Page 111 of Red Flagged
She reached for my hand and rushed her thumb across my knuckles like she wasn’t trying to fix me—just remind me that she was here with me.
“None of this makes you smaller, Cal,” she said in the quiet, sure voice and sweet as sin French accent. “You’ve already done what they all said was impossible, Callum. You built something out of nothing. And you didn’t do it by chasing power or politics. You did it by showing up, over and over again, refusing to accept failure, until people had no choice but to take you seriously. And you know what?”
I stared at her, the way her hair fluttered around her shoulders from the morning breeze blowing in from the open patio doors. “What?”
“You’vehonoredyour parents, mon amour. They gave you all they had so you had an opportunity at something great, even though the statistic was low. And look at what you’ve done with that opportunity. You’ve shown every kid without funding or a famous name that it’s possible.”
She leaned forward, her golden-green eyes glittering with something mischievous. I’d really missed that look on her face.
And also, fuck.
Aurélie always knew exactly where to hit me in the heart. “You’re living proof that talent and grit and heart can get you there. You always have been. If you choose to leave, you won’t be lost. You’ll just be free to explore something else. So whatever you decide, you’ll make something good out of it. You’ll make something yours. And I’ll be right beside you when you do.”
She was right—Ihadbeen holding on so tight to the idea that if I stepped away, I’d be letting my parents down. That if I stopped now, it would all be for nothing. I had worked sofucking hard for so long, clawing my way into this sport with no connections, no money, no safety net. And somehow, I’d convinced myself that success only counted if it lasted forever.
But she reminded me that maybe I’d already done the thing I came to do.
My chest tightened. My throat burned. And I couldn’t speak for a minute, not without my voice cracking. So I just sat there and looked at her. Her cheeks were still pale and her freckles stood out on her nose. The golden strands of her hair were a little tangled from sleep. Her fingers curled around the handle of her mug, and I couldn’t help but think how good a ring would look on her hand.
God, she looked like the future. Not just mine.Ours.
For one breathless second, I pictured it. Not just the ring, but the proposal. Me down on one knee, barely getting the words out before she tackled me to the ground laughing, crying, calling me an idiot for thinking she’d ever say anything but yes. Then I imagined the wedding. Her in white, soft and radiant, walking toward me with eyes full of the same fierce love she carried now. A lifetime with her. A home. Maybe more than one. Slow mornings like this, laughter over dinner, her hand in mine through whatever came next.
I wanted all of it.
I swallowed hard and blinked, clearing the image before it settled too deep in my chest.
“I got a contract extension this morning,” I said finally, voice rough. “It would mean three more years with Vanguard.”
Aurélie tilted her head to the side, withdrawing her hand from mine to lift her mug with both hands. I missed her touch immediately.
“It’s… different this time,” I added, rubbing my hand over the back of my neck. “No mandatory media appearances. Less sponsor bullshit. Highest salary of my career. First-choice inputon engineering and testing decisions. And a hard out clause after the second year if I want it.”
Her expression didn’t change. She just sipped her coffee and kept looking at me like she already knew where this was going.
But her silence made me ramble nervously.
“My benefits would get better. I’d get equity in the team. Flexible leave for mental health. Reduced race obligations if I asked for them. Paternity leave.” I raised my eyebrows at that, like maybe it’d prompt a reaction. A smile, a tease,anything.
But she didn’t say a word. She just tilted her head the other way and tapped her nails against the rim of her mug, the ceramic clinking softly against the edge as she stared at me over the top of it.
The little hairs around her face were still damp from her shower, her cheeks still flushed pink from the heat. Something in my stomach pulled tight, like my nerves were physically tethered to her silence.
I set my mug of earl grey tea down and exhaled slowly. “I’ve never had this much control before.”
Still no response. No smile. No frown. Just… that look. Steady and knowing.
“Aurélie.”
Still, no words. Her eyes stayed locked on mine, unreadable. The silence wasn’t cruel, but fuck, it was heavy.
Was she waiting for me to say more? Was she thinking through every possible version of the future? Or was she just giving me space to hear myself?
Because the longer she said nothing, the more I started wondering who I was trying to convince. Her… or me.
I rubbed a hand down my face and let it drop to the table, fingertips brushing the edge of her placemat.
“I’ve spent so long chasing the next win. The next title. The next contract. And for what? To be exhausted and replaceableand still stuck wondering if I’ve done enough?” I paused and swallowed, my voice lowering. “But when I look at you… at this…” I gestured vaguely to the table, the kitchen, the light streaming in from the patio. “I don’t feel stuck. I feel like I’m home.”
