It was fucking loud. It was loud and hot and smelled like burning rubber and gasoline, like we'd been seated right next to a rocket about to blast off into space. Heat sizzled off the race track and blurred the very air and space around us. Even in my denim mini skirt and cropped yellow tank, I was burning under the direct glare of the sun.

It was sensory overload in its purest form.

Gemma wasn't kidding about the middle of the race going by in a blur. It seemed like every time I blinked, they'd zip through the starting grid and over the line, and suddenly there were 20 laps left. The Beaming Ray of Light that was Callahan Jane had led almost the entire race, and every time he'd zoom by, the sun glinted off of every single speck of red paint of the car.

Gemma made attempts to educate me further as the race went on. Apparently there was a hell of a lot of strategy that went into the race other than drive fast and pass the guy in front of you. First and foremost being that when you're The Guy on the team, the Other Guy provides a slipstream and then moves the hell out of the way, thus propelling Atlas past Jaye and into 3rd almost immediately. There was also strategy for when you made pit stops, strategy for when and where you made a move on the guy in front of you, strategy for your god damn tyres, and all I could think about was the way Atlas coyly threw that tyre management terminology at me.

I guess I shouldn't have been so surprised about Gemma's knowledge, especially now understanding how thoroughly she was wrapped up in Callahan Jane's world. It also seemed to throw the lack of depth in my relationship with Atlas right in my face. We didn't talk about all the ins and outs of racing the way that Gemma and Callahan clearly did, and whether that was of his or my volition was lost in time zones.

From where we sat, we had a clear view of the finish line, most of the pit lane down in front of us, where all the team garages and war rooms were lined up, and the first couple of turns out to the left until the track disappeared in the distance. We were graced with the same eloquent, English-accented announcers to give us a play-by-play of everything we couldn't see - which of course, included drama à la Atlas fucking Vaughn. The crowd roared, and even among all the Welsh and British flags waving for Atlas's supposed homecoming, there were plenty of heads adorned with black Mercedes caps.

"And Olsen goes very wide indeed round the corner of turn 7, and Vaughn almost takes him on the exit. He actually has to back off a little bit now."

"What's happening?" I hissed through my teeth, clutching onto Gemma's elbow.

"Shush up so I can listen." Gemma swatted at me.

"I wonder even with DRS here, can Olsen manage to stay ahead and fend him off?"

"I thought DRS is a good thing, isn't it?" I groaned, still bouncing up on my toes as if it was going to miraculously give me a good enough view over the pit lane and the garages. DRS stood for drag reduction system - something else I'd retained from qualifying yesterday - and it gave the guy in the car behind you a temporary speed advantage where it was allowed on certain parts of the track.

"Now Vaughn finds a slipstream, gets a good tow, now tries to go around the outside and absolutely sears by Olsen. Vaughn has put his Porsche up into second place. What a maneuver!"

"Get a grip, Sav," Gemma sighed out, unwinding my fingers from her forearm. "This is a good thing. Atlas just manhandled Olsen, and that's not an easy feat."

With what seemed like barely a car's length between them, Atlas' Porsche came thundering down the straight towards the line, passing us in a blur of metallic black, quickly followed by the silver Mercedes. Jeers and cheers followed suit.

My kneecaps felt like they'd been replaced by pudding, and when it finally felt like the excitement had a momentary lull, I had to sit down. It was a little more than halfway through the race, but it had already been more than enough speed and heat and energy than I'd been prepared to handle. Another few laps went by before Gemma yanked me back up to my feet. Atlas came zooming up to Callahan's bright red Ferrari, and I grabbed onto Gemma's arm again, feeling her wince under me.

Gemma pinned me with a sharp glare. "Savannah, when I said get a grip, I didn't mean literally on me."

"And into the pits comes Callahan Jane and closely following comes Atlas Vaughn!"

From where we were up in the grandstand, I saw the red and black of Callahan's and Atlas's cars come veering off the track and into the pit lane in front of us. A team of mechanics armed with tires were standing there waiting for them.

I couldn't blink. I couldn't even take a breath. The cars were stationary for less than three seconds before the tires were changed and the cars were pulling away from the garages. The lane the cars took out of the pit lane was nowhere near wide enough for two of them, and yet there they were, so close they could probably reach out of their cars and high-five each other.

