COLLISION, chapter one.
Pairing: Oscar Piastri x Shannon Avery Bennett (original character)
Summary: At nine years old, Shannon found solace in therapy after losing her grandfather, vowing one day to be the support her psychologist was for her. Years later, when the opportunity arose, she left a clinic in France for the adrenaline of Formula 1, working with McLaren’s drivers.
But nothing prepared her for Oscar Piastri. A mishap with a Coke on her first day sparks a dangerous connection. While Shannon fights to stay professional, Oscar’s gaze and smile unravel her defenses. He knows falling for her is wrong, but he can’t resist. Amid the pressure of their careers and forbidden feelings, both try, and fail, to ignore what’s growing between them. The greatest risk? Not wanting to stop.
Notes: English is not my first language, so forgive me for any mistakes. 🫶
SHANNON BENNETT; 20 DE JANEIRO DE 2025; WOKING, INGLATERRA
Too much light.
That was the first thing I thought when I opened my eyes. The second was the weight on my stomach. I looked down and saw the orange ball of fur curled up there.
I stretched my legs and McQueen grumbled at the movement, stretching his paws and looking at me with disdain. Bad-tempered. I grabbed my phone next to the pillow and unplugged it from the charger. Damn. I still had half an hour of sleep left, but the anxiety was already bubbling in my stomach.
I got up slowly, leaving the grumpy cat in bed. He just flicked his tail and lay down where I had been. I chuckled softly, holding him to kiss the top of his head. McQueen meowed and, when I let him go, he rolled onto his back as if expecting more affection.
── You’re getting fat. ── I teased, poking his belly. He meowed in protest and buried himself under the covers. ── I’m kidding, you drama queen.
I murmured while grabbing my robe from the armchair and wrapping myself in it. The English weather was killing me.
I grabbed a can of Coke from the fridge and sat by the window, opening my laptop and resting it on my legs. I opened FaceTime and called Ceci. She answered seconds later. While I was working, she was spending the holidays with her family in Madrid.
── Did you fall out of bed? ── she asked, her accent even more noticeable with her sleepy voice. Her phone was pressed against her creased face, eyes half-open.
── Yeah. ── I said, opening the can and taking a sip. ── Sorry for calling so early. What time is it there?
── Six eighteen. ── she yawned, sitting up in bed. ── It’s five in the morning there, Sasha. You need to sleep more.
── I can’t. ── I grumbled, letting out a sigh. ── What if everything goes wrong?
── Then you lift your head and try again. Your words, not mine.
── I hate when you use my own advice against me.
── No one told you to be good at what you do. ── she smiled, tucking her messy hair behind her ears. ── But seriously, Shannon, you’re damn good. You’re twenty-four, already have a Master’s degree, you were one of the best in your class, if not the best. Charles didn’t recommend you to Zak just because you’re friends, and Zak wouldn’t hire just anyone for this position. You’re amazing, got it?
── You’re going to make me cry and I haven’t even finished my Coke. ── I said, blowing out a playful puff. ── Thanks, really. I needed to hear that.
── Anytime. ── she rested her chin on her hand, looking at me through the screen. ── But now tell me: how’s it going there? Finished unpacking? How’s my favorite ball of fur?
── Still have a few things to unpack, and Mc is in a bad mood as usual. ── I smiled. ── How’s Madrid? Are you enjoying it?
── I’m almost melting. ── she rolled her eyes. ── But at least the food makes up for it, and I can get a tan. Yesterday we went out for dinner and I had the best paella of my life.
── Hm, rubbing it in that I’m having breakfast alone and freezing, huh?
── Of course. ── she laughed. ── But I miss you too. The kitchen here is huge, you’d love it.
── Then at least send me a picture.
── I will later. ── she smiled. ── And another thing, Shan: you’re going to be surrounded by men who race for a living. It’s your chance to finally get a boyfriend.
── I’ll be working, Cecília.
