Chapter Text
Albert Park Circuit, Melbourne | March 8, 2026 | 3:00 PM
P4
McLaren was delighted. Andrea hugged him and if Oscar is right, kissed his cheeks. Zak was running around like he won the championship.
Nobody expected it.
Oscar himself didn’t know how he managed to put a P4 on board in qualifying.
George took the pole with Kimi behind him. Oscar had provisional P3 until Max, out of nowhere, swooped in and snatched it right off him.
He wasn’t really surprised. Everyone knew that you cannot write Verstappen off.
Oscar walked to the garage with his heart beating hard.
It was the home race jitters, he told himself.
The grandstand was full of people waving the McLaren colours. Albert Park was papaya, in honour of their home hero. Broadcasters are all over the McLaren team.
This is normal.
This is how he always felt before home race. He still had the trauma from last year where he spun from P2 and had to climb up to points, losing a chance to be on the podium at his home.
But somewhere in his heart, he knew this wasn’t normal.
Something was wrong.
Oscar felt his insides screaming at him.
Something is wrong.
He shook his head to shake off the feeling and tried to focus on the race ahead.
The McLaren cannot match the pace of Mercedes, that’s for sure. Red Bull will struggle the start, at least that’s what Oscar observed during practise but again it’s Max who’s driving it so he doesn’t know. Sometimes the dutchman defied the car and Oscar hoped that today wasn’t such a day. Another thing Oscar had to worry about were the two Ferraris in P5 and P6. They have great starts. No other team demonstrated a perfect start during the testing of start procedure. Only Ferrari roared forward.
It doesn’t really matter where Lewis and Charles are. They have the car to take the lead by turn 1. But the question is whether they can defend against the beast that’s called Mercedes.
And somewhere in the middle of Merc-Ferrari sandwich was Oscar’s McLaren.
He cannot win this with pure pace.
He cannot win the race start.
Only way he can win is by proper strategy.
He nodded to himself and walked towards the engineers and Andrea Stella standing in his garage.
The feeling never left.
It was like something deep unsettling in his chest.
No, it’s not a panic attack. Oscar knew panic attacks. This wasn’t one of them.
But he was restless.
Even during the team meeting. Even during the driver’s parade where Charles raised an eyebrow silently asking if he was alright and he had nodded.
Even when he’s slipped on his race suit.
Something was wrong.
And for a person who wrote his entire feelings into songs, Oscar suddenly didn’t know how to explain it.
It must be due to the stupid media, Oscar thought to himself.
Since he had walked into the paddock, he was surrounded by journalists waiting to get a scoop out of him. Instead of asking about his plans for the race, someone from sky sports asked – how does it feel to be the only gay driver on the grid? He had just stared at the man blankly and moved on because what do you say to that? Sorry my ex-boyfriend isn’t here else we could’ve had two gay drivers on the grid?
And then someone shoved a mic under his nose asking whether Lando’s absence bothers him. He also got asked about his media day slipup where he said Lando’s name instead of Pato.
Every single question thrown at him since Thursday was about one person – Lando.
By the time Oscar stood on the steps for the national anthem, his heart was beating unusually faster.
The thoughts he had locked up in a dark place of his mind resurfaced. As the national anthem echoed through the leaves at Albert Park, Oscar felt himself wondering.
What would be Lando doing right now?
Will he be watching?
Is he okay?
That had been the one thought that came to him since the past few days.
Is Lando okay?
He had told himself that he needn’t know that. That his life wouldn’t be any different if he knows the answer. Lando’s wellbeing is not his concern anymore. It used to be, once upon a time, when Oscar’s day doesn’t start with gazing into those blue-green eyes. There used to be days when Lando fell sick and Oscar couldn’t rest until he was okay. He stayed up at night, checking his temperature and placing wet cloth on his forehead, and only when Lando woke up with his eyes half lidded and smile lopsided did Oscar relax.
“I’m fine Osc” he had whispered that morning and weakly pulled him to lay down next to him.
He needs to hear it.
Oscar felt the undying urge inside him.
He needs to hear Lando’s voice telling him that he’s okay.
He didn’t even know why he was feeling this but something twisted inside him – is this what people call a gut feeling – that something is wrong.
He didn't know what was wrong. He just needed to know that whatever it was, it had nothing to do with Lando.
Max was having a bad day.
