Chapter 1: CHAPTER ONE
Chapter Text
CHAPTER ONE
-o-
Everyone said it, they always had.
JJ Maybank was a dead end. He was a mess you couldn’t clean up, a bomb ready to blow. Tick, tick, tick, all these years.
No matter how many times he tried to defuse it.
The whole town seemed ready to ignite him.
It wasn’t his fault, after all.
Some apples didn’t fall from the tree.
Everyone knew how this story would end, right from the start.
JJ Maybank didn’t get a happy ending.
Everyone just knew – sooner rather than later – it would definitely end.
-o-
It wasn’t so much a choice.
A choice implied conscious thought.
And JJ was beyond that now.
He felt it slipping, bit by bit. Not just at the courthouse. Not even since the race.
No, it’d been slipping long before that. It slipped the day he finished the dock and brought the boat home. It slipped the day JJ blew all the money on the land.
It slipped the day all the money came into their account, right?
Or really, if he thought about it, it’d been slipping since the day he was born.
They all said it would end up like this.
Broken and humiliated and broke.
So what the hell, he thought.
If they were right, then he might as well prove them right.
He stalked out. He picked up the chair.
The window shattered.
If he was broken already, then why not see how much more it could break.
They had told him all along this was who he was.
Go figure, he thought as it all came down on top of him, they were right.
-o-
Luke Maybank had seen this story.
Right?
He’d seen it all his life. Lived it.
When things got hard, the decisions got desperate and the risks got big. When they came at you swinging, you kicked back harder. If it was going down, then it was going down hard. You didn’t just end shit. You burned the whole thing to the ground.
Because there was always a bigger bet.
You always had something to lose.
You were going to end up with nothing anyway, so who the hell cared if it was your own damn fault?
Luke knew this story, sure enough.
He’d just never seen it played out with his son.
Was that what JJ was to him? Was the boy still his? Did he have any right to him?
It was hard not to feel it.
And it was damn near impossible not to see the resemblance.
A Maybank digging his own grave, just waiting for someone else to bury him.
That was what it was, then. When JJ broke that window. When JJ fought that cop. When JJ slipped out of that cop car and ran away.
If he’d ever doubted that JJ was his son, there it was.
He watched him run, disappearing into the crowd. His bridges burned. His fortune squandered. His chances spent.
Luke had taught him many things. Fishing and surfing. Sailing and fixing shit.
Drinking hard and getting too much.
But he never taught that boy to succeed.
Worse, he thought as the cops rallied after him. He’d never taught that boy another way. If the cops didn’t kill him, they’d throw him in jail. It was only a matter of time before that girl of his left him. When JJ turned to alcohol, the others would leave him too. There’d be no one left to tell him the pills weren’t no fix.
All the lessons JJ learned, the only one he seemed to remember was that he was a worthless piece of shit.
He did this, he realized numbly.
This was his fault.
He hadn’t meant for it to be like this, for what it was worth. Barracuda Mike wasn’t all sides legal, but Luke did hard work. He was sober, and when they’d offered him the deal — the land for immunity — he’d taken it. He hadn’t imagined the consequences.
But he’d been thinking about himself, right?
He hadn’t been thinking about JJ. He hadn’t been thinking about the baby he’d taken in, the one he’d kept despite the fact that he knew he wasn’t his. He hadn’t been thinking about the kid he’d abandoned and left on his own. He hadn’t been thinking about the little boy who had loved him, even when he didn’t deserve it.
And he didn’t deserve it.
Luke didn’t deserve anything good – not now, not ever.
He’d broken that boy’s body. He’d broken that boy’s heart. He’d broken that boy’s spirit.
And shit.
He hadn’t even been his in the first place.
Luke didn’t know how to fix it.
But standing there, he thought he might know one person who did.
-o-
Ever since John B had known JJ, he knew that things sometimes went sideways. He knew that the worst case scenario was always more likely around JJ, and if there was someone who knew how to make a bad situation worse – it was JJ, through and through.
He just – attracted disaster.
No, he was drawn to disaster.
It was all he knew. He lived it and breathed it, and his impulses all pointed him to the five hundred wrong options instead of the one sensible one. He was reckless and keen to act without thinking, and his penchant for self destruction had only deepened as they got older.
The last 18 months had been better.
But JJ was still JJ.
He was still doing a JJ thing.
Usually, John B just waited that shit out. He would let JJ implode – run off, smoke some weed, pick a few fights – and come back on his own.
This time, though?
John B was pretty sure waiting wasn’t an option. JJ had already defaced public property, fought a cop, and broke out of custody. So, you know, waiting to see if it was going to get worse was probably pointless. Not only was it bad enough, but JJ was inevitably going to make it worse.
He shouldn’t have let JJ come, and he knew that. He knew how high JJ’s emotions were running. Ever since he learned they might lose Poguelandia, he’d reverted back to self-preservation mode. In that mode, JJ came up with the dumbest, shittiest schemes that grew ever more desperate.
That was how he ended up stealing 25k from a drug dealer. It was how he ended up running drugs. And it was how he ended up betting on himself – and losing on himself – with the last of their nest egg. JJ stopped thinking in survival mode. All he did was act.
And act badly.
How much worse could this get?
John B didn’t want to know.
“Maybe he’s just going to lay low,” Pope suggested, but he sounded vaguely desperate. They were navigating the back streets, trying to keep a track on the mob as it moved through the town without actually being a part of it. They were breathless – ready to run – but with no idea where to go or what to do.
In the distance, they heard glass shattering. A car horn went off, and people hooted wildly.
“I’m pretty sure laying low went out the window along with the chair he threw,” Sarah quipped dully. Her gallows humor was spot-on, and painfully easy.
John B bit his lip, scanning anxiously across the landscape. Places he knew – places JJ knew. He knew JJ better than anyone – even Kie. If JJ was trying to escape, he’d probably go to the Snapper. If he was ready to lick his wounds, he’d be dumb enough to hit up Poguelandia. Maybe even what was left of the Chateau.
