CALLAHAN JANE SURGES PAST ATLAS VAUGHN IN DRIVER CHAMPIONSHIP STANDINGS AFTER DISASTER HOME RACE FOR PORSCHE

A wet weekend dampened everyone's spirits at the German Grand Prix, but bad pit stops and tyre strategies weren't even the worst of it for Porsche at their home race in Hockenheim. After Jaye Lim crashed out in lap 1, the race was stopped under a red flag for almost an hour, and their ace Atlas Vaughn could not produce a podium finish, crossing the finish line at P8.

The misery had begun Saturday during a tense qualifying session, where Vaughn had a last second tussle with the Ferrari ace Jane. Heated words were exchanged between the two after the qualifying session, as both drivers believed the other to be at fault. Following the red flag restart in the race, Vaughn could not shake his issues while Jane surged ahead to snatch victory from pole sitter Mercedes' Adrian Olsen. After the race, Jane and Vaughn once again exchanged words in Parc Ferme, though much quieter than their row after qualifying. When asked about this particular conversation, Jane deployed a more measured response, while Vaughn declined to comment.

"That's between Atlas and I. I won't entertain any further speculation on it."

Formula 1 rounds out its triple-header this weekend in Austin, Texas for the electrifying United States Grand Prix, where we may see troubles continue for Vaughn as he has yet to finish a race in Austin in his Formula 1 career after infamously deciding to bow out of the race before the start in his rookie year.

I closed the article out on my phone and pressed it down into my lap. That wasn't even Daily Mail - this was halfway reputable The Spin, which was an ESPN affiliate. No matter where you looked or what news outlet favored which team, the only constant was that Atlas was portrayed as the problem. I didn't even know he'd willingly withdrawn from a race before, and that final line gnawed at me in the same way I was sure I was gnawing on my thumbnail.

I felt my dad's gaze on me as we rolled to a stop at a red light. "Do you want to talk about it?"

While I hadn't explicitly identified Atlas as my boyfriend to anyone in my immediate family, it didn't take a genius to figure out I'd been jetting all over the world the last few weeks to see a friend drive a race car at 200 MPH. But like everything else with Atlas, it was all speculation and hearsay.

"He had a bad race, there's nothing to talk about." I propped my chin up in my hand, keeping my gaze out the window as we continued down the Pacific Coast Highway. In the side view mirror, Sam had his head stuck out of the back window of my dad's truck, his tongue out and his white fur fluttering in the wind. I smiled at his reflection, and in that moment it really sunk in how neglectful I'd been of my home, and everything that came with it.

My dad dropped me and Sam off at my condo after an early dinner with him, Mikayla, and Josh, and Sam bolted up the wooden steps like he was more keen to get into his own bed than I was. It was almost 2 am in Monaco, and my body was still there.

I flicked the lights on in the living room and the kitchen, and I couldn't hold back the audible sigh of relief that came out of me when I dropped onto my red leather couch. Normally I didn't let Sam up on the couch, but I patted the cushion beside me, and he eagerly leapt up and curled himself beside me. Bed be damned, I'd sleep here tonight.

I fired off a quick text to Atlas just letting him know I was home. I figured he'd already be asleep, but he responded immediately.

ATLAS VAUGHN 🖤: ok good.

SAVANNAH ALLEN: omg, go to bed

ATLAS VAUGHN 🖤: wasn't going to sleep until i heard from you xx

I smiled to myself and held my phone to my chest. I couldn't understand why he hid this part of himself from everyone else - the good part - like he was worried even a little bit of brightness would taint the shadowy persona he had. Most people were scared of the dark, but Atlas Vaughn was afraid of the light.

Even when I was little, I was inexplicably drawn to the anti-hero. I'd sit and watch Saturday morning anime and 11 year old me would marvel at the likes of Kai Hiwatari and Seto Kaiba and Spike Spiegel. They weren't bad, and always had a depth and an edge to them that was far more enthralling than any hero.

I guess I never really lost a taste for that. 

I willed myself to get up that Tuesday morning knowing I'd only have two days in the water here before jetting off again for Austin. I tried not to let that thought of Atlas having supposed demons on that racetrack, but it rolled around in me as I sloshed on the waves. It was eerily empty out on the water as thick clouds cast a gray sheen on the ocean.

Despite all of the traveling I'd been doing, I felt physically better than I had been in months, but guppies could have caught cleaner waves than me out there. Tahiti was the final stop on the championship tour before the finals in San Clemente, and while I sat comfortably at #3 in the current rankings, I needed at least a semi-finals appearance in Tahiti to ensure I had a spot in the final five at Lower Trestles.

Teahupo'o, also known as the Altar of Skulls, was a high risk, high octane wave that produced barrels you'd never see anywhere else in the world. It wasn't a technical wave like out here in California. It was a pure survival wave.

So while I couldn't necessarily practice those kinds of barrels out here, breath work was equally as important with big waves. Everything about Teahupo'o was tricky (to the point where there wasn't even a beach or staging area - you got prepped on a boat in the channel), which was why your breath and heart work could legitimately save your life out there.

"You're still distracted."

Malia's voice came over me, but I kept my eyes closed as I sat cross-legged on my towel.

"I'm not," I insisted.

