Page 113 of Red Flagged
But now, seeing something outside of the sport… it made the idea of three more years of giving my all to something that no longer fulfilled me the way it once did feel like slow suffocation. Especially when this job was so much fucking more than just racing. It was a business, it was playing by the bullshit rules put in place to portray this sport a certain way. It was politics, danger, frustration on and off the track.
I looked at Aurélie, at the way her hazel eyes studied me, unbiased, unfiltered, unafraid.
She wasn’t Dom. She wasn’t Beckett. She wasn’t Marco. She wasn’t a team principal or a brand rep or a PR executive with a fucking agenda.
She was justher, and that meant she was the only person I could trust to give it to me straight.
I was so fucking relieved she was back to herself again. Those few days she spent mostly asleep felt like a fucking eternity. I kept my voice low. Stayed close. Made sure she always had water and something soft to wear. Left her the lavender bunny heating pad when I had to step out. Watched the rise and fall of her chest like it was the only thing keeping me grounded.
Now she was here, and I didn’t want to waste a second.
“Maybe it’s not about choosing racing or retiring, mon amour,” she murmured.
I frowned. “Then what is it about?”
She held my gaze, unwavering. "Maybe it’s about figuring out what kind of life you actually want—and then making a choice that fits that.”
The air in the room shifted.
“So I’ll ask you again. Do you want to keep racing? Do you still love it? Is this what makes you happy?”
I had been looking at this like a black-and-white decision. Like I had to choose between staying in F1 until I burned out completely or walking away forever.
But maybe… maybe there was something in between.
The idea hadn’t even occurred to me.
For the first time, it felt like I wasn’t stuck between two impossible choices: I was staring at a new possibility. One that didn’t just involve me. One that involved her.
I had to ask myself: did I want to keep hiding behind the decision that was comfortable? Or did I want to take a blind leap of faith, give up control, and trust that she’d be there when I fell?
Do I go with safe—or do I go withsacred?
Do I keep doing what I’ve always done, or do I bet everything on a future that protects us long after we both retire?
I looked back at her, at the woman who took every part of me—grief, fear, failure—and never once flinched. Who held me through my worst, believed in my best, and still managed to make me laugh when the world felt too heavy.
“I don’t know what the fuck comes next,” I admitted, voice low and cracked. “But I need to hear you say it.”
Her fingers flexed against her coffee mug, but then she let it go and rose to her feet. She rounded the table and stopped in front of me, gaze steady, soft.
“I think you need to be the one to say it out loud,” she murmured, reaching for my hand. Her grip was warm. Sure. “But if you need a minute… just be here. With me.”
She tugged gently, and I followed her to the living room.
For the next hour, we talked.
About everything and nothing. About whether we wanted to decorate for Christmas even if we wouldn’t be here. About whether we’d do a vacation during winter break or justhibernate under blankets and binge-watch movies. About how her neighbor’s dog barked like a gremlin every time I parked my car—which made no goddamn sense, because there was at least sixty fucking feet and a wall of cypress trees between the driveways, but apparently, I gave off terrifying intruder energy.
At one point, I asked if she wanted to come with me to visit my parents for my birthday. I was nervous as hell even bringing it up. It’s a big step—introducing someone to your family. It felt bigger with her.
But she didn’t bat an eye, just beamed and said, “I’d love that,” like it was the easiest thing in the world.
Aurélie stretched and glanced toward the windows as dark clouds gathered in the distance. “You know,” she said casually, “Greece might be nice over the break.”
My head snapped up. “Greece?”
She hummed, nonchalant. “Mmm. Good food, sunshine, history. We could swim. Wander around. Not be recognized.”
