Chapter 13 Gage
THIRTEEN
GAGE
The ocean’s still rushing in my ears when we come up the path. For two hours I didn’t have to think about Sableine or the half-mil sitting in a storage unit or who might be gunning for us next. Just me and the water and random thoughts about Bellamy. Exactly how I like it.
The second my feet hit my front porch, reality crashes back.
My skin itches where salt’s drying in patches.
The setting sun burns my eyes, turning everything that sickly gold that reminds me how fast the day’s ending.
Our boards drip onto the concrete, and I can still feel that last wave in my shoulders—the one that nearly broke my fucking neck when I refused to bail.
Worth it. First time in almost two weeks I’ve felt like I could breathe without something sitting on my chest.
Cruz shifts his board under his arm as we cut up the side of the house. “You see how many people were out today?”
I huff out a breath. “Yeah, I know. Shit’s annoying as fuck. They never know how to surf either. Fucking tourists.”
I bump the screen door open with my hip and step into the mudroom, dropping my board against the wall with a dull thud. Sand shakes loose onto the tile.
Cruz follows, stacking his next to mine. “We should do something about it.”
I glance over at him. “About what, the kooks?”
He shrugs, but I catch that look—the one that means he’s already three steps ahead. “Neighborhood looks to us for shit like that. You know how Ma’s always handled it.”
I drag a towel off the hook and scrub it through my hair, trying to get the rest of the sand out before I track it inside. “Yeah. Someone brings her a problem, she solves it.”
“Pockets a favor,” Cruz adds, raising his brows.
I toss the towel onto the bench and lean back against it, studying him. “And who’s gonna owe us a favor for scaring off the tourists from up north?”
Cruz’s mouth curves into that smile that always means trouble. “Everyone.” He says it like it’s obvious. Like the risk is worth it.
I laugh, shaking my head. “Yeah, alright.”
He pushes off the wall, heading toward the kitchen. “I’m serious.”
“I know you are. So am I.”
“I’ve got a few ideas. We’ll bring it to the garage, but I don’t think Rafe or Bishop will care,” Cruz says over his shoulder.
I follow him inside, hit with that unfamiliar quiet. I prefer my house loud, music on, people over, something happening.
I clear my throat. “We should rope Bellamy in.” Her name catches in my throat for half a second. “She’s good at shit like that.” My fingers twitch at my sides, and I shove them into my pockets before Cruz notices.
Cruz stops walking, turning toward me. His eyebrow lifts so high it nearly disappears into his hairline. “Are you fucking kidding me, man?”
I roll my shoulders back. “What?”
“You haven’t seen her since the job, have you?” He shakes his head, drags his palm over his mouth as he walks forward. “You’re a fucking idiot, you know that, right?”
Heat crawls up my neck, and I scratch at it like I can dig the feeling out. “You know what, fuck you. You’re the one who told me I should give her space.” I shift my weight from one foot to the other, trying to dislodge the emotions clouding my lungs.
“Bro, I told you that because she was hurt.” He stares at me for a beat, his expression like he can’t believe how stupid I am.
Well, fuck, neither can I.
My stomach drops to my feet. The back of my neck burns hotter. “Fuck.” The words come out quieter than I meant them to. “I don’t remember that part. You said I was gonna scare her away or some shit.” My arms cross over my chest, fingers digging into my biceps.
Cruz snorts and throws his hands up. “Since when do you fucking listen to me anyway?”
“Since I don’t want to fuck it up with her.” The words explode out of me. My head falls back, eyes squeezing shut. “Goddamnit.” When I look at Cruz again, he’s fighting a smile. I jab my finger toward his face. “You’re a dick. Stop laughing.”
The memory of his words—you’re smothering her, man—burns in my ears while Cruz stands there with that shit-eating grin, hands raised in mock surrender.
“She probably thinks you’re an asshole now.” He pulls out his phone, thumb already swiping across the screen. “Which reminds me, I should probably text her back.”
My stomach drops. “You’ve been texting her?” My eyes narrow on him as jealousy curdles in my stomach like sour milk.
One corner of his mouth lifts higher than the other. “She was my friend first.”
Something twists in my gut, hot and sharp. I’ve heard those exact words too many times, always with that same smug look. I clench my jaw so hard my teeth ache.
Annoyance punches me in the stomach, but underneath it there’s something worse—that familiar ache that never quite goes away.
It’s my own fault for listening to him. I should’ve never second-guessed shit with her.
