Chapter 126 Callum #3
Ava tapped her tablet once more, visibly reluctant to wrap things up. “Aurélie, I could sit here for hours. Honestly. You’ve broken the internet, rewritten the PR handbook, and probably sent three team principals into early retirement.”
The audience laughed. Aurélie gave a coy shrug, legs crossed, hands folded in her lap like a damn Bond villain.
“Well, I have three more interviews before I report back to HQ tomorrow, a flight to catch, and a house to make an offer on,” she said sweetly. “So unfortunately, my reign of terror must pause… temporarily.”
Ava grinned. “Any final words before we let you go?”
Aurélie tilted her head slightly, gaze cutting straight through the camera lens. Her voice softened, but not too much.“Yes,” she said, and I knew her next words were going to be something dangerous. “Callum, sweetheart, your mother’s worried about you. Be a good boy and call her.”
The crowd erupted.
Ava dropped her cards and howled. “OH MY GOD.”
Even the sound engineer couldn’t stifle a laugh.
Aurélie just stood, calm as ever, smoothing her pants as if she hadn’t just made an entire audience scream.
She turned back to the camera with one last smirk.
“And remember,” she said, smiling like sin, “this wasn’t my war.
They made it mine. I’m just good at winning.
” She rattled off FIA regulations and team codes that permitted her to disclose everything she had.
I sat there, jaw slack, hand still clutched around the sticky notes she’d left around my flat as if it was the only thing tethering me to sanity.
Fuck.
She had just live-interview-slapped me across the face with a grin that said, I’ll ruin your life and you’ll thank me for it.
She was ruining my life in the best way.
And I'd given her the fuel to do it by sexting her during a live interview that I honestly didn't think she'd see on air.
I scrubbed a hand down my face, heart slamming so hard it rattled my sore ribs. My cock stirred despite every ache and throb in my body. I was half in love, half feral, and fully ready to crawl through my TV screen like a deranged Victorian ghost and kiss her stupid.
My thumb hovered over our chat. I couldn’t not say something. I had to, or I was going to combust.
I am so in love with you.
I promise to be a good boy.
Also you’re banned from live interviews forever.
Also I want to rail you into that studio couch.
Respectfully.
I hit send, barely breathing.
Then I paused and thought about the way she said "be a good boy." Nearly blacked the fuck out before I started typing again.
PS. My mum says hi.
She’s planning the wedding. You in?
I collapsed backward onto the bed, ignoring the protest of literally my entire body, and dropped the phone on the bed beside me. My eyes closed, and I whispered into the quiet, “I’m so fucked.”
And I wouldn’t have it any other way.
I got less than five minutes of peace before my phone started blowing up. Groaning, I ignored all the social media tags from Aurélie's parting comment and opened the group chat.
Kimi
Is it bad I'm kinda turned on rn
That power move??? Pulling out the voice memo??
Guys, do we think I should date a French girl??
Marco
Bro what
You do know she's IN THIS CHAT right
Kimi
She's not reading these
She's literally live on air slaying the patriarchy
I think I'm safe
Marco
Okay but this is like
A LITTLE suspiciously thirsty
You tryna be next??
Mate
What the actual fuck
What is happening
Marco
Don't worry man
He said he wants to DATE a French girl
Not your girl specifically ;)
(except he kinda did)
Kimi
WHOA
NONONONO
SHE'S LIKE A SISTER TO ME
I RESPECT HER TOO MUCH
PLEASE DON'T TELL HER I SAID ANYTHING
She's terrifying
She's LITERALLY leading a movement rn
"she's like a sister"
And yet you just said you were turned on?
Wtf kind of Game of Thrones shit do you Finns get up to lol
Kimi
DUDE
It was a reaction to her absolutely nuking a live broadcast with grace and beauty
NOT LIKE THAT
FUCK
Marco
Nah bro
You're gonna have to explain this one to her personally.
Should probably do it in French.
Kimi
I take it back
I take everything back
I'm defecting to IndyCar
Tell the FIA I'm sorry
Oh no
First of all, the FIA can fuck off.
Second, you're staying.
You're apologizing.
And I'm bringing popcorn.
Kimi
Aurélie if you're reading this
Pls no murder
XO
Seriously mate?
Siblings don't say "XO"
Marco
HAHAHAHA Fraser it's good to have you back
I lay there chuckling, hating and loving every minute of this, before I dragged myself out of bed and stripped, sighing the entire time.
I forced myself to shower. The hot water was a relief on my sore muscles, and I stood there for way too fucking long reminiscing on the I love yous exchanged in here and wishing my cock would chill the fuck out.
It didn't, so I got off thinking about how fierce and strong my woman was. How sexy she looked. How sweet she was curled into me. How she'd come for me when I'd shut her out.
I came so goddamn hard that my head pounded, and when I stepped out, steam curling around me, I went straight for the tin jar on my bedside.
I unscrewed the lid and the scent hit me like a punch to the chest—lavender, chamomile, sweet and medicinal and utterly her.
I pressed my fingers to the salve, warm and soft, and worked it gently into my ribs, chest, shoulders, and neck.
