Page 115 of Red Flagged
We stepped into the light in Spielberg.
And in Silverstone—we shattered, but we put the pieces back together. Not perfectly. Not easily. But we chose to try, and maybe that’s the point. We weathered the storm, and now we were building the home.
We’d made a life once. Not metaphorically. Not symbolically. A real, breathing possibility. One that passed before we even knew about it. It wasn’t just her loss. It was ours. And even if we never spoke the word aloud, even if we never saw it written on a chart or confirmed in bloodwork—I knew what we lost. I felt it, too.
Maybe that was the moment everything changed.
Maybe that was the moment I stopped wondering whether she was my future, and started grieving the one we almost had.
We survived things together that should’ve wrecked us. And sitting here now, in the quiet, in the aftermath, it was glaringly obvious. I didn’t want just race weeks and red carpets. I didn’t want weekends where we stole moments between press calls andsprint races, only to go days or weeks without touching. I didn’t want adrenaline in place of intimacy.
I wanted the in between in the French countryside. The Monday mornings. The grocery runs. The long walks with nowhere to be. I wanted her hand in mine, not because we were headed to the paddock, but because we were headed home.Together.Always.
I wanted all of it.
This wasn’t a sacrifice. It was a decision to stay, just in a different kind of race. The kind where love sets the pace. One we’d run side by side, no matter the track.Ours.
And that’s when I said it out loud. Not to convince her, or myself, but because I was ready to choose. Reverently, deliberately, with open hands and steady hearts.
For the first time in my life, I wasn’t chasing the next big thing. I was standing still.With her.
Right there, in her living room, in her presence—I fuckingchose.
The airin Spa felt different. Or maybe that was just me.
Everything had changed after Silverstone. A couple weeks ago, I thought I might lose her. Now she was beside me, alive and sharp and fucking radiant, sipping a coffee while we strolled through the paddock.
Our steps were leisure, like we had nowhere else to be. We weren’t pretending, we weren’t performing, we weren’t plotting. She was pressed to my side, tucked under my arm, and she let me guide us through the chaos like we weren’t returning to the grid after a secret loss and a silent war.
We passed a few cameras. Neither of us looked.
It wasn’t a secret anymore, but it wasn’t a spectacle either.
This week wasn’t about media spins or damage control or what came next with the FIA or the team. It was for us.
Decisions had been made. Things were in motion. But here? Here, I just wanted to fucking celebrate her. Spa had alwaysbeen my favorite track. And not just because of the layout or the legacy or the way Eau Rouge lit my veins on fire.
This was the place I first saw her. Ten years ago.
She didn’t know that.
No one did.
But I’d never forgotten it, how she moved even then like she belonged. Like the future was hers and the rest of us were just watching her rise. And now here we were, walking shoulder to shoulder like we’d always been headed to this moment.
“Still your favorite?” she murmured, glancing up at me, her hazel eyes gleaming with curiosity..
I frowned. “Spa?”
She hummed. “Ouais. You said so. Miami media day, remember?. After the segment about dream destinations.”
My head tilted. “You rememberthat, too?”
“You forget how much I idolize you, Cal. I hang on to every word you say.”
Notidolizedin the past tense.Presenttense.
I smiled. “You still idolize me, baby?”