But JJ wasn’t trying to escape, he had a feeling.
“Cops will be swarming the island,” Cleo said, somewhat unhelpfully, but her voice was couched in the anxiety they all felt. “I’m not sure how long we think he can keep running.”
“JJ won’t turn himself in,” Kie said flatly. Her face was hard, and she wouldn’t look at them. “He’s not thinking anymore. He wants revenge.”
Not quite revenge – but justice. The justice they’d never get unless they made it themselves. JJ had spent his life fighting against an unfair system, designed to keep him down. Everyone told him he was a worthless failure, and when he couldn’t prove them wrong – he eventually just wanted to prove them right as painfully and vindictively as he could.
JJ never got it, really. That when you burn the house to the ground, you’re on fire, too.
It wasn’t hard to see now. JJ things? Were going to get JJ killed.
“So what are we supposed to do?” Pope said. “We have to get him to calm down and talk this out. Shoupe will listen–”
“As long as JJ doesn’t make this worse,” Sarah said, and they grew quiet as a crowd of people passed, hollering and screaming, moving toward the main street where the people were still gathering.
The tension in the air was palpable as the night fell. With the darkness coming – with the crowd growing – what JJ had started, the whole damn town seemed set on making worse.
“It’s not like he doesn’t have a point,” Cleo said sharply. “What they’re doing to us – what they do to all of us – isn’t fair.”
Kiara stopped, turning on them with a glare. “But what does it matter now?” she snapped. She gestured back to where they came. “They still took Poguelandia. And JJ’s still a wanted man. I don’t know how this ends without JJ in prison.”
Or worse, John B thought, but he didn’t say it.
Kiara sighed, breathing out a hard breath and shaking her head. “We have to find him,” she said, running a hand through her hair. “Any idea where he’s going to go?”
She looked at them each – and the others shrugged.
She stopped when she looked at John B.
It was a funny thing, what had shifted between him and Kiara. He knew that he was part of JJ – and that made him a part of what JJ had with Kie. JJ had never had a serious girlfriend before. Hell, JJ barely understood how a normal family acted. It was all new to him. When he was prone to panic, John B was often the one who steadied him.
Kiara knew enough not to be jealous of that. She knew enough to trust that.
She knew enough to know what he was thinking now.
“This is bad,” she said, looking straight at him. “Isn’t it?”
He wanted to say no. He wanted to lie and pretend. He wanted to be 16 and shrug, saying JJ was doing a JJ thing and acting like it would be all alright.
But he wasn’t sixteen. And JJ’s things?
He couldn’t pretend, could he? All these years, he thought he was keeping JJ off the ledge when really he’d been there all along. He’d never left.
He’d spent his whole life there, and the last 18 months, he’d just stopped looking down.
Teetering on the edge now, down looked like the only option.
And John B didn’t know how to get on the ledge to help him off – without taking them all down in the process.
It was hard to think about, that JJ was his father’s son. That JJ may be more like Luke than any of them wanted to think. That with a few bad breaks and a few bad choices – it could get away from JJ. It could get away from all of them.
In 18 months, John B had been so busy thinking about the future.
He’d forgotten how much they were still haunted by the past.
If he didn’t do something – there would be no future. Not for him, not for JJ.
Not for any of them.
“He’s not going to lay low,” he said, nodding at Kiara sadly. He couldn’t lie to her; not with this much on the line. “If he thinks we really have nothing to lose–”
“He’ll throw it all away,” Kiara concluded for him. She pursed her lips and nodded.
The others fell silent, because they knew what it meant.
They understood what was happening.
Without Poguelandia, JJ didn’t see a future.
Without a future, JJ wasn’t going to bother. He was going to burn down things right here, right now. And sooner or later, John B wasn’t going to be able to pick up the pieces – much less put them back together.
“Come on,” Kiara said decisively, nodding toward the main street where the crowd was still gathering. “We should follow the mob.”
Because disaster would follow JJ.
Or he was following it.
Either way, it was their one way to find JJ.
-o-
Luke had sworn to himself he’d never go back.
At first, because thinking about Larissa was too hard. He didn’t like it, how pretty she was, how sweet. The way she smiled, the way she meant to do good but had no idea how.
It had been hard to think that she never figured it out.
Then, after a few years, he’d been afraid of losing JJ. Raising that boy was something he’d never expected. Watching him learn to walk. Hearing him call Luke daddy that first time.
He hadn’t thought about it at all for a while. Things were too busy. Shit, they were too happy. JJ was growing, JJ was learning. He was a good boy, a smart boy, a sweet boy. No point in going back, not when the Cut was all the kid knew.
That might have been enough. It should have been enough. But when the drinking started, when the bills stacked up. When his girl left and he took those first doses of pills.
The first time he raised his hand at JJ, he swore it’d be the last. But the alcohol was hot in his gut, and the pills helped him sleep. And there wasn’t any money.
The second time was easier. The third easier still. When he lost count of the bruises on JJ's skin, he lost count of all of it.
Then it was shame that kept him away. That he’d taken something precious and squandered it. He’d stolen something that wasn’t his and broken it. He’d taken Larissa’s baby and shattered him, as much as life had shattered her.
He’d been wrong, though. That was no kind of surprise, but there it was. He had been wrong on everything with JJ and never once did he ask himself what was best for him.
Luke had done it for himself all these years. He was a bad man, the worst kind of man, and he was well past looking for redemptions. The law could clear him, but that didn’t make him less guilty.
Which was why Luke was going back now, after all this time. Because it wasn’t about him anymore.
He couldn’t save himself maybe.
But he could save JJ.
It couldn’t be too late to save JJ.
Luke had broken all his other promises. So, what the hell? It was about damn time he broke this one, too.
