Page 22 of Flat Out
Just ask Fraser and the meme he's about to become.
Then, a moment later to just me:
Aurélie
This is how you propose to me?
"I want to rail you into that studio couch. Respectfully." Romance isn't dead. It's just brain damaged.
You said "I love you" and then immediately threatened me with a furniture-induced spinal injury. Mon Dieu, I missed you.
Also, be so fucking for real, neither of us are banned from live interviews. That's just foreplay.
Tell your mum I said hi, and if she wants to pick colors for the wedding I will GLADLY let her. As long as I still get to wear pink.
(I know you want me in white. Behave.)
Also on the topic of your mum. Elite. Iconic. The REAL Fraser family PR powerhouse.
She said "if he doesn't call me back, I'm taking the next flight to Monaco and dragging his arse out of bed myself."
Callum. Your mother used the word "arse." I think I'm in love.
Why don't you say that??? Been away from home too long ooorrrr??
If we ever break up, I'm still texting her. You can't stop me. She's my ally now.
(Also she asked if I loved you and I said oui. Heard her cry a little, so… do with that what you will.)
You're ridiculous. And freshly injured and recovering. Which is why if you even think about getting hard again, I will decline your proposal and make you beg for it next time.
But…
Merci. For the texts, for making me feel seen. For being mine. I'm really glad you woke up to see it live. Brought my soul a lot of peace seeing you texted.
I didn't get to sleep after the crash. After you disappeared and everything that's happened since. I'm running on fumes & rage.
But now I need to go to sleep. First real sleep since Montreal.
Because I know you're watching now and you're okay. I know you're still with me.
I love you. Bonne nuit, mon amour. Try not to combust while I dream of exactly how I want you to make up for ghosting me.
I barely even finished reading Aurélie’s last text before I scrambled to thumb through my recents like a man possessed. And there it was: an answered incoming call from my mother.
I hit call. It rang once before a familiar voice picked up.
“It’s about bloody time. Your father and I have been worried sick about you.” Her voice sliced through the speaker with that thick Highland steel I knew better than my own name. “I was ten seconds away from booking a flight to Monaco and banging down your door with a wooden spoon, curlers still in, and a bottle of Rescue Remedy.”
I blinked. “Mum, what?—”
“You think I wouldn’t?” she snapped. “That girl—that woman—answered my call. She talked to me like I mattered and told me the truth when you bloody well wouldn’t. You ignored your own mother!”
I groaned, dragging a hand down my face. “I was resting from my injury, not avoiding you.”
“Callum James Fraser, don’t you lie to me.” There it was. Full name. I was inrealtrouble now. “I know avoidance when I hear it. You didn’t want anyone to see you broken. But I’m your bloody mother, goddammit, and I deserved to know you were okay. A text wasn’t good enough. I needed to hear my baby boy’s voice. I thought you were dead!”
She was right. God, she wasright—and I’d been a coward.
