Chapter 189 Callum #2
I stopped at the candy shop a few streets over. They carried the fancy jellybeans she claimed were better than American ones. I bought three packs. The cashier gave me a look I didn’t care to interpret.
At a store near the city edge, I grabbed a soft pink throw blanket, a smoked vanilla candle, and a lavish bouquet of pink peonies. She loved peonies. and if what she needed right now was comfort, I’d bring it. If she needed penance, I’d offer it. If she needed anything at all, I’d give it to her.
The drive into the countryside was all shadows and fading daylight.
I barely registered any of it. Just mile after mile of anxiety, eating at me.
My neck ached. My shoulders tightened. The pain from the crash had never fully left.
I’d just buried it under racing and sex and adrenaline.
But now? Now it crawled back up my spine and sank its claws into me.
She hadn’t called. She hadn’t texted. She hadn’t said a word in over a day. And I’d let it slide because I didn’t want to push too hard, didn’t want to scare her off. But fuck that. I should’ve shown up yesterday. I should’ve trusted my instincts.
Because if something had happened to her…
I gripped the wheel tighter and rolled the windows down, hoping the fresh air would help me relax.
Then, finally, I turned down a long, winding private drive. The sun had vanished behind the hills, taking my breath with it. The trees on either side loomed, tall and whispering against each other in the coastal breeze.
Her navy Alpine sat in front of a beautiful stone house. Parked beside it was a vintage Porsche 911. One I didn’t recognize.
My stomach churned as I took in the scene. There were no lights on inside, no sound coming from the house. It was just the two cars and an eerie sense of dread.
I got out, heart hammering, and walked up the front path.
The sound of the gravel shifting beneath my shoes was deafening in the silence.
I stepped onto the porch, scanning all the broken down boxes sitting near the front door.
Then I noticed the wooden knocker. It was a lion, and felt oddly fitting given who Aurélie was as a person.
Fierce, golden, and queen of the motorsport jungle.
The thought almost made me smile.
I lifted the knocker and banged it against the door twice.
Not a single peep resounded through the house. It was almost like she wasn’t here, but her car was… I swallowed the lump in my throat as I bounded down the front steps to look at the house as a whole.
I couldn’t see much in the dark without any exterior lights on. I pulled my phone out of my pocket and turned the flashlight on, pacing the front to peer into windows. Mostly there were just shadows of boxes and half-assembled furniture on the first story. No other indicators that anyone was home.
The longer I stood there, the louder everything got—my own pulse, the hum of insects in the grass, the whisper of the sea breeze moving through the pines.
Every sound scraped against my nerves. I tried to tell myself I was overreacting.
She’d unpacked all day. She was probably passed out with her phone on silent.
But my hand wouldn’t stop shaking when I checked the screen again. And still nothing.
“Come on, baby,” I muttered, pressing call one more time. The ring barely lasted before her voicemail picked up. Her soft French greeted me. I hung up before she finished saying bisous.
Something was wrong. I could feel it in the way the air sat heavy, in the stillness of the house.
I swallowed hard, took a step back from the door, then another. I circled the porch, scanning the windows, the hedges, every shadow. The beam from my phone shook with my pulse.
Nothing. No movement. No sign of her.
By the time I reached the side gate, my throat was dry and my breath was uneven.
The latch screeched when I lifted it. I winced, listening for a response I knew wouldn’t come.
I rounded the back corner of the house, and then I saw a glow bleeding through a narrow, cracked window about twenty feet away. Yellow light, faint but steady.
Every muscle in my body went rigid.
My mind jumped straight to the worst possibilities: break-in, intruder, someone hurting her.
And before the thought could even finish forming, my body moved.
I sprinted across the grass, the wet blades slapping against my shoes, grabbed the frame, and shoved the window open wider. The hinges groaned.
“Fuck—” I gritted out, heart slamming against my ribs.
I planted a hand on the sill, hauled myself up onto the narrow stone ledge, swung a leg over, and dropped inside. Brushing my palms on my joggers, I turned, and almost went down hard. I was standing in a bathtub, the porcelain slick beneath my shoes.
Then I looked up, and there was blood. Everywhere.
Towels crumpled on the tile, streaked and soaked. There was a smear across the counter. A faint spatter trailed from the shower drain like something dragged. The air was thick with the metallic sting of it, humid and wrong.