F1 wise, he was in a good starting position with a car that shouldn’t have even reached Q3. Forget a win, he wasn’t even expecting a podium today because whatever the car burned for qualifying, it wouldn’t survive 58 laps.
But no, the issue wasn’t the race.
Lily was sick.
He checked his phone as he walked back to the grid after the national anthem. His girls are back in Monaco and it’s almost 5 am there. Lily had fallen sick yesterday evening and Kelly hasn’t slept the entire night.
Max
How is she now?
Kelly
Temperature down
But still against sleeping
Max
Didn’t sleep the entire night?
Kelly
Who?
Me or her?
Max
Both of you
Kelly
She slept for like an hour and then woke up again
Max
Hmm…
Kelly
Don’t worry about it
Fever is going down
I’ll keep you updated
Now go race
Max
Yeah
“Max”
He stopped on his tracks and turned to find Oscar.
“Oscar?” Max said surprised and looked around. The grid was crowded. Celebrities and guests were clearing out. Drivers were getting into the car. It was chaotic as hell.
And by the side of the Red Bull, the unusual sight of papaya caught everyone’s eyes.
Max moved towards him with caution and asked quietly, “What happened?”
“I just…” Oscar trailed off and Max took a close look at him.
He looked really worried.
“Is everything okay?” Max asked, his voice edged with concern.
“Yeah” Oscar chuckled slowly and leaned closer to him to ask into his ear, his hands covering it so that no one in twitter reads their lips.
Max heard his voice over the sounds of engines firing up.
“Is Lando okay?”
Max blinked and looked at him.
Oscar repeated again. “Max, is Lando okay?”
Max nodded his head slowly and asked, “Why? What happened?”
Oscar shrugged and said, looking at the ground rather than him, “Nothing. I just…had to know”
He looked away and then looked at Max. “Anyway, good luck for the race man” he patted his back and walked to his car.
“What was that all about?” GP, his race engineer, asked from the sidelines.
But Max didn’t reply.
Oscar’s voice echoed inside his head.
Is Lando okay?
Why did he ask that?
“Max, get in the car buddy” he heard his mechanics’ voice.
Did something happen to Lando?
“Max? Everything okay?” GP asked and reached to him.
He snapped his head to GP and then looked down to his phone.
His mind raced through the last interactions with Lando. He had called him yesterday and the day before that but Lando never picked up. He sent a text later on saying that he’s good and is having dinner. Max didn’t probe much but now, after Oscar asked him, he started rethinking about all the times Lando ignored his calls.
It has been a week since he actually heard his voice. The thing about texts is that they hide the tone and Max was so busy into the season opener that he didn’t think much into it.
“Hey, Lily is gonna be okay” GP said gently and patted his shoulder.
Max nodded his head slowly as he hurriedly typed a message.
Max
Hey
Could you please check on Lando?
If it’s possible
Kelly
Now?
Max it’s 5am
Max
Yeah
Sorry
I’m just worried
Might be nothing
Kelly
Okay…
Let me see
Once Lily is asleep maybe I can go check
No promises though
Max
Okay
No worries
He passed the phone to GP and climbed into the car.
Maybe it’s nothing. Oscar might be missing Lando. Everyone knew that. He even said Lando’s name instead of Pato during the press conference. He’s having a hard time accepting the fact that Lando is no longer his teammate.
It’s just Oscar and his overthinking.
Nothing to worry.
Max chanted to himself and slid down the helmet visor.
Focus on the race.
Lando is okay.
“AND LIGHTS OUT AND AWAY WE GO….”
Ferraris nailed the start.
Everyone had expected it. They delivered it.
Lewis and Charles swept past the cars in front to pass while the Mercedes duo botched their starts. Max gets a brilliant launch and was already alongside George even before they reached turn 1. Behind them, both Ferraris rocketed off the line. Charles swept from outside and Lewis followed him through.
Oscar reacted perfectly, but not Ferrari perfect. He was able to hold off Lewis but not Charles.
By turn 1, the order shuffled to Max, Charles, Oscar, Lewis, George and Kimi while Pato cruised in P7 behind Kimi.
Albert Park exploded as Max took the lead and Mercedes fell backward.
The race settled within 3 turns and then the reality arrived.
The Red Bull simply isn’t quick enough. Charles started to hang onto him while Lewis did the same to Oscar.
Meanwhile George started setting fastest laps.
