Charlie might be “a pain in the ass” as Oscar puts it, but he’s always himself.
“Charlie’s said the same about you,” Beckett says casually.
That surprises me—that Charlie would talk about me in private to his twin brother. Then again, I have been following him for weeks. I guess, I’ve become a part of his life in a way that I never have before.
A Secret about Charlie Cobalt: He told me that he’s the one who introduced Beckett to cocaine, and he’s regretted it ever since.
Charlie plucks another champagne flute off of a passing server’s tray.
“Jack!”
I turn at the sound of Oscar’s nineteen-year-old sister Joana.
Oh no.
I shoot Beckett a quick look that Oscar would nail-gun in his brain. Leave Joana Oliveira alone.
She jogs over, her silver dress hiked up with one hand, and her curls bounce with each footfall to the pond. She’s wearing a pair of Vans instead of heels, and she makes a concerted effort to avoid Charlie and Beckett as she stops in front of me. “Have you seen my brother?”
I shift to block Beckett. “Which one?” I ask.
“The one you’re dating,” she says. “Obviously.”
“Hole three.”
She’s about to leave, when Beckett glides around me and says, “Hi to you, too.”
Joana stiffens and then turns her gaze on him.
I tense.
FYI: I have never been in this position. This is my boyfriend’s baby sister. Yes, baby sister. I have seen her name in Oscar’s phone and heard him call her “baby sis” way too many times. I know he considers her almost like a daughter, and the fact that he hates—no, he loathes—the idea of Beckett and Joana together has my pulse on an adrenaline rush.
When it comes to these families, I’m used to not intervening on anyone’s behalf. I let security take sides.
I’m a filmmaker. I watch. I record. I stay back and let things play out. Oscar’s the one who’d fling himself between them.
My camera is off, and ethically, I have to keep it off for Beckett.
Instead of being Oscar’s fill-in, I decide to do what I’d do if his sister were my brother. I observe like an adult chaperone at a high school dance. Threatening.
And ready to intervene when necessary.
Joana starts looking around Beckett, stepping close like she’s trying to find something. She pretends to search behind him.
Beckett frowns and gracefully one-eighties to face her. “What are you doing?” He has that iconic what the fuck face that has been meme’d to death on Reddit.
“Oh sorry,” Joana says like she’s not sorry at all. “I was looking for the mattress that’s always attached to your back.”
Charlie chokes on his champagne.
I stop breathing.
Beckett’s brows rise at Joana. He looks her up and down. “I’d say the same for you, but you seem like the kind of girl who loves getting pounded from behind.”
She snorts. “Classy.”
What the fuck am I watching?
He raises his glass. “Toujours.” Always.
She lifts the edge of her dress, so she can jog again. “With that”—she looks to me—“I’m going to go find my brother.”
“Good idea,” I agree.
I probably shouldn’t be a chaperone at a high school dance ever. Oscar is going to flip. I turn to Beckett. “Don’t go there again,” I say. “All of SFO have warned you. So now I’m warning you.”
“She instigated that one.” Beckett grabs a pastry off a server’s tray, a smile toying at his lips. “Plus, she basically called me a slut.”
Charlie says something in quick French to Beckett, and my walkie crackles, “Ethan for Jack.”
I hit the button. “What’s up?”
“We need you on Jane in the clubhouse.”
Come on.
I hesitate to comply and leave my subject. But I say, “On it.” And then a large crash echoes from up the green. Near hole three.
Oscar.
Clubhouse or Oscar?
We Are Calloway or my boyfriend? He has a lot of people on his side, a lot of bodyguards there to help whatever just happened, but the crash was loud. Fear and worry propel me in his direction.
I take off running to hole three. With adrenaline pumping, the Steadicam suddenly feels lighter than air.
29
OSCAR OLIVEIRA
“Oscar to Security, I need a medic. I need a medic.” I repeat twice and add my location so everyone knows, despite my controlled voice, that shit is bad.
A golf cart just capsized and rolled.
My vigilant ass is set on hot coals. I’m running with all I have over to the slope that the golf cart just tumbled down. Twinkle lights barely illuminate the area. It’s dim, and I’m only nearest the crash-site having just dealt with paparazzi.
A couple Alpha guards are still restraining cameramen who snuck in the event.
“Is anyone hurt?!” I yell, racing in a quick descent to the flipped cart. “Luna?! Tom?! Eliot!?” I saw all three on the golf cart before they crashed.
Just what I never wanted to see happen again. I don’t care if it’s in fucking golf-cart-sized form. I never wanted to come up on another crash.
That was one of the worst days of my life.
And I’d bet a solid grand most in Alpha, Epsilon, and Omega would say the same.
An extreme amount of adrenaline keeps me focused as I squat down to the cart. “Can you hear me?!” Motherfuck, someone answer me. I need to lift the golf cart off them in case they’re being crushed.
“Uh…” Tom suddenly rolls woozily out from underneath the frame. Grass stains his white shirt, and a trickle of blood runs from a forehead cut.
“Eliot! Luna!” I call out.
“I’m pinned,” Eliot grunts.
“Ow, ow,” Luna winces.
It’s hard to see them in the dark.
Quickly, I widen my stance and grip the golf cart. Quinn appears at my side before I lift. He’s out of breath like he jogged over, and he grabs the other end.
“One, two, three,” I count, and we heave the golf cart up together. We hold it steady.
Eliot elbow-crawls out, but not before ensuring Luna can follow. She pushes herself with her legs, cradling her arm against her glittery jumpsuit.
My muscles burn while I keep a firm