I bounced up onto my tip-toes, my nerves firing off as if they were trying to keep up with the speed of the cars. "What's happening, what's happening, why do they look like they're about to hit each other?"

"Sav, I don't know everything, which is why I'm trying to watch!" Gemma snapped at me, but still kept her hand intertwined with mine.

"They both went onto the medium compound tyre here, and now they are going wheel-to-wheel down the pit lane, but Vaughn has about a meter of voltage and...Vaughn takes the lead on Jane! It was all down to the work of the Porsche pit crew."

I swore I'd need an EKG after this was all over for the amount of times my heart stopped and started. Atlas had somehow forced himself up into 1st place from starting back in 5th, and for the first time since I'd met him those months ago in Monaco, I was finally witnessing firsthand what gave Atlas the moniker The Alpha. They sped away again.

"Oh no, Vaughn goes wide round turn 2! Will all of Porsche's hard work become undone? Vaughn is trying to fight back, and pulls out to go alongside the Ferrari. Vaughn and Jane go wheel-to-wheel again, but Jane pulls out and is back in front of Vaughn!"

They traded places the way boxers would trade punches, and as the crowd around us roared with electric energy, I finally began to realize why this was so exciting. It was a fucking rush. I glanced over at Gemma, not bothering to hide her toothy smile.

The cars continued to fly around the track, passing us at the line in a blur of colors, and then momentarily vanishing from sight. I didn't take that minute and a half for granted as I tried to breathe normally.

"This is absolutely brilliant racing between two supremely talented young drivers, and they are giving it everything here!"

For reasons I didn't have the capacity to understand yet, Atlas backed off of Callahan, and there seemed to be a lull in action despite the essence of pure speed still tangible in the air.

I glanced over at Gemma again, still grinning.

"Oh, wipe that smirk off your face," I scoffed.

"Don't act like you're not having a good time," Gemma retorted.

Was I having a good time? Despite feeling like I was melting like I was a body double in House of Wax, maybe there was something resembling joy and excitement coursing through me. Tasting pure adrenaline on the tip of my tongue, feeling the singe of the sparks as they came flying off the tires, and reveling in the fact that maybe, just maybe, I wanted to see Atlas standing up there. His words ricocheted in my head from that night in Miami, and it all came full circle. There was something horrifying about watching them zoom by, unable to blink or take a breath for fear of missing anything, but at the same time, it was liberating. It forced me to let go, and just be in the moment.

"Okay," I sighed out, intertwining my arm around Gemma's. "Maybe I am. Ask me again in 10 laps."

Gemma beamed. "Aren't you glad we went shopping?"

"Again, ask me in 10 laps when this thing is finally over."

Unsurprisingly, those 10 laps came and went in a burning fury, and Gemma and I damn near squeezed the life out of each other as the race was coming to a close.

"Wow there's yet another fantastic scrap here between Callahan Jane and Atlas Vaughn! Vaughn is diving down the inside and almost takes him on the exit of the Loop, but Jane fends him off."

For the first time today, Gemma grabbed onto me, and instinctively I just grabbed her arm back, too wrapped up in the action unfolding in front of us. If I wasn't so worried, it would almost be comical, as I was sure Gemma also understood the irony of us cheering for two different guys who were at each other's necks.

"Now they are flying down into the final corner, and Vaughn lunges at Jane once again, but wait-"

They came rocketing back into view as they swerved around the corner. Sparks kicked up from behind the cars when suddenly the unthinkable happened, sending my heart ricocheting into my throat. I'd seen enough by now to understand that at almost 200 MPH, touching for even just one fraction of a second resulted in disaster.

"No, no they've touched! Vaughn's front left wing into Jane's back tyre! Jane is forced wide, and Vaughn has to put on the brakes."

"This is a dream scenario for Olsen and Mercedes! A kerfuffle among the two young guns, and the defending world champion takes full advantage, going all the way around the outside and puts himself ahead of both of them."

"Oh fuck."

It took me a moment to realize those words came out of my mouth, and I turned to Gemma with wide eyes.

She took a tight breath. "There's going to need to be some diplomacy before stepping onto the podium."

