Chapter Four

I met Charlie Yang during Joshua's first season of F1, the summer I turned seventeen.

I'd known of him long before then, of course. Through karting, then his F1 entry, and then eventually as the grid's biggest heartthrob-slash-party boy. The face of a century, the fans always said.

The rivalry on track was immediate between him and my brother. But off track they grew close, their competitiveness forming a brotherly bond. That particular summer, Charlie joined us at our family's vacation home for the break—our first collision.

We were photographed in town one morning, getting bread and fresh fruit for breakfast. The pictures had circulated wildly on the internet, tabloids buzzing at the possibility of the nineteen-year-old star being linked to racing legend Joohyun Park's daughter.

It was only a rumor, of course. That was all we ever were. But that was our beginning, the catalyst to our twined histories—weekends at the club, late nights on their apartment rooftops, summer trips to the villa. We were inseparable—all three of us—and then nothing at all.

Now, I could only look at this familiar stranger, and gulp down my wine, all words lost on me in my surprise. I'd been hugging the open bar since I'd arrived, but now I could recognize what a mistake that had been. I was tipsy, head in a bubble, and not quite as immune to the sight of Charlie in a suit as I would have liked to be.

He was handsome as ever, clean-shaven, cutting a perfect figure in his suit jacket, tie laid perfectly against his white button up. Leaning up against the bar counter, he tilted his head, eyes glinting under the low light as he said, "I like your dress."

"It's a gown. But thank you." My favorite one actually, silk and a deep plum violet, with a plunging open back and thin straps that didn't match the weather. It was probably the most beautiful thing I owned. I'd anticipated wearing it all week. Now, I just felt exposed, drunk and pinned under Charlie's brown-eyed stare like a specimen. "What are you doing here?"

A soft smile darted across his features. "At the bar?"

"No," I replied, slowly, like he was stupid. "What are you doing here, at this event?"

"Ethan Kim invited me. Husband of the host." He jutted his chin in the direction of my traitorous best friend and her husband. "I've been playing squash with him in the mornings."

I forced a smile. "So I've heard."

"I see. And am I often a topic of conversation?"

"No. Yeona just said you're not very good."

"Miserable, really. Then again, it's not my sport." He reached past me to flag down the bartender. "Want another drink?"

Finishing off my wine, I shook my head. "I'm good. Go throw some money at one of the fundraising ladies over there or something."

"I don't want to talk to them." He said it plainly, even though it was rude, and the bartender totally heard him, casting a quick look in his direction as he slid a glass of whiskey across the counter. "Besides, I already wrote a check."

"Of course you did."

I needed to walk away. Needed to keep myself on the Charlie Yang in the rearview track I'd put myself on. But my feet didn't move. Wouldn't. I was stuck, growing ever closer to being dragged into his undertow. The excess wine on an empty stomach wasn't helping either, the constant thought of Charlie-is-so-handsome-like-sooooo-handsome running through my mind in one brainless loop.

"You're staring." Charlie's voice cut through my inner dialogue. Matter of fact. Annoying. At least he wasn't smiling. He brought his glass to his lips and took a long drink, brown eyes on me the entire time. "If you have something to say, just spit it out."

I grappled for a sentence. Landed on, "What are you doing here?"

"We already covered that."

"No-why are you talking to me?"

His jaw flexed. "That never used to be a problem with you."

At this, I waved a hand, turning on my heel and stalking away. Charlie had always had such a talent for being purposefully obtuse. Years ago, that had been funny. Watching my brother's face go purple when they argued. Cackling at his coldly stubborn press interviews after a particularly bad race. And with me, the irritation always sparked at something deeper, like a flame coming alive under oxygen.

Now, it was just one more thing to resent him for.

I sought refuge on the second-floor balcony, bumming a cigarette off a shit-faced French guy and tucking myself against the wall to smoke. The winter air was just about as unforgiving as I had imagined, biting against my exposed shoulders and piercing through the fabric of my gown.

