o n e w e e k l a t e r

"You're really gonna let me drink alone?"

I stirred my Bloody Mary with the thick stick of celery poking out of it, feeling condensation drip down the glass and pool between my fingers. It was only 10:15 in the morning, but the rooftop pool at Dream in Downtown Miami was already crawling with bodies, some combination of starry-eyed tourists and seasoned regulars who could flag a passing waiter down with a simple flick of their perfectly manicured hand. Despite it being just warm enough to comfortably sit outside in a bikini, nobody was actually in the pool, its surface untouched like glass.

It felt like I was just in Miami, but I was living a completely different life three months ago, and the way things were changing at such quick speed was starting to give me whiplash. Summer turned into Fall, and it got colder when the sun went down just like it always did, but it was steady and gradual. Nothing about my summer had been steady or gradual. Now, the days turned shorter - and with it, so did my patience apparently.

Gemma let out a bored sigh and took another sip of her green smoothie. It matched her bikini almost perfectly. "I've been vegetable deficient recently."

I whipped the celery stick out of my glass, flicking it and red liquid in Gemma's direction like bad 80s horror movie blood splatter. "A Bloody Mary is literally vegetable juice...and vodka. Don't be a baby."

Gemma sighed, eyeing me from over the tops of a pair of unfamiliar Ray Ban wayfarers that might have actually belonged to Callahan Jane. "Is this really what you're choosing to be hostile over right now? My green juice?"

I rolled my shoulders back and repositioned myself in the plush white pool chair. "Yes, yes it is."

I thought Atlas and I were in a good place after our time together in Monaco last week, and although I wasn't sure where exactly that place was, it was apparently not in Miami this time around. It hadn't felt out of pocket to reach out to him a few days ago and let him know I was making an impromptu trip to the Miami Grand Prix with Gemma. She'd already been in the states for a job interview, and I still had two weeks until my next event. Everything seemed copacetic. It should have been copacetic.

So I texted him. His response? A simple thumbs up emoji. Was my hostility slightly misplaced? Perhaps.

Summer turned to Fall, and as with the air, Atlas Vaughn apparently also turned cold.

I aggressively stirred my drink again with the stick of celery and felt the sting of another sideways glance from Gemma.

"No, it's not," she stated in a stern, matter of factly tone.

After another long sip of my drink, I resigned to Gemma's glare with a hefty sigh. "I just don't get it, Gem. If he didn't or couldn't get me whatever this fancy pass situation is called that you've got going on for this weekend, he could have just told me that, and it would be way less weird than him not saying anything at all. He knows I'm here."

Gemma reached over and with the faintest grin, she tenderly placed a hand to my forearm. "I know it's the principle of the matter, but I also know you would have wanted to sit with me anyway."

I brushed her off. "And now I'm indebted to Callahan Jane," I groaned. "Just what I wanted."

"He would've offered you one regardless. I'm sure that deep down beyond your Atlas Vaughn bias, you know that."

A petite brunette in the hotel staff's baby pink polo shirts and khaki shorts meandered through the row of chairs in front of us and dropped off a pair of fruity drinks to the girls sitting there. Glancing down at my half-empty glass, I flagged her down.

"Another Blood Mary, please?" I asked her. "A double this time."

"Anything for you, miss?" she asked Gemma.

Gemma shook her head of platinum blonde locks. "No thank you. Although we may need a bucket for this one, eventually," she chuckled as she gestured to me.

The waitress cracked a smile before giving us a nod and walking away.

As I finished off my drink, I felt Gemma's eyes again.

"What?" I scoffed. "I need to emotionally prepare myself for later. I can barely watch highlights of qualifying on Instagram. You expect me to actually sit through it in its entirety now?"

"Right, because showing up drunk is a better alternative." Gemma sat up in her chair and perched her Ray Bans on top of her head. "Here's a suggestion - text Atlas again."

"No," I shook my head. "I can't. The race weekend has started, and I don't want to bother him about something that I could be overthinking."

"You? Overthinking? Never." Gemma threw another grin my way. "Based on what you've told me about your weekend in Monaco with him, it would stand to reason that there's probably nothing to worry about. He's just moody."

I thanked the waitress as she returned with my double-shot Bloody Mary and took a long sip. "I want to believe the Atlas I was with in Monaco is real and genuine. I'm just not sure that Atlas showed up in Miami this weekend."

"Okay, okay, I understand," Gemma held her hands up in surrender. "Also, how long do you need to get ready? Ideally we should leave by 2:30 to arrive in between FP3 and qualifying. I'd like to catch Cal before he heads into the garage."

Hopefully we'd be catching Cal, and Cal only.

I pulled down on the brim of my blue trucker cap. "Yeah yeah, I'll be fine, I'll be ready by then. Don't worry about me."

I already had a pair of flared jeans laid out in my hotel room and my new favorite Gucci chunky-heeled rubber slides I splurged on in my state of ankle-sprained distress last week. If I was going to show up unbothered, I had to look cute and unbothered. Spite was a great motivator.