I let out a heavy sigh, desperate to slow my body down. "What makes you say that?"

"Cal and Atlas may have known each other for over a decade, but that doesn't mean they're civil on the track." Gemma shook her blonde head of hair, still silky and tamed despite the heat. "It's just what happens when they're both good enough to fight to be the best. At least that's my understanding of them - competitors first, friends second."

My shoulders slumped, and I didn't have time to process how much Gemma had known about Atlas's history with Callahan (and by extension, Atlas's history itself) as Adrian Olsen's silver Mercedes came flying down towards the finish line. First place. A solid few seconds passed before Callahan and then Atlas came around the final corner and zoomed by the checkered flag.

The entire grandstand erupted with sound, the very ground seeming to shake underneath us. Cool and collected as ever, Gemma reached down and grabbed my hand.

"Okay, we have to go, now."

Before I could ask questions, Gemma was pulling me down the stairs of the grandstand, expertly bobbing and weaving out of people like a sports car in traffic.

"Go where?" I huffed out. I had already been struggling to breathe for the last two hours, and I didn't need Gemma pulling me along for a half marathon just as I was starting to catch my breath again.

"The most important part of the whole sordid affair - the podium ceremony. Winning boys and trophies and champagne." Gemma's words punctuated the hot, sticky air, but between getting sandwiched by bodies and trying to keep up with her frantic pace, reality hadn't set in.

We followed the general masses to a large, lifted stage beside the grandstand, and it was an orchestra of controlled chaos. Champagne was already lined up in front of their podiums, along with their respective flags hung above them - United Kingdom for Atlas, Monaco for Callahan, and Sweden for Adrian.

Nothing short of disastrous for Atlas's home race, and it was more than apparent as he was the first to emerge onto the podium grandstand, bringing a storm cloud with him. He kept his hat low and his head down as Callahan walked past him to the second place podium, head held a little higher but a reserved anger still painting his features. I stole a quick glance over at Gemma, and while her lips were only slightly turned upwards into the faintest smile, a look of proud adoration glinted in her eyes despite the last lap fiasco.

Finally, Adrian Olsen emerged, and he walked with a unique kind of swagger indicative of someone who had done this a hundred times before. Curls of chocolate brown hair peeked out from underneath the brim of his cap, and the silver detailing on his white jumpsuit only added to the regality he had.

Atlas finally lifted his head as the Swedish national anthem began to play. Sweat glistened on his forehead underneath the brim of his hat, the pink in his cheeks fading, and finally, the smallest smile cracked his stony facade. Without even realizing it, it made me smile too.

Gemma gently elbowed me in the side.

"Now's your chance to actually hang out with him after a podium," she said coyly. "Show him that champagne is definitely overrated."

I forced out a nervous chuckle, my mouth twisting into what probably resembled a pained grimace. If Gemma noticed, she didn't show it. Things were far more simple when Atlas and I were just trading flirty jabs over Instagram DMs. We didn't even do that anymore.

This was different. This was raw and pure, electric and breathtaking. This was the perfect storm, and I was out at sea without a lifeboat.

The music faded, and it was almost as if the clouds over Atlas had finally cleared. He gave a subtle smile, a wistful gaze into his home crowd, and an effortless trophy lift, met with an eruption of cheers. They all followed suit, and then the champagne started spraying.

I was enveloped by the smell of a hot July afternoon, all sweat and gasoline and champagne mist. My body swayed with the rest of the crowd, and normally it would have been easy for almost anybody to resign themselves to that moment. It was the kind of thing people put on their bucket lists - get bathed in confetti and champagne at a historic grand prix. The only bucket I was thinking of was one I could potentially vomit in.

When I looked up at him, and I mean truly looked at him, the world stopped spinning. It was like all the air and all the noise had been sucked into a vortex, stranding me in cold, empty space. I finally understood the magnitude of who he was. Of what he was. And in doing that, it forced me to understand who and what I was too - someone who shouldn't be there.

Despite the dizzying haze that had fallen over me, I managed to find Gemma's forearm and squeeze it.

"Ineedtogetthefuckoutofhere." I spat it all out so fast it just came out like one long word.

"What?" Shock and bewilderment set in on Gemma's face. "Why?"