Anything was better than inside, though.

Some time passed before Charlie predictably emerged through the double doors, hands in his pockets. He joined me against the wall wordlessly, gesturing towards my cigarette, which had gone out under the breeze and my absentmindedness. Leaning forward, I allowed him to relight it with the lighter he produced, trying not to look at him as we stood in each other's space, his hand cupped against the wind, fingertips on my cheek and our knees bumping just a little.

"Thanks," I said when we stepped apart, turning my head to blow smoke out into the night, "but I really don't need a babysitter."

"Did it ever occur to you that maybe I just don't want to be in there either?"

"Nope." I took another long drag. The weight of his unwavering stare was settling heavy on me, but I didn't have it in me to meet his gaze. Still too drunk and off-kilter. "You've always been a party guy, Yang."

He laughed. "Not this kind of party. It's stuffy as fuck. And, anyway, you used to love a party, too. People change, you know."

Did I ever. My sarcastic reply was lost on me, though, as he reached over and plucked my cigarette from my lips. He took one shallow pull, then flicked it over the balcony railing, leaving it victim to the wind. "Those things will kill you, you know," he said then, smoke leaking from the corners of his mouth with the words. "And they stink."

"Who cares? It's just a drunk thing anyway. And don't act like you're a saint, either. You're the one with the lighter." With my distraction gone, I had no choice but to slump against the wall, arms crossed over my chest, and Not Look at Charlie. "You know, a gentleman would've offered me his jacket by now."

"Didn't think you'd want it." I could practically feel his eye roll.

"Why wouldn't I want it? It's a coat. And I'm freezing."

A sigh. He shrugged off his suit jacket and draped it over my shoulders. "Happy?"

"You've really gone downhill since I last knew you."

"Sorry, I guess I'm just not well versed in how to treat someone who hates me."

My eyes flicked to his. He was pulling at his tie, clearly irritated, loosening it centimeter by centimeter with each tug. "I don't hate you, Charlie."

"Wouldn't blame you if you did." His face was impassive.

"But I don't. I just...can't be around you."

"Why not? Because I'm working with your father?"

"No."

"Then why?" He was like a dog with a bone. "What is it?"

I pushed myself off the wall, crossing the expanse of the balcony to lean against the railing. Staring hard out into the night's abyss, the wind stinging my eyes, I could only shrug. "I just can't, okay? You were such a big part of my life, and then you left, and now you're back but I don't know who you are. We're strangers. And it's weird."

"We don't have to be strangers, June. Just talk to me."

"I am."

"No." He joined me at the railing, grasping my wrists like a plea, squeezing me firmly but gently. "I mean talk to me. About something real. That's not racing or your father or any of the rest of it. Something else. Literally anything. Whatever the hell is going on in your head, I want to know."

I stared at his hands, frozen. It was the first time we'd really come into contact in years. Warmth spread across my skin beneath his touch, whether from time or the familiarity, it was hard to tell. I gulped down the lump in my throat to say, "My head's a mess, Yang. Four glasses of wine and you want me to make sense of it?"

"Not the first time I've had to hear a drunk speech from you."

"Had? No one's forcing you."

My head was spinning. If not from the drinking, then certainly from the way Charlie was looking at me. His brown eyes dark under the moonlight, serious but hopeful. Like he couldn't believe that I was standing in front of him right now. Letting him speak.

Releasing me from his grip, he leaned back a fraction. "Just tell me one thing, June."

I racked my brain for something simple. Something small and insignificant, that wouldn't leave me turning my whole being inside out for this man—something I felt as though I were already on the precipice of doing, all the unspoken history of the last seven years building up against my lips, ready to come tumbling out. "I stopped playing the cello," was what I settled on finally, glancing away. "But I miss it."

"Why?" he asked, the word soft.

"Why do I miss it?"

"Why'd you stop?"

