say any of that. Not here. Not with doctors scribbling and nurses watching.
“I just…” I dragged in a breath, forcing my voice steady. “I just want to go back to the hotel. To sleep. To not be handled like a specimen anymore.” I met his eyes, daring him to push me on it. “Please.”
His eyes flicked between mine, but he didn’t press. He only nodded once before squeezing my hand tighter, like he was taking the weight of the refusal into himself.
The door hissed open. Ivy swept in like a storm in heels, hair damp from the rain, blazer buttoned tight like armor instead of a cape. She looked every inch the badass bitch she was, the one who chewed men like Morel into dust and smiled while she swallowed.
“Security just sent me the footage.” She didn’t waste time. Her voice was crisp. “Corridor three, west wing. Clear as day. Him pushing you into the wall, hands where they don’t belong. It’s timestamped, logged, and backed up. We have him.”
My lungs loosened, just a fraction. Callum’s grip on my hand turned crushing, like he wanted to leap from his chair and storm FIA headquarters right now.
Before he could, Dom and Henric stepped in behind Ivy. Dom looked stern, every line of his face pulled taut. Henric just looked wrecked, guilt written into the slump of his shoulders.
“You’ve both been summoned,” Dom said, voice gravel-rough. “FIA stewards, tomorrow morning, before the race.” He shifted his eyes to me, softer for a fraction of a second. “In the meantime, Aurélie, you and Fraser are instructed to leave the paddock for the remainder of the day.”
The words rang in the sterile room like a verdict. Leave. Like we were the ones being punished instead of the one who deserved it—Morel.
By the timewe made it back to the hotel, the storm had followed us, sheets of rain slicking the streets as if the whole world was wrung out and exhausted. We didn’t speak on the way up. There wasn’t anything left to say.
The water beat down on us, hot against cold skin, sluicing the grit and blood and rain away until we were just two people holding each other upright. He shampooed my hair without a word. I traced the ridges of his knuckles, swollen and split, with trembling hands.
In the bathroom, steam curled around us, fogging the mirror and softening the harsh fluorescent light. We undressed each other in silence, fingers gentle where they’d been desperate hours earlier. Callum’s hands were careful, reverent, skimming bruises like they were sacred wounds. They paused on the ones on my face and my shoulder, but instead of saying anything more, he just wrapped his arms around me and pulled me closer. I sank into him, his warmth, finding comfort in his embrace.
No confessions. No promises. Just the quiet ritual of washing away the day before it completely crushed us.
After, we crawled into bed, the blinds drawn tight until not a sliver of light could intrude. His arm curved heavy over my waist, our legs tangled, the damp of our hair soaking into the pillows. For the first time since the crash, my lungs expanded fully.
“Are you okay?” I whispered into the darkness, wanting to believe we were both safe now.
After a beat of silence, he chuckled. Warm breath fanned across the back of my neck, and I couldn’t help the smile that tugged on my lips. Then suddenly we both burst into laughter—loud, unrestrained, the kind that shook our tired bodies and made the mattress creak beneath us. It wasn’t funny. Nothing about today was funny. But somehow, in the cocoon of that dark room, it felt like the only thing we could do. Laughter ripped out of me until my abs hurt, until tears blurred my vision, until I was gasping for air and clutching at him. He laughed too, low and hoarse, his forehead pressed into my shoulder, his chest shaking against my back.
It wasn’t joy. It was survival. It was our bodies wringing out the grief and rage and terror until all that was left was the sound of us, alive, together, still here.
Eventually the laughter ebbed, tapering off into silence. Our breathing slowed, syncing the way it always did, until the storm outside was just background noise.
“Feel better?” he murmured, his voice raw, close to my ear.
“Not really,” I whispered, truth heavy on my tongue.
He exhaled, a quiet laugh without humor. “Me neither.”