It looked like something out of a fucking horror movie. My brain refused to make sense of it—every instinct screaming, too much, too red, too wrong. Too late.
For a full second, I thought she was dead. The sound that tore out of me wasn’t human. My vision tunneled, heart beating so fast I feared it would break my ribs, and my blood ran cold.
“Auri?” I called out, voice wavering.
I stumbled out of the tub, knees hitting the edge hard enough to bruise. “Auri!”
My hands shook so violently I could barely steady the light from my phone. The glare caught every surface—the floor, the counter, the edge of the sink.
Still, there was no sign of life or movement.
“Aurélie!” My throat closed as I rushed toward the door, half-blind with panic.
Then I saw her through the open door into what I assumed was her bedroom. There was just enough light that I saw her lying on her side in bed, the blanket twisted around her waist.
She was alive, but it didn’t feel like enough.
I moved toward the bed, slow like I might break her just by breathing. My limbs didn’t feel like they belonged to me. Everything inside me was trembling—my muscles, my hands, my fucking soul.
I sat on the bed beside her. She didn’t stir in the slightest, not even when I reached out with trembling fingers and brushed the backs of my knuckles over her cheek.
She was burning up. My heart plummeted.
There was no color in her face, her lips were chapped and pale, and sweat clung to her neck and temples. Her breathing was steady but too deep. She looked… emptied. Hollowed out. Like someone had scraped the light from her and left her here to survive it alone.
And I hadn’t been here.
I didn’t even fucking know.
“Aurélie,” I murmured urgently.
She didn’t wake.
“Baby, wake up.”
A tiny, pained noise left her lips, but she didn’t open her eyes.
Fuck.
Fuck.
Panic closed its hand around my throat. I forced myself to look around her room, my eyes landing on the bedside table with pill bottles next to it. My heart stopped beating for a moment as I reached for them, turning them toward the light from the bathroom to read their labels.
One of them was Vicodin, which I knew about. The other two were prescribed to her last year, neither of which I had any idea she took. A sleep aid and an anxiety medication.
I had no idea why she’d been prescribed these, but if she’d mixed them, no wonder she was out cold.
I rose to my feet, setting the pill bottles down and contemplating what to do. Should I try to wake her up and see if she needs something? Should I crawl into her bed with her and keep her company? Should I find the source of all this goddamn blood?
That sent me to my feet. I went straight back to the bathroom, pushing down the bile that threatened to come up at the terrifying sight of it all. Upon closer examination, I saw bloodied feminine products in the trash, and it all made sense. So it was her period.
Thank God.
Thank God—
My relief fractured mid-thought, because there, half hidden under a hand towel streaked with red was something I didn’t notice before.
I took a step closer, my hand shaking as I lifted the towel, revealing white plastic sticks.
Pregnancy tests. Three of them, to be exact, and they were all positive. One with two blue lines, the other two with pink plus signs.
My mind scrambled to put the pieces together.
Positive pregnancy tests. Blood. Sleep aids. Painkillers.
“Oh, Jesus, Auri,” I whispered, voice cracking in the empty room. “You didn’t tell me.”
Was she… miscarrying?
I braced my hands on the edge of the counter, an unknown emotion crashing into me, burning the backs of my eyes. For a moment, my body just… stopped. My heart didn’t know whether to beat or break.
My fingers closed around the tests, knuckles whitening. Plastic clicked together as I gripped too tight. My knees hit the tile before I even realized I was going down.
This hadn’t just been a sub-drop. Maybe it started that way, but this—this was loss. She was losing something. Ours.
Had I… had I done this to her? Made her feel like she couldn’t tell me for some reason? That she had to do this alone because she didn’t want to bother me? Jesus fucking Christ, I’d failed her.
Anxiety thickened into full-blown panic.
Why didn’t she tell me? Why didn’t she ask me for help? Was she afraid I’d be angry? Afraid I’d leave? After everything—everything—didn’t she know I’d drop it all and run to her? That there was nothing I wouldn’t have done?
She needed me. She needed me. And I hadn’t been here.
She couldn’t do this alone. At least, she shouldn’t have to do it alone. And right now, who knew if she’d even eaten, or hydrated, or if she was even okay.
