Chapter 5 Gage
GAGE
Coco’s house hums like it’s alive.
From the kitchen island where the four of us hover—each leaning against a different stretch of granite as if staking our own quiet territory—I can see straight through the wide sliding glass doors to the sprawling backyard.
Early-evening sunlight flashes off the pool, golden streaks skating across the surface as people drink, laugh, splash, and flirt.
Bass-heavy music pulses under everything, vibrating through the tile and up my legs.
The house curves around the yard in a loose U-shape—bedrooms anchoring each wing, kitchen and living room in the center, every back door opening onto the patio like a stage. She likes spaces that bend around her, where she can see everything. Everyone.
Rafe pulls from his beer and mutters, “You’d think she’d be tired of this scene by now.”
Cruz huffs out a laugh. “This? This is her slowing down.”
Rafe snorts, conceding the point.
Outside, Coco’s holding court in a flowing black dress, sunglasses perched on top of her dark hair. She’s talking animatedly to a man in a linen shirt who’s nodding along like he’s either terrified or in love. Hard to tell with Coco. She can elicit both reactions from someone in the same breath.
Bishop swipes a hand across his jaw, already irritated. “Are you two crashing here tonight?” he asks, tone flat as poured concrete.
Cruz shrugs, like he doesn’t still sleep here five nights a week.
Rafe clinks his bottle against mine and leans back against the fridge. “I’m staying long enough to appease her,” he says. “One hour. Two if she’s in a good mood. What about you?”
Bishop grunts. “I’ve got shit to do. One more drink and I’m out.”
“Don’t let her hear you say that,” Cruz says.
Bishop scoffs. “As if I’d ever be that stupid.”
Silence settles in—not comfortable, but familiar. The kind we’ve lived in since we were kids. Outside, laughter cracks across the pool; and someone cannonballs hard enough to send water slapping against the patio slab. Meat sizzles on the grill. Smoke drifts in through the cracked back door.
The air feels heavy, humming with the weight of expectation I’ve known for as long as I can remember. Coco throws a party; we show up. She holds court; we orbit. This is tradition and obligation and muscle memory.
I take a slow pull from my beer and let the cold settle in my chest. Might as well enjoy myself. Not that I’ve got anywhere else I need to be. Not tonight.
Cruz nudges my arm with the side of his bottle. “What about you? Crashing here?”
I shrug. “We’ll see where the night takes me.”
He smirks. “So… yes.”
I open my mouth to tell him where he can shove that when something flickers at the edge of my vision. Movement at the side gate, the main entrance to the backyard. I glance up and see three figures walk through the entryway like the universe is fucking with me on purpose.
My grip on the beer bottle freezes.
Bellamy.
Sunlight hits her hair and turns it into honey, and her skin glows in the late light. Her sunglasses hide her eyes, but not the way her head tilts as she scans the space like she’s looking for me. Or, fuck, maybe she’s counting exits and threats. Old habits die hard and all that.
Next to her is a girl who looks like her reflection. Same posture, same jawline, same fuck-around-and-find-out energy. Must be her sister.
And then there’s the guy. Tall and broad. Close enough to her that something sharp punches under my ribs.
No shit. She actually fucking did it. She got married.
A rough sound scrapes up my throat before I can stop it.
Rafe follows my stare. “Who is that?”
I force myself to swallow, set the beer down, and answer with a shrug that feels loose in all the wrong places. “My plans for the night.”
Rafe’s brows jump, but he keeps his mouth shut.
Cruz, unfortunately, does not. “Oh, this is going to be good.”
I ignore both of them.
I rake a hand through my hair and straighten my shoulders without meaning to.
My feet move before my brain catches up, carrying me toward the patio doors like gravity’s got a personal vendetta.
My pulse is thumping hard enough that I feel it in my fingertips.
Excitement hits me fast, square in the chest. I haven’t felt that in… god. Fucking years.
I push the door open and step into heat and sound, weaving through bodies and sunlight until I’m right in front of her.
She turns when she senses me close, chin tipping up. The sunglasses stay on, hiding everything I want to see. But I don’t miss the slight curve at the corner of her mouth. Amusement or warning? With Bellamy, it’s probably both.
“I didn’t think you were actually gonna show,” I say.
She shrugs, casual as sin. Her black tank and cutoff shorts should not make it this hard to think, but here we are.
“You gonna introduce me?” I ask, nodding toward the two beside her.
She hesitates just long enough to make me itch, then gestures to the woman at her side. “I don’t know if you remember, but this is my sister, Lola.”
Lola shifts her weight, one hip cocked, blonde hair in loose curls around her shoulders. She dips her chin in a greeting that feels more like a threat. “Calloway.”
I can’t help but grin. I mirror her tone exactly. “Hale.” Then I look at the guy. “And you are?”
“Beckett,” he says, voice even.
The name hits me like someone snapped a rubber band behind my ear.
“Holy shit—Beck? As in—” I gesture vaguely between them. “Little brother Beck?”
