Page 115 of Flat Out
Her tears burned hot against my chest as she shook her head frantically. “I’ve carried it alone for years. I told myself I didn’t care, that I didn’t want that life anyway. But then you—” her voice broke, French bleeding in again, “—puis toi. And I love you so much, tellement putain, it terrifies me. You’re the first person I’ve ever wanted everything with, and if the one thing I can never give you—the chance to hold a baby, your baby, so innocent and perfect, have a family—if I take that from you, alors ça prouve qu’ils avaient raison.”
That proves everyone right.
Aurélie wiped at her eyes aggressively. “My family, the way they looked at me like I was just the extra twin, the unwanted one. The burden. The one who was nevergood enough.Something disposable and useless. And now it’s written in me, dans mon sang, in my bones, in my womb—that I was never made for that kind of love. Not the kind that builds a future. Not the kind you deserve, mon amour.”
She pushed up to a sitting position, but my hand stayed on her thigh, refusing to let her pull away from me now.
“I fear,” she mumbled, “what if that’s all I am? Broken. Empty.Cursed. What if the one thing you deserve, the one thing I can’t give you, takes you from me? What if?—”
Her words fractured, slipping between French and English, a frantic tangle. “Tu ne comprends pas, je l’ai porté toute seule pendant des années—I’ve carried it alone, always alone—and I never let myself fall, jamais, not until you. And now it’s here, c’est là, it’s between us and I can’t?—”
She pressed her face into her hands, sobbing hard, shaking her head back and forth.
I was frozen, heart hammering, throat burning with words I couldn’t shape yet. My instinct was to grab her, hold her so tight she’d feel the truth in my heartbeat. But for a moment, I could only stare, stricken, as the woman I loved unraveled piece by piece in front of me.
With a shuddering breath, she scrambled upright. My heart lurched as she yanked the duvet off her legs, pacing the length of the hotel room like a caged animal. Her hands clutched at her hair. I didn’t know what to do, how to respond, how to make her listen to me. So I let her have her moment, because I had a gut feeling this was more for her than it was for me.
Then, suddenly, she stopped and squared her shoulders, pinning me with a hollow stare. “If this is a dealbreaker for you, say it now.” Her voice rose with every word, almost as though the storm outside had sunk into her. “Say it, and I’ll make this easy for you. I’ll pack my bags and get my own room. You won’t have to deal with me, with this?—”
My pulse fucking roared, anger and heartache and sorrow and a million other fucking emotions warring inside. She was pushing me away. Setting me up to leave.
Absolutely the fuck not.
I was about to rip that idea to fucking shreds. I would, under no circumstances, let her self-sabotage again because she thought she wasn’t worthy of love.
“Aurélie.”
“Say it!” she shouted, her fists clenching at her sides. "Say it, Callum! Put me out of my fucking misery before I fall more in love with you. Just say it!”
“No,” I snapped, climbing to my feet and moving to stand in front of her.
But she just glowered at me, chin trembling as she fought another wave of tears, eyes blazing with desperation and despair.
“Say it,” she whispered this time, the anger gone, leaving only grief. “Say you don’t want me. Say I’ll never be enough. Please, Callum, I’m begging you to say it so I can stop hoping.”
The plea reached into my chest and tore my fucking heart out. I felt like I was splitting in two, torn between the devastation in her eyes and the truth settling deep in me.
“Shut the fuck up,” I rasped.
She froze. Her lips parted, eyes wide with shock. We stood toe to toe, fully naked in a low-lit hotel room in Great Britain, arguing over something that shouldn’t even be an argument because this didn’t change how I felt about her.
I closed the distance between us, my hands cupping her face, tilting it up, forcing her to look at me. Her breath was shaking. Her pulse was a wild, frantic beat against my fingers.
I stared at her, every fucking inch of me yearning for her to listen to me. When I spoke, my voice wasn’t loud. It wasn’t angry; it was fucking devastated.
"You think that’s why I love you?"
Her lower lip quivered.
“You think I fucking love you because of that?”
She blinked, swallowing hard. "I?—"
“I love you because you are the strongest, most infuriating, most brilliant person I’ve ever known.” My fingers flexed, thumbs skimming across her cheekbones, hovering over the bruise where another man had put his hands on her. “Because you fight like hell for every goddamn thing you want in life. Because you make me laugh when I forget how. Because you challenge me, and you tell me when I’m wrong, and you never let me hide from myself. Because you make me want to be a better fucking man than I ever thought I could be.”
My throat closed, but I forced the words out. “When I look at you, Aurélie, I don’t see what you can or can’t give me. I see my safety. My peace. I see the only place I’ve ever felt at home. You’re the air in my lungs, the ground under my feet, the fire in my veins. You’re my beginning and my end. Not racing. Not trophies. You.”
Her breath hitched on an inhale. Her hands lifted, trembling and tentative, her fingers curling around my wrists.