I felt her sit down in front of me and finally opened my eyes. She reached over and pressed her hands down on my shoulder. "If your shoulders were any higher up, you'd have no neck. You're too tense."

I balled my fists up as I pressed them down into my knees. After a few moments of purposeful tension, I exhaled a heavy, audible breath. I counted to five and did the same thing again, and then again. It was a technique I was taught to reduce tension by purposefully acknowledging the tension, and then letting it go.

The problem was, I didn't have any physical tension.

"Do it again," Malia instructed.

"I'm trying, okay," I snapped. "I'm...I'm trying."

Malia rose to her feet with a sigh. "Look Sav, I'm not going to get on your case about how unsettled you look right now, because it's something you clearly need to work out on your own. All I'm going to tell you is whatever's going on, you need to have it figured out before we leave for Tahiti. You may feel comfortable with the rankings right now, but I can promise you, you will not feel comfortable out there. That place is designed to make you uncomfortable."

I glanced down at my hands, running my finger along my old braided rope bracelet. "I understand."

"Do you?" she arched her eyebrow at me, and when I wouldn't look back up at her, she relinquished another sigh. "Savannah, I just really need you to think about where your priorities are right now. Jetting off with your friends, dating some smug asshole-"

"He's not an asshole," I snapped, forcing my gaze up to her. "He's not. At all. So don't say that."

"Okay, okay," Malia held her hands up in surrender. "Sav, you've worked your ass off to get back to where you are right now. Whatever he is, and whatever else is going on, is it really worth more than that?"

I moved to formulate some kind of response, but she stopped me.

"You don't need to tell me. You need to figure it out for yourself."

After I got home that morning, I sat on the floor of my living room and stretched, but no matter how I'd contorted myself, the knot in my chest remained, like I'd swallowed a tight little ball of everything sour from this past weekend. Was I letting everything with Atlas supersede my own goals? Had I given in to the very thing that I told myself I'd never do?

You go down a hero, or live long enough to see yourself become the anti-hero. Or something like that.

I turned my phone over in my hand as I contemplated calling Gemma. We hadn't spoken since we went our separate ways in the elevator bay in Germany, and there was a guilt from that too, growing like a weed through a crack in the sidewalk. But I also knew I had to let her come to me on her terms. Besides, I wasn't entirely sure she would give me the answers I was looking for here.

I hovered over Callahan Jane's number in my WhatsApp contacts. We'd traded numbers when we were in the Alps for necessary mountain time correspondence. I just never thought I'd be reaching out to him instead of Gemma. I swallowed the guilt, the pride, the whatever else unknown was swirling inside of me and hit call. He answered almost immediately.

"Bonsoir, mon ami."

After actually hearing his voice, I realized there was guilt there too. More weeds I had to pull from the cracks.

"Bonsoir Cal," I replied, fidgeting with the tassels on the pillow I sat on. "Is, uh...is Gemma there?"

"She's here in Monaco, but she's out right now. Do you need her?"

I bit down on my lip. "No, I actually want to talk to you."

"Oh, well of course."

I heard the smile in his voice, and put a smile on me too. "Well, I just wanted to say congrats again for the win this weekend. I...I don't want you to think I feel some type of way about what happened. You really are my friend, and I'm happy for you."

"I don't, and I know."

I rolled my next words around in my mouth, and Callahan quickly caught onto the silence. Perceptive, as I expected from him at this point.

"That's not all."

It was a calmly confident statement, not a question. Gemma had really been rubbing off on him, and I couldn't help but smirk.

"So...I know I shouldn't read into these things to begin with, but I was skimming a Deadspin article from this weekend. It just seemed like a more reputable thing than Daily Mail or whatever other vultures come for us, and...at the end it mentioned something about your rookie year in Austin."

"Austin is special for me, I had my first podium there as a rookie."

"What about Atlas?" I blurted out, unable to hold it on my tongue any longer.

There was a measured pause that came loud through the airwaves.

"He didn't race on Sunday."

"Yeah, that's what the article said."

Callahan took another measured pause, but what followed wasn't what I was expecting.

"You know Savannah, knowing what questions not to ask is usually just as important as the ones you need to. I never asked Atlas about what happened, but...that was a decision I made because I guess I just knew it was the right call. I think you'll know what the right call is for this."

Something began to unravel in my chest, and out of it came a relieved sigh. "You are so wise, Callahan Jane. Thank you."

"Tu es mon bon ami, Savannah. I'll see you in Austin."

I knew I wasn't in clean air yet, but there was some kind of hope that I'd leave Austin this weekend with more clarity than I had right now, and that was all I could have asked for. I'd then make it to Tahiti unscathed, unbothered, and maybe just slightly unhinged enough to pull out a win. Maybe even with Atlas by my side. 

i'll stare directly at the sun but never in the mirror
it must be exhausting always rooting for the anti-hero

anti-hero / taylor swift

this chapter happened in about 3 hours from conception to completion because i'm stalling and in need of an emotional filler before we go to austin. it's fine, we're fine. 

big shoutout midnights for inspiring this one, and w1ldflow3r for the gift of callahan the wise

& yes, we do love anti-heroes in this house (bad boy billionaires wish they were seto kaiba ok)