I drew in a breath, shaky and shallow, trying to slow the spinning. The plastic tests rattled softly as I loosened my grip. The sound of my own breathing filled the small room, uneven and desperate.
I didn’t even realize I was crying at first.
It took everything in me to move. To push myself to my feet, to wipe my hands on my joggers, to stand up straight.
I forced myself to put the tests down. Then I went back into her room, kicking off my shoes as I sat on the edge of the bed, shifting so I could tuck an arm under her, pulling her closer.
She whimpered but didn’t fight it, her body limp against me.
My strong woman felt so weak in my arms, and that nearly fucking took me out.
"Hey, hey," I murmured, pressing my lips to her temple. She smelled like sweat and lavender and everything I missed and loved all at once. One hand splayed over her lower abdomen, hoping I could take away the pain she was in. "I need you to wake up for me, baby."
Another tiny noise. Her brows knitted, her lashes fluttering. Then, finally, finally, her eyes cracked open, glassy and unfocused.
"Callum?" Her voice was hoarse. Confused.
My chest ached. "Yeah, baby. I'm here."
She blinked slowly. "How’d you…?"
"Doesn’t matter." I brushed my knuckles down her cheek, my other arm still wrapped around her, feeling how lethargic and overheated she was. "What’s going on, huh?"
She swallowed, and it took her a second to answer. "Just… tired." Her voice cracked on the last word. Not from pain—grief. Like saying it out loud took something from her.
She didn’t want me to know. Didn’t want me to see.
I exhaled through my nose, trying to keep my voice steady. "You feel like you have a fever. When’s the last time you ate?"
She didn’t answer.
But her brow pinched, and a single tear tracked from the corner of her eye down into the pillow.
Fuck.
I shifted, tucking the blanket tighter around her. She didn’t even flinch at the movement.
"I’ll be right back, okay? Don’t go anywhere."
She made a quiet noise that was somewhere between a sob and a snort. "Not planning on it."
Her voice was threadbare, barely there. I kissed her forehead before I stood and left the room, following a hallway until it spit me out beside a staircase and an open view of the dark living room and kitchen. I flicked on the lights and saw the mess.
Chest tight and lungs barely functioning, I walked closer.
There were open bags full of supplies. Items laid out with bloody fingerprints on the packaging.
An empty box of pregnancy tests. More feminine products.
Ibuprofen. A heating pad tangled in its cord.
Empty water glasses. An untouched box of saltines.
It was like she’d been preparing to take care of herself without letting anyone else in. Like she’d been waiting for the storm to pass on its own. Like she hadn’t planned to tell a single soul.
Fuck.
Fucking fuck.
The realization hit me like a fucking train.
She had been suffering. Alone.
I brought the water back to her room, hands still shaking. I didn’t even realize I’d grabbed a cold pack from the freezer until I saw the condensation dripping onto the floor. My brain was operating in fragments, one task at a time, anything to keep from spiraling completely.
She was still lying on her side when I stepped into the room, eyes open now. Glazed and red-rimmed, but she saw me.
“Got you some water. Can you try a sip for me?” I whispered, kneeling beside the bed.
Her gaze dropped to the glass, then back to my face, but she made no effort to move. “I’m sorry,” she rasped.
My heart tumbled. “No. Don’t—don’t say that.” I set the water down and cupped her cheek, thumb brushing gently under her eye. “You don’t have to apologize.”
Her lips trembled. “I called you. On my way down here.”
“I know.” My voice cracked. “God, I know, baby. If I’d known—”
“I didn’t… I didn’t know if it was real,” she interjected. “I took one, then two more. Just to be sure.”
I swallowed hard, hand sliding to her damp hairline. “You don’t have to explain it right now. You don’t have to say anything you’re not ready to.”
She blinked slowly. “Can you just—” Her breath hitched. “Can you just hold me? And we can talk about it later?”
Jesus Christ.
I didn’t even respond out loud. Just slipped behind her, wrapped my arms around her waist, and pulled her in as gently as I could. She melted into me like she finally let herself stop holding everything in.
I pressed my lips to the back of her shoulder. “I’ve got you.”
And I wasn’t letting go. I didn’t know what tomorrow looked like. But tonight, she wasn’t going to face it alone.