“Whatever, man.” I shoulder past him toward my bedroom. “Don’t we have shit to do on the Mariner apartments? I’m gonna shower. Give me—“
My feet stop dead. Bishop sits at my kitchen counter, iced coffee raised halfway to his lips like he owns the place. My heart slams against my ribs. “Fuck, Bishop.” My palm presses flat against my chest.
He doesn’t even look up. “If I were an intruder, you’d be dead already.”
My fingers curl into a fist. “You into B-and-Es now?”
“I have a key.” He doesn’t even look up when he says it.
I glare at him. “Give it back.”
His gaze flicks up, sharp enough to cut. “Nah, I think I’ll keep it. I’m sure it’ll come in handy the next time you drop off the face of—”
I push off the counter, stepping closer. “Thought you learned your lesson about walkin’ in on people already.”
The edge of his mouth lifts into a sneer. “You mean when you were fucking Bellamy in your shower?”
“Careful, brother,” I warn.
“I hope you fucking sanitized it after.” The disdain drips from his mouth.
One step, and I slap his coffee out of his hand. It sails across my kitchen and hits the refrigerator next to Cruz with a wet splat. Ice and cold brew puddle in the middle of my floor, but I don’t take my eyes off of my oldest brother.
Cruz grunts. “Why is it always when I’m trying to eat?”
“Boundaries, Bishop. Fucking learn them, or I’ll make you.”
He shakes his hand once, flicking droplets of coffee onto my counter top and getting to his feet. That shit might’ve worked when I was eleven. It doesn’t anymore.
Bishop’s jaw tightens as he gives me a flat stare. “You trying to make a statement, brother?”
“Me?” I grin, feeling the wild edges of it as I rock back on my heels. “Nah, man. You’re the one in my house, insulting my girl. I don’t know, Cruz, doesn’t it seem like he’s making a statement?”
Cruz shuts the fridge and twists the cap off a protein shake, sidestepping the growing mess and taking a long drink before he looks between us. “I’m not getting between you two assholes today.”
I fold my arms across my chest and pitch my voice over my shoulder. “Don’t worry, Cruz. He knows I’m right.”
Cruz sighs as he sits on the stool farthest from us at the island. “What’s up, Bishop? You come over to not drink your coffee, or did Coco finally give you those names?”
Bishop just stares at me. “I went by the house, but she wasn’t there. She’s not answering my calls either.”
Cruz taps his index finger against his shake. “She left this morning.”
“Where?” I drag my focus from Bishop and glance at Cruz.
“Said Palm Springs.”
I huff a quiet laugh. “Yeah? And which Palm Springs is that?”
Cruz’s mouth twitches as he shrugs.
Coco says she’s going to Palm Springs, but what she’s really saying is I’m not telling you where I’m going. And normally I’m all for shit that gets under Bishop’s skin, but never letting us know where she’ll be is reckless in the way that gets people killed in our life.
Bishop drags his hand through his hair and exhales. “Did she say how long?”
“Not this time.” Cruz shakes his head.
“Maybe she’s meeting her contact from Sableine? Finally getting us some fucking answers?” I drawl, annoyance heating the back of my neck.
Bishop exhales hard, dragging a hand down his face. For a second, he looks tired.
Not weak. Never that. Just worn thin in a way he usually keeps buried under orders and locked jaws and the kind of control that makes everyone else feel like they’re the ones standing too close to the edge.
“A Mack truck got dropped at Keller Salvage a week ago,” he says.
Cruz’s brows lift. “And we’re just hearing about it now? Why’d Ron wait to call it in?”
“He didn’t call it in. I got tipped off from someone else.” Bishop’s jaw clenches so tight I can see the muscle jump beneath his skin. “Thought I’d go have a chat with him.”
I narrow my eyes. “Where’s Rafe?” Rafe’s always Bishop’s first call when he needs to extract information from someone. The two of them have a rhythm—Bishop’s cold intimidation, Rafe’s unpredictable violence.
“I don’t know. I’m not his fuckin’ keeper.”
Cruz drains his protein shake and stands. “Now?”
Bishop snatches his keys from the counter. “Now.”
My gaze drifts to the puddle of cold brew spreading across my kitchen floor in a dark stain, then to Bishop’s shirt where coffee has soaked through the fabric and clings to his skin. He catches me looking and his eyes narrow to slits.
I can’t help the grin that spreads across my face. “You want to change first? I think I have some old shirts I was gonna donate, but they might fit you.”
“I’ll be in the car. If you’re not out in five minutes, I’m leaving without you.” The screen door slams behind him.
“You know, that’d be more effective if he didn’t literally come over here to get backup,” I mutter, grabbing paper towels. Fifteen minutes later, I’m showered and heading for the car.