Chapter 15 Bellamy
FIFTEEN
BELLAMY
Late afternoon light stretches long across the sidewalk, warm enough to soften the edges of everything it touches but not enough to take the bite out of the air.
I walk slower than I need to, iced coffee in one hand, my phone balanced in the other as I scroll without really seeing anything on the screen.
It’s been two weeks since Coco’s party. Nineteen days since the job went sideways. And nothing has happened.
No fallout. No sign that anyone is coming to collect whatever they didn’t get that night.
It should feel like a win, and yet, it doesn’t. The silence makes my teeth ache like I’m biting down on tinfoil.
My phone buzzes in my hand as I turn off the main street. Traffic noise fades into the background hum of a residential neighborhood. The sun dips lower, no longer burning but still pressing against my skin, working its way through my t-shirt to settle between my shoulder blades.
Gage: Hey
I glance down at the screen, hopping over a crack in the sidewalk with an exaggerated step. My lips twitch upward as my thumbs hover over the keyboard, and I take an extra second before responding, savoring the warm flutter in my chest.
Me: Hi
Gage: What are you up to?
Me: Are we acquaintances now? I thought we were past small talk.
The reply comes almost immediately.
Gage: C’mon Bell. We both know we’re very good friends.
I bite my lower lip to keep from grinning too wide as I pass a parked car. Sunlight flashes across the windshield, momentarily blinding.
Me: “What’s a little light stalking between friends” friends?
Gage: Exactly.
Me: Haven’t seen you lately.
Gage: If I was in town I’d already be outside your house.
My stride remains steady but my pulse quickens, a sudden warmth spreading beneath my ribs.
Me: Where are you?
Gage: Out running errands for Coco.
Gage: Bored as shit.
My fingers pause over the keyboard. Errands. The word sits there, innocent but loaded. The kind that involve duffel bags and burner phones? The kind I should know about?
I swallow hard and keep walking, letting my nail tap against the side of the phone case three times before responding. I push down the unwelcome thought before it can take root.
Me: Oh so I’m your entertainment now?
Gage: I’m never bored when I’m with you.
I exhale softly, adjusting my grip on my phone as I cross the street.
Me: That sounds suspiciously like a line.
Gage: Nah, I don’t need lines with you.
I’m not sure if I should be offended or flattered. Before I can reply, he texts me again.
Gage: San Onofre wasn’t the same without you this week
My steps slow half a beat before I catch myself, gaze flicking instinctively toward where the ocean would be if I could see it from here. Now that feels like a line, but I kind of don’t even care.
Me: You know where I live.
Gage: I was giving you space under terrible advice.
My brows dip low, and I wrack my brain trying to figure out why he thinks I need that.
Me: Well, don’t. If I need it, I’ll tell you.
Gage: You’re going to regret that offer
My teeth sink into my bottom lip, the pressure almost painful. I catch my reflection in a parked car window—stupid grin, flushed cheeks.
Me: I doubt it.
Me: When you’re back, let’s hit San Onofre.
Gage: It’s a date
Gage: You know what else we should do? Black Point Cove.
My thumb hovers over the screen.
Me: With Cruz?
The typing bubble appears, disappears, and comes back.
Gage: If you want him there
The night of the job we talked about cliff jumping, and I haven’t done it in years. Not since I was in Hollow Beach actually.
I bite the inside of my cheek as I walk, then type anyway.
Me: Invite all your brothers if you want. I’d pay to see Bishop freefall over a cliff.
The screen stays blank longer than expected. I count five steps, ten, fifteen. A shadow falls across me as I pass under a three-story flat, goosebumps rising where the sudden coolness touches my bare arms.
Gage added you, Rafe, Cruz, Bishop to a group chat.
I snort loud enough that a passing woman glances at me.
Gage: Black Point Cove. Tuesday. 4pm.
Rafe: No
Cruz: Strong pitch
Bishop has left the group chat.
I huff a quiet laugh, side-stepping a couple holding hands.
Gage has added Bishop to the group chat.
Gage: Dude, what the fuck.
Cruz: You know his old ass doesn’t like group chats.
