Page 19 of Red Flagged
I felt floaty, not quite still, like the air itself had thickened. My body felt light but not free—the cost of comfort was distance: from pain, from fear, from myself.
The discomfort was easing. That’s what mattered. The rest could wait.
Tomorrow, I’d call my doctor. I’d explain everything to Callum—that it was just a flare, just my endometriosis being cruel and untimely, nothing more. I’d tell him I was okay. I’d make him believe it, even if I didn’t.
I could almost feel him now. His hand at the back of my neck, grounding me, thumb brushing the spot behind my ear, how he always kissed me there when he held me from behind. He’d cradle me, whispermon cœuragainst my skin, and everything would quiet.
That was the safest I ever felt. Right before I fell apart with him. He was the only one who truly knew me inside and out. The only one who knew how to soothe me and break me all at once. He always knew exactly what I needed.
I lifted one trembling hand from the wheel, and without thinking, rested it over my stomach. I thought about what this pain could be, and the thought just about took my breath away as a sob caught in my throat.
I turned the radio on to drown out my thoughts, but even the music sounded far away.
The motorway lights streaked across the windshield in blurred gold lines.
Everything was fine.
This was fine.
It had to be.
It wasdark by the time I left the track. Rain pelted the windshield as if it wanted to break, and I was halfway to insanity after the last forty-eight hours.
Today should’ve ended in triumph. Our plan had worked, and the cameras caught everything we needed them to. Aurélie had gotten what she wanted: me out of the car before I worsened my injuries, and I’d gotten her out of that Luminis tampered shitbox before she killed someone—or worse, herself. And together, we’d forced the FIA’s hand. They’d have to listen us now and make changes. Lawyers, statements, lawsuits, meetings, scrutiny from supporting team principles.
Complicated, messy, and perfectly us.
This way, we both won. I would change nothing.
Except all I could see was her bent over in the medical tent, face twisted in pain. Pale and shaking with one hand pressed low on her abdomen. That image looped in my mind like a curse.
The medics had said she was fine and stable, but they didn’t know her or her body the way I did. I knew when something was off, she just hadn’t admitted it yet. She’d brushed me off, telling me we’d talk about it later.
I couldn’t shake the harrowing, sickening feeling that had rushed through me when I saw her like that. Couldn’t fucking shake the thought that I’d pushed too hard, that my plan was overzealous, thatIwas responsible for her pain. That maybe all the stress, the pressure, the months of chasing the truth—my obsession—had broken something in her.
She’d just told me this morning that she couldn’t have kids, but now I couldn’t help but wonder if I’d made whatever invisible pain she carried worse. Guilt gnawed at me, and panic chipped at the composure I’d barely kept intact.
The steering wheel creaked under my ironclad grip as I turned into the hotel car park, avoiding valet just so I could make sure her car was here. It was parked crookedly, the navy color of it sparkling under the flood lights. I killed the engine and stared at it for a moment, trying to process the relief and fear twisting together in my gut.
The car felt too small for the air inside it, making me feel claustrophobic. Patience was never my strong suit, but this… this was something else entirely. The helplessness of knowing she was hurting, but not being able to do anything to fix it. The lack of control in a plan I thought gave us themostcontrol.
By the time I made it up to our floor, my thoughts had dissolved into static. Every light felt too bright, each ding of the lift too loud, all my steps too slow. I told myself I just needed to see her—see her breathing and alive—and everything in me would quiet.
When I made it to our suite, the world went still. The curtains were drawn, and the faint scent of lavender and rain wafted around me. Aurélie was sideways on the bed, sprawled on herstomach, cheek propped on her fist as she scrolled on her phone. She didn’t notice me at first, so I paused at the doorway of the room, admiring her.
Her hair hung in loose, bouncy post-braid waves that always made me weak in the knees. It reminded me of the first time I’d spoken to her in a bar in Bahrain. One of my shirts hung off her shoulder, red cotton clinging to her golden skin, the hem bunched high at the curve of her ass. And her face—fuck, that perfect, angelic face—was flushed, looking like every fantasy I’d ever wanted.
For a second, I forgot how to breathe. She was a domestic vision, all bare, golden, and sinful. I had to tear my mind away from the direction it wanted to go. Today had been long and stressful, she was in pain, and I was on the verge of another panic attack.
Finally, Aurélie lifted her thick lashes, and her hazel eyes met mine. She gave me a lazy, coy smile that did absolutely fuck-all to help me inhale and exhale like a normal human.
“Bonsoir, mon amour,” she purred, low and breathy, almost sultry without meaning to be.
The sound of it slid down my spine and my pulse went feral.
“You’re back later than I expected.” She rolled onto her back, her hair tumbling over the edge of the bed as she tilted her head to look at me upside down. “I’ve missed you.” Her voice was syrup-sweet.
My eyes dragged over her—the way my shirt stretched taut over her breasts, the smooth line down the middle of her stomach, the little hitch of her breath when she realized I was looking. It shouldn’t have affected me the way it did after the day we’d had, but there it was, my body answering before my mind could catch up.
