Page 27 of Flat Out
Because I'm bleeding out of my body and exhausted and annoyed and overwhelmed and I still want to climb into your lap and be held by you. But you're hurt. SO. Hormones. Obviously.
Period or not, rage and all, I want every piece of you. Always. xo
I'll hold you forever (if you let me).
Aurélie
MONSIEUR. You are dangerous.
Go to PT. I'll be gone before you get back, but maybe I'll leave you a surprise.
Unless the surprise is you naked in my bed, I'm not interested. Kidding… kind of.
I'll behave. If you promise to eat and rest. You're still my girl, and you need to take care of yourself, too.
Aurélie
You first, then me.
I'm always your girl.
Bisous
I slipped my phone into my pocket and huffed through every step toward the front door, bruises flaring with pain after every breath. By the time the car pulled up outside, I was ready to lie flat on the sidewalk and let the sun finish me off. My sunglasses didn't do shit for the piercing pain in my head.
I hated every second of it, but it was the only way to get my body where it needed to be. I already knew I wouldn't be ready to race in Austria next weekend, but Silverstone was the week after, and there was no way in hell I would miss that race.
My phone buzzed again—another comment of someone doubting her. Fuck that.
When I got to PT, I dragged myself to the full-length mirror inside the rehab room and stared at my reflection. Face drawn. Dark circles. Hoodie unzipped just enough to show the edge of the compression wrap around my ribs. I looked like shit.
Good.
I lifted my phone, took the photo, and posted it to my story.
Caption:
Team Aurélie or fuck off. I’m healing while she fought to make sure I could. I’m standing. Because she stood for me first.
#IStandWithHer
Then I opened another chat—my pilot, Antoine—and started a new thread.
Aurélie + Jet Access
Antoine, meet Aurélie Dubois. She now has priority access to the jet until Austria. Please coordinate her schedule and do not, under any circumstance, let her fly commercial like a civilian. Merci.
For your jet, mademoiselle. You’ve earned it. Bisous.
Aurélie
Callum, NO.
Antoine
Yes, sir. Mademoiselle Dubois, please send your schedule via a shareable calendar link and I will take care of it.
A few minutes later, a link came through, and I just grinned. The door for PT opened, and I set my phone down.
