Chapter 36 Callum
The lights of Yas Marina burned bright overhead, illuminating the paddock, the track, the moment. My final race.
The last time I would pull on my gloves. The last time I would tighten the straps of my helmet, hear my engineer’s voice through the radio, feel the rush of adrenaline in the seconds before the lights went out.
And I was fine. I was ready.
At least, I thought I was—until I saw my wife.
Auri stood at the edge of my garage, leaning against the wall, watching me with that small, knowing smile she always had when she was about to do something that would ruin me.
I took one step toward her and paused. She turned just slightly, just enough for the overhead light to catch the shimmer of the helmet in her hands.
My helmet. At least, a replica of my helmet. Not the one I had worn all season, or my special livery helmets. No, it was the helmet I had worn when I won my first championship. Black, red, and silver, with sleek, sharp edges, and my old driver logo printed onto the back.
Except she had modified it. A subtle detail I almost missed—the streaks of navy and gold added into the black and red design. And her driver logo next to mine.
Our colors. Two different teams, but our history nonetheless.
I swallowed hard, my heart squeezing. I had agreed without thinking when she asked if she could borrow it. Whatever she wanted, she could have.
I just hadn’t known she would do this.
Auri looked up at me, tilting her head slightly, eyes warm, full of something deep and unreadable.
“You really thought I wasn’t going to support you in your last race?” she murmured in that perfect French accent, voice just loud enough for me to hear over the roar of the crowd.
My pulse hammered. I couldn’t speak, so I just nodded and tried to avoid the emotion clogging my throat.
Of course she would do this.
I had spent the entire season pushing her, guiding her, falling for her, falling into her. And here she was, holding me up in my final race.
“The grid won’t be the same without you next year.
But you’ve taught me so much. Like how to quiet the noise and just take it all in.
” Her eyes softened, and I was so fucking proud of her.
At the beginning of the season, she was struggling to balance the gravity of being in this sport, in the constant limelight.
“But knowing you are still chasing your dreams after achieving every single one you’ve ever imagined?
You’re an inspiration. You inspire me every day.
And I admire everything about you. That’s why I wanted your helmet design—as a reminder that you did it, and I can, too.
” Her eyes were swimming with tears, and this conversation felt too emotionally intimate for the grid, and yet, I wouldn’t have wanted it any other way.
“Well, that, and I also wanted the world to know how proud I am to be yours.”
Jesus Christ.
My next breath rattled in my chest, and rather than kiss her, I grabbed the back of her neck and pulled her into my chest, holding her tight to me like the embrace was the only thing that would stabilize me.
“I love you so fucking much, mo chridhe.”
“You are my everything, mon amour.”
I pulled back, brushing my knuckles against her jaw.
“Try to keep up out there,” I murmured.
Her lips quirked. “Try not to cry when I overtake you.”
I exhaled a quiet laugh, shaking my head as I backed away. And then, for the last time, I walked to my car.
The grid felt different tonight. Louder. Brighter. Final.
I inhaled deeply, fingers flexing against the wheel, feeling the weight of twenty years in this sport, of five championships, of this moment.
One more moment.
The last time I’d experience sitting on a grid with nineteen other drivers. With the love of my life.
Callum Fraser versus Aurélie Fraser on the front row.
And the whole world knew it.
We weren’t just drivers anymore—we were husband and wife. Teammates in legacy. Rivals in myth.
The lights above flickered.
One.
Two.
Three.
Four.
Five.
Lights out.
I launched off the line, the car responding like an extension of my own body. Perfect start. No wheel spin. I was gone.
Fast, precise, perfectly controlled. I kept P1 through the first turn, barely able to defend my position against my wife.
Lap after lap, I dominated. Every turn, every overtake attempt behind me, every second shaved off my sector times.
The last pit stop of my career—flawless. I exited the box still in the lead, still untouchable.
I barely heard the radio. The voices of my engineers blurred together, fading beneath the roar of the crowd, the pulse of my own heartbeat. I was one with the car.
I took every corner like I had taken them my entire life.
I felt every second like I would never feel it again.
The entire paddock was on their feet. The engineers, the crew, the drivers who had fought me, raced me, loved me, hated me.
Then it all collapsed into chaos.
A late-race safety car bunched the field back together, erasing everything I’d built. Forty-five laps of flawless driving, tire management, pure pace—gone.
Auri followed close behind me for the final restart.
I could feel her energy from here. Not nervous. Coiled. Hunting.
The safety car returned to the pit lane. I crept toward Turn 1, and then I took off like fire.
But so did she.
This was the final lap, final corners. I was still ahead—barely—until Turn 9.
And that’s when she did it.
The Fraser switchback. My move. The one I’d made famous. The one she’d stolen and perfected. She didn’t just pass me. She honored me, and then she fucking flew.
P1.
Her first win since Mexico. The final win of the season. My last race, and she took it.
I have never—never—been prouder in my life to cross the finish line in P2. I was breathless, wrecked, and grinning like a goddamn madman.
Tears hit me the second I pulled into parc fermé. I tore at my belts, scrambling to climb out of the car. I ripped off my helmet and threw my hands in the air, holding up all five fingers to indicate five titles to the crowd.
I jumped down, and the second my feet hit the ground, the emotions I had been holding back all night crashed down like a tidal wave. I ripped my helmet and balaclava off, then spun in a slow circle, taking it all in—just like I’d taught Auri to do.
The lights. The crowd. The chaos.
My team rushed toward me. The chants, the cheers, the sound of my own name vibrating through the air, the familiar sting in my throat, the burn behind my eyes.
Twenty years racing. Ten in Formula 1. Five championships.
My vision blurred. I squeezed my eyes shut for half a second, grounding myself, inhaling deeply. When I opened them again, there she was. Running, jumping into my arms, wrapping her legs around my waist.
“YOU LET ME WIN,” she shrieked into my neck.
I laughed, holding her tight, still dizzy from everything, my entire world feeling off-kilter. “You earned every fucking inch.”
“You could’ve fought harder.”
“I didn’t want to.”
She kissed me. I kissed her harder. Then I growled fuck it against her lips and slipped my tongue into her mouth. The whole world screamed, but I didn’t stop.
After a moment, Auri pulled back and murmured, voice shaking with emotion, “I didn’t want it to end.”
“It’s not ending,” I murmured back. “It’s just changing.”
We stood there in the floodlights, hearts pounding, surrounded by history, clinging to each other.
She won the final battle. I got everything I ever wanted.
Her. Us. Forever.
She sighed and lowered her legs until her feet touched the ground. Her hands threaded into my hair, tugging—that tug—and I groaned, drinking from her lips once more, drowning in the moment, the love, the history.
I pulled back just slightly, brushing my nose against hers, breathless still. She smiled so big my heart hurt.
“You did it,” she whispered.
I pressed my forehead against hers.
“We did it.”
Her fingers traced along my jaw, gentle, reverent, memorizing me like she knew this was the last time she’d see me like this—Callum Fraser, Formula 1 driver.
I swallowed, voice hoarse. “In this life.”
Her gaze softened. “And the next.”