That was how he found himself, on Barracuda Mike’s boat, speeding across the water toward Goat Island. The lights of the OBX faded behind him, and he spared a look back. He wondered what JJ was doing now.
Breaking shit. Tearing things apart. He had a rage in him, and Luke knew it well. It was the rage he felt. The rage he pummeled into JJ every time he got drunk or high. Anger at a life too short. An existence too hard. An island you called home that never wanted you at all. He’d stayed, all those years for JJ. No one else had wanted the kid, he’d told himself. Leaving him would be the cruelest thing.
Of course, he’d been wrong about that, too. In his absence, JJ had flourished. Gone off and found a treasure. Made a home, fell in love. Had a family.
So when Luke came back — when Yucatán had been a bust — he’d kept his distance. He laid low. He was just sober enough to see that JJ was better off without him. Probably always had been.
The night had a chill to it, and the breeze on the water was downright cold. He shuddered against it, gritting his teeth as he adjusted his grip on the wheel, willing the engine to go faster.
He’d tried to make sense of it, JJ’s success. He’d thought about it long and hard, making runs for Mike and playing card games with the crew. He still lost as much as he won, but he was sober enough to know the difference now.
And he was alone enough that it didn’t mean shit anyway.
Mike wasn’t a bad guy, after all. Rough around the edges, but more bark than bite. When he got sense that Luke wanted to play it straight, he’d offered him a place to hole up. Luke traded his labor for a place to stay, a place where no one would whisper about another Maybank on the island.
They whispered enough as it was — about JJ. The Pogues were keen to see him succeed, like his success was theirs. The Kooks, when he cleaned their boats and moved their shit, we’re incredulous. They said he’d blow it sooner than later.
Now that they’d taken it from him, they’d turn up their damn noses like they were right.
Luke had half a mind to go back and join JJ. Just burn the whole thing down, take what you could get. But Luke had taken too much already. He knew how hollow it felt, to take what wasn’t yours. To love what you had no right to cherish.
It drove a man to drink.
It pushed a man to pills.
It tore you apart, bit by bit, until you didn’t recognize yourself at all.
He’d raised JJ with good intentions, but they’d been a lie. Love with pretense always showed its true colors, and JJ wasn’t his. Beating him bloody and bruised proved that. That boy was never his.
It was time to give him back.
It was time to set this right.
All boys needed their daddy.
And Chandler Groff needed to step up.
-o-
JJ hadn’t thought it through. He was impulsive, always had been. Act first, think never. People called him reckless.
JJ had likened it to a survival instinct. Thinking just got depressing, and what was the point? Thinking never changed the fact that everything was stacked against him. It just made him acutely aware just how screwed he was.
Acting let him skate by. Either it worked out.
Or, you know, it didn’t.
Either way, he didn’t have to think about it. Whatever was – was.
That was how he helped find the gold, a pinnacle of success.
It was also, in retrospect, how he ended up holed up on a standout with the cops. He’d rioted. He’d stolen shit. He’d destroyed things. Hell, arson was on the list. About the only thing they couldn’t nail him for was murder, and whatever.
Just whatever.
Maybe he should have seen it coming.
Everyone else did.
And better yet? It was all his fault.
All of it.
It was his fault they spent all the money. It was his fault they’d lost the nest egg. It was on him for losing Poguelandia. Him. Just him.
There was no one else to blame.
He hadn’t just ruined his own life.
He’d taken his friends down with him.
He closed his eyes and tried to remember how to breathe. This was what he wanted, wasn’t it? To make other people hurt as much as he hurt? To let other people lose just a fraction of what he’d lost?
Reaching up a hand, he tried massaging his chest. The old trick used to work, but it was getting less and less effective. The pressure in his lungs was still building, and taking a breath was hard. He couldn’t fix it. He couldn’t fix any of it.
Why did everyone else get to be happy? Why did Topper get to burn down the Chateau and strut around the OBX like it wasn’t attempted murder? Why did Rafe Cameron get to gun down the sheriff and still operate a profitable business? Why did they get to be successful? Why was the future written for everyone but him?
Could he go out, hands up? Could he do that for Kie?
Or could he make a run for it? Be like his dad — shit. Not his dad. Luke, whoever that bastard was to him now.
The lights danced on the ceiling, and he could hear the mob he’d created. Shoupe yelled over the melee and JJ had to decide.
He thought about it now, of all times. Just for a split second.
He thought about going out, hands up. He thought about letting Shoupe put him on his knees, arms behind his back. He thought about the back of a police cruiser, a jail cell, and a courtroom. There was no mercy for Maybanks. None.
And he thought about going out, running hard. He thought about it, one last stand.
He wondered if it would hurt, taking a bullet. He wondered if they would shoot to kill.
A bullet to the head.
That would stop the thoughts.
Once and for all.
But Kie was there, and the others too. Could he do that to them? Could he be that selfish?
Or would they understand it was better this way? Would they see it, just like he did, that they were better off without him?
JJ hadn’t thought it through or he would have seen the inevitable end.
He released his hands, wincing. There was no point in trying to fight it. There was no point trying to fight any of it.
His story was always meant to end in heartbreak.
No family. No home. No future.
JJ’s story was just always meant to end.
-o-
It was quiet out on the water at least. The lights from town receded as he cut through the water, and everyone was so preoccupied with JJ’s little riot to pay him much heed anyway. He had to remind himself, though, he wasn’t on the run from anything right now. His little land deal had saved his skin. He’d thought it was nothing, trading his land for his freedom. He hadn’t expected JJ to get caught in the crossfire.
Luke was many things, but a long-term thinker wasn’t one of them. That was how he ended up with JJ; that was how he ended up beating the shit out of a kid he’d sworn to himself to protect. His improvisational skills left something to be desired.
As he navigated, though, this felt different. This wasn’t an impulse decision, was it?
No, this move – going back to Goat Island – was long overdue. It was something he should have done 19 years ago before he let shit spiral out of control. That was the problem when you used your heart. Your heart told you to love a kid that wasn’t yours.
