I lean back.
Oscar glances to me. “That wasn’t meant for you to shut up. I was just stating a fact.”
My lips quirk. “So you do like my questions?”
He shakes his head slowly, and a smile creeps over his mouth. “I didn’t say that, Long Beach.”Long Beach. His tone is sweeter with me when he uses that nickname.
It does something to my heartbeat.
“What’s going on with them then?” I wonder.
“Tom’s new drummer apparently ditched at the last minute. He’s fighting with Charlie over how to replace him before tonight’s gig.” Oscar looks me up and down. “So this is your friendly warning not to trash talk me across the room.”
“I did schedule a trash-talking for later this evening,” I say lightly. “I’ll let you know what timenotto be there.”
“Oh I’ll be there,” he says into a grin. “I don’t think I’ve heard you say a mean thing about one person. Ever. I’m not missing the moment a sunshine turns into a raincloud, even at my expense.”
My cheeks hurt from grinning like him. “Did you just call me asunshine?”
“Fuck you, dude!” Tom screams, cutting into our banter. Our heads whip towards the Cobalt brothers. “You’re supposed to be here supporting me!”
“I am here to support you,” Charlie says, voice leveled but irritation sticks to each syllable. Oscar rises to his feet and approaches now, a hand flying to his earpiece.
I follow beside him.
“But if that means biting my tongue when your ideas are bullshit,” Charlie adds exhaustedly, “then that’s where my support ends.”
When Tom sees us approaching, his eyes latch to mine. “Thank you. Jack, can you please tell my brother it’s fine if I get someone from Craigslist to fill the drums foronenight.”
“Don’t answer that,” Oscar tells me under his breath.
I wasn’t going to. “What are the other alternatives?” I ask.
Charlie sighs heavily. “Yes, let’s hear the other fantastic ideas, you’ve come up with.”
Tom holds up his hands like he’s ready to throw in the towel. “With that level of sarcasm, you don’t deserve to hear a single one of myfantasticideas. Plug your ears, brother.”
Charlie doesn’t make a move.
Tom glares.
Charlie’s brows rise. “Oh, you’re being serious? You do know I’m not a toddler.”
Tom lets out a frustrated noise before looking to me. “Option 2 is Eliot’s idea.”
Eliot Cobalt is Tom’s older brother by only eleven months, and they’re as thick as thieves.
My team on the docuseries is mostly in charge of filming the older kids of the families, which includes Jane, Maximoff, Charlie, and most recently Sullivan. We’d film Beckett too, but he’s private and always declines to be on the show.
So my experience with Tom and Eliot is more limited, but it doesn’t mean I haven’t filmed them or been around for rifts and family gatherings. Anytime they’re together, it’s a recipe for drama.
Charlie doesn’t stifle his laugh at Eliot’s name. “Your option will be better than his.”
Tom narrows his eyes. “I take offense to that on his behalf.”
“Let’s hear the idea,” I mediate.
“Instagram,” Tom says. “I tell everyone I need a drummer for the night. Give them my location. First guy who shows up and is decent enough, gets the gig. Send the rest home.”