My shoulders lifted in a shrug. "Zero passion, I guess? I don't know. Just kind of lost the love for it." Something unreadable darted across his face when I snuck a look at him. I frowned. "What is it?"

"Nothing," he replied, expression shuttering. "I just understand you a little, I suppose."

"Understand me how?" The words slipped from me of their own accord. Blame it on the alcohol. Or his nearness. When he hesitated, I gave him a small nudge, adding, "Come on. I thought we were having a real talk. It's your turn to share."

Charlie was suddenly a million miles away. I could see him shutting down, closing in on himself, forcing me out. Just when I thought we might get somewhere. After a long beat, he just shook his head and said, "I don't know how to explain it."

"Man of mystery," I replied drily. Slipping his jacket from my shoulders, I passed it back to him and moved to leave. "Thanks for the invigorating chat but I should probably go back inside."

"Wait. June." He reached for me and pulled me back, right into his orbit once more. "I was being serious. It's not just something I can explain away in a few sentences. Besides, my life is cars. And you've made it clear yours isn't anymore. I won't make you listen to me talk about something you hate."

Heat raced up my arm where he grasped me, blooming across my skin like an invisible flush. His fingers were gentle, and I could have removed myself from his grip with ease, but I stayed there, swaying in the bitter cold, unable to leave. "Again," I said softly, "hate is not quite the word that I would use."

"How about strongly dislike?" A small smile played across his lips. Still, he didn't release me, and still I didn't step away. "Can I drive you home later?" he asked after a beat.

"Only if you tell me a secret."

"I'll tell you in the car."

A compromise. Now, I tugged from his reach, turning to the double doors and the party that buzzed inside. "If you want to dance later," I said over my shoulder, my drunk mouth still with a mind of its own, "I'm sure I could be persuaded. Just come find me."

"Always do," he replied.

Music hit my ears just as he spoke, leaving me unsure if that was really what he said. Before I could ask, someone called my name, then called it again, sounding closer. Casting one last look at Charlie in the moonlight, I made my choice, turning and stepping into the fray, allowing the crowd to swallow me up, leaving him behind me.

"June, I love you, but I think you should lay off the wine."

My best friend collapsed in the seat beside me, promptly kicking off her heels to rub her feet. I pulled my gaze from the couples on the dance floor to shoot her an unimpressed look. "You tricked me into coming here under the guise of charity. Just to invite Charlie Yang behind my back."

Yeona rolled her eyes. "Technically, I didn't do anything. That was all Ethan. And besides, you guys snuck off to the balcony all on your own. That had nothing to do with me."

"We weren't sneaking." I finished off the contents of my glass and, although I would have liked to order another just to spite my friend, she was right. I was drunk drunk now. Vision a little blurry. Head spinning. The last guy I'd danced with had been subjected to my stilettos on his toes the whole time.

The nerves were getting to me, though. I'd hidden in the bathroom during the auction for my paintings, then clung to the bar until the alcohol had left me with no other option except to socialize. Here and there, I would get a glimpse of Charlie in the crowd, someone always at his side in deep, serious conversation.

He'd seemingly disappeared altogether about an hour ago. Not that I'd necessarily been looking. It didn't matter anyway. At this point, I was a danger to anyone dancing and had remained glued to my seat for the last half hour.

Now, I turned to Yeona, who was wincing as she slipped her shoes back on, and said, "I'm probably going to go soon. But the event was perfect. And I'm not just saying that because of the open bar."

She laughed. "I'm sure it benefits your opinion of the whole night, though."

"That and you didn't invite my dad."

"Please, I'd never invite that prick." Her eyes flicked to someone over my shoulder, and she straightened, jutting her chin out as she said, "You sober?"

Turning, I found Charlie behind me, hands in his pockets as he looked on with tired eyes. He offered Yeona a soft smile at her words and gave a short nod. "Yes, I am sober." His gaze flicked to me. "You ready to go?"

