BELLAMY
The TV bathesthe room in blue. It catches on the walls, the rumpled sheets, the half-eaten popcorn tilting precariously on the nightstand.
I stretch out on my side, half-propped on one elbow. On screen, a girl sprints toward a cliff edge while her friends scream behind her. The ocean waits below, dark and endless.
My laugh escapes before I can catch it. “God. I forgot how much I love this movie.”
Beside me, Gage shifts. The headboard creaks as he adjusts, one arm tucked behind his head, the other hand splayed across his stomach. His damp hair curls slightly at the temples. A purple-red mark blooms along his cheekbone, but his eyes remain half-lidded, relaxed.
“I didn’t,” he says, the corner of his mouth lifting. “It was the first movie we watched together.”
Our eyes meet. My smile widens despite the ache in my cheek where I took a hit earlier. “No, it wasn’t.”
His brows dip toward one another. “What? Yes, it was. You wore these frayed jean shorts and a faded Nirvana tee that you turned into a crop top.”
My pulse stutters. I drag my teeth over my bottom lip with a slow shake of my head. “No. As much as I love that you remember—and I did love that shirt—it definitely wasn’t the first movie we watched together.”
“Are you messing with me, Bell?” The corner of his mouth lifts, eyes crinkling at the edges.
“Areyou?”
“Nah, I remember everything about you.” He shifts closer, voice dropping. “And how you stretched during the movie, arms over your head, and I got so distracted by the flash of your stomach that I spilled soda all over my shorts.”
I chuckle. “Not everything. The first movie we watched was Romeo & Juliet. They were doing a revival run at the Downer Ave Theatre.”
He taps my knee with his fingertips, leaving warmth where they touch. “See, that’s where you’re wrong. I remember that too. And we were with Cruz, so it doesn’t count.”
I’m outright laughing now. “What kind of logic got you there?”
He runs a hand through his hair, leaving it slightly mussed. “First movie, just us. No brother or friends. So you see? This was our first movie. That’s why I put it on.”
He seems awfully proud of himself, all boyish grin and sleepy eyes. It makes me want to kiss him. Instead, I focus back on the TV.
“Yeah, okay, I’ll give you that.”
On screen, the girl leaps. The camera plummets with her—wind rushing, water approaching, gravity pulling her down, down, down. My stomach drops with her.
“Remember Black Point Cove?” I ask, gaze fixed on the screen. “That ledge couldn’t have been more than forty feet, but it felt?—”
“Like a hundred,” Gage finishes. His laugh is soft. “Your teeth were chattering in ninety-degree heat.”
“They were not.” I roll my eyes.
“I could hear them from five feet away.”
“Five feet? You were holding my hand.” I twist toward him, the mattress dipping between us. “And it doesn’t matter because I still went over that edge.”
“You did.” His voice drops lower, something shifting in his eyes as they hold mine. “Every single time.”
The words hang there. One second. Two.
I hold his gaze. My smile slips at the corners when his eyes darken, pupils widening just enough to notice.
“We were something once, weren’t we?” His voice drops half an octave, rough at the edges.
My throat tightens. I drag my tongue over my bottom lip, tasting salt. “Yeah.” The word comes out barely above a whisper. “We were.”
He watches me, jaw working slightly, then exhales. The warm air brushes my cheek. “I’ve missed you.”
