Chapter 127 Callum #2
I stuck the note to the cabinet above the kettle and coffee maker. Then—after groaning through the full motion—I pulled out a glass vase and dropped in the tight blooms of pale pink peonies. The color once again reminded me of that ridiculous little pink dress that made me forget how to breathe.
I left another note by the vase.
These reminded me of you because they’re pink. Like that dress you wore in Monaco. Or Miami. Or your underwear after bungee jumping. The ones I tore.
–C
It hurt to walk, but I kept going. I folded one of my T-shirts and put it on the counter beside the flowers with another note on top.
In case you miss me half as much as I miss you… you look better in my shirts anyway.
–Ton amour
My phone buzzed, lighting up with hate from the internet. Santino was trending, except now, people were questioning the truth. Did she really get assaulted? Why come forward now? Where’s the proof?
I saw red. How many more times would she have to share her story for people to fucking understand?
In less than ten minutes, I uploaded a photo from Monaco—the one where we were leaving the paddock, soaked in champagne and sweat, me holding both our bags, blood streaked across the back of my hand. After Santino shoved her into the wall, I hit him hard enough to split my knuckles.
I posted the photo to Instagram with a map overlay of the paddock alley.
You asked if it really happened. Here’s your answer. I was on my way to her when I saw him assaulting her. This is where it happened.
#IStandWithHer #NoMoreSilence #DuboisDeservesBetter
I didn’t stop there. I responded to comments, telling people off, demanding they stop being so ignorant, defending her and the unfair treatment of women in this sport.
It felt so fucking good to stray from the PR path I'd spent the last decade perfecting.
By the time I'd showered and massaged more of the salve into my aching muscles, it was just after two in the afternoon, and the boys were texting in the chat.
Marco
@Callum, you almost ready for PT or are you still busy being a keyboard warrior?
Kimi
I'm staying quiet this time. Aurélie scares me…
Marco
LMFAO maybe you should've stayed quiet the first time
It's Team Aurélie or fuck off. That goes for the both of you.
Also @Kimi if you plan to stay quiet while the world questions whether or not she was ASSAULTED or treated unfairly because she's a woman, you're part of the problem
Kimi
I can't win
Marco
HAHAHA
Aurélie
Don't be grumpy, Callum. Go to PT and eat a goddamn meal.
AND DRINK WATER. I SWEAR TO GOD IF YOU DON'T… je vais te castrer.
Marco
Oooooohhh you got in trouble
Aurélie
Marco, respectfully? Fuck off. Callum's right. Either be part of the solution or part of the problem.
Kimi
I feel safe in this chat rn.
Castration? That feels a bit extreme, love.
Aurélie
I literally just got off a plane to come to your place and you're saying my methods are extreme???
I do not feel safe in this chat rn…
Aurélie
Good. You have some making up to do.
Grinning like the lovesick idiot I was, I pulled my spare key out of my kitchen drawer and put it under the mat outside my front door for her, then texted her separately.
Key is under the mat for you, love. Keep it. It's yours as much as my heart is.
Aurélie
Forever a hopeless romantic.
You are unbearably sweet and I love you.
Sorry I'm a little irritable. Period
Why are you apologizing for that?
Aurélie
Because I'm bleeding out of my body and exhausted and annoyed and overwhelmed and I still want to climb into your lap and be held by you. But you're hurt. SO. Hormones. Obviously.
Period or not, rage and all, I want every piece of you. Always. xo
I'll hold you forever (if you let me).
Aurélie
MONSIEUR. You are dangerous.
Go to PT. I'll be gone before you get back, but maybe I'll leave you a surprise.
Unless the surprise is you naked in my bed, I'm not interested. Kidding… kind of.
I'll behave. If you promise to eat and rest. You're still my girl, and you need to take care of yourself, too.
Aurélie
You first, then me.
I'm always your girl.
Bisous
I slipped my phone into my pocket and huffed through every step toward the front door, bruises flaring with pain after every breath.
By the time the car pulled up outside, I was ready to lie flat on the sidewalk and let the sun finish me off.
My sunglasses didn't do shit for the piercing pain in my head.
I hated every second of it, but it was the only way to get my body where it needed to be. I already knew I wouldn't be ready to race in Austria next weekend, but Silverstone was the week after, and there was no way in hell I would miss that race.
My phone buzzed again—another comment of someone doubting her. Fuck that.
When I got to PT, I dragged myself to the full-length mirror inside the rehab room and stared at my reflection. Face drawn. Dark circles. Hoodie unzipped just enough to show the edge of the compression wrap around my ribs. I looked like shit.
Good.
I lifted my phone, took the photo, and posted it to my story.
Caption:
Team Aurélie or fuck off. I’m healing while she fought to make sure I could. I’m standing. Because she stood for me first.
#IStandWithHer
Then I opened another chat—my pilot, Antoine—and started a new thread.
Aurélie + Jet Access
Antoine, meet Aurélie Dubois. She now has priority access to the jet until Austria. Please coordinate her schedule and do not, under any circumstance, let her fly commercial like a civilian. Merci.
For your jet, mademoiselle. You’ve earned it. Bisous.
Aurélie
Callum, NO.
Antoine
Yes, sir. Mademoiselle Dubois, please send your schedule via a shareable calendar link and I will take care of it.
A few minutes later, a link came through, and I just grinned. The door for PT opened, and I set my phone down.
And just like that, I was in it.
She was at my flat. I was at PT. But we were connected.
And tomorrow, I’d do more. I’d be better.
I'd save that link to my phone so I knew her schedule and would try to reciprocate the love she was giving me, because she deserved a man who didn’t just heal for her. She deserved one who rose for her.
The stretches made me want to die. I got through them all, barely, but I did it. And that alone felt like a celebration.
Until I got back to my flat and saw the paparazzi swarming.
I sighed before shoving through the crowd, the shouting too overwhelming to pick out the questions.
Definitely things regarding Aurélie, but I needed to lie down in the dark, not stand there and answer questions that were none of their goddamn business to begin with.
Inside, there was a new note on the refrigerator, and another on the coffee maker. I grabbed the one on the coffee maker first.
The point of me being here is to take care of you. Not the other way around. REST.
PS: I chose “both.” Obviously. And coffee with those croissants.
I grinned and then grabbed the other one from the coffee maker.
PPS: Don’t even think about drinking caffeine tomorrow. It'll make your head worse right now. I’ll know if you do.
–A
I sat down right there on the kitchen floor and leaned my head back against the cabinet, eyes closed and note in hand.
I could manage another week.
She’d been here. I could feel it in the air, in the notes she left behind, in the smell of her shampoo on my pillow.
I knew she was flying across country lines, sprinting between interviews, and still making time to come here.
To care for me in the quietest ways, even when she was barely showing up for herself. .
I wouldn’t see every visit. But I’d feel it.
She was still loving me, just from a distance. And I needed to meet her halfway.