Then, when shit went wrong, your heart told you to raise your hand to him – just once.
Just twice.
Just – no.
The heart was a son of a bitch.
And so was Luke.
He had to count on the fact that maybe – just maybe Groff wasn’t. Or, at the very least, that he was better than Luke. That didn’t take much now – did it? All he had to do was not beat the kid and they’d be set.
It had been years, but Luke remembered it all like yesterday. Coming up to the island – it was like nothing had changed. The old dock was exactly the same. The grounds hadn’t been kept up particularly well, and he recognized the trees and bushes.
The night was dark – rain was coming – and he moored himself with a practiced familiarity. He didn’t waste time, adjusting his coat against the growing chill in the air as he took long strides up to the house.
As a worker, he’d stuck to the back areas and service entrances. He hadn’t worked here in 20 years, though. He was done slipping through the cracks. He wasn’t going to slink in through the back. For JJ, he was facing this one head on for once.
But hell, his nerves. Walking up to the front door to confront the father of the boy he’d raised. It took gumption. It took the abandonment of all his senses.
It took the overwhelming need to do this right for once. For all the times JJ had gone hungry. For all the parent teacher conferences he’d missed. For the bloody noses, split lips, black eyes. For all the times he’s told the kid how worthless he was.
He knocked on the door.
The wind was picking up, and there was distant thunder with a few flashes of lightning somewhere along the horizon.
So he pounded on it instead.
To his relief, he didn’t have to wait long. It was almost like Groff was waiting for him when he opened the door. They stood there, face to face for the first time in 20 years, the recognition dawning slowly.
Then understanding coming just a second later.
“Luke Maybank,” Groff said, like he was just remembering it. Like he hadn’t thought about him in all these years.
Like he hadn’t left his son with him.
It sent a chill down his spine. All these years, he’d thought he’d stolen someone else’s baby.
And Groff was standing there like he hadn’t thought about it at all.
The sudden realization was almost impossible to fathom. In that split second, Luke realized his mistake. Groff wasn’t going to be mad Luke kept JJ.
Groff was going to be mad that he’d come back at all.
And it all came back. His doubts about Groff. His hesitations around Larissa. The gnawing uncertainty every time he saw that man with his child. He’d fallen in love with JJ in a heartbeat.
Groff had barely been able to touch him.
What the hell was Luke thinking?
What the hell was Luke doing?
“I never thought I’d see you again,” Groff mused, and he had the audacity to smile, like somehow they were old friends. Partners.
“Funny,” Luke said. “You told me you’d come back.”
At that, Groff laughed. “I did, didn’t I?” he said. “It’s a hell of a night for this.”
“Probably as good a night as any,” Luke said. He tightened his jaw and pursed his lips.
“I suppose it is,” Groff said congenially. “I’m getting all sorts of visitors tonight!”
Luke frowned. “What?”
Groff waved his hand through the air. “No matter, no matter,” he said. He stood back from the door and gestured inside. “I guess you should probably come in.”
It wasn’t so much an offer as an inevitability, and Luke crossed the threshold.
For the first time in 20 years, it all came back to him in a rush. Larissa coddling her newborn. Wes doting on his grandson. The old house he’d tried to keep up. The young family he’d tried to support. The infant who had everything – and somehow nothing.
He’d let himself forget, was the thing. All the drugs, all the alcohol. He’d let himself forget how it started. Groff shut the door behind him, gesturing him further inside, but Luke couldn’t. Luke wouldn’t. He rounded on Groff right there, right there.
“You never came back,” he said, laying it out plainly. “You never came back for JJ.”
Groff blinked at him, clearly taken aback. “I – what?”
It was almost mind boggling. To have him sit there and act like he had no idea. Like he hadn’t thought about it at all. His son.
“You never came back for your son,” he said, letting the words carry the weight of what he was trying to say. “He was your son, and you never came back for him.”
Groff stared at him for another second, as if trying to make sense of what he was saying – and Luke saw it. The way his expression shifted.
He’d assessed the situation – he’d assessed – and come to a clear conclusion.
Before he opened his mouth, Luke knew what was coming. Groff was about to play him.
The bastard had abandoned his son with Luke and he was about to play him.
“Time went by and it got harder and harder to come back,” Groff said, and he almost mustered up enough emotion to sound sincere. “And you had made a home for him, you’d made him your own. I’m sure he was calling you daddy–”
“Bullshit,” Luke said, because he hadn’t come here for that. JJ was in trouble; this wasn’t a ploy. This was for JJ. It had to be for JJ. “He was your son, and you never came back.”
“I was in no place to be a father,” Groff said, as if to elicit sympathy. “Grieving as I was. And working. I didn’t have the time – and I didn’t know how–”
“You have a whole damn island,” Luke pointed out, and he nodded around. The mansion was in disrepair, but he knew the wealth behind it. He knew what it used to be. “And I know the old man loved that kid.”
Groff nodded sagely, and his eyes actually welled up. Tears.
Luke wasn’t sure if he wanted to throw up – or punch the man, right then and there.
“And how could I explain it?” Groff said. His smile was simpering. “He buried his daughter. He buried his grandson. I couldn’t reopen that wound – not after his loss–”
Luke shook his head. He couldn’t do this, the emotional manipulation. He was too tired, too sober, too wrong. He needed to do this right.
Which was a problem, of course. When was the last time he’d done anything right? Had he ever? He was a freakin’ Maybank, for goodness sakes. Making a mess of things was sort of what they did. If Groff had cared about his son at all, Luke was the last person in the world he would have trusted with his baby.
But Luke always was kind of an idiot. He never put shit together until it was far, far too late.
“Look,” Luke said, shaking his head and getting this back on track. He took a breath and forced himself to focus. Groff was trying to play him, and Luke couldn’t let him. “Whatever happened – I guess it happened.”
