Page 93 of Flat Out
Still, they didn’t care. They weren’t proud of my success. They weren’t relieved that I’d gotten myself out of a bad relationship, or happy that I was ambitious. And that fuckingstung.
Beneath the hurt, there was an ache I hated admitting to. I missed him. I missed all of them. And soon, I’d have to go back. Closing on my house meant retrieving what I’d left behind. My clothes, my books, the fragments of a life I’d abandoned in one furious break.
Just like that, I wasn’t my parents’ daughter living under their roof anymore. I was alone. Independent. Free.
And yet, as I stepped back out into the grey English morning, the weight of it pressed harder than I expected.
Back in the paddock,the world was too loud. The fog in my head consumed me, bogging me down and making it difficult to process my surroundings. My temples throbbed, but nothing was helping.
I found the group in one of the hospitality areas, right where they said they’d be in a group chat I started earlier. Marco was grimacing like he’d been handed a death sentence, Kimi muttered something dry under his breath, and Callum sat with his arms crossed in practiced indifference. Ivy stood at the center in her crisp black clothing, commanding the space.
I wondered what I missed.
Papers fanned in Ivy’s hand. “Interview schedules,” she announced, passing them out one by one. “Yes, your teams will also have them, but I don’t trust teams to manage PR the way I do, so here’s extra prep. Think of it as a gift. I’ll take a round of thank yous now.”
Marco huffed, dragging a hand down his face, and Kimi actually spewed something in his native language. His feathers must have really been ruffled.
Taking my copy, I managed a small smile as Ivy ignored them both. I stared at the black font until the words blurred. My brain refused to process any of it. My body hurt in too many places, the nausea low in my gut making it hard to breathe as I fought it off.
I will not vomit here.
Fuck, maybe I was getting sick.
I rubbed my fingers against the paper, forcing myself tolook normal, to act like I was fine, to try to ground myself. I nodded at all the right beats as Ivy briefed us on what to expect.
But I wasn’t listening. Not to Ivy’s rundown, not to Marco’s complaints, not to Kimi’s dry humor. The edges of the page dug into my palm until I realized my hand was shaking. Anxiety eating at me, creating a hollow pit inside me.
This was normally when I would look to Callum for comfort, but something in me was disassociating, my emotions separating from my mind to prevent myself from feeling them. It was a coping mechanism, and it was always my body’s way of telling me to protect myself.
It was probably because this whole docuseries thing threw me for a complete loop, and then the house, and my brother, and the pressure from the FIA. All following a grueling week in Austria, and before that, flying back and forth from Monaco to take care of Callum.
I just needed to slow down for a minute.
“Frenchie,” Ivy’s voice cut clean through my thoughts, and my head snapped up. I hadn’t even realized everyone was staring at me, and I refrained from curling in on myself. I didn’t need them fawning over me right now. I just needed a breather.
Callum stepped toward me, but Ivy put an arm out, her keen eyes never leaving my face. She must’ve sensed I was off, because she inclined her head behind her. “Walk with me.”
I flashed Callum a weary smile before following Ivy without hesitation, weaving through the corridor until the chatter faded. Only when we were out of earshot of the general public did she slow, glancing once over her shoulder to make sure the boys weren’t trailing. Then she turned, gaze narrowing in a way that made me feel dissected.
And yet, around her, I didn’t want to shrink. I wanted to lean into her, because another woman would understand all the turmoil I was going through.
“You’re distracted.” It was a stark statement, not a question. It left no room for arguments.
I opened my mouth, trying to think of a reasonable excuse, and closed it again when I realized it was pointless. “Just tired.”
“Don’t lie,” she snapped. “You look like hell.”
I laughed weekly, tucking my hair behind my ears. “Merci.”
“Stop deflecting,” she murmured, her voice softening. “You’re not listening, which tells me something is wrong. What’s going on?”
My throat went dry. “I’m fine. Really.”
“Aurélie, if you insist on lying, at least try to do it better.” She reached into her oversized purse and pulled out a mic pack, stepping close to clip it onto my sweater and feed it through my neckline. When her knuckles brushed my chest, I flinched. My breasts were tender, which was a normal sign my period was coming soon, but it didn’t make it any better to deal with.
Ivy paused, her pale green eyes meeting mine. She’d seen it. I averted my gaze, the overwhelming urge to recoil finally surging in full force.
“Ah,” she said quietly, almost to herself. “I see.”