The reality that everyone talked about during the testing hit like a brick – the Mercedes is frighteningly fast.
It was somewhere around lap 5 that George started hunting. He swept past Lewis like cakewalk, then Oscar and then Charles. Kimi was catching up too.
Everyone watching the race live knew that it would happen eventually.
Tom: “George is six tenths quicker at the moment.”
Oscar: “Yeah let him go”
At lap 20, the Mercedes pitted. Ferrari followed them in and so did the Red Bull. Oscar switched on his radio and voiced out.
Oscar: “Do we pit?”
Tom: “Stay out. Stay out”
Oscar: “Copy”
Tom didn't explain further. Oscar trusted him. There was no point asking questions now. The strategists had more information than he did. They could see the entire race unfolding on their screens while he could only see the rear wing in front of him and the mirrors beside him.
So he stayed out.
One by one the leaders disappeared into the pitlane while Oscar kept circulating. For the first time all afternoon, clear air appeared ahead of him.
"Push now Oscar. Push now."
Oscar immediately switched modes.
The tyres were old. The fuel load was lighter.
The car suddenly came alive beneath him.
Purple sector.
Then another.
And another.
The crowd began noticing and roared as the home hero flew by their grandstands.
The timing tower began turning colours.
"Fastest first sector for Piastri."
"Fastest middle sector for Piastri."
The gap that had looked impossible fifteen laps ago started shrinking. Not because the McLaren was faster but because McLaren was finally running its own race.
"How are the tyres?" Tom asked.
Oscar felt the rear slide slightly through Turn 11.
"Not great” he paused and then said, “They're okay."
Tom laughed. Oscar could hear engineers laughing in the background too.
A few laps later the call finally came.
"Box this lap. Box this lap."
"Copy."
He dived into the pitlane.
It was a perfect pitstop. Perfect release.
Oscar accelerated out of the pitlane and immediately searched for the timing tower.
P1 RUS
P2 PIA
Oscar blinked.
This is good. This is much better than what he expected.
Because now, the race suddenly looked different.
It looked possible.
Oscar felt it in his fingertips as he gripped the steering wheel tightly.
He could win this.
He could win his home race.
For the next several laps, George put his foot down and started to pull away. Nobody had expected otherwise. But what mattered was who followed him through.
Not Kimi, his teammate, who was stuck behind a very stubborn Max Verstappen.
Not Charles or Lewis who were currently having a race of their own, fighting for P3.
Oscar.
The gap settled around 2 seconds. Then three. Then two again.
George was fast. It was not even a question. But Oscar had fresher tyres.
It was at lap 38 that the safety car came in.
Oscar didn’t know what happened at first.
He was blasting through the straight when he saw it happen in the mirrors, very far from where he was currently. Tom’s voice came through the radio calling out “Yellow flag Oscar. Yellow flag” and the flags were being waved from the sidelines by the marshals. Oscar immediately slowed down but he felt his heart stop as his eyes fixed on the scene unfolding behind him through the mirrors.
He followed George but his mind flashed with the McLaren sliding through the gravel and crashing into the wall.
Before he could stop it, he blurted out into the radio.
“Is Lando okay?”
Tom didn’t reply.
And during that silence and the slow acceleration behind George under the safety car, Oscar realized what he had asked.
Is Lando okay?
Tom eventually cleared his throat and replied, “Pato is okay Oscar. He’s out of the car”
Oscar swallowed and mumbled, “Okay”
He doesn’t remember the rest of the race.
The safety car eventually came in and the racing began. George was weaving and baiting him into weaving so that he can pull away.
But as Oscar’s eyes fixed on the Mercedes in front of him, his insides were screaming with all the thoughts he had locked into a corner before. It all came rushing in and were currently flashing before his eyes.
Is Lando okay?
What is Lando doing right now?
Was Max a bit hesitant when he said that Lando is okay?
Did Max lie?
Is Lando really okay?
Somewhere between racing the thoughts, he registered George pulling away and stepped on it.
Some time after that Tom popped into the radio.
“YES OSCAR. You’re P1 now. Let’s get going”
P1.
Oscar didn’t care.
His mind, for now, ran different algorithms inside and reached a final conclusion.
Finish the race fast and call Lando.
Ask Lando if he’s okay.
That was the only strategy he cared about.
The only thing that mattered.
The only thing his brain had decided to focus on.
Unfortunately for him, George Russell had other plans.