── Not for the twenty, there will still be eighteen. Seventeen if you don’t count Charles. And there are the engineers, the strategists, the…
── I get it. ── I said, laughing quietly. ── You’re crazy. I have to go now, I need to get ready. Sorry for waking you up.
── Wear that white sweater I gave you for Christmas. And stop it, I always call you in the middle of the night. ── she rolled her eyes. ── Oh, and ask Oscar for an autograph for me, please.
── Bye, Ceci. ── I said, laughing. She stuck her tongue out, and I ended the call, finishing my Coke.
I got up, left my laptop on the armchair, and went to the bathroom, tossing the can in the trash. I looked at myself in the mirror and shrugged at the sight of the dark circles under my eyes. Shaking my head, I took off my pajamas — a faded Beatles shirt — before stepping into the shower. It didn’t take long for McQueen to settle on the toilet lid, waiting for me to finish.
I wrapped myself in a towel and went to the wardrobe. My place was still scattered with boxes, and most of my things were still packed. I needed to unpack as soon as possible. McQueen rubbed against my legs and wandered off through the apartment. I grabbed the white sweater Ceci mentioned, brown pants, and got dressed quickly. I laid my long brown coat and burgundy scarf on the bed, heading to the bathroom to fix my hair and try to hide my dark circles.
When my phone rang, telling me it was ten to six, I put on the scarf and coat, grabbed my bag, patted my cat’s head, who was lying on the living room couch, and left the apartment.
As soon as I parked in front of the McLaren base, I took a deep breath and got out of the car. It wasn’t my first time there — I’d been last week — but today the drivers were back from vacation, and I was going to meet them.
── Morning. ── I said, passing by a group of engineers. They greeted me, and I stopped in front of my office, looking at the silver plaque next to the door: Shannon Bennett — Psychologist.
There was no turning back now.
I stepped inside. Zak had given me full freedom to make changes to the space, and I’d taken advantage of it. I’d painted the white walls a light beige, filled the two shelves with books, and between them hung two blue-toned paintings, with a rectangular aquarium below. In the center, a light brown rug, my armchair facing the paintings with a desk on the right side, a lamp, a coffee table in the middle with a jar of candy and two small succulent pots. The big sofa, with blue and cream cushions, sat by the floor-to-ceiling window, and next to it, a tall vase with a green plant.
Everything was as cozy as possible. The only mess was my desk, which was behind the sofa.
I sighed, leaving my scarf and coat draped over the chair, and began organizing papers. I put a folder labeled Lando in the top right drawer, another labeled Oscar in the second, locked them both, and left the key under the silver lamp in the corner of my desk.
I turned on my computer, placed two notebooks on the desk, and looked around. Everything ready, and it was still only seven-thirty. Sure, they’d probably already arrived, but I’d only be introduced at nine. I had nothing else to tidy or do.
I was going to lose my mind if I stayed still for an hour and a half.
I grabbed my phone and left the office, heading to the cafeteria on the second floor. I needed a nice cold Coke.
I smiled at a group while grabbing a can from the fridge, opened it, and took a sip. When I turned to go back to my office, I bumped into someone. The soda spilled down an orange shirt.
── Oh my God, I’m so sorry! ── I said, eyes wide, looking up… and seeing Oscar.
What a great start.
── No, I’m the one who’s sorry, I was looking at my phone. ── he said, shaking the device in his hand.
Shouldn’t he have exceptional reflexes?
── Damn, I spilled it all over your shirt. ── I said, looking at the brown stain spreading across the fabric.
── Don’t worry, I’ve got like three more around here. ── he replied, but didn’t take his eyes off me. ── You’re new here?
── Oh, sorry, I didn’t introduce myself. ── I tucked my hair behind my ear. ── I’m Shannon Bennett, the new psychologist for the main team. Yours and Lando’s, actually. ── I explained, holding out my hand.
He frowned slightly, but shook it.
── Psychologist, right… ── he murmured, nodding slightly. Still looking at me. ── Pleasure. I’m Oscar, but I guess you already know.
I smiled and nodded.
