Page 55 of Flat Out
He hesitated. Then said, too quietly, “A couple drinks. On the plane.”
The air felt too cold. The pills rattled in the bottles. Suddenly I wasn’t in our hotel room anymore. I was back home, fifteen and clutching a phone to my ear while screaming for my siblings to help. My mother was passed out in the kitchen, a glassshattered on the hardwood, wine spilling wine across the floor. A prescription bottle sat open on the counter.
That was the first time I learned what Tizanidine was, and that she'd been on it for years to cope with a back injury from working on the vineyard for so long. It was also when I found out how easily one glass of wine—just one—could become a threat when the body had too much already swimming in its veins.
I blinked hard, trying to stay rooted in reality. My pulse pounded in my ears. I hated how familiar the fear was, how fast it resurfaced when someone I loved became careless with their body, their life. Not again. Not someone else. Not him.
I didn’t snap or shame him. I just sighed and muttered in French—something messy and half devotional, half threatening—before sitting beside him again, forcing it all down. Guilt curled hot in my stomach. I should’ve asked sooner, checked on him, made sure he was taken care of before he gave everything he had to me.
I shook the proper doses into my palm. “When did you take each one last?” I asked, carefully keeping my tone even.
He answered quietly, pointing to each bottle. I nodded, placed the pills in his hand, and rose to get him a glass of water, then I grabbed my phone and set reminders.
Tramadol — every 6 hours. Codeine — every 4 to 6. Tizanidine — once every 8.
It didn’t matter what time of day it was. If we’d just made love, if we were exhausted and tangled in sheets. Morning or midnight, I'd wake up if I had to. All that mattered was that he was okay and I could take care of him.
This was love, too. Not just the fire and the fucking and the feral devotion. Butthis—making sure he was okay when he didn’t think he deserved it. Holding him up when he couldn’t ask for help. Choosing him, again and again, even when it was hard.
It was the messy, the vigilant, the good, the bad, the ugly, the beauty, and everything in between. True love stayed when the adrenaline faded and the bruises ached and the soul fell apart and the heat of lust cooled into the quiet. He'd shown me that, and now it was my turn.
When I looked back up, he was already watching me but saying nothing. His eyes… theymelted. He looked a little in awe and a lot devastated. "No one's ever… done that for me. Or cared, I guess."
I gaped at him, a hand braced against his thigh, the other still holding my phone. "Well, learn to get used to it. This isn’t one-sided,” I said gently. “We help each other. We lean on each other. That’s the only way this works. As we've seen over and over.”
His throat bobbed. Slowly, he reached for me and threaded our fingers together. "Aurélie."
My tears were gone, the well dry, but I was still wrought with emotion. I pulled him to his feet and he groaned. I led him to the bathroom, started the shower, and told him I’d join him in a moment. He listened, and I turned back to the room.
I quickly tidied the bed, huffing at the wet spots, then rummaged through his bag again. I found the sheet spray I'd left with him, misted it over the bedding, and then returned to his items to retrieve the salve. That went on the bedside so I could massage it into his muscles after the shower.
I paused in front of the full-length mirror. I looked… ruined. All that makeup I'd had on earlier was smeared, trails of mascara down my cheeks while half of it I'd sweat off. And yet, that relaxed look was the sign that I wassafe.
Sighing, I padded into the bathroom with toiletries in hand and stepped into the steam. He was already leaning against the tiled wall, head bowed, water sliding down the bruises on his chest. He didn’t look at me right away. I opened the body wash and poured it into my palm, lathering it gently before I touchedhim. My fingers brushed his ribs, and my eyes landed on a large laceration on his right side, soap actively dripping into it. He hissed but didn’t flinch.
I pulled my hand away, remembering the crash and the blood as he clutched his side on the journey. And it would definitely scar, and he'd match me.
“I’m not fragile,” he murmured, pulling me from my thoughts.
“I know,” I whispered. “But you’re sore. You survived a crash that has killed people before. And you don’t have to cope with that alone, as you love to tell me about all of my issues.” I washed him slowly, carefully, over his chest, his neck, his shoulders. His skin was warm beneath the water, and it made my own eyes sting again because I knew whatshould’vehappened. I knew how close I’d come to losing him.
“You knew what to look for,” he said after a moment. “With the meds. The warning signs.”
I nodded. My hands never stopped moving. “My mom,” I said quietly. “She… got injured years ago working the vines. Tore something in her muscles. They gave her Tizanidine. She was never the same after that.”
Callum went still under my touch as I worked my way down his back.
“She didn’t mean to hurt herself,” I continued. “I didn't even know she was on it. We all drank wine all the goddamn time. I mean, we run a fucking vineyard, so you kind of have to, you know? But one night… her body just couldn't handle it. She collapsed on the floor. She wasn’t breathing right. I had to call an ambulance. I was fifteen.”
He turned to face me then. Water trailed down his jaw, catching in his lashes, but his eyes were wide and present. Relief hit me that he didn't still look dazed.
“You never told me that,” he said.
“We hadn't really gotten that far, mon amour. Then we spent a month apart, and every time we talked, it was catching up. I didn’t want you to think I was moving too fast, or hovering, or clingy, or… whatever.”
He reached for me then, holding my face in both hands, and kissed my forehead.
“You weren’t hovering,” he said softly. "And I love the clinginess. Hate the running." He paused, then kissed me softly. “You were protecting me.”