Even the act of that—the intimacy of rubbing something she made onto my broken body—felt like worship.
Ugh. I needed her.
My phone buzzed, and this time her name appeared, first in the group chat.
Aurélie
Don't worry, Kimi.
I don't kill family.
But I DO hold grudges.
Just ask Fraser and the meme he's about to become.
Then, a moment later to just me:
Aurélie
This is how you propose to me?
"I want to rail you into that studio couch. Respectfully." Romance isn't dead. It's just brain damaged.
You said "I love you" and then immediately threatened me with a furniture-induced spinal injury. Mon Dieu, I missed you.
Also, be so fucking for real, neither of us are banned from live interviews. That's just foreplay.
Tell your mum I said hi, and if she wants to pick colors for the wedding I will GLADLY let her. As long as I still get to wear pink.
(I know you want me in white. Behave.)
Also on the topic of your mum. Elite. Iconic. The REAL Fraser family PR powerhouse.
She said "if he doesn't call me back, I'm taking the next flight to Monaco and dragging his arse out of bed myself."
Callum. Your mother used the word "arse." I think I'm in love.
Why don't you say that??? Been away from home too long ooorrrr??
If we ever break up, I'm still texting her. You can't stop me. She's my ally now.
(Also she asked if I loved you and I said oui. Heard her cry a little, so… do with that what you will.)
You're ridiculous. And freshly injured and recovering. Which is why if you even think about getting hard again, I will decline your proposal and make you beg for it next time.
But…
Merci. For the texts, for making me feel seen. For being mine. I'm really glad you woke up to see it live. Brought my soul a lot of peace seeing you texted.
I didn't get to sleep after the crash. After you disappeared and everything that's happened since. I'm running on fumes & rage.
But now I need to go to sleep. First real sleep since Montreal.
Because I know you're watching now and you're okay. I know you're still with me.
I love you. Bonne nuit, mon amour. Try not to combust while I dream of exactly how I want you to make up for ghosting me.
I barely even finished reading Aurélie’s last text before I scrambled to thumb through my recents like a man possessed. And there it was: an answered incoming call from my mother.
I hit call. It rang once before a familiar voice picked up.
“It’s about bloody time. Your father and I have been worried sick about you.
” Her voice sliced through the speaker with that thick Highland steel I knew better than my own name.
“I was ten seconds away from booking a flight to Monaco and banging down your door with a wooden spoon, curlers still in, and a bottle of Rescue Remedy.”
I blinked. “Mum, what—”
“You think I wouldn’t?” she snapped. “That girl—that woman—answered my call. She talked to me like I mattered and told me the truth when you bloody well wouldn’t. You ignored your own mother!”
I groaned, dragging a hand down my face. “I was resting from my injury, not avoiding you.”
“Callum James Fraser, don’t you lie to me.
” There it was. Full name. I was in real trouble now.
“I know avoidance when I hear it. You didn’t want anyone to see you broken.
But I’m your bloody mother, goddammit, and I deserved to know you were okay.
A text wasn’t good enough. I needed to hear my baby boy’s voice. I thought you were dead!”
She was right. God, she was right—and I’d been a coward.
I wiped my eyes, but the burn didn’t stop.
“She picked the fucking locks of my flat and then held me like I was dying,” I rasped, forcing it out through the lump in my throat.
“Then hours later she walked into a studio and put the sexist FIA officials in their place without flinching. And I just... laid here. I didn’t deserve her showing up the way she did. And I'm so fucking sorry, Mum.”
There was a beat of silence on the other end. Then, soft as a secret, “Do you love her?”
I pressed the tin of lavender balm to my chest and breathed Aurélie in. “I think I’ve always loved her,” I murmured.
The nightmare flickered across my vision again.
It may have ended with the sobering thought that my future was ripped away from me.
Now I wanted to rewrite the ending. With her safe, with her head on my chest and our baby tucked between us.
With her laughter echoing down the halls of whatever home we built.
I used to think I wasn’t built for any of it.
But now I knew I was made for this—for her.
"For a long, long time." No one knew the truth about just how long I'd been obsessed with her. From the very first time I saw her all those years ago…
“Then don’t fuck it up.”
The second we hung up, I was already searching the internet for photos.
I scrolled past podiums, crash footage, behind-the-scenes selfies Marco forced me to take.
And then, there it was. The photo in Montreal.
Right after she reached me on a gurney. Our hands were clasped together like we didn’t know how to let go. Her forehead was pressed to mine.
I had been so scared she’d disappear and I'd realize I was actually dead. But she didn’t disappear. She fought like hell. And now it’s my turn.
In this photo, we looked like the end of the world and the beginning of everything.
I stared at it for a long time. Then opened Instagram, and with trembling hands, I typed:
I stand with her. I stand by her. I stand for her. I stand because of her.
No tags, no filter. Just truth.
I hovered over the keyboard. Wrote I love you. Paused, then deleted it, because she hadn’t said no to my half-joke proposal in our text thread. Which meant she was as crazy about me as I was about her.
And I’d take that.
Until Austria.