Groff’s face brightened. That was clearly what he wanted to hear.
“But the point is what’s happening now,” he said, pushing forward with his plan. Groff couldn’t be entirely heartless – and Luke did have one card to play. If Groff wanted to keep JJ a secret, then Luke could play to that. He had wanted to appeal to Groff as a good father, but if he needed to appeal to him as the smarmy bastard he was – then whatever. Anything for JJ.
“JJ’s in trouble.”
Groff looked vaguely surprised – and mostly disinterested. “I saw him recently,” he said. “Wes hired him for some business. I believe we compensated him fairly–”
Luke shook his head. “Not enough,” he said. And he frowned. “You saw him?”
Groff nodded, as if it was no big deal. “He didn’t know the difference.”
He screwed up his nose, confused by that revelation. “You just – saw him?”
Groff shrugged now, completely oblivious to how outrageous that idea was. That he saw JJ like it was nothing.
His son.
This man was a monster, that was all. Luke didn’t know how. He didn’t know why.
But it took a monster to see a monster, and Luke had been a monster most of his life. He knew what it was. He knew what it looked like.
“It’s – whatever,” Luke said, reminding himself why he was here. What he needed to do. “JJ lost everything, and I think he just lost his shit. Went batshit crazy on the town. We need to find him. We need to get him some legal help. Or just get him the hell off the island – to the Yucatan – something–”
Now Groff looked confused. “I’m not sure I follow–”
Luke took a hard, measured breath. “JJ’s in trouble,” he said as plainly as he could. “I’m in no position to help him, and you’re his father.”
Groff blinked a few times, mouth hanging open. “JJ barely knows who I am,” he said. He knitted his brows together.
“All the more reason you owe him,” Luke said. He reached up, jabbing his finger toward Groff. “He’s going to go to jail if you don’t. Or worse.”
The thought of it made his stomach drop.
But Groff looked hardly phased at the idea. “Well, I mean, you’re the one who raised him–”
“Groff, I got nothing!” he snapped, and he turned away hotly, running his hand through his hair restlessly. He looked back at him, almost desperate. “I can’t pay for no lawyer. And he hates me. I don’t think I could convince him to trust me anyway.”
“Oh, I’m sure that’s not true,” Groff said. “And if it’s money, then I get it. I mean, I’m surprised you didn’t come back here earlier. The compensation I gave you – I know that’s not enough. A lifetime of child rearing costs? I can only imagine–”
Like that was the problem. Like the issue was compensation.
Not the fact that Groff had abandoned his son with the worst excuse for a human being on the whole damn island.
Shit.
He wanted Groff to help JJ.
Groff just wanted to pay Luke off.
“I could tell people,” he said, because he would play this card. For JJ, he’d play this card. He’d taken too much from that kid. He had to play this card. “I could expose you.”
Groff, though, just laughed. “And what?” he said. “Get yourself arrested for kidnapping? I thought you just weaseled your way out of legal trouble–”
Luke’s brow darkened. Groff hadn’t been oblivious as he suggested. He’d kept tabs, then. He knew who Luke was. He knew who JJ was.
Hell, he probably knew just how much trouble JJ was in.
And he hadn’t helped.
Not once.
“Look,” Groff said, lightening again. “I’m sure money can help. You can use it for your own trouble – you can use it to help JJ – it’s up to you!”
He felt indignant suddenly. Like this had always been a cash grab. Like he’d taken JJ for the paycheck.
Luke had done a lot of things wrong – more than he cared to remember, more than he could ever forget – but he hadn’t taken JJ for the cash. If he had, he would have come back a long, long time ago.
“You can’t write a check and make this go away,” Luke said. He stepped toward Groff again, the sight of JJ still heavy on his mind. JJ was out there now – on the run and desperate.
Desperation made you stupid. Luke knew that.
Shit, Luke knew it so damn well.
It drove you to make the biggest mistakes of your life.
Too much alcohol. Too many pills. Your first try at crack. Gambling and finally raising your fist at the only good thing you’d ever done.
Maybanks were self destructive assholes, weren’t they? Luke had taken himself apart bit by bit, every time he hit JJ. And JJ–
Well, JJ had never had a chance, had he? A mother who couldn’t care for him. A father who didn’t want him. And an asshole who promised to care for him, who beat him into the ground instead. There were a thousand excuses, and none of them meant shit. He couldn’t absolve himself.
And he sure as hell couldn’t absolve Groff.
Groff, though, seemed convinced he could do this. “Oh, come on, Luke,” he said, easy as he could – like they were old friends. He smiled. “It’s a little bit about the money – and trust me. There’s a lot of it. For a guy like you? There’s plenty.”
Luke frowned. It wasn’t that Groff was wrong – it was just that for the first time in a long time, Luke had his priorities right. He’d compromised too many things for a quick paycheck. And he’d blown all those paychecks on himself.
If this was about JJ, then this was about JJ.
“Are you really going to buy me off?” Luke asked him, plainly incredulous. “When I tell you that your son needs help?”
Groff gave him a benign look, like it didn’t bother him in the slightest. “This is the kind of cash that sets you up for life,” he said. He leaned forward and dropped his voice. “I can set you up for life. We can work something out, Luke. Something fair – to you – and to JJ.”
That was the point, wasn’t it?
Groff had found it. His weak spot.
“How’s that?” Luke asked, hesitating slightly now. His eyes flicked around the house, which was in a worse state than he’d ever seen it. The disrepair was evident. “This island of yours is worth a fortune, but land equity don’t pay the bills.”
“I told Wes that for years. I would have used the island to save him – and Larissa’s legacy,” he said. “Now that he’s gone, now that I’m set to inherit–”
Luke shook his head, unconvinced. “It’s not worth that much.”
“Fine,” Groff said, because he knew he couldn’t play Luke, not when he’d been here for so much of it. Luke knew there was money in the family, but he knew it was only worth as much as Wes was willing to part with. He’d been sentimental back then. After losing his daughter and grandson? Luke had heard the stories. He knew the old man had shut down.
