Page 28 of Flat Out
And just like that, I wasin it.
She was at my flat. I was at PT. But we wereconnected. And tomorrow, I’d do more. I’d be better. I'd save that link to my phone so I knew her schedule and would try to reciprocate the love she was giving me, because she deserved a man who didn’t just heal for her.She deserved one whorose for her.
The stretches mademe want to die. I got through them all, barely, but I did it. And that alone felt like a celebration.
Until I got back to my flat and saw the paparazzi swarming. I sighed before shoving through the crowd, the shouting too overwhelming to pick out the questions. Definitely things regarding Aurélie, but I needed to lie down in the dark, not stand there and answer questions that were none of their goddamn business to begin with.
Inside, there was a new note on the refrigerator, and another on the coffee maker. I grabbed the one on the coffee maker first.
The point of me being here is to take care of you. Not the other way around. REST.
PS: I chose “both.” Obviously. And coffee with those croissants.
I grinned and then grabbed the other one from the coffee maker.
PPS: Don’t eventhinkabout drinking caffeine tomorrow. It'll make your head worse right now. I’ll know if you do.
–A
I sat down right there on the kitchen floor and leaned my head back against the cabinet, eyes closed and note in hand.
I could manage another week.
She’d been here. I could feel it in the air, in the notes she left behind, in the smell of her shampoo on my pillow. I knew she was flying across country lines, sprinting between interviews, and still making time to come here. To care for me in the quietest ways, even when she was barely showing up for herself..
I wouldn’t see every visit. But I’d feel it.
She was still loving me, just from a distance. And I needed to meet her halfway.
“You’ve turnedLuminis into a goddamn circus, Aurélie,” Henric snarled through the receiver.
I flinched at the harshness in his tone. Not that I should–I wasn’t afraid of him, but I did still owe him respect as my team principal, and lately I hadn’t shown that to him. As a person, he doesn’t deserve it. But as a superior… yeah, I understood the severity of what I was doing. I wasn’t dumb. What I was doing was ahugerisk, and if I didn’t have a seat secured at Ferrari next year, I selfishly would find a quieter way to do this.
“Do you think the FIA fines are just for shits and giggles? That money just grows on trees?” he demanded, and because he couldn’t see me, I rolled my eyes. It was like being lectured by my father, which I expected. Evidently it was also the reason why I ignored his first call a couple hours ago. “Do you think Ienjoybeing summoned into meetings to explain why my rookie driver is more famous for running her mouth than her lap times?”
“I’m not doing this for attention, Henric,” I said, forcing the frustration from my voice. “It’s about safety. I’m not the only one saying it?—”
He cut me off. “Safety doesn’t sell tickets. Winning does.”
I gripped the phone tighter. “There is nowinningif all the goddamn drivers are dead,” I snapped. “There’s been deliberate blocking in free practice, dangerous defending by experienced drivers, and open discussion of sabotage! I don’t care if people are whispering in the paddock about whether I even belong here. I care about doing the right thing. I’m staying focused, winning races, and?—”
“Excuses,” he snapped, the word landing like a gavel. “The press sees you as a troublemaker, and I see a driver whose reputation is tanking. Fix your image, or I’ll find someone who can.”
The line went dead, and so did the part of me that still believed HQ would have my back. The echo of his voice stayed, drilling into the space between my ears. I inhaled deeply through my nose, closed my eyes, and held my breath. Slow exhaling, I turned and opened my balcony doors.
My flat was too quiet. It always was when I was here, but tonight in particular, the silence was suffocating.
Fresh air hit me, kissing my heated skin. It was a warm summer night, and if I wasn’t actively trying to lower my blood pressure, it would’ve been enjoyable. Instead, I dropped my phone on the little round table as I plopped down in the single padded lounge chair–the only pieces of furniture I could fit in the small space.
I leaned back, taking in the view. Paris glittered before me—golden, beautiful, loud—but it didn’t penetrate the heavy fog slowly consuming me. Inside, it was just shadows and the hum of my own breath. I wasn’t sure how much I had left in me.
I never expected this when I agreed to take my brother’s seat. Formula 1 had always been the goal. It was a shiny, impossible dream I kept tucked away so no one could destroy it. And then my chance came, and I grabbed it with both hands. I fell in love, twice over—once with the sport, and once with Callum. Who knew love could be so disastrous? So public? So politicized, dissected, and fuckingweaponized?
Sometimes I wondered what it would be like to just walk away from it all. To go home to the vineyard with my tail between my legs, tending to the grapevines that had been my safe haven long before I’d ever stepped into a car. The vines never asked for podiums, PR quotes, or silence unless spoken to. They didn’t care about contracts or camera angles, only patience and care, and were rewarded in time.
But then I thought of Callum. Of Marco and Kimi, the sound of the lights going out, the surge of the grid, the taste of champagne and the glitter of the paddock at night. And I knew I’d never be able to quit, no matter how much this world cut me open.
My phone vibrated from the table beside me, startling me from my thoughts. I glanced at it with disdain. It was face down, but it might as well have been a live grenade. Every time it buzzed, my stomach churned and my teeth gnashed.