"Worried?" Gemma scoffed. "I'm never worried when I show up somewhere with a former world surf league champ who happens to double as my best friend."

I fished around for the olives at the bottom of my glass. "Former being the key word here. We're also at a Formula 1 event, not out on some beach in San Diego chasing waves. That's not the vibe here."

"Okay, but we're going to be in the paddock. That's still a vibe, just not the one you're used to." There was a pause, and Gemma offered me a soft smile. "I'm actually kind of relieved that you're going to be with me."

The sincerity in her voice drew the same smile out of me.

I knew that while Gemma's absence on mainstream social media and overall elusiveness made it easy for her to maneuver Cal's cohort of fans and heightened speculation so far, it still helped having someone like me, who - despite recent setbacks - had better experience navigating sporting event press.

"Who needs security detail when you have me?" I scoffed, my grin widening.

Gemma's voice took on a coy undertone as she gestured to my hat. "Your hat says have a nice day. Believe it or not, we are in fact going to have a nice day."

Callahan Jane was insanely charming, and I wasn't entirely sure he knew it. It seemed to just be his default setting.

While his eyes were hidden behind mirror-lens Ray Bans, that same gigawatt smile I'd come accustomed to seeing lit his features up as he greeted and chatted with anyone and everyone that spoke to him.

He was already clad in his bright red racing overalls (not a jumpsuit, as Gemma had so pointedly corrected me), but the torso portion was unzipped and hanging around his waist to reveal a white long-sleeve undershirt, all of which only seemed to enhance the approachable casualness to him.

The VIP passes he'd gifted to Gemma and I got us through the security gate, and we weaved through a thin crowd of people with relative ease on our way to the Ferrari garage.

I glanced back over at Gemma and her unmistakably coordinated outfit. To a normal person, it just looked like a tailored black power suit edged up with a pair of Doc Martens, but the perfectly tied red ribbon in her hair was enough of an indicator. She was like the Ferrari First Lady.

Callahan intercepted us by a tall stack of tyres with JANE printed vertically in big red letters on the black, tarp-like material that wrapped them. Unsurprisingly, Gemma and Cal weren't big on PDA - just a cordial hello and a smile. Everything was subtle between the spaces and the silence.

"Nice to see you again, Savannah." Callahan greeted me with that same smile, that subtle French cadence soaring over the idle noise in the paddock. I wasn't sure why every European man I'd met insisted on calling me by my full name, but the difference in the way Callahan said it was obvious. It wasn't the way Atlas said it.

"Likewise," I offered him a grin. "Guess I can start calling you Red Overalls Guy now."

Callahan laughed, but Gemma met my joke with an eye roll, though her expression just straddled the line between amused and embarrassed. They slipped into a more technical conversation that was clearly a continuation of one they'd been having via text, and it gave me an opportunity to take in more of my surroundings. Seeing the paddock and the garages and the pit lane from afar in the grandstands was one thing, like something that still had an untouchable level of mythicality to it. Standing in it, ground level, looking up at Callahan Jane's face printed next to his name above the garage and feeling the ground rumble with the engines as heat sizzled off of the track breathed life into something that seemed like just a mythos. It was like paddling out into the ocean, finding R'lyeh and waking up Cthulhu.

While we were secluded enough by the Ferrari garage, and the only people meandering around looked like they belonged there, I couldn't help but lift myself onto my toes just slightly, leaning out into the pit lane to cast a glance at the neighboring garages. Mclaren was directly to the right, but just past that was Porsche, and then Mercedes on the end.

Among a group of guys in black Porsche team shirts, it was easy to spot Atlas even though his back was facing my general direction. His black overalls were unzipped in a similar manner that Callahan's were, his white undershirt tight across his shoulders as he spoke animatedly to a taller guy beside him with a large headset hanging around his neck. The guy shook his head at Atlas as they retreated back into the garage.

"Can you fix my ribbon? I can feel it slipping." Gemma's voice brought my attention back to our circle, but before I could outstretch a helping hand, I realized she'd been talking to Callahan, who gingerly re-tied her ribbon before letting his hand subtly graze down her back.

I exhaled a tight breath and recentered myself in my chunky heels, my feet sticking to the rubber in the late afternoon heat. Whatever moment they were sharing, I was uncomfortably intruding on it.

"I'm actually just gonna...go...over there for a minute," I said as I started to back myself out of their little half-circle. "Just want to explore a little."

Gemma and I shared a silent, knowing glance, and she pinched her lips into a thin smile. "Don't go too far, okay?"

"It's not like I'm gonna get lost," I chuckled. "Just follow the Red Polo Shirt Guys."

