You'd think I'd be used to pre-qualifying paddock chaos by now, but everything changes when it rains. While it was nothing more than a drizzle for now, the forecast was grim for the whole weekend. Even at a little past noon, there was a gray sheen over everything, and the mid November air was biting.

Though it wasn't openly discussed in the garage, everything also changes when it's a team's home race, which was here in Germany for Porsche. The special icy white livery and kits in lieu of their usual all-black ones were enough evidence of that, their jumpsuits and shirts accented with red and yellow with a larger than normal Porsche crest at the back, emblazoned with gold, red, and black.

We huddled under a red Ferrari umbrella in front of Callahan's garage, watching Red Polo Shirt guys dart back and forth between raindrops from the garage to the pitwall.

I inched closer to Gemma under the umbrella as a photographer with a pit lane pass dangling around their neck snapped a photo of us. It seemed like overnight our friendship had become an internet phenomenon, and while I was appreciative that most of my newfound social media attention had been positive, grappling with being known as Atlas Vaughn's Girlfriend instead of Pro Surfer Savannah Allen was an unusual kind of discomfort that I wasn't used to. At least we were touted as the most fashionable girlfriends in the paddock.

"I'm not built for the cold," I groaned as I folded my arms tightly over my chest.

"I told you to buy a warmer jacket," Gemma replied as she gave me an offhanded shrug.

I snorted. "Well, we can't all look as chic as you do in a damn trench coat."

"It's a belted shirt jacket. Vegan leather."

"Oh, whatever," I waved her off. "You're the only person I know who looks good in any of that."

Gemma and I kept it mostly neutral in our monochrome fits so we wouldn't look out of place in either garage, though her longer black leather coat was clearly a bit more appropriate for the dreary weather than my black leather moto jacket. I'd run out of sensible clothes for the quickly dropping temperatures and needed to go shopping in London in between coming back from France and leaving for Germany, and as usual, I'd forgone substance for style.

I let out a sigh as I leaned my head on Gemma's shoulder. I hadn't touched ocean, seen my family or my dog since before Halloween, and I was fucking exhausted.

But seeing Atlas in all white, bright and almost angelic against the gray haze as he joined us in front of Callahan's garage reminded me why being fucking exhausted was worth it. Raindrops dotted his slicked back hair like little crystals and his white streak exceptionally white, as if it knew it had to show up to match the livery. 

He gave Gemma a cordial nod before I jumped from the Ferrari umbrella to the Porsche one Atlas held over me.

"Vaughn," Callahan's voice joined our circle as he stepped beside Gemma with his own Ferrari umbrella, opting for a red beanie as licks of his dark brown hair curled out from underneath it. "Don't touch anything. Wouldn't want you to get another fine."

Atlas kept his expression stone. "Guess it's a good thing I can afford it."

Gemma and I shot each other wary glances just as the rain began to come down with a little more force, and Atlas led me away towards the Porsche garage.

Whatever friendship Atlas and Callahan had, it had been left in the French Alps, and the chilly air wasn't the only thing that bit. The claws were out, and the storm was only just beginning.

Gemma and I weren't sitting together, and even though the only thing that really separated us was a concrete wall between the garages, with all the noise and all the rain and wind, it felt like miles.

Adrian Olsen was currently slotted into provisional pole with his Mercedes, and with time quickly expiring in Q3, Callahan and Atlas were on the hunt, sitting in P5 and P6 respectively. The rain had become almost unmanageable, and both drivers were having tyre troubles as they slipped and slid during their laps, sticking them further down the grid.

I had no one to grab onto this time, only able to clutch my phone tightly in my hand while I watched the clock on the timing screen tick down like a time bomb. As long as Atlas could get to the start-finish line before time expired, he could go for one last flying lap and hopefully a better grid position.

"Alright mate, 20 seconds left, just get up to the line and you're in the clear," came Ronnie's voice over the radio.

"It's greasy as *bleep* out here," Atlas retorted, and I could practically hear him gritting his teeth. "I've been sliding all over the place, I've got no *bleep* grip."

"Just push mate, you've got one last go. Jane's up ahead - if you get past him, you're in clean air for your flying lap."

Up on the screen, they narrowed in on Atlas coming up to Callahan, the Ferrari going intentionally slow coming around a sharp turn, and I felt my grip on my phone tighten.  

I thought about texting Gemma asking if Callahan could even do that, but I knew him well enough by now to know that he knew could, and do it well enough to just put Atlas's temper over the edge in hopes of forcing him into a mistake. Callahan didn't normally strike me as a if I burn you burn type, but friendships were scorched on the race track, and they say nobody knows you better than your rivals do. Callahan would be the only person who could pull this off with Atlas. That strategic little fucker.

"Is he a *bleep* idiot?" Atlas came back on the radio. "He's gonna *bleep* us both if we can't get to the line."

There was fire in Atlas's voice, and I foresaw disaster before it actually happened.