The decrepit island told the story plain enough.
Groff moved his tactic diffidently. “The island is chump change anyway,” he said. “In the years since Larissa’s death, I’ve done some traveling. I’ve tried a few things. And I have a bigger play.”
His face shifted suggestively, and the words were meant to be enticing.
Somehow, Luke just felt skeptical.
He knew how good Groff’s promises were.
Which was to say – not at all.
He swallowed, putting his guard up. He could cut and run now – but that wouldn’t help JJ. And he still needed Groff, one way or another. He needed Groff. “Bigger?”
Groff’s eyes positively lit up. “Let’s just say that treasure hunting is in JJ’s blood, so I”m not surprised with all he’s done,” he said. “It’s one of the reasons I came back. When I learned that my son – my little boy – had an eye for treasure, just like me. I mean, El Dorado? He found El Dorado!”
It almost sounded proud.
It also sounded opportunistic.
Mostly, it sounded like bullshit.
“What the hell are you even talking about?” Luke said. “I don’t know nothing about treasure.”
Groff rolled his eyes, almost as if in exasperation. “It’s complicated,” he said, waving his hand through the air. He glanced at a clock and bit his lip. “And honestly? Time is a little short.”
Luke snorted. “You have plans?”
Groff made a face. “Well, not exactly,” he said. “But all of this timing is coincidental. I’m not the only one hunting this treasure.”
“What treasure?” Luke repeated. “And what the hell does any of it have to do with JJ?”
“JJ’s part of this treasure, too,” Groff said. “It’s almost his birthright.”
“So give it to him,” Luke said. “If it can save him–”
“Possibly,” Groff said. “But I can’t do anything until I take care of a little other business.”
Luke shook his head, and now he was the one exasperated. “Groff–”
“I know, I know,” he said, clearly attempting to placate him. He gestured to Luke. “It’s just – I may have crossed a few people, and all signs indicate that they have tracked me here.”
“How is that my problem?” Luke demanded.
“Well, it’s not,” Groff said. “But they know JJ is involved–”
“Why the hell is JJ involved?” Luke said, not following this at all.
“It’s complicated!” Groff said. “And the series of events was uncanny, let me tell you. When I found out my son was a bonafide treasure hunter – and that his very own legacy needed someone just like him to unearth it.”
“Did you get him involved with something?” Luke asked. “If you put him in danger–”
Groff gave him a look and smirked. “What about the trouble you put him in? All those years of drinking. Even when I was traveling, I heard tell, Luke. I heard tell.”
His face flushed scarlet, but he kept his mouth shut. He was aptly damned, and he knew it.
Groff did, too. He stepped forward, clapping Luke on the arm. “But you can make it right. Just like I can,” he said. “I had originally hoped to find what I needed and be gone before my past caught up with me here – leaving JJ none the wiser. But Wes – complicated that. And my timeline slowed considerably. So I’m afraid that past may be here already.”
“Still not sure how that’s my problem,” Luke grumbled.
“If they’re after me, it’s only a matter of time until they’re after JJ,” Groff said. “This is his treasure, after all. And he’s found some of the major clues.”
Of course. Groff had used JJ to get what he wanted.
He hadn’t told him the truth. He hadn’t been there for anything that JJ needed.
But he’d managed to put him in danger anyway.
Luke was reconsidering the notion of decking Groff as his fingers flexed into a fist at his side.
“But you’re here!” Groff said, lifting his hand and putting it in the air as if genuinely pleased. “And a man of your talents could help with this sort of people.”
He flattened his lips and stared Groff down hard. He was lying about a lot of things, but not the danger. That shit was real. His inclination was to cut and run, burn this bridge and burn it good.
But his gut was shit. If the last 20 years had taught him anything, it had taught him that. Luke was too inclined to all the wrong things, and it was about damn time he started doing it right. “How do you figure?” he said, giving Groff just enough of a lead.
Groff brightened once more. “Well, let’s just say that my former associates aren’t exactly of a legal profession,” he said.
Which was to say: neither was Groff.
It had never made sense, really. Where Groff came from and how he ended up with Larissa. She was old money – the oldest in the area – and Groff had waltzed in and charmed her out from the nose of dozens of reputable suitors. There was talk of a distant fortune. Some said he was a self-made millionaire.
But Luke was starting to wonder.
If he’d been a grifter from the start. And poor Larissa had been nothing but a mark.
And JJ? What did that make him? Collateral damage? A necessary part of the ploy?
No, it just made him expendable.
An inconvenience, it seemed.
Until he made himself relevant, 20 years later.
Groff continued, hardly needing any encouragement. “They think I took something from them – which is, of course, ridiculous – what I have is mine, plain and simple. They’re not entitled to it, any more than they’re entitled to what it can find me.”
Luke shook his head. He was getting the big picture now, but Groff was losing him in the details. “What do you mean?”
Groff seemed to recognize he was meandering. “Look, I just know that I am a target here. And I would leave – but I have to wrap up the details of Wes’s estate, you understand. And the treasure hunt – well, I need more time,” he said, as if it were completely reasonable.
“So, tell them that,” Luke said with a shrug.
“Well, they’re not exactly the listening types,” Groff said. He wrinkled his nose. “I’m afraid they may shoot first and ask questions later.”
Luke wasn’t quite sure why the hell he was supposed to care.
So Groff made his point clear. “And since JJ’s been involved in procuring some of the items as well, then I fear he may also be in the crossfire.”
The bastard. Whether or not JJ was in danger, he couldn’t say for sure.
But would Groff put JJ in danger?
Well, he’d left JJ with Luke all these years, so he couldn’t put it past him. “These people,” Luke said stiffly. “They’re what? Mercenaries?”