The Mercedes filled his mirrors almost immediately.
The safety car had erased every advantage Mercedes had spent the entire afternoon building. Now it was simply Oscar in the lead with a faster car behind him.
The Mercedes was faster. Everybody knew it. The grandstands, the commentators and definitely, George.
What George didn't know was that Oscar wasn't really racing him.
He was racing a phone call. He was racing the uncertainty that had been sitting inside his chest since the conversation with Max. The unsettlement that rose into chaos when he saw a papaya car crashing into the wall.
He had to know whether Lando is okay.
And George Russel was not stopping him today.
George appeared alongside into Turn 3. Oscar defended aggressively. He backed out but then tried again at turn 11 in the next lap.
Oscar covered the inside. George switched lines but Oscar had anticipated it. The Mercedes tucked back in and the crowd roared as the home favourite led the final laps at Albert Park.
Tom was calming him down in the radio, or at least attempting to but Oscar didn’t respond.
That was because he didn’t hear any of it.
His mind was elsewhere.
What if Max had lied because he thought Oscar would lose focus?
What if Lando wasn’t okay?
What if something happened and nobody told him?
“Focus” he muttered out, not on radio but to himself.
The next ten laps became a blur.
George attacked and Oscar defended. Several several times.
Somewhere during the way, the Ferrari’s abandoned their mission for P3 and joined the fight for P2. They were successfully holding back Kimi behind them and were currently hunting George.
At some point Charles briefly appeared in Oscar's mirrors.
At some point Lewis set the fastest lap.
At some point Max appeared out of nowhere and then disappeared completely.
Oscar couldn't remember the order or the laps. Or the gaps.
Only the corners.
Corner after corner.
Apex after apex.
Brake.
Turn.
Throttle.
Repeat.
Tom continued feeding him information.
"Five laps remaining."
"George two tenths."
"Battery looks good."
"Tyres are holding."
Somewhere with three laps remaining George launched another attack. The Mercedes got alongside through the braking zone. Oscar forced himself to look ahead. Not at the silver car or his mirrors but ahead. He braked late, rotated the McLaren and exited the corner staying ahead.
The crowd exploded.
“Two laps remaining”
“Final lap Oscar. Bring it home”
Oscar barely registered either announcement. Only thing he focused on was the checkered flag. The sooner he reached it, the sooner he could get out of the car and the sooner he could call Lando.
Final sector, George was still there and still faster, but Oscar didn’t care.
For the first time in his career, he genuinely did not care about the result.
First. Second. Third. Whatever.
He just wanted the race to end.
The final corner arrived and he accelerated. The rear stepped slightly and he corrected it instinctively. The McLaren shot forward.
The checkered flag waved.
And then it was over.
There was a brief second of silence for him to breathe and then it exploded.
“OSCAAAR!!!! YESSS!!! P1. YOU’VE WON THE AUSTRALIAN GRAND PRIX!” Tom shouted through the radio.
Albert Park exploded as Oscar slowed down for the cooldown lap.
Oscar blinked.
For a moment, he forgot what it meant.
Then he crossed his Piastri Grandstand and realized it.
P1.
He just won his home race.
The crowd was deafening now. Thousands upon thousands of Australians celebrating. He couldn’t hear it inside his helmet but he could see it. He slowly lifted his arm and waved.
His home race.
His comeback.
His first race since comeback.
Oscar took a deep breath.
Tom was still talking. The engineers were still talking. Everyone was talking.
Oscar interrupted them.
"Tom."
The excitement stopped immediately.
"Yeah Oscar?"
"Can I have my phone as soon as I get back?"
The radio remained silent for a second.
Then Tom answered softly. "Of course."
Oscar nodded and then he drove toward parc fermé.
Toward the podium. The celebrations. The cameras.
Toward the biggest victory of his career.
And the entire time he was thinking about one thing.
Please answer the phone, Lando.
As he drove his car towards the parc ferme, Andrea Stella stepped into the radio and said softly, “Welcome home Oscar”
The first person he hugged was his mother. His dad patted his back as he buried his face in her shoulder. His sisters were squealing with excitement, even Hattie who always had a resting bitch face was happy. He had thrown away his helmet right after getting off the car and had run towards the barriers to find his mother.