Gage: I know, but I thought he could live a little. You know, do something youthful
Cruz: Are we talking about the same brother?
Bishop: Both of you fuck off
Bishop has left the group chat.
Gage: Great. We’re jumping the actual Point, so get your nerves out now, Cruz so you don’t bail last minute again.
Cruz: First of all, fuck you very much. And second, I was like fifteen.
My lips curve into a grin, and before Gage can do it, I add Bishop back in.
You added Bishop to the group chat.
Me: Bishop, if you’re too afraid to jump, you can just say that. You don’t have to keep leaving the group chat.
Three dots appear, disappear, then reappear. My phone vibrates with a separate text notification. I swipe to it.
Rafe: Do you really want to jump Black Point or is my brother pushing it?
I bite the inside of my lip and ignore the way butterfly wings flutter inside my stomach.
Me: I’m sorry, who is this?
His reply is immediate.
Rafe: Cute
Me: thinking emojil. Bishop, is that you?
Rafe: You want to play, baby?
Those butterflies kick up a little, swirling around inside me.
Me: If I said I did?
Rafe: I’ll be there in four hours
A laugh sputters out of me.
Me: Four hours? Where are you?
Rafe: If you want to share locations, all you have to do is ask.
I roll my eyes with a little huff.
Me: I already have one Calloway stalking me. I don’t think I need another one.
Rafe: My brother doesn’t do it the way I do
The tip of my shoe catches on a raised sidewalk square. I stumble, coffee sloshing dangerously close to the rim of my cup, phone nearly slipping from my fingers. My cheeks burn hot despite no one being around to witness my clumsiness.
Rafe’s text burns brighter in my mind than the embarrassment.
My body temperature rises another few degrees as I picture large hands on either side of my waist, one with a familiar scar across the knuckles, the other with that silver ring that always catches the light.
The image is so clear I can almost feel the scratch of stubble against my neck.
My throat goes dry. I’ve never—God, I shouldn’t be thinking about taking both of them at the same time—but the thought won’t dissolve.
I’m still wearing a stupid grin when something dark catches my peripheral vision. My steps falter, gaze lifting from the cracked sidewalk to our flat ahead.
A motorcycle gleams at the curb, sleek and black.
My pulse jumps. Rafe? But as I draw closer, the stranger leaning against it comes into focus—one boot braced against the pavement, shoulders relaxed but spine straight.
His eyes are already tracking me, measuring each step as I approach, his stare unhurried but locked-in.
By the time I reach the edge of the driveway, my lips press into a thin line, gaze fixed just past his shoulder.
“Evening,” he says, voice easy as the leather jacket hanging open over his plain black t-shirt.
I slow my pace half a step, chin dipping in the barest acknowledgment. My fingers curl tighter around my phone, thumb hovering over the emergency call button.
“I need a little help.”
I pause against my better judgment, looking over my shoulder with a raised brow.
His mouth quirks up at one corner, a dimple appearing briefly. “I’m looking for someone.”
“Who?”
One shoulder rises beneath his jacket. “Guy I thought might be staying around here.”
The hair on my arms stands up despite the evening warmth. I blink twice, keeping my voice level. “I don’t think I can help you.”
“Maybe,” he says, eyes tracking over my face like he’s memorizing it. “You live here?”
“Who’s asking?” Who are you?
A quiet exhale escapes him, almost amused. “A friend passing through.”
I meet his stare for three heartbeats, then flick my gaze toward the street, chin following. “Then keep passing.”
Something hardens behind his eyes. His smile stretches wider, teeth showing now. He lifts his hands, palms out, fingers splayed. “Yeah, okay. I’ll try to track him down another way. Didn’t mean any harm.”
I plant my feet at the bottom of the driveway, watching as he swings one leg over the motorcycle in a practiced motion. The engine growls to life, then settles into a controlled purr. Exhaust curls around his boots as he pulls away.
I don’t move until his taillight disappears around the corner at the stop sign.
The back door opens with a familiar creak that settles something in my chest that had been rattling since the street.