── I did, yes. ── I said, trying to ease the mood. ── And… before you ask, no, I’m not going to analyze you right now.
He let out a small laugh, catching the joke, but still didn’t look away.
── Good. ── he said with a half-smile, then glanced at the can in my hand. ── Coke at seven-thirty in the morning?
── Better than coffee. ── I shrugged, laughing.
His phone rang, breaking the moment. He glanced at the screen and sighed.
── Shit, I’ve got to go. See you later?
── Yes. Zak’s introducing us at nine. ── I said, and when his phone beeped again, I added: ── You’d better run.
── Yeah. ── he took a step back but still looked at me for a second before smiling. ── Bye, Shannon Bennett.
── Bye, Oscar Piastri. ── I replied, waving.
He walked away, and I looked at my half-full can — at least it hadn’t all ended up on his shirt. I shrugged, took another sip, and headed back to my office.
He looked like a little mouse.
I went back to my office with the almost-empty Coke can in my hand, my heart beating so fast it felt like I’d run a whole lap at Silverstone. I glanced at the clock on the wall: 7:52. Perfect — one hour and eight minutes to freak out before the meeting with Zak, Lando, and Oscar.
Great, Shannon, you’ve already spilled soda on Oscar, now just don’t trip in front of Zak and Lando.
Easy.
I sat in my chair and started aligning the notebooks on my desk for the thousandth time. One blue notebook, one black, pen perfectly centered. If I didn’t find something to do, I’d end up doodling McQueen in the notebook. I grabbed my phone and texted Ceci.
Text messages: Shannon Bennett and Cecilia Menezes.
SHANNON: "Spilled Coke on Oscar, please dig me a grave in your backyard."
CECILIA: "Dios mío, Sasha, I told you that stuff would kill you, but I didn’t think it’d be from embarrassment."
"And no grave — these crazy people’s tradition is to pour champagne on each other, you just got the drink and the date wrong."
SHANNON: "You make an excellent point. Je t’aime, Ceci."
I used the free time to finish reading some articles and put together my next reading list, when my phone buzzed with a message from Zak telling me he was in room two. I took a deep breath.
I put my phone in my bag, checked my hair in the monitor’s reflection, and grabbed my notepad. I didn’t need it now, but after staining a Formula 1 driver’s shirt, I had to at least try to look professional.
I left my office and walked to the second floor, where the meeting room was. The hallway was busy, engineers carrying laptops, and a guy yelling something about “tires” on the phone. The smell of coffee mixed with some expensive cleaning product reminded me that I was indeed at McLaren — that I’d moved my life again.
I pushed open the glass door to the meeting room and froze for a second. Zak was there, black mug in hand, looking over some papers. Oscar was sitting across the table, wearing a fresh orange shirt — thank God he’d changed — and scrolling through his phone.
Lando hadn’t arrived yet.
── Good morning, Shannon! ── Zak said, with that half-friendly, half-“don’t disappoint me” smile.
── Morning! ── I replied, trying not to sound like my stomach had turned into a roller coaster. I sat in the nearest chair, clutching my notepad like a shield. Oscar looked up from his phone and gave a small wave with a half-smile.
── Sorry again for, uh, the incident. ── I said, nodding toward his shirt.
── No worries, I already changed. ── he said, his Australian accent sounding stronger now.
Before I could answer, the door swung open and Lando walked in, energy drink in hand, smile taking up half his face.
── Morning, guys! Sorry I’m late, the coffee line was massive. ── he said, plopping down in the chair next to Oscar.
Alright, Shannon, now just don’t make a fool of yourself for the next ten minutes.
Zak set his mug down on the table, looking at the three of us. He straightened the papers in front of him and cleared his throat.
── Right, let’s start. Lando, Oscar, I want to officially introduce Shannon. She’s the new team psychologist, starting today. She’ll be working with us — or rather, with you two. ── Zak paused, looking at the drivers before turning back to me. ── Shannon, want to say a few words?