“Mum” he gasped as he withdrew from the hug, his eyes filled with tears, covered with seat and creased with helmet lines, “I won”
“Yes you did” Nicole smiled in tears and cupped his cheeks. She kissed his cheek and patted his back.
He hugged his father and then his sisters. Then he ran to his mechanics who swarmed him with bear hugs and clapped his back. Mark hugged him for a bit longer and Oscar was shocked to see that he was crying. For a second, a sense of pride gushed through him. He made Mark Webber cry? Then Marcus smiled at him said, “Good race Oscar” and Oscar blinked at him. What? David Marcus being soft and polite? Did the sun rise from west today?
The rest of the bits went in a blur.
George patted his back and shook hands with him grimly. He was dejected. Oscar knew that feeling. Having a fast car and a pole position and then losing the race. He had experienced that feeling a lot. He just smiled and said, “Good race”
“Yeah will get you in China” George said with a smirk and walked away.
Charles almost knocked air out of Oscar’s lungs when he hugged him.
“Oscaaaar” he cried, “You won Australia”
“Yep” Oscar chuckled and nodded.
He looked over to the barriers where Tom stood. The phone in his hand caught Oscar’s attention.
His phone.
His feet itched to walk over to Tom and get his phone but he was dragged towards the podium.
The moment Oscar stepped onto the top step, Albert Park disappeared and expanded all at once.
The podium had always looked small from below, a simple platform made of metal and sponsors' logos, but from up here it felt like standing on top of the entire country.
The noise was overwhelming. Thousands of people were screaming his name, waving Australian flags, climbing onto seats to get a better look, and somewhere among them were the same grandstands he used to sit in as a kid.
He remembered being a teenager walking through this paddock with a guest pass hanging around his neck, staring at Formula One drivers as though they belonged to a different species. He remembered leaving Australia because every young driver with a Formula One dream eventually had to leave home. The lonely apartments in Europe, missed birthdays, endless flights, simulator sessions, championships, victories, mistakes, heartbreaks, courtrooms, recording studios, retirement and then somehow, impossibly, a return – everything rushed into him like a film.
Three months ago, he had convinced himself that his Formula One career was over.
Three months ago, he was writing music and trying not to think about racing.
Now he was standing on the highest step of the Australian Grand Prix podium with the late afternoon Melbourne sun painting the lake gold behind him.
As the Australian flag began rising into the sky and the anthem echoed across Albert Park, something inside him finally gave way. He hadn’t really registered it when he crossed the finish line. Not even when he hugged his mother or when the team celebrated.
But here, standing alone above everyone else, looking out at his home city, he finally fully understood what he had done.
He had won Australia.
Not a race somewhere on the other side of the world.
Not a sprint.
Not a qualifying session.
Australia.
His race. His people. His home.
For the rest of his life, no matter what happened next, no matter how many championships he won or lost, no matter how his story ended, nobody could ever take this away from him.
He would always be the Australian who came home and won the Australian Grand Prix.
He stumbled down the steps of the podium and rushed to the garage to find Tom waiting for him with his phone.
Shaking off the champagne drops from his hair like a golden retriever, he handed the trophy and medal to Tom and immediately grabbed his phone.
“You’ve a lot of calls from an unknown number” Tom said as he handled the trophy with care.
Oscar nodded and swiped into the contacts.
He’ll call them back, whoever they are, later. For now, he had to call Lando.
Before he could click on the contact, the number called again.
Oscar frowned as he took a real glance at the number.
It was from Monaco.
Something inside him made him take the call.
“Hello”
“Hello am I talking to Mr. Oscar Piastri?”
“Yes”
“This is from Princess Grace Hospital. You’re listed as Mr. Lando Norris’ emergency contact”
Oscar felt his heart stop.
The noise of the garage disappeared. The celebrations, the laughter, the music everything seemed to fade into a distant hum. Across the room, Pato was saying something. A mechanic was laughing. Somebody opened a bottle of champagne.
Oscar couldn't hear any of it.
The voice on the other end of the line continued calmly. “Mr. Norris was brought in unconscious for overdosage. His condition is stable and he remains under observation”
Oscar forgot how to breathe.
“What?” The word came out broken.
There was a pause and then the woman repeated herself gently. "Mr. Norris is currently stable."
"No." Oscar shook his head automatically. "No..."
Suddenly images started flashing in his mind.
Lando.
Alone, cold and unconscious, found by paramedics.
Found because somebody checked.
Somebody had been lucky enough to arrive in time.