Groff held up his hands. “Your words, not mine,” he said. “And not my style, for the record. Too much blood for my taste. It’s messy. And I don’t like messes.”
Luke snorted. Messes like infants he didn’t want to raise, it seemed. “If they’re after you, then leave JJ out of it. Plain and simple.”
“But he’s already in it,” Groff said, a little emphatic now. He made his expression deeper, imploring him somehow. It would be convincing, were it not so damn practiced. “I know you want to protect him.”
“Then it sounds like I should get him as far away from you as possible,” Luke said, as if it were that simple.
But the tactic worked. Groff’s eyes widened in obvious concern. “Yes, you should,” he said. “And if you help me, we can work together to clean up this mess. He’s – in legal trouble you said?”
It was a smooth transition. It would have been smoother had Groff been actually paying attention. Everything he said was a lie – or enough of it. There was no way to sort the truth from fiction, and Luke couldn’t make the mistake of trusting him.
Larissa had, and she’d ended up dead.
Hell, Wes had, too. And they’d just buried the old geezer, too.
That left JJ.
One last loose end.
To this so-called treasure. And shit – Luke realized with cold clarity. To the entire Genrette fortune. Groff talked like he was set to inherit Goat Island. But this island? This house?
This was JJ’s.
This was Jackson’s.
He stepped back almost unconsciously, bringing his full defenses to bear. It was a protectiveness he hadn’t felt in years, something he’d honed in those early years when he’d actually done it right. The first time he’d heard the baby cry. The first time he’d kissed the kid goodnight. He’d put on bandaids, picked him up when he fell. He’d loved that kid, even if he’d forgotten how for a while.
Sobriety was a hell of a thing.
And parental instincts could be dulled, but apparently they couldn’t be forgotten.
Reeling, he tried to figure out what to say. He’d made a mistake in coming here. If anything, he’d just made JJ more vulnerable.
Because Groff knew the gig was up now. And Groff was willing to play any card he could to get what he wanted. If there was a loose end, he was going to tie it up.
No way, though. There was no way Luke was going to let him finish off JJ like he’d finished off Larissa. Like he’d finished off Wes.
There was no Genrette curse.
There was just an opportunistic madman, taking them out one by one.
With JJ being the last Genrette standing.
“Well, I don’t know,” Groff said, his demeanor shifting again. The forced sympathy was gone. In its place was something cool and sinister. “Maybe I should bring JJ here after all. Now that we’re talking about it, it seems like maybe he can help me – as much as I can help him.”
It was a threat.
Damn it, Luke had just made this whole thing worse.
He shook his head, stepping back again. “Just leave him out of it.”
“You came to me, Luke,” Groff said, knitting his eyebrows together plaintively. “If you want to protect him, maybe you should stay.”
He exhaled hard. “No,” he said, and he pushed back Groff toward the door.
“I can’t promise you what will happen,” Groff said, and the words carried a warning.
Luke stopped short and turned back.
Groff shrugged, as if there was nothing he could do about it. “If you walk out, I can’t promise you what will happen to JJ,” he said. And then, his lips turned up into a sickening smile. “You do love him, don’t you? Between all the drinking and the drugs. You really did love him, didn’t you?”
His face burned, and his throat constricted. “Just leave JJ alone,” he said. “Pretend like I was never here.”
Groff kept smiling. “Whatever you say, Luke,” he said. “Whatever you say.”
Heart pounding, he opened the door and let himself out. He slammed it behind him, stalking off down the porch, the steps, and all the way back to the boat. He was unmoored, starting up the engine when it finally sunk in.
Groff was a murderer. Groff was a con artist and a monster.
And Luke had just served up JJ to him on a silver platter.
JJ didn’t trust him, and Groff knew everything he needed to play JJ like a fiddle. The boy was running scared – the boy was running terrified – and Luke knew how hard that boy loved. After everything Luke had done to him, he still loved him.
He’d love Groff, too.
He’d love him long before he would ever doubt him.
He wouldn’t see Groff’s betrayal coming, not until Groff’s knife was lodged in his gut.
He pulled away from the island, feeling numb at how this had turned out. He half hoped the cops had caught JJ by now – or that the boy had enough sense to head to the Yucatan after all. But he knew JJ.
He knew his boy.
He’d come to Groff.
And Groff would use him to his own gain.
Which meant that Luke could either give up, washing his hands of it. He looked back at Goat Island, receding on the horizon behind him. He thought of Larissa playing with Jackson in the garden. He thought of Wes, bouncing the baby on his knee. He thought of the family JJ should have had and the home that was supposed to be his.
No, it was time. It was time to do what Luke should have done 20 years ago. It was time to stop Groff once and for all.
-o-
Kooks thought it was simple, their power imbalance. They saw it as the natural way of things, a God given right for some. Most of them didn’t even see it as luck, a system they happened to be on the right side of, and instead had the hubris to think they’d earned it. That they worked harder, lived better.
Privilege made you blind.
As a cop, Shoupe had to see it for what it was. He lived on the Figure Eight, it was true. But he could still remember Sue Peterkin, telling him with a sigh, "You're the law for all of them. And when you do it right, they’ll all hate you for it in the end.”
Sue was dead, of course, and Shoupe was up for re-election. And he thought the Kooks played it dirty — he did — but the Pogues went around rioting, and what was he supposed to do?
Pogues thought it was simple, too. Just fight the system, overthrow it if you had to. Burn it to the ground, and then what?
And then what?
Poverty made you blind, too, just in other ways. Two halves of the same island, screaming at each other and taking what they don’t have.
“What should we do?” Thomas asked, bouncing on the balls of his feet restlessly. Next to him, Plumb looked equally grim, hand on her holster.
The crowd was growing agitated behind him, and crowds had broken off, moving down the street as the looting began. Another car alarm went off, and more glass shattered. He was losing control here, if he’d ever had it at all.
