VIPER || Oscar Piastri

Chapter 139

[POV: Narrator]

Oscar had been speaking nonstop for ten minutes, not to her, but to a rotation of people who seemed to materialize out of nowhere every time he turned his head. All of them were rounding the same three topics: how it was the end of the season, how it had been a good one, and how tired they were.

Andi wasn't following a word of it. She wasn't even pretending to follow it. She was standing just where Oscar had placed her — tucked in at his side, slightly angled so she wouldn't be jostled by passing bodies, and with his hand wrapped firmly around hers.

He'd been holding it the whole time. Since they arrived, his thumb had been tracing over the same knuckle, his fingers rearranging her fingers as he fidgeted absentmindedly.

To everyone else, maybe it looked affectionate, or protective, or cheesy in that I'm-so-alone way.

But to her, it was unbearable.

Because every small adjustment of his grip made her aware of the tremor she was trying so hard to suppress. Every brush of his thumb was a reminder that her hand wasn't steady, and that her pulse was beneath his skin, and that he might feel it, and that he might know, and that he might—

No.

She concentrated all her energy into her arm, into keeping the tension distributed so evenly that he wouldn't.

Her stomach felt thinner than paper, and she could feel it start to fold and crumple, caving in from the inside. She thought if she breathed too deeply she'd faint. She was burning up; feeling lightheaded in the most sickening way.

Then one of the engineers turned his attention to her, breaking off from whatever he'd been telling Oscar.

She saw it happen before she heard it — her ears were ringing, and all she saw was the way bodies pivoted and eyes redirected towards her.

His hand came to rest on her shoulder, a sort of friendly pat.

"And don't think we've ignored your involvement in all this."

Someone else chimed in, too.

"Yeah, really. We're beyond thankful. Really."

Her mouth curved into an automatic small smile, a little upward tug that said, I heard you, thank you, I acknowledge this with grace, while saying nothing at all, for his benefit.

Because he was watching her now.

She could feel his gaze landing heavy on the side of her face, as if to check that she was receiving this properly, to check that she wasn't shrinking from it.

So she nodded, once, twice, as if she agreed, as if her chest wasn't tightening with guilt so sharp it felt like it might pierce through her ribs.

Then: "And we'll see you next season!"

Her stomach dropped.

She almost dropped her hand the same way.

Her smile didn't move, but her eyes did. She was worried Oscar could see them.

Thankfully, the conversation didn't carry on from there. People peeled off one by one, quick goodbyes and waves and claps on shoulders, until it was only Oscar left, glancing around. He squeezed her hand once, then let go, only to immediately turn back and reclaim it both of them this time.