Oscar pressed his hand against the garage wall as he felt his knees weaken.
"Is he..." He couldn't finish. Couldn't make himself say it.
The woman seemed to understand. “Mr. Norris is expected to recover physically."
Physically.
The word lodged itself in Oscar's chest.
Physically.
Not emotionally.
Not mentally.
Physically.
Oscar closed his eyes.
For one horrible second, he remembered every cruel thing he had ever said to him.
The anger.
The trophy.
The songs.
The silence.
And suddenly none of it felt important anymore.
Only one thing mattered.
Lando was alive.
The relief hit so hard it almost hurt.
"Mr. Piastri?”
Oscar realized the woman was still speaking.
"Yes." His voice cracked. "Yes, I'm here."
"As his emergency contact, we wanted to inform you of his condition. If you intend to visit, please contact the hospital upon arrival."
Oscar swallowed and he answered instantly, “Yes. I’ll be there”
"Okay," the woman said.
Suddenly another question forced its way into Oscar's mind.
"Who brought him in?"
"Paramedics were called by Ms. Kelly Piquet," the woman replied calmly. "She identified herself as a friend of Mr. Norris."
Kelly.
Oscar's stomach dropped.
The call ended.
Oscar lowered the phone slowly, his fingers numb around the device.
For several seconds he couldn't move.
The garage doors were open behind him. Mechanics were laughing. Somebody had managed to find another bottle of champagne. Pato was being dragged into yet another interview while the McLaren media team celebrated around him. The entire garage was buzzing with the energy that came with a home race victory.
Oscar felt completely detached from it. As though he was standing behind a sheet of glass, watching somebody else's life unfold.
Lando had overdosed.
The thought repeated itself over and over in his head.
Lando had overdosed.
Lando was in a hospital.
Lando was alive.
Lando had overdosed.
The words refused to make sense no matter how many times he heard them.
A cheer erupted somewhere behind him.
Oscar flinched. The sound felt wrong. Everything felt wrong.
“Oscar?”
He looked up.
Andrea Stella was walking toward him, concern already written across his face. Zak followed only a few steps behind.
The smile Andrea had been wearing vanished immediately.
"Oscar." The team principal stopped in front of him. "What happened?"
Oscar opened his mouth but nothing came out. The words were there. He knew they were. But they seemed trapped somewhere inside his chest.
"Oscar?" Zak asked quietly.
The concern in his voice only made it worse.
Oscar looked from Andrea to Zak. Then down at the phone still clutched in his hand.
Before either could ask another question, movement at the far end of the garage caught Oscar's attention.
Someone was running.
Not walking fast, but actually running straight through the paddock. People moved out the way instinctively and Oscar recognized him.
Max.
The Dutchman looked like he had sprinted the entire distance from the airport.
His race suit was half unzipped. His hair was a mess. His face…
Oscar's stomach dropped.
Max looked terrified. Not worried or upset. Absolutely terrified.
Max stopped in front of him and just like that Oscar knew.
Whatever he knew, Max knew too.
Of course he does, the woman had said Kelly.
Kelly brought Lando in.
Kelly. Max’s Kelly.
Zak and Andrea took few steps back, not knowing what this was but realizing that whatever it was, it required space and respect.
The noise died down in garage and everyone looked over to them in confusion.
Why was Max Verstappen here?
Why does Oscar look like he saw a ghost?
“Oscar” Max whispered.
Oscar couldn't answer. His throat closed. His hands started shaking again. He had spent weeks imagining what it would feel like to hear Lando's name. To hear news about him. To see him again. To hear his voice.
None of those imaginings had included a hospital.
None of them had included an overdose.
“Oscar” Max’s voice softened.
Oscar could hear the fear in it. And suddenly that was worse than anything else. Because Max didn’t scare easily.
Yet here he was. Like the ground had disappeared beneath him.
Oscar felt his composure finally crack.
"Max..."
The word came out broken.
Max didn't let him finish.
He stepped closer and wrapped an arm firmly around Oscar's shoulders. Grounding him and holding him upright. Holding them both together.
Then he looked at Andrea and Zak.
Just one look.
It said everything. That there wasn't time. There wasn't a celebration. There wasn't anything except whatever emergency Oscar and Max silently communicated between them.
Max looked back at Oscar.
"Let's go."
And for the first time since the phone rang, Oscar moved.