Luna is buried in her shirt.
“It shouldn’t have happened like this,” Rose Calloway says emotionally, angrily, gut-wrenchingly as they show Jane screaming into a sob outside the hospital after the car crash.
I have my hand in Jane’s, leading her to a vehicle.
Professional.
I was just her bodyguard back then. But what I felt for her…
I see my narrowed gaze. I’m glaring at the off-screen paparazzi and yelling at them to get the fuck out of her way, but my words are muted as the music intensifies.
Jane’s sob is silent on-screen, but I can still hear the pained sound in my ear. I can still feel the forceful push to bring her to safety.
“Just when you think you know what’s coming,” Daisy Calloway says, “life drags you back.”
Rain beats asphalt, littered with car pieces.
The crash.
And then they zoom in on Maximoff diving off the bow of a yacht. Picturesque clips from the summer trip to Greece start playing. Gradually leading into a brighter tone as they linger on Farrow and Maximoff embracing in an intimate hug.
Title font appears.
WE ARE CALLOWAY
Returns in April
A car commercial cuts on after the docuseries trailer. How did the production team land footage from the crash? It’s less of a question. More of a disturbing fact.
Paparazzi.
It reminds me that fucking cameramen were on-site filming the event.
Footage in We Are Calloway mostly comes from the production team, but they also use videos from the media, paparazzi, and fans who posted shit online.
And that emotional trailer just sobered the pub. Maximoff has his arms crossed, and Farrow has a comforting hand on the back of his neck.
I hadn’t thought much about what it must be like for Jane, her cousins, and siblings to watch the docuseries. But it must be hard to see their parents so emotionally raw about situations that involve them.
This season will be difficult for most of the team. The car crash was one of the worst events we’ve all been through together.
In my arms, Jane is blissfully unaware. Half the pub would love to be as drunk as her right now. She chews turkey slowly with a soft smile.
“You could’ve made that a little happier, Jack,” Farrow teases.
“Yeah.” Akara smiles. “Way to go, Jack.”
“What were you thinkin’, Jack,” Donnelly pipes in.
“Dammit, Jack,” Quinn sighs.
“Yeah, fuck you, Highland,” Oscar cuts in playfully.
Jack is smiling a hundred-watt smile. “I’ll take those as compliments, and honestly, this is one of the best seasons we’ve ever produced. And the longest. The studio gave us twice as many episodes.”
I heard that from Jane. She said the season is airing later than expected because they needed more time to edit the footage, and they were given a new air date.
April.
“Have all our clients signed off on the footage already?” Quinn asks.
Affirmative.
He’s been in security for over a year, not fresh blood anymore, but he hasn’t been a bodyguard while the docuseries is airing. It’s good that he asks questions. I’ve led men who try to act cool, pretending they know shit when they know nothing.
Jack explains, “Everyone shown on-screen has okayed the footage in the trailer. For the actual episodes, we still have to go through the rough edit with some family members.”
Jane pinches her eyes closed. She’s dizzy.
I brush a strand of hair off her cheek. “Need the bathroom?”
“Mmmhhmm.” She shakes her head but slumps more against me.
I need to take her back to Mackintosh House.
Gradually, we all start exiting the pub into the frostbitten cold. I ditch Tony with a longer, stricter stride. I’m so far ahead of that shitbag, he’d have to run to catch me.
Breath smokes the frozen night, and I wrap my jacket over Jane’s shoulders while she burrows her body against my warm chest.
Bodyguards crack caked ice off the windshields, turn ignitions, and I slide the door open to a compact black van.
“Banks.” Tony bombards me, a furious beat from fisting the back of my shirt—and I can’t let him touch me while I’m holding her.
“Don’t,” I warn and face his blood-boiling anger. My veins sear just as blistering hot right now.
Jane stirs, probably sensing my tension, and she cranes her neck over her shoulder.
Drama is shooting off in multiple directions.
“Were we not just having a good time?” Oscar asks in genuine concern. He opposes his little brother on the stoop of the pub, a twinkling holiday wreath hung on the shut door.
Quinn glares. “Bro, just drop it. We’re on-duty.” He tries to walk off, but Oscar grabs his arm, and Quinn rotates and swings.
“Quinn!” Joana clutches his waist and drags him back, but his knuckles already met Oscar’s jaw.
That’s Fight 1 at my twelve o’clock.
I can’t watch long because of Fight 2 on my three.
“You forced me here,” Beckett sneers at his twin brother. “You want the truth? I expected this from Moffy and Jane, but not from you.”
“Are you done?” Charlie glares.
Beckett laughs with hurt, breath visible in the cold. “Get me out of here, Charlie.”
“No.”
Fight 3 is on my ten. Behind the gurgling exhaust pipes of a blue car, O’Malley confronts Donnelly.
“Hey, I heard your dad is being let of prison this week.”
I’ve seen this happen before. With Farrow not in earshot or view, O’Malley is less afraid to go for Donnelly’s jugular. Fight 3 is about to be a knockout bloodbath.
Alarm triggers my instincts, and I reach for my mic to alert Akara, but I realize that the cord is yanked from the radio.
Shit. I scan the gravel parking lot for the Omega lead.
“Banks,” Tony snaps. “You’re not riding home with my client.”
Fuck off. I spot Akara at the furthest car, popping the hood. “Akara!” I yell and point in the direction of Fight 3.
He might hate me right now, but we’re still teammates and willing to die for the same cause.
“Yeah, he’s getting let out,” Donnelly answers O’Malley.
Akara sees and sprints after them.
“Yeah? Looks like you’re missing your meth-head family reunio—” He grunts as Donnelly tackles him, and Akara wrenches him off O’Malley before either guy can throw a punch.
“Jane is drunk,” Tony snaps at me. “Incapacitated. She can’t consent to jack shit right now, which is why protocol dictates that her bodyguard take care of her—you aren’t her bodyguard, Moretti.”
I’m about to ignite Fight 4.
My nose flares, rage a flaming ball in my lungs. “I’m not just a fucking bodyguard to Jane.”
I’m her boyfriend.
Tony laughs. “Right, you’re her boyfriend’s brother. Great.” He claps mockingly. “Just because there are two of you doesn’t mean you get double-dibs on the same girl. Unless you two are with her in some kind of weird twincest threesome thing. Which, really, isn’t that shocking considering you both stuck it in the same chick in high school.”
Fucking lies.
“Shut…up,” Jane says drunkenly and tries to swat him but she pats the air, and then whacks my cheek. I clasp her hand, almost smiling.