"I guess." I stood, reaching for my best friend to give her a tight squeeze. "Your night was perfect," I told her again. "Thanks for forcing me out of the house."

"Someone had to." She offered me one last smile, then to Charlie added, "Drive safe, yeah? Don't speed."

"Why not? I'm a professional." His grin grew at the look on her face. "But don't worry. I'll mind the speed signs."

Gesturing for me to lead the way, the two of us wound around the empty chairs and tables towards the exit. The feeling of a coat being draped over my shoulders startled me as I stepped through the front doors. Charlie drawled, "I assume you drank yourself a jacket with all the wine you had, but I couldn't possibly handle you insinuating that I'm not a gentleman again."

He wasn't wrong. My world was still spinning as we spoke, and I could barely feel the bite of winter air against my skin. Still, I pulled his coat all the way on, slipping my arms into the sleeves as we descended the stairs. "Thanks."

We didn't speak another word to each other until we were in the car. I tucked myself into the passenger seat with my head down while Charlie tipped the valet, trying to ignore the flash of the camera off to my left and the fact that I could see three separate people standing on the sidewalk with their phones pointed in our direction. It wasn't like it was a foreign thing—I'd spent years of my life living this way. Loving it on occasion, even. But that was back when I'd been the girl everyone had wanted to be. No one envied me now.

Now, there were just rumors. Rumors and the pervasive invasions of privacy—the start marked by the day my brother died. You were, after all, much more interesting once something bad had happened to you. People just cared less until then.

"Let's get the fuck out of here," Charlie said to me as he shut himself in the car. He glanced at me as we pulled onto the road, frowning. "You look like you're gonna hurl."

I rubbed my temples, glancing out the window as the streetlights blurred. He was definitely speeding. Not that I minded. Cracking the window a little, I let the cold air in, relishing in the way it rushed across my skin. "I had a lot of wine."

"Okay, well no pressure, but if you puke, it would be super ideal if you could do it out the window."

"Yes, yes. We get it. Your car is just so fancy and expensive. I wouldn't dare get a mark on it." I leaned my head back and shut my eyes, trying to ignore the way the world still seemed to spin against the darkness. "You still owe me a secret, Yang. I haven't forgotten."

He let out a low laugh. "Is there something specific that you would like to know?"

"Sure. Why are you working with my father?" The words were drunk, slipping quickly from my lips without much of a thought. Gone was the ability to act as if I didn't really care the reasons.

"Well, contrary to what you might believe, I didn't do it to hurt you. Or to disrespect Josh's memory. I would never do that. I just—it really is complicated, June. And not in a I-don't-think-you-understand-cars way. It just is. Complicated, I mean."

I cracked an eye open to glance at him. "Can you at least try to explain?"

"The short version?" He ran a frustrated hand through his hair. "Helios was not going to sign me for the upcoming season. Morini was my last chance at a seat. I was a desperate man. Am a desperate man. Racing is my life. I don't know who I'd be without it."

"But you were world champion last season. You drove well."

"And I put the car into the wall too many times anyway. You've seen the tabloids, June. Don't act like it's a surprise. I'm a PR nightmare. I've been partying like a fool, driving like an idiot, and barely scraped by to show why I deserve to be where I am. Helios didn't want me anymore. Morini had a strong car last year, and although I would have preferred to move to Auden, this was the last chance I had."

A soft laugh escaped me and, shaking my head, I looked back out the window. "You're such a prick, Yang."

"God, I know."

"About to lose your job and you're still picky with a foot out the door." My smile grew. I shook my head again. "Do you ever feel ashamed? Being so audacious?"

It was his turn to grin. "Audacious," he repeated.

"It means—"

"I know what it means, dickhead. It's just funny. You're so pretentious-speak sometimes."

