Chapter 7 Gage
GAGE
Coco presses a kiss to my cheek. “You having fun, honey?”
“Yeah, Ma.”
She smiles like she believes it, pats my chest once more, and then someone calls her name and she glides back into the party.
The second she’s gone, Cruz steps into the space she left behind, beer dangling loose from his fingers. Shoulders relaxed in a way that’s never real. His gaze tracks the direction Bellamy disappeared.
“Let’s go talk,” I say.
Cruz’s brow lifts slightly, mouth tipping like he might smirk but decides not to give me the satisfaction. “Sure,” he says easily. “Let’s chat.”
We slip through the side gate, cross the strip of grass, and head into the garage. Cruz locks the door behind us and punches in the keypad. The scrambler hums to life overhead.
It feels like overkill for a simple conversation. We do it anyway. Habit’s a bitch.
The garage is the same as always. Safes bolted into the back wall. Workbench cluttered with tools. Boards racked overhead. Beverage fridge stocked. Chest freezer humming behind the couch that Rafe insisted we have.
Cruz hops up onto the workbench, expression blanker than it has any right to be.
“Bellamy Hale, hm?” he muses with a low whistle. “Didn’t see that coming.”
I brace my hands on my hips and force out a laugh that doesn’t fool either of us. “I didn’t tell you anything.”
Cruz hums with amusement, like I just said something charming. “You didn’t have to. I’m not an idiot.”
I glare. He takes a slow drink, forever fucking unbothered.
Silence stretches—thick, familiar, wrong in a way that makes my shoulders tense. My head fills with things I don’t invite.
Bellamy laughing so hard she snorted when she wiped out.
Cherry Cokes stolen from the fridge, cupcakes eaten by the pool.
Nights skating under the pier lights—Cruz too fast, me chasing, Bellamy darting between us like she belonged there.
Then everything shifted.
Jobs. Responsibilities. Fucking feelings. Lines drawn without us noticing.
Now it feels like there’s a canyon where that space used to be.
Cruz breaks it first. “You going to tell me what’s going on?”
A smirk ghosts across my lips as I meet my little brother’s eyes.
“Why don’t you tell me? You’re the smart one, aren’t you?”
Cruz barks out a soft laugh. “Nah, that’s Bishop.”
The mention of our oldest brother in the same breath as everything spinning through my skull feels like a spike to my gut.
“You gonna tell him?”
Cruz tilts his head. “Should I?”
Something cold cracks open in my chest. My smirk dies instantly.
Cruz sees it—hell, he enjoys it. A grin sparks, sharp and wild. “If I wanted to tell Bishop, I would’ve done it already,” he says lightly.
“And what’s stopping you?”
He shrugs, takes another drink, eyes never leaving mine. “Haven’t decided if I’ve had the opportunity yet.”
My jaw tightens until it aches. “That’s not funny.”
Cruz lifts a brow, face calm except for the glint that always gives him away. “Who said I was joking?”
He watches me—really watches me—expression smooth, posture loose, but every detail honed sharp as a blade. I recognize what’s underneath it.
He’s calculating and curious. He’s waiting.
“Why didn’t you tell Bishop?” he asks quietly. “Or me and Rafe?”
I bite the inside of my cheek hard enough to taste copper.
Because it would get her killed.
Because Bishop would tell Coco, and she would tell Rafe. And then Bellamy wouldn’t stand a chance.
Instead, I say, “Same reason you didn’t.”
Cruz’s eyes narrow a fraction, but before either of us can press it, the side door beeps and swings open.
Rafe strolls in with a plate piled high with nachos balanced in one hand. A single chip loaded with cheese freezes halfway to his mouth as he takes us in. “What are you two doing in here?”
His gaze sweeps the garage as if he’s expecting to find a blood trail or a trapdoor. Then it snaps back to us, sharper. “Or should I say, who are you doing?”
Cruz snorts. I drag my hand across my face. Not this shit again.
Rafe squints, like he’s recalibrating. “Did Coco spike the punch again? Because I swear I just saw Bellamy Hale out there.” A beat. “And I half expected to find her in here between you two.”
My pulse slams once. Of course my brothers would clock the one person I hoped they wouldn’t.
I dip my chin and force my expression to remain neutral.