"Please just trust me," I managed to choke out, still squeezing her hand. "I can't do this."

As precise and calculating as ever, Gemma gave me a quick nod and began weaving us back through the crowd, swaying in a sea of bodies like a tiny ship lost on a stormy ocean. We stalked out towards an open area, dead grass and dirt kicking up behind my worn-out converse. The excitement could still be heard, but it was soft and muted, almost as if we'd be dropped in a fishbowl.

Deep in the back of my mind, I knew I was being the shittest friend in modern history, but Gemma was not the kind of person to ask questions. She operated on a combination of aptitude and an uncanny ability to read people. That time bomb I had swallowed earlier had finally gone off. I was imploding like a dying star, about to suck up everything around me into this black hole I had created. Somehow in Gemma's own way, she knew that without me having to say it, but my word vomit came spewing out anyway.

"Atlas was in Miami a few weeks ago when I was there for the Quiksilver/Roxy Pro," I blurted. "We had a moment. We had several moments. We fucked in his Porsche. Then we fucked again in my hotel room. It was great...he's really so great...I mean, despite what people think of him and despite what we saw. I know he is. Then I chickened out and basically told him I couldn't see him anymore, but then he agreed, and then it was awkward, and we haven't talked since then, and now..." I stopped to take a breath before I burst an artery. "...here we are."

Gemma exhaled heavily, nodding as she processed my half-incoherent babble. "Here we are," she echoed, her voice eerily calm.

"It's fucked up, okay?" I continued despite the cracking in my voice. "I can't afford to be involved with someone like this, and I don't think he can either. We agreed there'd be no more moments between us, and if I just show up like this after what we said...I feel like it ruins his moment. What kind of person does that make me?"

There were very few times I got to witness diplomatic, future politician Gemma in her purest form, but that girl was now standing in front of me, pulling herself together and looking down at me with a calm, poised determination.

"Okay," she nodded. "Okay, we can go back to London. We can go home, and we can leave right now. Does that work?"

"But what about Red Polo Shirt Guy?" I choked out. "What about Cal?"

"Listen, it is so casual right now." Gemma put her hands on my shoulders, her voice calm and reassuring. "He's...he's a very understanding guy. We're going to be fine."

For a split second, I wondered if she meant we were going to be fine, or if she and Callahan were going to be fine. I didn't have much emotional real estate to spend on the thought, but it lingered for a moment or two as Gemma and I made our way back to her car. I didn't have it in me to look back at them one last time. It was a weird, unsettling kind of goodbye that I couldn't stomach.

By the time we were on the road, it was nearly 6 PM, and most of the heat had burned off as the sun began to set, but I still cranked the AC in Gemma's Audi to fill the silence.

My head was pressed against the cool glass of the window, but I could still feel Gemma shifting in her seat, drumming her fingers on the steering wheel, eying me from behind the lenses of her aviator sunglasses. Unsaid words lingered in the air, until finally she let out a breath.

"Okay, are we going to talk about it?"

It was such a loaded word. It meant my melodramatic exit, leaving Atlas behind, probably for good. It meant both mine and my best friend's lies by omission, which was uncharted waters for us.

When I looked over at her, I had to squint directly into the golden light of the setting sun. Her words were sharp, much like the narrow rays cutting across the dashboard. I turned away again.

"Are we?" I grumbled.

"Wouldn't you rather do it now while we're still in the same country?"

Gemma's words were like a thread that pulled me up straight, like a puppet. I glared down at my not-so-white converse. "Why didn't you say anything to me earlier?" I blurted out. "About Cal, I mean. Why?"

Gemma made an attempt to answer, but I wasn't ready to hear it. All the emotion and all the frustration from this weekend I kept down finally cracked me open and burst like a broken dam.

"Don't you think that as your best friend it would have been an important tidbit of information for me, seeing as I was screwing a guy that he almost crashed into several times in the course of two hours? Hell, they did actually crash once."

Gemma's knuckles strained white on the steering wheel as she inhaled a tight breath, but her voice was soft. "I didn't want to ruin the simplicity of it all. We were inside this perfect little bubble, and I wasn't ready for it to pop. And...I didn't want their relationship to affect ours."