"It's the wine." Turning, I looked at him head on. He was so handsome (again, the wine speaking), in a familiar way that made my heart ache. His dark hair fell across his forehead, its neatness for the event undone by the wind and the careless hand he always ran through it. Even in the moonlight, I could see the faint scar on his upper lip—a mark I'd stared at a million times up close. I squirmed a little in my chair, uncomfortable by the way everything suddenly felt so intimate, the walls of the car closing in on us, shrinking us ever closer as the seconds ticked by.

He broke the silence to say for the second time that night, "You're staring."

"And? People stare at you all the time."

"Well, maybe I don't like it."

I sighed. Reaching down, I undid the straps on my stilettos, kicking them off to set my feet on the dash. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see his jaw twitch, the only indication of his annoyance. "It never used to bother you."

"And you never used to hide during parties. What's changed?"

"You mean besides having a dead brother?" Silence. Apparently, he wasn't in the mood for morbid jokes. I blew out a breath and looked away. "I just hate the attention these days. Is that a crime?"

"No," he replied levelly. "And neither is being stared at."

Fair enough. I pretended to be preoccupied with examining my nails as I said offhandedly, "Can't believe I used to be the girl who took pictures in Charlie Yang's race helmet and a bikini."

He snorted at the memory. It was the photo that broke the internet during the summer before it all changed. Me standing in the passenger seat of Charlie's sports convertible, his home race helmet on, clad in nothing but a red string bikini as he drove us down some winding backroad. The tabloids called me an embarrassment, the fans nearly ate me alive, and my parents had been on the precipice of disowning me.

It'd been funny at the time. Charlie and I had laughed about it for ages. After years of it, the slut-shaming hardly bothered me. And I'd grown quite accustomed to being perceived as ridiculous. None of it really meant anything. It was the naiveté of youth, just something to snicker at. And even though my parents had yelled at me until they were blue in the face, it was the first bit of attention I'd gotten from them in ages.

Now, it was just another reminder of how much had changed. How much we had changed, too. I longed for the days of flying under my father's radar. Missed when I could do something as mundane as leave the grocery store without someone snapping a picture from afar. I used to revel in the thrill of potential rumors between Charlie and me, but now the thought of some absurd headline weighed the pit in my stomach ever heavier.

"So you're a driver for Morini now, because the Auden seats were full, and you were going to lose yours at Helios," I said into the quiet now, the last of my humor fading in the silence. "Bit of a downgrade, if you ask me."

He shrugged. "Like I said, Morini's got potential. They finished third in the constructor's last season. I have a good feeling."

"I don't. There's nothing good about working with my father."

"There's you."

"If you're thinking you're getting in my pants tonight, you're dead wrong." I stifled my laugh at the incredulous look on his face, fingers to my mouth to hold back my drunken giggle. "Besides," I added, "I told you-no cars. It's not my life anymore. That's all Dad."

We were nearing my apartment. The roads melded into a familiar route, passing by the landmark city fountain, the too-long stoplight for a left turn, the road with a poorly patched up pothole. Charlie didn't speak until we arrived at my building, pulling his car into the loading zone and shutting off the engine.

The wind outside had died down, but it was raining now, drops falling gently against the windshield. Pit-pat. Pit-pat-pat. "It could be fun," Charlie told me softly then. He leaned his head back against the headrest, his dark eyes glinting in the low light. "It was always fun before."

"Me at the GP?"

"Yeah." He nodded earnestly. "When I was on the podium, it was you I always looked for in the crowd.

I gulped. "I know."

It was true. There were always rumors between us, and every interaction of ours was blown to dramatic proportions. But when he stood up on the podium like some god, grinning ear to ear in his sweaty race suit, I knew. Our eyes would always meet. In all the chaos, he'd find me.

Whatever that meant, really, I never had the chance to figure out.

