“Holy shit—Beck? As in—” I gesture vaguely between them. “Little brotherBeck?”
Bellamy’s lips twitch.
Before I can follow that thread, a familiar hand slides around my bicep—light, warm, familiar in its own unmistakable way.
Coco.
Her brown hair gleams under the waning sunlight, gold hoops flashing in her ears, a drink in one hand, silk draped like she’s stepping onto a stage instead of a patio. She smiles like she’s stepping into a spotlight.
Coco squeezes my arm twice. “Are you going to introduce me to your friends, honey?”
Holy shit, she’s actually here.That’s the only coherent thought in my head right now. Bellamy, standing three feet fromme in my mother’s backyard again, like life is some kind of cosmic joke.
“Uh—yeah.” I clear my throat. “Ma, I don’t know if you remember, but this is Bellamy?—”
“Bellamy Hale,” she cuts in immediately, sweeping past me and pulling Bellamy into a hug before I even finish the sentence. “My, you’ve sure grown up, honey.”
Bellamy’s arms hover awkwardly for a second, then she pats Coco’s back lightly—polite, cautious, noncommittal.
“Thanks, Mrs. Calloway.”
The sound ofMrs. Callowayhooks something behind my sternum. I can’t tell if it’s nostalgia or something meaner. Fuck, it’s probably just heartburn.
Coco beams as she pulls back, her hands lingering on Bellamy’s shoulders. “It’s been far too long.”
Yeah. No shit.
And suddenly I’m remembering too late that Bellamy and her siblings literally hit one of our jobs a few days ago. Coco does not tolerate being stolen from. The timing here is… bad. Borderline catastrophic, actually.
“And these are her siblings. Her sister Lola. Her brother, Beckett,” I cut in before Coco can start connecting dots.
Coco turns to Beckett first, sweeping her palm down his arm with a warm smile. “Look at you, sweetheart. All grown up.”
Beckett stiffens, jaw tight, eyes scanning the yard like he’s memorizing everyone’s face and every exit. Kid’s coiled tight. Probably smarter than most people give him credit for.
“You were, what, three feet tall last time I saw you?” I say.
“I was twelve,” he answers, voice flat.
Coco laughs and pats his cheek—a gesture I’ve seen her use on anyone she finds unexpectedly charming. “That’s all right, honey. Gage was a late bloomer too.”
I blink at her. “Ma, I was six feet tall at fourteen. You’re confusing me with Bishop.”
From across the patio, Bishop looks over like he felt his name dragged into this conversation through sheer force of irritation.
Coco lifts a shoulder, unfazed. “Well, raising four boys so close together, I’m bound to mix up a few details.”
Then she turns to Lola. “And you must be the sister.”
Lola gives the world’s least enthusiastic nod. “Lola.”
Coco’s face lights up . “You look like the spitting image of your mother.”
Bellamy barely flinches, but enough that I catch it.
Lola mutters, “That’s not the compliment you think it is.”
Bellamy elbows her sharply. Lola grunts and pastes on a tight smile. “Thanks.”
