Chapter 62 Callum （His Ending）
callum (his ending)
I thought his hands would wreck me. I was wrong. It’s his goddamn kindness that’s going to destroy me. -Aurélie
The sun spilled in soft, golden streaks through the curtains, bathing the room in a haze of quiet warmth.
Her body lay curled into mine, bare skin flush against my chest, her breath slow and even.
My arm rested around her waist, and I could feel the rise and fall of her ribcage against me—steady, grounding.
She smelled like sleep and sex and the faint trace of my soap from our shower. Her skin was warm beneath my palm, and the freckles on her shoulder—God, I’d counted them, memorized them, traced them like they were constellations and I could chart the fucking galaxy if I knew her well enough.
My hand slid over her hip, tugging her gently closer. I pressed my lips to the back of her neck, inhaling her in like I’d forget what she felt like if I didn’t.
She let out a soft laugh. It was barely audible, but I felt it vibrate through her ribs.
"What’s so funny?" I murmured, voice still hoarse from sleep. My mouth brushed against her hair.
She shifted just enough for me to see her grin. "I can’t believe how sore I am. My physio is gonna think I fought a damn tiger."
Smug satisfaction unfurled in my chest. I let the grin curl across my mouth. "You’re welcome."
“Don’t let it go to your head, Fraser,” she muttered, face half-buried in the pillow.
I nuzzled into her hair like a fucking addict. "Too late for that." I didn’t want to move. Didn’t want to break the spell, but reality had a cruel way of slamming into even the most perfect mornings.
I sighed.
"What?" she asked, that warmth in her voice dimming.
I hesitated. "I’ve got an early flight to Monaco."
And just like that, the air shifted. I felt her stiffen, her breath change. She sat up, pulling away, and I hated how cold the bed felt without her.
"Right." Her voice was tight and distant, and I would’ve given anything to drag us back to the moment we’d just had. Fuck. I could've moved my flight—why did I have to say anything at all?
She grabbed her phone. The light from the screen illuminated her face, and I watched it crumble. She scrolled. Scanned. Froze.
And then she bolted.
I sat up instantly, tension coiling in my chest. "Auri?"
She was already in the bathroom. I heard the water and then the frantic brushing of teeth. My pulse hammered as I stood, concern snaking through me as I tugged on my joggers and crossed the room.
"What just happened? Talk to me."
She turned, and I stopped in the doorway. Her face was pale, eyes wide, panic rising like a tide behind them. "It’s nothing," she said too quickly. A lie. A terrible, obvious lie. I fucking hated it.
After last night, everything we'd shared—our bodies, our pasts, laughter, her goddamn tears—and now she was going to push me away?
She shoved past me and grabbed my shirt off the floor, a frustrated huff coming from her. I was at a complete loss. What in the hell had happened?
"That doesn't look like nothing," I said as I stepped closer with hope that she'd let me back in. "Auri, come on."
She thrust her phone toward me. Headlines blared across the screen.
Dubois couldn’t handle the pressure. What’s next for her?
Whore-mula 1: What happens when you sleep your way to the top?
"You're flying off to Monaco, and I'm waking up to headlines about Luminis shopping the fucking grid for my seat."
Guilt hit me like a fucking freight train. I'd only said it because it was true. Not to be cold, not to ruin the morning, but now I couldn't stop thinking about how fast she'd recoiled from me.
I hated myself, and hated the fact that I'd broken the moment even more. But what I hated the most was that I suddenly didn't give a single shit about Monaco.
The idea of boarding a flight without her beside me, without knowing if she'd even look at me the same way after this, made my heart ache in a way I didn't understand. I didn't want to just be with her. I wanted to stay. I wanted to stop time. I wanted this. I wanted her.
Right here. In this hotel room. In our bubble. Away from all the goddamn noise for a minute. And for the first time in my career, I didn't know if racing could compare to waking up like this with her.
But I couldn't focus on myself right now, because she was freaking the fuck out, and she needed me to be strong for her right now.
My brows furrowed as I took her phone to quickly scan the articles and the harsh comments below.
@aiden6977: Too emotional to be taken seriously.
@fastcarsmakemegovroom: She couldn't keep the car on the track today or her legs closed. Go fucking figure.