I tucked my feet up under me now, letting the long silk of my skirt fall over my lap like a blanket. Criss-cross. My eyes out the window on the nighttime road ahead. "I know it'd be fun," I told him then, voice barely above a whisper. "I left it behind, but it doesn't mean that part of me doesn't love it. Of course I do. I used to miss it all the time. I just...don't want to. Enjoy it or love it. It doesn't feel right, you know? If I'm happy in a place that broke my heart."

Charlie's hand was soft on my knee, just his fingertips making contact. "I get that you feel that way," he said. "But you might find it'll just make you feel closer to Joshua than ever. That's how I feel. When I'm on the track. It's a huge part of why I still race." His lips turned up a little in a humorless smile. "Contrary to what others like to say, it's the truth."

"You mean you're not just in it for the glory and the fame?" I asked sarcastically. My eyes flicked over his face, taking in every detail I hadn't been able to look at for years. "I don't think I can bear watching you put your car in a wall, if I'm really being honest."

"What a vote of confidence."

I gave him a small shove. "Shut up. You know I don't mean it like that."

A drunken lump rose in my throat as he held my gaze. This was what I had been afraid of. After all this time of keeping him at arm's length, suddenly up close, I was sucked in like a riptide. I knew I should stay away. It was in my best interest. But with every passing second, I could feel myself only drawing nearer, leaning in to hear him speak, my limbs folding in his direction as if controlled by some sort of magnetic pull.

"It's late," he said then, sitting back, distance between us again. "Let me walk you to the door."

"No, it's fine." The words fell after him as he climbed from his car, and he ignored them without so much as a look back. Rounding the hood, he opened my door, offering me a hand with only a twitch of a smile—indication that he hadn't forgotten my gentleman jab from earlier.

I was still tipsy, but the nausea was gone, world spinning a little less as we climbed the stairs to the building doors. "Take care," he said to me when we reached the entrance, turning to face me. "It's been really good to see you, June."

The hug he pulled me into was both surprising and crushing, as if his hold were making up for all the time we'd lost together. My heart buckled at the familiarity of this stranger—the same firm feel of my cheek against his chest, the smell of his soap and cologne, the gentle hand that came up to press between my shoulder blades.

It was an embrace I had longed for since that day at the hospital. Something real and grounding, that held me in the moment, reminding me exactly where I was. It also felt final this time, like a goodbye of sorts. The one we'd never gotten the first time.

When he released me, he didn't say a word. Just turned and descended the steps. Not even a glance back. It was what I wanted, I told myself. This severing of ties. I had intended to leave him in the rearview after all. But now, presented with this fact, it all felt wrong. Backwards somehow. Like this wasn't meant to be.

"Wait." The word slipped out before I could really think it through, my pulse hammering against my skin as I looked at him, fingers balled so tightly into fists I could feel my manicure cutting into my skin.

Charlie turned. "I'll go," I said then, as if there had been any other choice I'd make. As if this hadn't been an inevitability waiting to be realized. "To Australia. I'll go."

His grin was crooked. In the night, it felt like something forbidden. "Really?"

"Yes, but just one race. Just the first one. And you can't make me wear Morini merch. I won't do it."

"I can live with that."

"This doesn't mean I forgive you for not speaking to me for the last seven years either, by the way. I haven't decided on that yet."

Amused, he replied, "I wouldn't dream of being so presumptuous."

"Presumptuous. Who's the pretentious dickhead now?"

"Good night, June. Go to bed."

"Night." With a sigh, I let myself into the building, while he climbed into his car and started the engine. While I waited for the elevator, I hazarded one last glance through the glass doors to where he still idled. He flashed his lights three times when I looked, as if in a final, wordless farewell. Then, peeling away from the curb, he sped down the street, turned the corner, and was lost once more to the night.

a/n: please vote and/or comment if you enjoyed ! did i edit this ? no ! i literally cannot rn (i have always hated editing). life has been crazy lately (i'm experiencing a drastic shift) but i'm still trying to write consistently for you guys because i appreciate u all so much ! thank u again for reading and much love xo