Chapter 20 Bellamy
TWENTY
BELLAMY
My phone vibrates just as I’m rinsing the last glass in the sink. I set it down, glancing at my screen. My heart skips a beat when I see his name on my screen.
Gage: Come outside.
Curiosity nibbles on my heels, and I walk to the front of the apartment. I pause at the window and glance out. His car is idling at the curb, sun catching on the windshield just enough to obscure the inside. For a second, it looks empty.
“Okay,” I hum to myself.
There’s a knock at the door, and I open it without thinking.
Gage stands on my doorstep looking like every girl’s fantasy. Or maybe just mine.
One arm braced high against the doorframe, the other planted on the opposite side with his hair damp and pushed back from his face. Sun-kissed cheeks and a faint line of freckles across his nose like he spent all morning in the water.
Why does this man have to be so goddamn attractive?
“Hey.” I sound more breathless than I should, especially considering his brother’s face was pressed up against my ass last night.
“Hey, Bell.” His mouth tilts. Then his hands slide up along my jaw, fingers curving behind my ears, anchoring at the nape of my neck as he tilts my head back just enough—and then his mouth is on mine.
He kisses me slowly. Deliberately. Like he’s forgotten the shape of my mouth and is determined to commit it to memory.
I let go of the door, my fingers curling instinctively around his wrists. I don’t know if I’m holding onto him or pulling him closer.
He pulls back just enough for me to see the self-satisfied smile playing around his mouth.
“What was that for?” I try to steady my voice as my gaze darts to the side.
His grin melts into something boyish, all rogue charm. “I’m an idiot.”
I blink at him. “Is that a full statement, or—”
“I’ve been waiting weeks to do that.”
I wet my lips and let my hands fall from his lips. “Then don’t wait so long next time.”
His eyes flick to my mouth like that was exactly the answer he wanted. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” I bite back my grin.
He leans in again, quicker this time, stealing another kiss—shorter, but no less sure—like a promise he fully intends to collect on later.
“You wanna go on an adventure?”
My chest tightens the same way it used to when we were younger, when that sentence meant anything from driving nowhere with the windows down, salt air whipping through our hair, to sneaking into the abandoned lighthouse after dark.
The kind of trouble that always felt worth it. The rush of adrenaline mixing with laughter and the thrill of being caught.
“With you?” A smile pulls at my mouth before I can stop it. “Yeah. I definitely do.”
His grin does something to his face that I don’t let myself look at for too long.
“Good.”
“Am I okay like this, or do I need to change for this adventure?”
He drags that molten gaze of his over my tank top and down my legs and jean shorts and all the way back up again. “You’re perfect.”
I bite the inside of my cheek to squash the stupid, cheesy grin that tries to spring free at the easy way he said those two words.
“Let me grab my stuff.” I throw my purse over my head and shove my feet into sneakers—I’ve learned to always be prepared for a Calloway adventure.
He’s exactly where I left him: standing on the threshold, leaning into my house like he’s some kind of vampire that needs to be invited inside.
The thought pulls a laugh out of me just as he steps back to let me through the doorway.
“What’s so funny?” His hand catches mine—our fingers brushing against one another.
“Just thinking that I might need to raid my sister’s growing collection of paperbacks soon.”
Cruz hangs out of the passenger seat window. “Get in, loser. We’re going adventuring,” he deadpans.
A laugh slips out before I can stop it. “I haven’t seen that movie in forever.”
Cruz tips his head back against the seat and looks at me, one corner of his mouth lifting. “We should fix that.”
I reach for the rear passenger door handle, but Gage stops me with a hand on the small of my back. “Cruz is gonna take the back.”
Cruz turns in his seat immediately. “The hell I am. I called shotgun. Bells knows to respect the sacred tradition of shotgun.” He looks at me from underneath the bill of his baseball hat. “Don’t you?”
I shake my head and grin, reaching around Gage to open the door. “Unfortunately, I do know the rule. I’m good in the back.”
Cruz huffs out a quiet laugh, dragging a hand over his jaw. “Man,” he mutters. “As soon as Bells gets in the car, suddenly you’re all serious.”
Gage leans a forearm against the top of the door, finally looking at him. “You don’t have to come along, you know.”
Cruz’s mouth tilts. “And miss an adventure with Bells? I don’t think so.”
An hour into the drive, the novelty of wind in my hair and music bleeding through the speakers starts to give way to something else: Curiosity.
I shift slightly in my seat, glancing between them. “So what kind of adventure is this today?”