“Bell?” Lola’s voice floats from the kitchen.
“Yeah.” I slide inside, lock the deadbolt, then cross to the front windows in eight quick steps. My fingers part the curtain just enough to create a sliver of visibility. The street stretches empty in both directions.
“Who were you talking to out there?”
The curtain whispers closed. “Just some guy.” I turn to find Lola leaning against the doorframe. “Said he was looking for someone.”
“Weird. Is he gone?”
“Yeah. I think we’ll hear him if he comes back.” I drain my coffee in three swallows, the liquid cold and bitter now.
“Okay, well whatever. I’m going out tonight. How do I look?” She twirls in front of me. Her black dress flares at mid-thigh, the plunging neckline disguised underneath a black lace longsleeve overlay.
I toss my cup into recycling, the plastic clattering against glass. “Ten out of ten as usual. You meeting your mystery friends tonight?”
Her mouth curves slightly. “Yeah. We’re going to The Pit.”
“What an interesting place for a date,” I muse.
She scoffs. “It’s not a date. Besides, like you wouldn’t say yes if a couple of Calloways invited you out for a night.”
Heat crawls up my neck as my brain flashes an image—tangled limbs, a hand with scarred knuckles gripping my hip, another with fingerprints pressing into my thigh. I blink three times, fast. “That’s—it’s not the same. Technically, I’m not even dating anyone.”
“You haven’t seen anyone in what—two weeks?”
I trace the rim of my empty cup. “Something like that.” My phone screen stays dark in my hand. No notifications. No texts. Two weeks of silence until today, and even then, it wasn’t—
“And that has nothing to do with you avoiding your own situation?”
I cut her a look. “I’m not avoiding anything.”
“Mm-hmm.”
My eyebrow rises as my mouth twists. She doesn’t even glance up.
“So which one do you want?” she asks, reapplying her lipstick like she’s asking about dinner options. “Or is it one of those all or nothing things?”
I blink. “What?”
“Don’t do that.” She bumps her hip against mine, nearly smearing her perfect burgundy line. “You don’t need to be coy with me.”
“I’m not being—”
“Sis.” She caps her lipstick with a decisive click. “I have been rooting for you to make terrible decisions with the Calloways since the second they showed back up. You don’t have to pretend with me.”
My skin prickles hot from collarbone to hairline. I open my mouth, but nothing comes out except a strangled sound.
“Relax,” she says, voice gentler now. “I’m not going to judge you for fucking brothers.”
“Jesus Christ, Lola,” I choke out. “It’s not like that.”
Not yet, at least, an intrusive thought whispers.
“What?” She swipes her nail underneath her lipliner, fixing a smudge. “It’s not like you’re trying to wife them up.”
Something twists behind my ribs. “Yeah,” I manage, stretching my lips into what might pass for a smile if you squint. “That would be wild.”
She snorts. “Exactly. So ride those boys as often as you can while you can.”
“I haven’t actually talked to Gage.” My voice drops. “Not about... any of it.”
“Girl.” She raises one perfectly arched eyebrow in the mirror. “That man watched his brother bend you over a table, then pinned you against a wall himself, and you think he doesn’t know?”
My cheeks burn at the memory. “True. But it feels like it’s the kind of thing I should state, explicitly. I don’t want to break them up or whatever.”
She rolls her eyes and fluffs her hair a little. “No offense, but you’re not that powerful.”
“Wow,” I scoff, my eyes widening as I stare at her reflection in the mirror.
She spins around and grabs my hands. “I’m sorry. I just mean you’re having fun, and he knows it. So don’t take it too seriously, okay?”
“Right,” I say. “Fun.”
“And if you somehow pull off the biggest heist and lock down all four Calloways,” she adds, wiping mascara from underneath her eyes, “I’m selling the story to Netflix."
A laugh escapes before I can stop it. “Good to know.”
She looks me up and down. “You know what? Come out with me tonight. You need a relaxing evening.”
I cross my arms. “Nothing says relaxing evening like watching strangers knock each other unconscious.”
“That’s the spirit.” She tosses me her car keys. “We leave in twenty.”