He straightens, sliding the joint between his lips. The cherry glows orange as he inhales, casting his face in momentary light before he turns and walks out without looking back.
I press my fingertips to my tingling lips. I stay frozen, counting my own heartbeats. The walls of the garage seem to press inward with each breath. My skin feels too tight, too hot.
Rafe told me to stay, but my legs won’t stop trembling. I dig my nails into my palms, leaving crescent moons in the flesh.
I slide off the couch, grab my keys, and stumble toward the door before whatever’s building inside me can claw its way out.
The party noise crashes back in the second I step outside, loud and overwhelming and exactly the same as before.
But I’m not.
THIRTEEN
GAGE
The ocean’sstill rushing in my ears when we come up the path. For two hours I didn’t have to think about Sableine or the half-mil sitting in a storage unit or who might be gunning for us next. Just me and the water and random thoughts about Bellamy. Exactly how I like it.
The second my feet hit my front porch, reality crashes back.
My skin itches where salt’s drying in patches. The setting sun burns my eyes, turning everything that sickly gold that reminds me how fast the day’s ending. Our boards drip onto the concrete, and I can still feel that last wave in my shoulders—the one that nearly broke my fucking neck when I refused to bail.
Worth it. First time in almost two weeks I’ve felt like I could breathe without something sitting on my chest.
Cruz shifts his board under his arm as we cut up the side of the house. “You see how many people were out today?”
I huff out a breath. “Yeah, I know. Shit’s annoying as fuck. They never know how to surf either. Fucking tourists.”
I bump the screen door open with my hip and step into the mudroom, dropping my board against the wall with a dull thud. Sand shakes loose onto the tile.
Cruz follows, stacking his next to mine. “We should do something about it.”
I glance over at him. “About what, the kooks?”
He shrugs, but I catch that look—the one that means he’s already three steps ahead. “Neighborhood looks to us for shit like that. You know how Ma’s always handled it.”
I drag a towel off the hook and scrub it through my hair, trying to get the rest of the sand out before I track it inside. “Yeah. Someone brings her a problem, she solves it.”
“Pockets a favor,” Cruz adds, raising his brows.
I toss the towel onto the bench and lean back against it, studying him. “And who’s gonna owe us a favor for scaring off the tourists from up north?”
Cruz’s mouth curves into that smile that always means trouble. “Everyone.” He says it like it’s obvious. Like the risk is worth it.
I laugh, shaking my head. “Yeah, alright.”
He pushes off the wall, heading toward the kitchen. “I’m serious.”
“I know you are. So am I.”
“I’ve got a few ideas. We’ll bring it to the garage, but I don’t think Rafe or Bishop will care,” Cruz says over his shoulder.
I follow him inside, hit with that unfamiliar quiet. I prefer my house loud, music on, people over, something happening.
I clear my throat. “We should rope Bellamy in.” Her name catches in my throat for half a second. “She’s good at shit like that.” My fingers twitch at my sides, and I shove them into my pockets before Cruz notices.
Cruz stops walking, turning toward me. His eyebrow lifts so high it nearly disappears into his hairline. “Are you fucking kidding me, man?”
I roll my shoulders back. “What?”
