It was dusk by the time Gemma and I reached our little rental flat out in Silverstone, which was a one-bedroom on the first floor of a small brick complex, tucked away behind tiny iron gates and a little square garden out front. The village on a regular weekend seemed quaint with its narrow cobblestoned streets dotted with vintage light posts and potted plants - a far cry from the hustle of the city. But on race weekend it was as hectic as going to the Warped Tour 20th anniversary in San Diego, and the prospect of such an intense crowd had my head already in a crunch.

I opted for the pull out couch in the living room at the front of the flat instead of sharing the queen-sized bed in the bedroom with Gemma. It wasn't that Gemma hadn't shared a bed in various levels of inebriation before, but I was very suddenly in need of space, as far away from personal interaction as I could be. I felt like I'd swallowed a time bomb, blind to when it would implode inside me.

I'd slipped away briefly into the overly pastel pink bathroom to put my toothbrush and haphazard collection of skincare in the cabinet above the sink, but when I reemerged, Gemma was gone. There were only so many places she could have ducked away in our little rental flat, so I'd assumed she'd gone back out to her car for something she probably forgot. I almost had my hand on the doorknob when I heard a voice that wasn't Gemma's from the other side of the door. It belonged to a guy. Hushed, but not panicked. Casual and almost...familiar.

I moved away from the door and to the front window on my toes with my breath held, making sure to peek through the tiniest open sliver of curtain so I could see them, but hopefully they couldn't see me.

Gemma and her mystery man stood out in the little garden in front of the door, where green vines snaked up the front gate dotted with little white flowers. The low-hanging sun gave Gemma's hair a golden silhouette. Her back was to me, but I didn't need to see her face - the way her shoulders rolled back and her arms casually swayed at her sides said enough. Most of his face was obscured by a pair of Ray Bans, but he gave her a kind smile as he handed her something.

While their entire interaction could have passed as platonic, my eyes followed Gemma's hand up to his chest, then his neck, where she pulled at the color of his red polo shirt underneath his quarter-zip and flipped it back down to its correct position.

I blinked. Rubbed my eyes, then blinked again. His red polo shirt.

Seething and fueled by something that maybe resembled anger mixed with adrenaline, I yanked the front door open and stalked down the cobblestoned front stairs. Gemma's eyes nearly rolled back into her head the minute she saw me.

"So when were you going to tell me that rendezvous with your secret boyfriend was part of our weekend plans?" I asked.

Red Polo Shirt Guy snickered. "I thought you were going to tell her on the way over."

"I tried." Gemma shrugged.

"And you, Red Polo Shirt Guy." I twisted on my heel to face him head on.

"Savannah!" Gemma snapped, but I was locked in on him. He just laughed again, with that gigawatt level smile that I saw that very first night in the club in Monaco.

"It's Callahan." His name fluttered out in his subtle French accent. He extended his hand out to me, and unsurprisingly, soft when I took it.

"Savannah." I felt my shoulders relax as I pulled away from him and gave him a faint smile.

"I know." There was a subtle coyness to his voice as he shifted in his sneakers. A voice that maybe, just maybe, I'd heard once before. My eyes lit up.

"It was you that night in the kitchen in Gemma's apartment." I poked him in the chest, all the day's revelations coming to a head.

"Guilty as charged."

It was only then I'd caught sight of the little yellow Ferrari logo on the upper right chest of his red polo shirt. Lightbulb number two went off, only it felt more like being electrocuted. Callahan Jane. Short for Cal - what Atlas had referred to Red Polo Shirt Guy as that first night in Monaco. That motherfucker.

"Wow," I breathed out. "Wow, I'm so angry with myself. It was also you driving that fucking red Ferrari car in first place. God, I hate how much I did not pay attention, and because of course you would also be a racecar driver."

"It's okay," Callahan shrugged. "I'm sure your attention was elsewhere this afternoon."

Realizing that Callahan being in the kitchen that night during my FaceTime call with Gemma also meant he heard every sordid detail about my drunken missteps with Atlas in my DMs. My face burned scarlet - and he noticed.

"If it makes you feel any better..." Callahan smirked. "I've known Atlas since we were 11. I've seen worse on his account."

Deflecting despite myself, I turned back to Gemma, who subtly bit down on her lip and shifted her weight from one foot to the other.

"Great. Thanks for keeping me in the loop."

Gemma shook her head. "There wasn't exactly a convenient time to loop you in. So...ta-da," she threw her hands in Callahan's direction. "You're officially looped in."

Up close, he really was handsome, but not in the raw, intense way that Atlas was. Everything about him seemed refined and soft, from the subtle mess of his dark hair to the slight way his lips parted when he smiled. Even though his eyes were hidden behind his Ray Bans, I didn't expect his gaze to be any different as he looked down at me.

But what stuck out the most to me was the contrast of all his softness beside Gemma, who was always all high cheekbones, higher standards, high arched eyebrows. I could already tell - he'd come in like a wave over Gemma's rocky shores, and maybe he could smooth out all her hard edges. I let out a heavy sigh.

"So this is really a thing then?" I gestured to the two of them with a smirk. "I kinda like this thing."

"Well, thanks for your input." Gemma gave me a curt nod and turned back to Callahan. She waved around whatever passes he had given her earlier. "You probably need to get back. Thanks for these. Enjoy your drive tomorrow."

They both traded a soft, knowing smile, like everything they'd traded in the quiet hours of the night existed in the little space between them. Callahan gave us one last nod before leaving through the wrought iron gate of the little garden and disappearing into a discreet black sports car.

After Gemma watched him drive away, I pinched her elbow. "Enjoy your drive? You fucking asshole."

Gemma scoffed. "Don't start, Miss it was the pinot talking not me."

"I'm not starting," I quipped. "I'm just making a casual observation."

"Well..." A coy smirk pulled at Gemma's lips as she pressed one of the passes Callahan gave her into my hand. "Are you ready to casually observe boys drive fast cars?"

I ran my thumb along the bold printed text of the press pass. We were in, and the reality of what - and who - I would have to come face to face with became too tangible.

So no, I was not ready.

but honey i'll be seein' you, ever i go
but honey i'll be seein' you down every road
i'm waiting for it, that green light, i want it

green light / lorde

so...allow me to *properly* introduce ferrari stud callahan jane, aka cal aka red polo shirt guy. i think some of y'all saw that coming???

& yes, i am aware savannah is definitely pot calling kettle black with gemma and cal, but hey she's got her reasons, let my girl live. also aware this chapter is a hella shorty which is why this is a mid-week update, because next chapter is THE race. i hope you're more ready than sav is.