I finally took a breath and slumped back down into the sticky leather seat. I could feel the sting of my own words, but also the magnitude of Gemma's, mostly because it was so true, and so familiar.

"I guess...when you put it like that, I did the same thing," I sighed out. "Atlas and I were our own little bubble too. I just popped it myself."

"In Miami?"

I rubbed the side of my face and groaned. "I figured if I didn't say anything...it made the whole thing sort of fictional. Something I could just move on from and forget ever happened."

As the sun dipped behind the treeline, Gemma adjusted her sunglasses to sit on the crown of her head and spared me a quick glance. "Okay, so now are you ready to talk about it?"

I pulled my knees up and hugged them to my chest, reaching over and fiddling with the air conditioning again so it wasn't blowing right at my shins. "We're just worlds apart, Atlas and I. You and I both just witnessed that firsthand."

"Their world is kind of intimidating," Gemma admitted with a soft sigh.

I nodded. "I'm trying to claw my way back to the top of my profession. He's already there, with gleaming trophies, established rivalries, champagne and all. He's tried to sympathize, I mean we've talked about it, sort of...but how could he? He's a superstar...and I'm just...washed-up."

Gemma nodded as she kept her gaze forward to the empty highway, acknowledging my inner turmoil. I knew she was waiting for me to get it all out before offering her input.

"It's so different when we're just messaging each other, and we talk about nothing. I can figure out something flirty and cute to say and then put my phone down and go on with my day. I can forget who he is, and who he is to me. When I actually have to talk to his face and like...look at him just being him, it throws everything into perspective for me. I can't have this kind of thing in my life right now, and I'm not sure that he can either."

"And you know what?" Gemma perked up, her voice full of renewed vindication. "Atlas never has to know about this weekend. As far as he knows, you were never here. You can do whatever the hell you want. You have absolutely nothing to feel bad about."

"Well, I do feel bad," I lamented. "But what's worse is that I'm not sure what I even feel bad about."

Gemma sat up in her seat, and I knew that determined look that settled into her features. Gemma was about to put her renowned logic and analytical skills to work, as if my emotional predicament was a complex mathematical equation for her to solve.

"Well it sure as hell isn't surfing because you got third in France." She swiped at me with a chuckle. "I don't think you need me and my statistical brain to tell you that your numbers are good. Your win in France bumped you into 4th place in the world championship standings. You're on your way to standing on a podium. Your own podium."

If there was one thing Gemma was proud of, it was that all her savvy eloquence and all her reasoning always managed to come out on top. Fingers snapped, problem solved. Onto the next one. I knew that meant I should probably follow suit.

I leaned forward and turned the music up. Free Falling by Tom Petty fluttered through the speakers. "I know this sounds ridiculous, but...I really liked him. And despite whatever you've heard from your sources, he's...he's good. I truly believe that."

"I know Sav, I know. But I also know that you're doing what's best for you right now," Gemma consoled, reaching across the console to catch my hand and to give it a tiny squeeze. The London skyline jutted up into the sky in the distance.

Gemma gave a wistful sigh. "We never really left Monaco behind, did we?"

"Well I think I'd like to actually leave it behind now," I replied. "For good."

So we did. We drove off into the slow oncoming dark of the night, back to London and back to reality. After another 20 minutes slowly navigating through the city streets, Gemma pulled into her building's parking garage and killed the engine. The quiet enveloped us, but it was finally a comfortable silence. The truth had been spoken. The world would keep spinning. Me on my side, and Atlas on his.

oh, the glory of it all was lost on me
til i saw how hard it'd be to reach you
and i would always be light years, light years away from you

light years / the national

shockingly enough this is in fact the first full-blown action/race sequence i've ever written, so please be kind to me and sav, we're trying our best. as always shoutout to my own personal bono w1ldflow3r for being an a+ mate and drinking lots of pinot/high noons with me on the regular while we war plan™ these chapters. while this was originally first written around november of 2020, we've made a bunch of fun tweaks and updates this time around for more ✨drama✨

anyway, savannah is NOT about that life right now. i know this is probably not how most of y'all expected this to go (there were several predictions for it to go the opposite way and have atlas be the one to be standoffish with her) - do you think she's making the right decision? would you have done the same if you were in her position? and so...now what?