“Tomorrow then? Six AM?”
Rafe lifts his coffee mug to his lips, steam curling between us. He swallows slowly, sets the mug down with a soft clink. “Nah, I've got plans tomorrow morning.”
I shake my head, half-smirking as I spread my hands. “Alright, man. Door's always open. Just text me.”
Rafe leans back, chair creaking under his weight, eyes drifting toward the pool again.
“Catch anything good?” Cruz asks, tapping his index finger against his mug.
“Six-footers rolling in clean.” My lips twitch remembering Bell's blade slicing through nylon. Heat spreads low in my belly. “Got three Pyzels sitting in my garage now. Still smell like resin.”
Cruz’s grin widens, and he whistles. “Let me guess: kooks?”
I laugh, but the sound cuts short as the patio door slides open.
Coco steps out onto the patio carrying a plate piled high with pastries and muffins, silk blouse tucked into tailored trousers, hair smoothed back into some kind of twist she likes to do. She looks put-together in a way that always makes me feel like I’m ten years old again, standing barefoot in the kitchen after doing something I wasn’t supposed to.
“Morning, Ma,” I say, already on my feet.
“Hi, honey. So nice to see you,” she says, smiling and tilting her head to offer me her cheek.
“Here, let me take this.” I lean down and drop a kiss, taking the platter from her.
She offers me a warm smile. “My boys are so thoughtful. Coffee’s fresh in the kitchen. I made that dark roast you boys fight over.”
I set the pastries down with a soft clink of porcelain against glass. Cruz's hand darts out before I've even taken my seat, fingers closing around a blueberry muffin. The chair creaks under my weight—same spot, same sound, every time.
Ma slides onto her throne at the head of the table, steam curling from her mug like a question mark. Her eyes scan the empty chair across from me, one perfectly shaped eyebrow rising. “Where's your brother?”
“He’s a few minutes behind me. His car is slow as shit.” I can just imagine how annoyed he was driving here, knowing I could weave in and out of traffic, and he had to stay in the lines.
“I bet he’d love to hear that,” Cruz says with a laugh. “Especially after upgrading to that twin-turbo system last month.”
“Hear what?” Bishop grumbles as he comes through the back gate.
I lean the chair back on two legs and take a bite of the fried croissant. “That you’re getting slow in your old age, man.”
“Morning, Ma. Sorry I’m late.”
Coco's eyes soften. “It's all right, honey.” Her hand brushes Bishop's forearm as he leans down to kiss her cheek. “Thank you for getting your brother.”
Bishop's footsteps echo against the concrete as he circles the table. When he passes behind me, his knuckles connect with the back of my tilted chair. The world tilts. My stomach drops. My hand shoots out, fingers gripping the table edge just as the chair teeters on the edge of disaster.
Bishop slides into his seat, one corner of his mouth curling upward. “What was that about being slow?”
The chair crashes down, all four legs hitting concrete with a sound like a gunshot. “Asshole.”
Coco hums, unbothered by our shit, and lifts her mug. She takes a slow sip, lets the quiet stretch just long enough to be noticed.
Coco sets down her coffee mug with a soft clink against the glass tabletop. Her red-lacquered nail traces the rim once, twice. “Have you boys ever heard of Sableine?”
Cruz's forehead creases. His muffin hovers halfway to his mouth. “Should we have?”
“It's a town.” Coco's voice drops to something sweet and dangerous. “Six hours inland. Off the seven-oh-nine.”
Rafe's lighter snaps shut. His eyes narrow, calculating. “Never heard of it.”
Bishop's jaw tightens, the muscle flexing beneath his stubble. His eyes narrow to slits, the way they always do when he's calculating angles. “Why?”