I spun on my heel and wove my way back through the paddock, making sure my pass was visible around my neck so the slightly disdainful expression I wore didn't make me look as out of place as I felt. I stopped by the entrance to the VIP boxes above the garages where we'd be watching qualifying and the race tomorrow. It seemed like everyone had their own business and places to be and paid me no mind, thankfully.

The paddock was its own microcosm within the entirety of the Grand Prix, with its own ecosystem of bodies and machines that didn't seem to fit in anywhere else in the world except right there. It lived and breathed and moved as a real living organism, and I'd been swallowed by it.

Bitterness rolled around inside me as I slid my sunglasses up onto my head and glanced back at Gemma and Callahan, who were now in the Ferrari garage chatting with a few other Red Polo Shirt Guys. I hated that I found myself at another race, in another distressed emotional state of being, unable to truly appreciate where I was. I could have picked anyone out from the throng of gathering fans outside of the entrances to the grandstands and they would have given appendages to be where I was. I huffed out another breath and rolled my shoulders back, reminding myself of what Gemma had said to me earlier that day. I was two-time world surf league champion Savannah Allen, and I was my own person with or without Atlas fucking Vaughn.

I was ready to make my way back to the garage when I saw him. Speak of the devil and he doth appear, in a backwards hat and big black aviators, ready-made to prove me wrong and melt me like chocolate in the sun. He walked with that same taller guy from before, headset still hanging around his neck, his dark hair and beard clean-cut and styled. When he gestured out to the track, I caught sight of some kind of script tattooed on his palm.

I slid my sunglasses back on and walked up to them with my chin up, all of my resolve poured into maintaining the most casual appearance I could muster.

"Hey," I said as I approached him. They both stopped walking, and the guy beside Atlas cast a wide-eyed glance in his direction. Atlas shifted on his feet, and if he was at all surprised to see me, he didn't show it.

Atlas waved him off and exhaled a tight breath. "I'll catch up with you in a second."

As he walked away, Atlas turned his attention back down to me, but even with sunglasses on, his vacant expression was impossible to miss. "Hey yourself."

Waves of memories from our last encounter in Miami just a few months ago came rushing back. It should have felt like a cute little deja-vu, but instead it felt more like the twilight zone. This was an entirely different part of the city than the last time we were here, and we might as well have been entirely different people.

"Look at you all dressed up," I said coyly as I gestured to his ensemble.

A faint smirk cracked his stoic facade. "Well, it is my job. You can admit you find it attractive, I won't hold it against you."

"And feed your ego?" I scoffed. "I'm surprised your helmet fits over that big head of yours."

"It's alright," he straightened up and jammed his hands into the pockets of his black overalls. "You'll change your mind when you see me secure pole position later."

I arched an eyebrow at him. "Pole position, is that like a stripper thing?"

I actually knew what pole position was now - it was the position you earned by having the fastest lap in qualifying, giving you the advantageous first spot at the front of the grid for the start of the race.

But where was the fun in letting him know that I knew? Eat your heart out, misplaced hostility.

"That's cute," he scoffed.

"Wasn't trying to be."

Atlas paused, raking his teeth along his bottom lip as he tried to unpack the tone our conversation had taken on. After another beat, he sighed. "Listen, Sav-"

"Oi!" Tall headset guy came back up to us and clapped a hand down on Atlas's shoulder. "C'mon mate, you need to look at some things."

He finally took a moment to acknowledge me, sweeping his gaze over me in a way that wasn't rude or weird. It was almost familiar, like he was trying to figure out if he'd seen me before. Finally, he squeezed Atlas's shoulder again. "He's not being too much of a prick, is he?"

Atlas frowned and shrugged the guy's hand off of him.

I barked out a laugh. "No more than usual."

"Ronnie," the guy grinned and stuck his hand out to me. "I've had the pleasure of being Atlas's engineer since he was a rookie."

"Savannah," I replied as I took his outstretched hand.

"Savannah," he echoed, and that hint of recognition I suspected came through in his voice. There was a pause, and it was only then I'd realized that we'd started to attract a few eyes. Ronnie grabbed hold of Atlas again, who squirmed under his grip. "Well, I've got to get him ready for later. Cheers, love."

Atlas and I traded one last lukewarm glance, and the uncomfortable finality of it lingered like a burn.

As they walked away, I huffed out another frustrated breath. "Yeah, cheers. Have a nice fucking day."

the winter bleeds into the spring
it carries your scent
well i'll hold you in my heart
hold you in my heart as long as i can

hard feelings / haiva ru

so for those of you who have been wondering when 'alpha atlas' was going to make an appearance, here he fucking is, and miami spans 4(!!!) chapters, so he's here to stay. more importantly, atlas's engineer ronnie is brett goldstein (who plays roy kent in the most elite show ever that is ted lasso) and while i was writing his little bits of dialogue all i heard was roy kent's voice. this is canon now, i don't make the rules.

& i do in fact have sav's "have a nice day" hat (even though it's monstrously huge on me). questions i ask myself regularly include "am i sav or is sav me?"