Cruz, on the other hand, doesn’t hesitate. “Sure was her.” He hops off the workbench and grabs another beer from the fridge. “But c’mon, Rafe, you know Gage doesn’t like interference.”
Rafe whistles low. “Damn. Haven’t seen her in forever.” He wanders over and drops onto the couch, gaze flicking between us. “Weren’t the three of you tight for a while? Surfing, beach parties, all that shit?”
Cruz’s eyes meet mine. Two seconds of silence. One second of something unspoken tightening between us.
Then I scrape a hand down my jaw. “Yeah. That was her. Haven’t seen her in years.”
Rafe hums around a mouthful of nachos. He doesn’t say anything else, but the way his eyes track between us makes it clear he’s seeing something.
Maybe more than I want him to. Maybe more than I understand myself.
“So,” he says casually, licking nacho cheese from his fingers, “you gonna tell me why you’re hiding in here like you’re planning a coup, or should I go find Bishop and let him sniff around instead?”
The grin he gives us is pure Rafe. Sharp and reckless, unhinged enough to be dangerous.
“Nothing to tell,” I say, tone flat.
“We need another job,” Rafe announces abruptly, licking cheese off his thumb.
Cruz barks a laugh. “Jesus. Listen to you. You sound just like Bishop.”
Rafe grins, but it’s all teeth. “Yeah, well, maybe it’s because he’s been bitching at me for two fucking days about it.”
“So you want to get Bishop off our backs. Or get Coco off his?” I ask.
“Same thing,” Cruz mutters.
“Either way, we gotta get something on the books,” Rafe says with a shrug and continues inhaling his nachos.
Cruz exhales. “I might have something. Too early to tell.”
“Well, we’ll need something soon.” My mind spins a little.
Rafe lifts a brow. “Why? You outta money already?”
Heat crawls up the back of my neck. “One time—one fucking time I spent my whole cut in a week. That was years ago. You guys are never gonna let that go, huh?”
Cruz grins. “You snapped that custom board trying to impress a girl.”
Rafe wheezes a laugh. “Iconic, really.”
“Yeah, yeah. Fuck both of you,” I mutter, but there’s no real bite in it.
Cruz pushes off the workbench, tossing his empty bottle in the recycling. “All right. I’m out.”
“No, you’re not,” Rafe says immediately.
Cruz freezes mid-step. “I’m not?”
“Coco wants fireworks. Everyone stays until after.”
Cruz’s groan shakes dust from the rafters. “It’s barely sunset.”
“I don’t make the rules,” Rafe says, wiping his hands on a napkin.
You enforce them, I think.
Cruz mutters something vicious under his breath and drags himself back to the workbench, slumping dramatically.
I lean against the column near the safes, arms crossed, trying to look normal even though my heart hasn’t settled since the moment Rafe said Bellamy’s name.
Cruz chuckles under his breath, but his gaze flicks to me—quick and sharp. A reminder that whatever just happened isn’t finished. Not really. Not with Bellamy’s name still hanging between us like a live wire.
I shift my weight, crossing my arms. “We’ll come up with something. We’ll bring ideas to the meeting.”
Rafe nods. “Good. Because if Bishop corners me one more time about timelines, I’m going to lose my shit.” He tosses his empty plate in the trash, stretches his arms over his head, and saunters toward the door.
Then he’s gone. The door swings shut, sealing the garage in quiet again.
Cruz exhales slowly through his nose. “Well.”
“Yeah.”
We don’t move. Him leaning against the workbench. Me planted near the safes. Two brothers standing on top of something fragile enough to shatter if either of us pushes too hard.
Cruz finally straightens, brushing nonexistent lint off his jeans. “We’ll figure it out. All of it.”
I nod once. “Yeah.”
But the second he turns and walks out—boots fading, door thudding shut behind him—the truth rolls through me like cold water down my spine.
We’re not figuring shit out.
Not until I know exactly what Bellamy’s doing back in Hollow Beach. Not until I understand why seeing her again felt less like a surprise and more like the ground shifting under my feet—slow, inevitable, impossible to stop once it starts.
I stay there long after the garage empties, pulse still thudding too high, too fast.
Because something old is awake again.
And I don’t know if I’m ready for what it’s about to cost me.