Page 106 of Red Flagged
My lips trembled. I tried to turn toward him, but he beat me to it, rolling me gently until I was facing him. His eyes were shadowed in the dim morning light, and he brushed his thumb over the corner of my mouth.
“Hey,” he murmured. “You with me?”
I nodded slowly. “Ouais.” It came out small. “Yeah, I’m with you.”
He studied me for a moment longer, as if memorizing the shape of my face, before leaning forward to press his forehead to mine. The touch was warm, steadying, achingly tender.
“You don’t have to talk about it right now,” he said quietly. “Not unless you want to.”
But I shook my head, and the tears came before the words did. A rough, broken sound slipped out of me as my chest shook, and he pulled me closer instantly, his arms folding around me, my face pressed to the solid heat of his chest.
“I need to,” I rasped. My throat ached, the last of the painkillers fogging my mind as I waded through the French in my head, trying to string together the English. “I need you to know. I’m tired of living with all of this by myself. I need you, Callum.” I choked on a gasp. “I need you. I need you more than air. More than racing. More than anything. I. Need. You.”
The words cracked on the last syllable, splintering as my whole body gave in. My chest heaved, and a sob ripped out of me so forceful it stole the breath from my lungs. I curled into him, fingers fisting in his shirt like a lifeline. I was shaking too hard to speak, too shattered to hold myself together, so I let him do it.Let him carry the weight of my grief, of my fear, of everything I had buried so deep I forgot I was even allowed to let it out.
He didn’t tell me it would be okay. He didn’t shush me or rush me or try to fix it. He just held me as I fell apart, as if his only job was to be there when I did.
“You’re okay. I’m here.”
I shook my head, trembling. I didn’t feel okay. I didn’t know if I ever would again.
His hand splayed over my stomach. So gently, so reverent and careful and precious, as if I was carrying a life that would survive.
“Are you sure you want to talk about it?” he asked quietly. “We don’t have to. Not right now. Only if you want to.”
“I do,” I rasped. “I just… I need a second.” I could feel the last of the meds fading, dullness lifting like fog, leaving me exposed. My whole body felt raw. My brain struggled to get the English out, even as the French sat heavy on my tongue.
Callum just held me through it all.
“How long did you know?” he asked after a moment, once my cries had quieted.
I shifted, trying to sit up, but the second I moved, my stomach lurched. A wave of nausea hit me like a truck. I slapped a hand over my mouth, eyes wide.
Callum blinked at me. “Oh, no. No, no, no. Don’t youdarethrow up in this bed. We arenotthat couple.”
I tried to grunt something through my fingers, but had to stop myself when bile rose in my throat.
“Okay, that’s it.” He launched out of bed like a man on a mission. “Emergency evacuation.”
The next thing I knew, I was airborne, scooped bridal style against his chest, my head lolling dramatically like a Victorian heroine with the plague. My hand was securely in place, as if that would stop my body from upchucking.
“I’m gonna hurl on you,” I managed to croak.
“I swear to fuck, Aurélie, I will vomit right back. Do not.” He reached the bathroom in record time, setting me on my feet. I barely collapsed over the toilet before I started heaving.Violently.
The toilet was mercifully tucked behind a half wall that separated it from the rest of the open ensuite, like the architectknewsomeone would eventually break down behind it.
Callum knelt behind me, holding my hair with one hand and bracing us both with the other like he was in the middle of some tactical extraction. “You’re doing great, baby. Just purge the trauma. That’s what this is. Emotional exorcism.”
I made a noise that might’ve been a sob. Or a laugh. Or both. It came out half-choked and strangled between convulsions, completely unintelligible, but Callum didn’t flinch a single time. When it finally ended, I sat back on my heels, panting. He just stayed there, solid and steady and stupidly beautiful in the most tragic of circumstances, still holding my hair back.
“It’s not funny,” I groaned through a self-deprecating chuckle, swiping the back of my hand across my mouth.
“I didn’t say it was, mon cœur. I’m just saying what’s on my mind.” His voice was soft, threaded with exhaustion and affection. I didn’t know I could love him any more than I did before, but somehow he managed to make me fall harder.
“Callum.” I reached blindly for the toilet paper and blew my nose with a pitiful noise, finally succumbing to the humor because Ihadto. If I didn’t lean into it, the grief would eat me alive.
“We should get married,” he continued, as if I hadn’t spoken at all. “Right here. In the bathroom. I’ll call Marco to officiate.”
