Page 32 of Dreadful

“I’ll be fine, and it’s temporary.”

Her gaze comes back to mine and stays there a long beat. “Fine.” The word costs her something. “Two weeks. Then I’m coming back for you.”

“You have somewhere you can lie low?”

She bites the corner of her lip. “Yeah. I’ll crash with (xxx guys’ names here. nate and ?? i can’t remember).”

“Good.” I pull her back in, tucking her against my side. She comes reluctantly, then all at once, her forehead dropping to my shoulder. I feel her breathe. “Lockdown, Lola. I mean it.”

Her arms tighten around my ribs. “You better not make me regret this.” Her voice has gone rough at the edges. “Because if something happens to you, I swear to god I’m killing a Calloway.”

Laughter catches me off guard, rising up through the tightness in my chest. “I love you, you know.”

She squeezes once, hard. “I love you too, sis.”

The driveway gates swing open across the yard, and Gage’s SUV rolls in slowly. My nerves spark. Beside me, Lola stills.

We break apart but stay pressed at the shoulder, watching him climb out—a giant paper bag swinging from one fist, and then he ducks back in, reappearing with a drink carrier, four iced coffees sweating in the morning heat. He kicks the door shut with his heel and squints across the yard at us.

“Tell me you’re hungry.” He lifts the bag. “Because I got a lot of food.”

TWELVE

BELLAMY

Bishop anchors one end of the table, Coco the other, the way they always do. Lola is wedged between me and Bishop, Cruz and Gage sit across from us, and Troy’s chair squeezed into the gap between Cruz and Coco.

The middle of the table is a spread: steaming scrambled eggs, flour tortillas the size of dinner plates, three salsas in descending heat order, roasted potatoes still crackling from the container, guacamole, shredded cheese, and creamy queso.

Gage went to one of my favorite places near the beach—the one with the handwritten menu board and the hand-lettered sign in the window.

I’m reaching for a tortilla when a finished burrito appears in front of me, foil folded back at the base like a grip.

“Here you go, Bell.”

Something loosens in my chest before I can stop it—a slow fan of warmth spreading outward from the center of my sternum. “Oh, thank you.”

Rafe’s hand drops onto my bare thigh without preamble, and I go very still. His palm is warm and deliberate, and I feel it everywhere.

He’s already looking away, reaching across the table for the salsa verde, a faint pull at the corner of his mouth.

“Are you a baby bird now all of a sudden, sis?” Lola says, reaching for a tortilla.

I huff a quiet laugh into my iced latte. It’s my usual order from the coffee shop two blocks from our apartment. The one Gage drove to this morning. The warmth in my chest stretches further, threading out toward my fingertips.

Under the table, I knock my knee into Rafe’s. His palm slides an inch higher in response, fingers grazing the sensitive skin of my inner thigh, light enough to be a question.

I breathe out through my nose. I think about the fact that Rafe has, on more than one occasion, shown absolutely no hesitation about taking me apart in front of an audience.

And yet, I don’t shift away.

Troy wanders out with a fresh mimosa, setting it down in front of Coco with a quiet clink. “Here you go.”

Coco’s fingers curl around the stem. “Thank you, honey.” She tips her chin toward the street. “Do you mind running down to that place on Meridian for donuts? Gage was thoughtful enough to grab brunch even after I made breakfast, but he forgot about dessert.”

Troy glances at the spread, then back at Coco. “Sure thing. Save me one, yeah?” And then he’s gone.

Gage settles into his seat and peels back the foil on his burrito. “You not hungry, Bishop?”