Infamous Like Us (Like Us 10)

Sulli waited for me to accept the job of part-time Medal Holder.

And like a fuckin’ fool, I replied, “No problem, mermaid.”

Maybe I figured I could pass the gold to Akara, but he’s stonewalling me.

Akara pushes back his black hair, then fits on a baseball cap. “She chose you for a reason.”

“What reason is that?” I question. “She wants the medal to disappear? ‘Cause I can Houdini this shit in a second.”

His face sobers. “Don’t try to lose it.”

“Lose what?” Jack Highland-Oliveira saunters into the hotel room. Back at this bougie as fuck resort, we’re in the We Are Calloway production suite. Cameras are already set up facing two emerald plush chairs that Akara and I occupy.

“Sulli gave Banks the gold medal to hold onto,” Akara confesses like Jack just perfume-bombed him with truth serum.

I do a double-take.

Jesus Christ, give-no-fucks Akara is more loose-lipped around Jack than he’s ever been. I get they’re friends, but Akara has practically made Jack sign a No Sullivan Meadows Talk contract for the friendship to even exist.

Seems that’s been ripped to shreds.

I’m more uncomfortable. Muscles straining, I shift in the chair and straighten up from a casual slouch.

If Akara is more open to spilling his life to Jack, then I’m gonna be the cagey, quiet one. When I thought we’d be smacking deep, personal questions away together like we’ve done.

Fuck, I remember our first We Are Calloway interview with Jack. Akara was more professional than he was laidback. I was more cautious than I was carefree.

Jack wants us to reveal ourselves. To reach some inner-core so the world can understand us and our relationship. I talk more than my brother—I’ll give myself that. But when I used to meet girls, diving deep was out of my scuba league.

I was stuck on snorkeling. Even when I tried to go deeper.

And then came Sulli, and she was so fucking easy to talk to. I leveled up to pro-diver, but every time I sit in front of cameras, I want to turn in my scuba license.

So far, we haven’t sat down for many docuseries interviews, but Akara and I agreed to do them since Sulli wants to discuss our V-triad. We all decided if we ever talked more about our relationship, it’d be through We Are Calloway. Not through paparazzi or the media.

And we want to be strong pillars alongside our girlfriend. Not some ghostly figures. Even if that means facing down a camera lens and forty questions.

Jack balances a tray of coffee atop a stack of books. While he sets the tray on the round oak coffee table in front of me and Akara, he casually asks me, “I thought you lose everything?”

For Christ’s sake.

I slip Akara an accusatory look.

“Hey, I didn’t tell Jack that.”

“I know I just mentioned it out loud, but you’re the one who’s always saying it.”

“To you.” Hurt crosses his face. “Sometimes to your brother, back when we were…” He stops himself from saying friends. As though their friendship has fucking died.

I can’t see if it’s still alive or not.

“Talking,” I finish for him.

“Yeah. Back then.” Akara bumps his arm with mine. “You know I wouldn’t spread that around, Banks.” He’s worried I still think he’d drag my name through the mud.

I nod, “I know you wouldn’t.”

I can’t picture Akara tanking my reputation. He knows I’ve never wanted the reputation of being fucking careless—I take better care of people than of material things—but somehow this bad rep has followed me to the We Are Calloway exec producer.

To Jack, I ask, “All of production thinks I can’t locate the ears on my head?”

“No.” He appears more ruffled. A hand running across his neck. I just notice a coffee stain on his button-down. “Production thinks you’re the lighthearted Moretti brother, honestly. They don’t know anything about how you’ve misplaced things.” He tries to smile. “But that happens to the best of us.”

I don’t need the pity pat.

Akara bows forward, arms on his thighs. “Then how do you know, Jack?”

He rakes both hands through his dark hair, resting them on his head. Yeah, he’s tense. Akara and I share a short glance before Jack says, “About that.”

Akara groans, “Oscar.”

“It’s not his fault, Akara,” Jack defends.

“He shouldn’t be talking that deeply about the team to you.”

“We’re married. We talk about work.” Jack’s frown deepens. “I didn’t think it’d be such an issue.” He glances apologetically to me.

I raise a shoulder. “As long as you’re not talking to the rest of production—”

“I don’t. Anything that’s not going in the show, that always stays with me.”

“And Oscar,” Akara notes, leaning back.

Jack lets his hands slide to his neck. Fingers threaded, he sighs out, “Jesus fuck.”

I frown.

Akara asks, “You okay, man?”

Jack lets out a bigger breath. “Stressed.” He adds quickly, “It’s not you guys. Not completely. My brother was almost fired from shooting the Olympics with the crew again. For the third time for butting in and not understanding the term fly on the wall. It’s just…things feel like they’re mounting. It’s fine.” He passes me a late-night coffee.