Page 71 of Flat Out
“Think about it. That’s what Senna was fighting for in the nineties when he pushed for the GPDA to come back. He knew the difference between risk and negligence. So do you. So do I.”
Her lips pursed like she wanted to argue, but the trace glowed between us like the evidence it was.
I stepped closer, my ribs protesting, but I didn’t care because suddenly I was breathing her in–sweat and lavender andher. And all was right in the world for a brief moment in time. “Maybe it’s time you started thinking about that, mon cœur.Not just as a driver in a broken car, but as someone who could change this entire grid if you chose to. You’ve built an incredible platform fighting sexism. Use that to your advantage. Addressbothissues head on. I’m here to support you every step of the way.”
For a moment, neither of us spoke. Her eyes stayed locked on mine, wide and unwavering, and I swear the air between us turned electric. Without thinking, I reached out, my free hand settling on her shoulder gently, hoping to steady her before I kissed her senseless.
She flinched. Just barely, but enough for me to see.
“Fuck.” I snatched my hand back like I’d burned her, and her face fell. Nope, I hated that reaction and never wanted to see that on her face again. “Baby, this is worse than I thought. Why didn’t you say anything to me?”
Her mouth opened, like she might actually tell me, but then she snapped it shut, hazel eyes flicking toward the floor. “Because it doesn’t change anything,” she whispered. “I still have to drive it. It’s just the car. I’ll figure it out. I always do.”
That stubborn resolve–that absolute refusal to share the weight, even with me–would be the bane of my existence. She carried it all until it ground her down, until she had nothing left but grit and silence. And fuck if I didn’t love her more for that.
I wanted to take all the pain from her. Just a fraction of it, enough to make it easier. But I didn’t know how. Not yet, not until I could review all her telemetry and understand everything going on with her car’s setup.
Before we could say anything else, the door opened and a mechanic poked her head in, headset skewed. “Aurélie, debrief in five. And grab something to eat, you’re running low.”
“Yeah, okay.” She stood straighter, but not before I saw her hand flexing at her shoulder, the twitch she tried to mask as shereached for a water bottle sitting on the small counter in her suite.
I crossed my arms, lips pressed thin, watching her like she might vanish if I blinked.
She caught the look and tried for a smile. “Go rest,” she said softly, eyes steady despite the exhaustion. “S’il te plaît. I’ll be fine. I love you.”
It melted something lethal in me. My jaw unclenched, my chest loosened by a fraction. “I love you too,” I murmured, the words heavier than any threat I’d thrown today. Then I leaned in, voice low and final. “I’ll be watching in FP2. And Aurélie—” my thumb brushed her knuckles deliberately, “—the way you held that car together? Fighting it every corner and still making it look easy? Fucking brilliant. You have no idea what that does to me.”
Her breath hitched subtly. She leaned just close enough that only I could hear her soft breathing, and then she spoke, raw, laced with fire. “Cal, mon amour, you’ve been my idol for ten years. Who do you think I learned it from?”
My pulse roared. For a second, the garage, the noise, the ache in my ribs–eviscerated. Just her, looking at me like she was ready to devour me, and daring me not to fall apart under it.
She straightened before I could answer, eyes still molten, shoulders squared. She nodded once, then strode toward the mechanic with a sway in her hips that made me ache for an entirely different reason.
This wasn’t over.
Not by a long shot.
I glaredat the tub of ice water before me, knowing I needed to get it over with. My body needed it. Every joint and muscle protested each movement I made, making me grit my teeth and breathe through the pain.
“Fais-le c'est tout,” Jules, my physio, muttered as he gestured to the tub.Just do it.
My glare shifted to him. He’d been my physio since I was in Formula 3, and I was grateful for his loyalty and discretion, but right now, I really fucking hated him.
“Tu sais que je déteste ça,” I snapped.You know I hate this.
“Yes, I’m aware,” he said in English, chuckling. “You’ve been doing the same thing for over a decade, Aurélie. Stop acting like a little bitch and get in the goddamn bath. You’re walking like a ninety year-old woman.”
I blinked, then burst into laughter. “Jules, what thefuck? I am not! I’m just a little sore is all.”
“I’ve never seen you like this. Your cars in the past never gave you this kind of pain.” I averted my gaze, to which he sighed. “You think I haven’t noticed? Come on, I know when your muscles are resisting a post-session massage and when you’re trying to hide it.”
Rolling my eyes and grumbling the whole walk over to the tub, I adjusted my sports bra straps, and then swung a leg over the edge.
The plunge stole my breath. Ice gnawed at my skin, my spine snapped straight like a live wire electrocuting me the instant I sank into the tub. I hissed through clenched teeth, jaw tensed, the shock ripping through my nervous system like an electric current. The cold wasn’t pain-resistant. No, the cold amplified it, magnified it, sharpened it until there was no pretending.
Every vibration from the car still rattled through me. My spine ached like a column of fire, every vertebra spasming with phantom echoes of curbs. My shoulders and neck were tight, stiff, throbbing from hours of correction. My legs… God, they felt half numb, buzzing like static from the vibrations.
This was the worst it had ever been.