Gage’s mouth curves. “The best kind.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“It’s the only one you’re getting right now.”
“Have you been spending time with Bishop lately?” I narrow my eyes at him, then glance back at Cruz. “Does it have anything to do with our recent job?”
Cruz looks over his shoulder at me, his voice cutting in before Gage can answer. “Nah.”
I don’t buy it.
I turn back toward the windshield. “What’s the status update, anyway? I haven’t been to the garage lately.”
Meaning: I haven’t been in the room where decisions are being made.
Gage exhales through his nose. “That’s because there hasn’t been anything to go to.”
Cruz adds, “We might have a lead.”
My attention snaps back. “On what?”
Gage keeps his eyes on the road. “Salvage yard. Someone flagged a Mack truck getting processed that didn’t sit right.”
My stomach tightens slightly. “Is that where we’re going?”
Cruz shakes his head. “Nah. That’s back in Hollow Beach.”
I turn toward the window. The desert slides past, flat and unhurried, the dry air swirling around me like a reminder of how far I am from the ocean. It clings to my skin, gritty and hot, an oppressive weight compared to the salty breeze that lifts the hair off my neck back home.
As I watch the landscape blur by, I can almost feel the sun beating down, melting into the asphalt, the scent of sagebrush and dust heavy in the air. I don’t mind the desert, but it doesn’t spark the same sense of freedom as being by the ocean does.
Out there, I could breathe; here, I feel like I’m suffocating in the stillness.
In the front seat, neither of them says anything. The music fills the silence between them—easy, unhurried, the kind of quiet that doesn’t need filling. It’s not uncomfortable, but it feels wasted.
I unfold my arms. Fold them again. “You guys wouldn’t cut us out, right?” It comes out easy, casual. The kind of question that only sounds like nothing if you’re not listening.
They answer at the same time.
“Absolutely not,” Gage says.
“Not a chance,” Cruz adds.
The rearview mirror shifts. Gage’s eyes find mine in it—steady, direct, not looking away. “I wouldn’t do that to you, Bell.”
I hold his gaze for a second. Then I nod once and look back out the window.
The desert keeps going. A few minutes later, a smear of light appears on the horizon—pale and buzzing, wrong against the darkening sky. It takes shape slowly: a squat building, faded signage, a couple of parked cars that haven’t moved in a while.
“Mirage,” I murmur.
Gage huffs a quiet laugh. “Told you you’d make it.”
“Barely.”
He pulls off the road. Gravel pops under the tires as the station comes into full view, fluorescent lights humming their one flat note.
The gas station rises out of the desert in a wash of buzzing fluorescent light, the kind that flattens everything it touches and makes the world feel thinner than it should.
A couple of trucks sit idling off to the side, engines ticking as they cool, heat still radiating off their hoods in slow, invisible waves.
The building itself is low and square, windows smudged, interior just visible enough to promise bad coffee and worse decisions.
Gage pulls up to the pump and kills the engine. He’s out and reaching for the nozzle to fill the gas tank.
I push my door open. “I’m going to hit the bathroom. Don’t die without me,” I toss over my shoulder as I head toward the entrance.
Cruz doesn’t even look up. “No promises.”
I’m three steps toward the door before I register what just happened—the words, the rhythm of them, how easily they came back. My hand finds the door handle and I stop there for a second, not quite ready to go in.
The bell above the door gives a weak, tired jingle when I step inside.
The air hits different in here—thick with burnt coffee, sugar, fryer grease that’s been lingering too long under a heat lamp.
It sticks to the back of my throat in a way that makes me want to leave before I’ve even taken two steps.
I’m in the bathroom for the least amount of time possible. It’s not the worst gas station bathroom I’ve ever been in, but it’s in some serious need of TLC.
When I come back out, Gage is near the counter. Plastic bag in one hand, a couple of drinks tucked against his side, eyes already on the hallway I’m walking out of— like he positioned himself somewhere he’d see me coming.
He doesn’t move right away. Just watches me cross the floor toward him.
“You didn’t have to wait,” I say.
“I know.”
Something small and electric lifts under my ribs.
His fingers find mine, warm and loose, and he pulls me in without thinking about it—or at least that’s how it feels, like something that doesn’t require a decision.
I tip my head back to look at him. Whatever is in his expression, I feel it before I can name it, settling low and quiet in my chest. He leans down.
Everything narrows to the space between us—and then someone slams into him hard enough to jostle the bag.