@motorsportfanatic166: Fastest thing about her is how she jumped the line to F1. Maybe send her to the development team if she wants to drive a F1 car that badly.
@onlyonedubois: Bring back étienne. At least he didn't cry like a little bitch.
Christ, they were brutal. It made me feel sick. It wasn't just that they were wrong. It was that she'd read every one of these and let them inside her head and under her skin.
She didn't deserve this. They were carving at her reputation, her humanity, and the worst part was that she believed them more than she believed me.
"This is ridiculous. There’s no way they’re cutting you next season."
If they did, Luminis had no idea the talent they'd be losing, let alone the shitstorm that I was certain Aurélie would rain down on them.
She was already making strides in sexism in this sport.
No way would she let this slide. She just needed some encouragement to continue standing up for what she believed in.
And right now, she needed to believe in herself, in her driving skills, in the fact that she deserved to be here more than half these fucking drivers.
"I’m a rookie, Callum. A liability. A woman in a man’s world." Her voice broke and she wrapped her arms around herself. "It makes sense. Why would they keep me?"
My gut twisted hard, but it was the look in her eyes that fucking ruined me.
That haunted, hollow, self-protective kind of doubt.
The kind that didn't come from one bad race or DNF; it came from years of being told you're only tolerated but never wanted.
I knew her childhood wasn't sunshine and storybooks, but seeing it bleed into her now, into this moment—into us—wrecked me.
I would've done anything to tear that doubt out of her and replace it with belief. With worth. With truth. How could she not see what I saw? How could she not know that she was one of the most ferocious, relentless, magnetic drivers I'd ever known—and I'd known champions?
"That’s bullshit, and you know it."
"Do I?" Her voice cracked. "Because it doesn’t feel like bullshit when I’ve been clawing tooth and nail to prove I even belong. One race that I DNF’d and they’re already looking at other drivers? It’s their fucking car that’s the problem!"
Their car had always been a problem, and she was somehow wrangling that thing into a drivable and competitive car.
I couldn't imagine the toll it was taking on her, but it was further proof that she absolutely, one thousand percent deserved her seat.
Fuck, I'd give her mine before I let the other nine teams pass on her.
Whoa, what the fuck? Where did that come from?
I stepped forward, instinctively reaching for her. I needed to be closer to her, to hold her, to show her what she meant to me. That she was important and that she mattered. But she stepped back out of my reach.
Fucking fuck. I felt it then—the wall going up. The steel in her spine. The fear in her voice. Her typical way of pulling back because she was spiraling, and I didn't know how to stop it.
"What are you doing?" It was almost a plea. I didn't want to end our night like this. Not when I'd just gotten her in every way I'd imagined and had yearned for. Ten fucking years of my life waiting subconsciously for this woman to officially come into my life, and I felt it all slipping away.
"We agreed," she said breathlessly. "Just one night. That was the deal."
"Aurélie—"
"No," she interrupted, slipping my button-up over her slim shoulders. "You told me last night to not ruin the evening thinking about tomorrow. Well, it's tomorrow."
Shit. I didn't even remember saying it—at least, not like that.
I'd just been so high off her, a little buzzed from our game of shots.
The feel of her around me, her hypnotic presence, the way her fingers dug into my shoulders when she was in my lap, the way her voice trembled as we flirted.
I hadn't even thought about what came next.
But she had. Because of course, she had.
While I was intoxicated by the moment, she was already bracing for the crash, and I'd handed her the wreckage with a few careless words.
"That's not what I meant—"
"But it's what you said," she snapped, and the trembling in her hands when she twisted her hair up showed me just how much this had rattled her.
I wanted to tell her it would be okay, that this was just how the game went, that she would absolutely sign with another team, but I didn't think it would help.
I didn’t mean for my voice to break, but it did. “Would you just let me talk for one goddamn minute?”
She stopped. Just barely. Just enough.
“I don’t give a fuck about ‘tomorrow’ or ‘today’ right now,” I said, words falling out of me too fast. “All I care about is you, standing here feeling like you’re not enough.
You are more than enough. You’re fierce, determined, and one of the best damn drivers out there, man or woman.
You’ve already lapped half the grid and they’re too fucking sexist to see it. That’s not on you. That’s on them.”
God, she looked like she wanted to believe me. “But the rumors, the articles…”