forehead, only partially present. My chest knots, my gaze cutting between Jack and Charlie.
“Kuya?”
He snaps into focus. “You know what, I’ll get it. You’ve done a lot already. Go surf.”
“You sure?” He hesitates. “I don’t really mind—”
“Yeah. I have this.” He lifts up his camera. It seems heavier in his hands somehow.
“Thanks, Kuya.” Jesse bumps his brother’s fist and finishes packing up the boom kit. His eyes rest on his older brother for a beat longer. Like he can tell something’s up too.
“This is so fucking annoying,” Charlie mutters with an agitated breath. Balling up the letter, he tells me, “It’s a lie. We slept together in October, almost a year ago. I haven’t seen her since, definitely not at ‘a thing’ in June.” He uses air-quotes.
I nod, concluding as much.
Charlie catches me checking on Jack, who fits on a new camera lens. I expect some sort of wiseass comment from my client, but he pushes the green-tinted sunglasses to his head and tells me, “You can put Gabe on my detail and go off-duty. Did Jack not want to teach you how to surf?”
Yeah.
That was before the bad news, and Jack said that as a generalization. We didn’t think we’d have leisure time to splash in the fucking ocean together today.
Hearing Charlie’s words, Jack looks up from his camera at me. He still seems nauseous, and my stomach roils. With a breath, Jack says, “As much as I’d love to teach Oscar how to surf today, I have to grab this B-roll.” He finishes attaching the new lens.
I want to convince Jack to put the camera down. For one second. But who am I to talk? I can’t even utter the words, I’m going off-duty. Gabe, take my detail.
I sweep the beach with a quick glance. “I thought you were retired from being cupid,” I tell Charlie. “And aren’t you here for a fashion show?” We flew to California this morning specifically for some pop-up show he wanted to attend.
It’s grossly overpriced if anyone asks me.
Nobody needs to pay a fucking grand for a ripped T-shirt. But it’s not my money. Charlie can do what he wants.
“I am here for that.” Charlie shades his eyes with the sunglasses again. “But I can achieve multiple things at one time.”
Like your docuseries, I almost shoot back. He has multiple reasons for wanting a show centered around his life, and I still have zero clue his main motive for being filmed.
With angry Oslie stans demanding Jack be fired from We Are Calloway, I don’t love the fact that a hanging question mark is hovering over this other project. A project which means so much to him.
Charlie’s reasoning could have the potential to ruin the show. A show that Jack is working his ass off to make happen.
I’m just on an edge, and I’m afraid Jack is stepping even further off this cliff and I should be the one to catch his hand and pull him back.
Me.
Oscar motherfucking Oliveira.
What happens if Jack falls because I’m too busy chasing Charlie?
In that case, I should be single forever.
My mind is reeling, and even though I’m still on-duty, I can find moments with Jack. And I manage to capture one while he’s at the shoreline filming surfers who wait for the perfect wave.
Water laps over his bare feet, and I come up next to him, angled so I have a good view of Charlie too.
Jack is quiet.
“I’m sorry this is happening,” I say, voice husky and riddled with his pain that I feel.
“It’s not your fault—”
“Ah, no. This isn’t Jack Highland Makes Me Feel Better hour. I’m here for you, bro.”
His eyes well up as our gazes embrace in ways that our bodies can’t right now. “I’ve never been knocked back before. Not this hard. I’ve believed that I’m capable of anything, so I could power through to the top, and now it feels like everything I’ve ever strived for in my career is about to be ripped away.”
“It’s not,” I say strongly. “If you can believe you’re capable of anything, then believe I won’t let everything fall apart right now. You chose me, didn’t you, Long Beach? You risked it all for a guy who’s gonna be the glue keeping the pieces together.”
He inhales a bigger breath, then nods. His smile tries to fight through. “You give good pep talks.”
I’m about to reply when Gabe jogs over, a trickle of sweat running down his temple. “I, uh…just had a thought, Oscar.”
Imagine that. “Yeah?”
Jack zooms the