Atlas gunned it the moment he hit the apex of the curve, trying to skirt around the outside of Callahan's car, and in a split second the Ferrari nudged over just enough to make Atlas slam on the brakes, sending smoke and rain coming off the tyres. My heart jumped into my throat as Atlas slowed from the blow to his tyres, but Callahan wasn't safe either as his little maneuver took him just off the racing line enough to put him on wet track and cause the back of his car to slip out. While they didn't actually collide, it was still nothing short of fucking disaster.

The session clock dropped to zero before either driver could drag their car to the line, and the Porsche garage erupted in frustration. I was sure the Ferrari garage was the same.

With shaking hands I checked my phone to see Gemma had already texted me.

GEMMA FROST: meet me outside

I slipped through the chaos and stumbled out into the rain, where Gemma was waiting with her jacket pulled tightly across her chest. Umbrellas were just collateral at this point, and so were any words Gemma and I could give each other as we prepped for damage control, grabbing each other's hands as we jogged over towards parc ferme, where all of the cars pulled in after qualifying to get checked and weighed.

I didn't even need to see Atlas to know how fuming he was - I could practically smell the smoke from the end of the pit lane.

By the time we got there, Callahan was waving off a Red Polo Shirt Guy with an umbrella, still with his helmet on as he and Atlas found each other in front of their cars like raging, fuming magnets.

"Was that your genius idea to come up on me like that?" came Callahan's voice first, sharp and firm in a way I'd never heard before. "This wasn't the god damn race, we would have both made it to the line in time."

"Oh come off it, you know that's bullshit!" Atlas retorted. "You want to fuck around fine, but don't take me with you!"

The seething was so loud I was sure everyone in the paddock heard it, even if the words themselves weren't clear to anyone else but Gemma and I, clutching onto each other as we watched it unfold in front of us.

"Fucking around has always been the lone wolf's job, no?"

I no longer smelled just smoke - I smelled raging, burning fire.

"You see that?" Atlas pointed over Callahan's shoulder towards the track. "Over there, beyond the parabolika, that's where you can go fuck yourself."

The boys finally stomped away from each other (and not without a little pleading and pulling from their respective team members), leaving Gemma and I to stand among the other onlookers that gathered, from other drivers to mechanics to members of the media.

"We should go," came Gemma's measured voice.

I gave her a shaky nod as I held onto the slippery material of her jacket sleeve. We hadn't made it far before Gemma snapped her gaze up.

"Incoming Daily Mail weasel."

I followed her line of sight just in time to see Ronn Kota, and before we could perform any evasive maneuvers, he casually stepped in front of us.

"Shit, what do we do?" I whispered to Gemma behind gritted teeth, but I knew it was too late when he offered us a slimy smirk.

"Ah the best dressed in the paddock," he nodded at us. "I have a few questions that our readers are already dying to hear your respective answers."

Gemma and I shared a wary glance, but Ronn Kota took our silence as a means to continue.

"Did you have a nice time on your little ski trip?"

I leaned into Gemma and pinched her elbow, silently letting her know I was defaulting to her diplomacy on this one. If it was up to me, diplomacy would have also been left over there beyond the parabolika.

"Sure," Gemma nodded with a thin smile, and I echoed her nod.

Ronn Kota looked down at his phone, where through a few rogue raindrops I was able to catch a recording on his screen. "It was a very interesting end to qualifying...let's play devil's advocate with Jane and say he isn't to blame."

Apprehension crackled between us as the rain continued to come down.

"No need to play devil's advocate," Gemma shook her head. "It's not applicable here."

Ronn Kota smirked. "Ah, so your boyfriend isn't to blame."

"Blame is a strong word," Gemma replied, her tone still as even as ever. "I won't speak for Callahan, but I don't believe he was in the wrong."

It wasn't the words Gemma said that caught me off, but it was the confidence with which she said them. Confidence I wasn't sure I could vocally give for Atlas, especially given his reputation.

As if he could smell the uncertainty on me, Ronn Kota made a deliberate turn to face me directly, waiting with baited breath for my rebuttal. Under his gaze, I felt myself stand up taller, realizing I was not about to allow this little weasel in his ugly round glasses to think he could force my hand to expose things about Atlas for journalistic fodder. Even if it made me look like the bitchy girlfriend, I knew Atlas past the Alpha persona, and everyone's instinct - including Ronn Kota's - to place blame on him was wildly uncool. So, I decided at that moment I'd rather be the bitchy girlfriend if it meant straightening some things out.

"Atlas wouldn't intentionally drive dangerously, despite what some people may think," was something I knew I could say confidently, and that got him to shrink a little in his cheap sneakers. I forced out a chuckle. "I know I'm newer to all of this, but I also know there is such a thing as a racing incident."

"Now, if I may-"

"Our car is waiting," Gemma interrupted, entirely unsympathetic. "Stay dry." 

Gemma turned to leave, and I followed her lead. Rota Kota scowled, but masked it quickly.

As we walked away, I felt inclined to pour salt in his wounds, and I called over my shoulder to him, "Enjoy the race tomorrow!"

I added a wave for good measure.

Gemma and I made it through the thinning but still chaotic paddock, leaving Atlas and Callahan behind to cool off and get their potentially painful debriefs from the team. As we made our way towards the SUV waiting for us, I realized the people lingering at the edge of the circuit and waiting to catch a glimpse or two of their favorite drivers were also waiting for us, taking stock in our presence and our vibes. 