Bellamy’s lips twitch.
Before I can follow that thread, a familiar hand slides around my bicep—light, warm, familiar in its own unmistakable way.
Coco.
Her brown hair gleams under the waning sunlight, gold hoops flashing in her ears, a drink in one hand, silk draped like she’s stepping onto a stage instead of a patio. She smiles like she’s stepping into a spotlight.
Coco squeezes my arm twice. “Are you going to introduce me to your friends, honey?”
Holy shit, she’s actually here. That’s the only coherent thought in my head right now. Bellamy, standing three feet from me in my mother’s backyard again, like life is some kind of cosmic joke.
“Uh—yeah.” I clear my throat. “Ma, I don’t know if you remember, but this is Bellamy—”
“Bellamy Hale,” she cuts in immediately, sweeping past me and pulling Bellamy into a hug before I even finish the sentence. “My, you’ve sure grown up, honey.”
Bellamy’s arms hover awkwardly for a second, then she pats Coco’s back lightly—polite, cautious, noncommittal.
“Thanks, Mrs. Calloway.”
The sound of Mrs. Calloway hooks something behind my sternum. I can’t tell if it’s nostalgia or something meaner. Fuck, it’s probably just heartburn.
Coco beams as she pulls back, her hands lingering on Bellamy’s shoulders. “It’s been far too long.”
Yeah. No shit.
And suddenly I’m remembering too late that Bellamy and her siblings literally hit one of our jobs a few days ago. Coco does not tolerate being stolen from. The timing here is… bad. Borderline catastrophic, actually.
“And these are her siblings. Her sister Lola. Her brother, Beckett,” I cut in before Coco can start connecting dots.
Coco turns to Beckett first, sweeping her palm down his arm with a warm smile. “Look at you, sweetheart. All grown up.”
Beckett stiffens, jaw tight, eyes scanning the yard like he’s memorizing everyone’s face and every exit. Kid’s coiled tight. Probably smarter than most people give him credit for.
“You were, what, three feet tall last time I saw you?” I say.
“I was twelve,” he answers, voice flat.
Coco laughs and pats his cheek—a gesture I’ve seen her use on anyone she finds unexpectedly charming. “That’s all right, honey. Gage was a late bloomer too.”
I blink at her. “Ma, I was six feet tall at fourteen. You’re confusing me with Bishop.”
From across the patio, Bishop looks over like he felt his name dragged into this conversation through sheer force of irritation.
Coco lifts a shoulder, unfazed. “Well, raising four boys so close together, I’m bound to mix up a few details.”
Then she turns to Lola. “And you must be the sister.”
Lola gives the world’s least enthusiastic nod. “Lola.”
Coco’s face lights up . “You look like the spitting image of your mother.”
Bellamy barely flinches, but enough that I catch it.
Lola mutters, “That’s not the compliment you think it is.”
Bellamy elbows her sharply. Lola grunts and pastes on a tight smile. “Thanks.”
Coco doesn’t miss a beat. “Well, I’m glad you’re here. Make yourselves at home. Everyone else does. And it’s good to see you again, Bellamy.”
Then she drifts away toward the tables by the pool, already reclaiming the party as if she had never left. The air feels heavier once she’s gone.
I turn to Bellamy. “You hungry? Thirsty? Want to swim? Or I can show you around?” Christ, I sound like a tour guide. I don’t take it back though. Not when having her here feels this good. Bright. Unsettling. Like popping candy in my veins.
“Yo, Beck!” someone hollers his name from the far side of the patio. Two guys wave him over.
Lola squints. “Who’s that?”
“Just people I know,” Beckett says with a shrug. “From Crescent Point.” His eyes flick to me, sharp and assessing.
I lift my hands. “Relax. It’s a party, man. No one’s gonna do anything.”
His stare stays hard until Bellamy dips her chin and says quietly, “We’re good.”
Only then does he go.
Lola lingers another second, gives Bellamy a look that’s basically a silent dissertation, then says, “Drink. Immediately.” She pivots and disappears toward the bar.
Which leaves the two of us alone. Fucking finally.
I turn toward Bellamy, and she pushes her sunglasses up the bridge of her nose, chin angled like she’s daring me to misbehave.
“You look good,” I say before I can stop myself.
She lifts a brow. “Do I?”
“Yeah.” I lean in a little, just enough that she can hear me over the music. “And you showed up. Thought you might bail.”
“Thought about it,” she answers, voice steady but her fingers tightening around the strap of her bag. “But I don’t like giving you the satisfaction.”
A grin pulls across my mouth. “Maybe I just wanted to see you.”
Her breath hitches, and she shifts her weight like the ground just tilted beneath her.
“Careful, Calloway,” she murmurs. “People might think you have good intentions.”
I huff a laugh. “Never. I just know a good thing when I see it.”
Her lips twitch, the beginning of a smile she tries to suppress.
And fuck, every part of me lights up at the sight.