Rafe grins, but it’s all teeth. “Yeah, well, maybe it’s because he’s been bitching at me for two fucking days about it.”
“So you want to get Bishop off our backs. Or get Coco off his?” I ask.
“Same thing,” Cruz mutters.
“Either way, we gotta get something on the books,” Rafe says with a shrug and continues inhaling his nachos.
Cruz exhales. “I might have something. Too early to tell.”
“Well, we’ll need something soon.” My mind spins a little.
Rafe lifts a brow. “Why? You outta money already?”
Heat crawls up the back of my neck. “One time—one fucking timeI spent my whole cut in a week. That was years ago. You guys are never gonna let that go, huh?”
Cruz grins. “You snapped that custom board trying to impress a girl.”
Rafe wheezes a laugh. “Iconic, really.”
“Yeah, yeah. Fuck both of you,” I mutter, but there’s no real bite in it.
Cruz pushes off the workbench, tossing his empty bottle in the recycling. “All right. I’m out.”
“No, you’re not,” Rafe says immediately.
Cruz freezes mid-step. “I’m not?”
“Coco wants fireworks. Everyone stays until after.”
Cruz’s groan shakes dust from the rafters. “It’s barely sunset.”
“I don’t make the rules,” Rafe says, wiping his hands on a napkin.
You enforce them,I think.
Cruz mutters something vicious under his breath and drags himself back to the workbench, slumping dramatically.
I lean against the column near the safes, arms crossed, trying to look normal even though my heart hasn’t settled since the moment Rafe said Bellamy’s name.
Cruz chuckles under his breath, but his gaze flicks to me—quick and sharp. A reminder that whatever just happened isn’t finished. Not really. Not with Bellamy’s name still hanging between us like a live wire.
I shift my weight, crossing my arms. “We’ll come up with something. We’ll bring ideas to the meeting.”
Rafe nods. “Good. Because if Bishop corners me one more time about timelines, I’m going to lose my shit.” He tosses his empty plate in the trash, stretches his arms over his head, and saunters toward the door.
Then he’s gone. The door swings shut, sealing the garage in quiet again.
Cruz exhales slowly through his nose. “Well.”
“Yeah.”
We don’t move. Him leaning against the workbench. Me planted near the safes. Two brothers standing on top of something fragile enough to shatter if either of us pushes too hard.
Cruz finally straightens, brushing nonexistent lint off his jeans. “We’ll figure it out. All of it.”
I nod once. “Yeah.”
But the second he turns and walks out—boots fading, door thudding shut behind him—the truth rolls through me like cold water down my spine.