He gestured toward me, and I forced a calm smile, ignoring the knot in my stomach, and gave them a small wave.
── It’s a pleasure to officially meet you both. Besides your scheduled sessions, my office will always be open to you.
Oscar nodded, still holding his phone but now looking directly at me, and Lando raised his energy drink like a toast, with a quick and cheerful, “Cool!” Zak continued, moving on to the week’s schedule, and I leaned back in my chair, jotting notes to mask my relief that the introduction had been brief and interrogation-free.
For now, at least.
When the meeting ended, I said goodbye to the three and started to leave, not before catching Oscar giving me a sideways smile when our eyes met.
Damn Coke and ugly orange shirt.
I leaned back in my armchair, adjusted my blue-light glasses, and set the file down on my desk, aligning it carefully. The name at the top was clear: Lando Norris.
My first session of the day would be with him — which, to me, was a good thing. I’d always admired the way Lando valued mental health and talked about it whenever he could, so I had big plans to help him.
The afternoon light streaming in through the window bathed the room in warm tones, and my peach tea sat untouched. Two light knocks on the door interrupted my thoughts.
── Come in. ── I said, standing up to grab the handle and open it.
The door swung open, and there he was: McLaren shirt, team cap worn backwards, hair slightly messy underneath, and a nearly mischievous smile. Not the open smile of someone completely at ease, but that strategic half-smile used to break the ice.
Didn’t expect any less.
── So… this is where you’ll analyze me and tell me it’s all my mum’s and dad’s fault? ── he said, stepping inside and looking around like a curious kid. ── Or am I going to need a couch like in those Freud movies? I like how you decorated the place.
I blinked once, processing the joke. Freud. Mum and dad. Couch.
Okay. It wasn’t unusual to hear that in a first session, but… it still made me raise an eyebrow. Freud had a persistent way of showing up in my sessions with some patients, even when I hadn’t invited him.
── Hm? ── was all I managed before straightening up in my armchair.
He kept smiling, clearly pleased with my reaction, while I felt the familiar crease forming between my brows. Not from irritation, but from that professional instinct when someone tries to fit me into the wrong “box.”
I can’t judge, of course. But… my office door plaque does say I’m a behaviorist.
I need a Coke.
── First of all… ── I began, folding my hands over the still-blank notepad, holding back the smile trying to escape. ── I don’t work with Freudian psychoanalysis. I don’t interpret dreams, I won’t tell you your problems are because of your mother, and I don’t have a couch waiting for you.
── Aw. ── he pulled a theatrical pout and shrugged dramatically. ── I was ready to lie down and talk about my traumatic childhood with Hot Wheels toys.
I let out a discreet sigh, but couldn’t stop the corner of my mouth from twitching upward.
── I’m a behavioral psychologist. Radical behaviorist, to be exact. ── I explained, keeping my tone calm but firm. ── I follow Skinner’s approach.
I like to clear that up early on. Nobody has to know everything — I don’t expect that from anyone, not even myself — but putting the dots on the i’s is always useful.
Especially because I don’t want anyone doing what I once did to my psychologist. Poor Mr. Williams — I pestered him with ideas to try behavioral analysis… only to find out months later that he was a psychoanalyst. He’s probably still laughing about it. I miss him.
Lando tilted his head, as if the name rang a faint bell.
── Skinner… that’s the guy… with the… cats? ── he guessed, frowning.
Oh, great. “Cats.”
── No, Lando. ── I said, smiling in amusement. ── I think you’re confusing Skinner with Erwin Schrödinger, the philosopher.
── Ah. ── he said, nodding, raising his eyebrows, and settling into the armchair as if he had just won the first round of a game.
I just took a deep breath and clicked my pen open.
This was going to be an interesting session.
── Skinner used rats. ── I explained, shaking my head, and he grinned excitedly.
── I almost got it right. ── He said with a playful laugh, leaning forward to grab a handful of candy from the glass jar on the little table, then leaning back into the corner of the couch.
Cats… alright then.