Damaged Like Us (Like Us #1)(82)

The Superheroes & Scones loft deadens. My eyes flit to a war scene playing in Avengers, the Hulk smashing buildings to smithereens.

Jack skirts over the silence like it never existed. “Which uncle?”

“Ryke. Yesterday, an article compared his ‘f-bombs’ to mine. I don’t even say fuck as often as him. Sulli does way more than me.” I didn’t plan to come in this hot and aggravated.

I sense Farrow and his at ease nature, and you know the weirdest thing? It calms me. Makes me feel like I have someone prepared to jump on my side. Right now. This moment. Any moment.

He’s with me.

My bound shoulders unwind.

Jack isn’t the type of person to just say no. He tries to hear people out, but he reminds me, “You talked about this last season, Moffy.”

“It’s been worse this year.”

“But it’s not going to change with this show,” Jack says. “You’ve discussed the topic at length three times. We’ve reached the max. One more time, and the public will believe you’re overcompensating for something. As a producer, I’d tell you to just go ahead and talk about it. It’ll bring us ratings. But as your friend, I’m telling you not to bring it up.”

Goddammit. “What about if I talk about my dad?”

“It depends.” Jack twists off a cap to Ziff, a sports drink. “If you’re going to just tell the audience how great of a father he is—no.”

I rub my aching shoulder. I need to stretch. “Just tell me what I should be talking about then.”

“Sex,” Jack says. “It’s what people want to know most about you, especially with those photos.” The bite marks. “Who are you seeing? What kind of pressures do you deal with being the son of a sex addict? Are you more careful? Do you have insecurities?” He lists the questions rapidly.

I’ve heard them all before. Jack broaches the topic of sex almost every production meeting.

“Are you ready to talk about this stuff?” he asks.

“No,” I say firmly. “Not this season. Maybe not ever. I’m sorry.”

“This is a no apology zone, remember? Whatever content you want to share, good. Whatever you don’t, that’s good too. It’s all up to you.” Jack already jumps to a new topic. “What about your relationship with Luna? She’ll be eighteen and be on her own for the first time. It’d be a great arc.”

Out of my siblings, Luna is the only one who’s on We Are Calloway with me. We’ve bonded a bit while filming together, and I already know she’d love a whole arc about our relationship.

So I agree.

“Jane?” Jack asks. “Any personal topics?”

Janie and I already scooted closer to one another. I stare down at my best friend who wears a cheetah-print sweater, pale yellow pants, and sequined high heels. Whatever she’s about to say, she hasn’t brought up with me yet.

“I’d like to discuss my weight,” she says assuredly.

Our bodyguards have no idea how to react to these issues if it doesn’t involve security. Even Farrow, I think. They just keep eating and drinking. Doing their best not to appear concerned. It’s not their job to be emotionally invested in us.

But a lot of them care, I’ve fucking realized.

Obviously.

One is my boyfriend. Don’t look at him. I’m trying. Christ, I’ve been trying for the past fifteen minutes.

“More specifically?” Jack asks my best friend while jotting notes. He bites into his muffin.

I wrap my arm around Janie when she says, “That I love my body the way it is. I have tiny boobs, no ass, love-handles and a bigger belly. How chubby isn’t a nasty word. And their hatred won’t change me.”

Farrow and Quinn start clapping in genuine appreciation.

Can we do take-backs?

Our bodyguards actually do know how to react. They’re our friends.

I know. I know.

I squeeze Jane around the shoulders and kiss her freckled cheek. “Je t'aime, ma moitié.” I love you, my other half.

Janie smiles warmly. “Je t'aime aussi.” I love you too.

Jack scribbles and nods. “That’ll be great. Also, you’re looking lovely as ever, Jane.”

“Merci.”

Farrow rolls his eyes, not at Janie’s comment but the producer’s.

“What?” Jack asks him. “I can’t give compliments to this group anymore?”

“You’re almost maxed out,” Farrow says.

“Then you’re all ugly,” Jack says with a wide grin. “How’s that?”

Quinn starts a slow-clap for Jack, and Farrow, Jane, and I join in. The exec producer’s smile expands.

The bell to the front door dings open. Akara has a key. Janie and I straighten up and exchange a look that says, protect Sulli if it gets intense.

The actual process of the docuseries is pretty fucking raw.

Round 1 of the Gauntlet of Over-sharing: dump your personal story onto Jack and a hoard of bodyguards.

Round 2: allow production teams to invade your life for specific chunks of time.

Round 3: let the world watch you be vulnerable.

Right now, I’m just fixated on round one for Sul. She’ll want to complete what she starts—no matter what—but if round one makes her uncomfortable, I’ll pull the fucking plug and call it off.