Never in my life did I think I'd need to implement evasive maneuvers from fans of any kind, even at my peak in surfing. But these weren't my fans, were they? It was all only by extension from Atlas.

One girl even went so far as to ask for a selfie with us when we were already in the car, but Gemma and I offered her a small smile for her picture as she leaned towards our open window with her phone. I didn't need to see the picture to know how fake I must have looked, but I was telling myself I was just doing what I needed to do.

I dared to break the silence when I knew we no longer had to watch what we said, for fear of anything getting taken out of context or misconstrued. "Thanks for handling that. I'm not entirely sure I could have done that on my own."

Gemma was unfazed. "Oh, please. You could handle Ronn Kota in your sleep."

My instinctive need to defend people I cared about was what handled Ronn Kota just now, but I hadn't thought twice about how it would settle between Gemma and I. Now that we glided away from the circuit, rain still streaming down the windows, I was starting to go over it in my head.

I blew out a breath before I spoke again. "I know Ronn Kota caught us a little off guard, but are we in disagreement about what actually just happened?"

"It's not our disagreement," Gemma replied. "I only really disagree with Atlas telling the world that Callahan is an idiot."

"I know he didn't mean that," I blurted out - again, instinctively on the defense. "Cal is Atlas's emotional support rival."

"Well for the sake of keeping his emotional support rival, he's going to need to publicly recant."

I figured she could have been half-joking, but the residual unease that sat in me overtook that better sense as my voice dropped. "That's not really Atlas's style."

"Okay," Gemma dragged out the word. "I'm not interested in Atlas's style, or whatever he said on the radio."

The weight of her words pushed me back into the plush leather seat of the car, and I blew out another breath. "You know I didn't mean any of it like that. I just...I know how this is going to be perceived to people outside of the paddock. Atlas is villanised in every misstep, especially when it comes to Cal."

"Well I'm not people outside of the paddock," Gemma said with a flick of her wrist. "You're not his press secretary - it's not your job to justify everything he says and does."

"We can't all have a Callahan, Gemma." My voice softened, and I realized if I didn't just come out and say what I really wanted to say, it would get swallowed up in the swirling storm outside. Despite whatever just happened on the track, I still owed it to Cal. "You know, he thinks the world of you. You don't need to keep him in the dark with things."

Her shoulders dropped a bit, along with her voice. "And you."

She might have meant it as a question, but it didn't sound like one.

"Yeah, actually."

"This is about Austin."

Now that the realization had set in, that was undoubtedly a statement.

"My life isn't mapped out like a race or championship tour calendar. Sometimes, I'm in the dark, and the stars just don't align." She took a beat. "I don't want or need to broadcast every potential event, especially if it falls through."

I looked down into my hands as I processed Gemma's words. Almost everyone in Gemma's life had a disciplined order and structure because of our career choice - we might have a bad race or event, but it doesn't come with such a level of pure uncertainty. There were just natural ups and downs, and that was to be expected - but she didn't have that. She was still looking for solid ground, ups and downs be damned. 

"Let me rephrase what I said before," I spoke up. "We think the world of you, and we'll set that world back on its axis whenever we need to. I know I speak for Cal when I say that."

"He thinks he's somehow holding me back." There was a softness to her voice that could have almost been mistaken for a bit of fear or apprehension. "That one day I'm going to wake up and resent him because our dreams look different. Mine doesn't come with a trophy or multiple Richard Millie watches - which is...fine. He's not holding me back, though. I just don't know if he believes me."

"No matter what kind of persona they show the world, everyone has insecurities." I took my own measured pause, willing up the words in my throat to battle that exact kind of insecurity. "Like, nobody understands that better than me, Gem. You watched me having a borderline nervous breakdown watching Atlas get a trophy. But you know what? Resentment festers in the dark, and you can't keep Cal there. You just need to talk to him. Having that type of conversation might be difficult, but the best things in life aren't easy."

"Thank you for your wisdom, you ray of sunshine. Maybe we should go back to sitting together, it's obviously way more fun to have you grabbing onto me at least once each lap. I'll brave the Porsche garage next, and we'll switch back and forth."

"Like children of feuding parents trying to make the holidays fair," I added with a chuckle.

"It's their on-track feud," Gemma said, adding a sly little smile at the end. "Let's not forget them sharing a snow-tube in the French Alps."

I snickered into my hand, and my heart finally settled. The tail end of Chasing Cars by Snow Patrol came softly flitting into the back seat, and knowing it was one of Gemma's favorite songs, I slid a glance in her direction, and we both allowed ourselves the moment.

Just know that these things will never change for us at all

If I lay here, if I just lay here

Would you lie with me and just forget the world?

so fun fact this chapter was planned and added to the story about a week ago when me and w1ldflow3r realized there were no more full race chapters AND we wanted more samma time, so the germany race was born, and it was written in true FLP in about 2 hours. these chapters were named after a lovely book i read a long time ago called the art of racing in the rain, about a dog named enzo and his owner who aspired to be a race car driver. it felt right. <3