He huffed, glancing at the cruiser. Pope Heyward was in cuffs in the back. Cleo looked ready to murder him, while John B and Sarah Cameron pressed close. Little Kiara Carrera was looking out, as if she thought she might be able to find JJ.
Shoupe was pretty sure JJ was long gone. The fire department was clearing the realty shop right now, and everyone was looking to him to impose order on this chaos.
As if he could.
As if he wanted to.
Couldn’t these kids just manage their money so as not to forfeit the land?
Couldn’t these Kooks just have a heart, and let someone carve a place for themselves?
Couldn’t they all just go home?
The answer was no, of course. Shoupe had to contend with that. Kooks and Pogues had the luxury of blindness, but he didn’t. Not when he had to be the bridge that kept this damn island together.
“Vic—” Thomas started, clearly agitated. Plumb was damn near pulling her gun.
He sighed. “Tell them to book the Heyward boy,” he said. “Full obstruction.”
Plumb looked relieved by that, and her hand relaxed.
“I want units on all the main streets,” he ordered next. “Our main goal is containment for now. Arrests should be only for flagrant behavior. If we get everyone we see for shoplifting, then we’re going to be spread too thin.”
“But they’re looting—” Thomas started to object.
“And the goal is for that to stop,” he reminded them tersely. “If we go after petty offenders, we’re missing the big picture, and I don’t want to call the state and admit we can’t manage our own damn island.”
That much appealed to Thomas at least. Plumb stepped forward, nodding at the Pogues. “And them? Maybank is still out there. This is on him.”
His jaw worked, and he flexed his toes, wishing for another answer. He felt for JJ, he really did. He wanted to help the kid, not put him away.
At this point, however, Shoupe had to be realistic. If he could get JJ through the night without taking a bullet, it would be a win. If an overzealous cop didn’t get him, a vigilante Kook would. JJ might have thought he had nothing to lose, but half the island was set on proving him wrong.
Shoupe couldn’t ignore that, and he couldn’t ignore the destruction to property, resisting arrest, arson, and probably theft. JJ was in trouble, and he wasn’t sure the kid had any idea just how much trouble. The best thing for JJ — whether he knew it or not — was getting into custody, and fast.
Then they could talk deals.
Then they could talk bargains.
Then they could talk.
“The others are free to go,” he said, turning away from them as he finished his orders. “But I want an APB out on JJ Maybank. Non lethal force — and I mean that, non lethal — but he’s not getting away. It’s time to bring him in.”
-o-
Most of JJ’s life was spent running from things. Running from school; running from Kooks. Running from his dad – just running. When he was feeling brash and stupid, he ran to his problems head on and hit first.
That was how this had started. Back in the courthouse. He’d been running from a verdict he couldn’t live with, one that was so patently unfair.
And he’d run right into the back of a cop car – and out the other side. He’d run downtown. He’d run into the realty office. He’d rioted and looted and burned shit. All the stupid shit JJ had done in his life, this was the stupidest. This was the stuff you didn’t walk away from. This was the stuff that put you in jail and turned you into Luke Maybank once and for all.
That scared JJ more than anything else, honestly, which was why he was still running now. Shifting through the streets, weaving across the island with familiarity. His adrenaline had spiked a long time ago, and in its place was something weary and hard. He could rest, though. He couldn’t stop. So he just kept running. Aching knees, burning thighs. Chest tight and breath short.
The cops were looking for him – no doubt his friends were, too – and JJ couldn’t face either of them. The cops would beat his ass and throw him in prison with no hope for release. And the Pogues? He’d already screwed them over, hadn’t he? With the property? With the Enduro? With town-wide riots that shredded any credibility they might have had left?
JJ had run from that as long and hard as he could. The fact was this was a small island, and there were only so many places you could go. And he wasn’t thinking now, was he? He hadn’t thought about any of it. Pure impulse, nothing but reaction. Corner after corner, street after street, until he hit the coast.
Just like that, he was out of space.
Out of time.
Out of options.
What the hell was he going to do? He couldn’t keep running – he didn’t even know if he wanted to. He couldn’t go back to his friends. Could he? Could he put that on them? After everything else he’d done? Why would they want him? Why had they ever wanted him?
Faced with the ocean – faced with the end of the OBX and himself – he had to make a choice.
To turn himself in.
Or just keep going.
That was the thing with JJ. He ran.
But when he knew it was over – when he knew he was down and out – JJ was a quitter at heart. All or nothing. When he went, he went hard. When he was done – he was done.
It was just – he probably needed to work on that. Not that he shouldn’t quit. Hell, no. If anything, he just needed to quit earlier. That way he’d stop causing so many problems and leaving them for other people to clean them up.
He wasn’t worried about the Kooks. All those shopkeepers were insured to the hilt. They’d get a payout that covered the damage – and more so. And all their little Kook friends would come back and say how sorry they were for it, those stupid Pogues. Those Maybanks.
The joke was on them, wasn’t it?
JJ wasn’t a Maybank.
They all hated him, and he was one of them.
JJ Maybank wasn’t even real. Jackson Groff. He was Jackson Groff.
The more he told himself Luke was full of shit, the less he believed it. The more he knew.
All his life, the way nothing worked out. Every day he was alive, how nothing fit. How he didn’t fit, like he was disconnected from reality in some way. A Pogue, he’d told himself. His only consolation. A Pogue.
That wasn’t his either.
What was his?
How did he have the worst of Luke’s legacy – the bruises and the doubts – but none of the good? How did he have the burden of being a Kook without any of the privilege?
JJ could run from the cops. He could run from his legal problems. He could even run from his friends, when push came to shove. But himself? Could he run from that?
Could he even quit it?
He wanted to, maybe. Right now, it was tempting. To end it, to be done.
But at this point – he didn’t even know what it was. He didn’t know who he was. All this shit he was running from – and the answers he needed weren’t here. It was time to stop running from everything.
JJ got on the boat, untying the rigging with a sudden determination. It could have been panic. It could have been desperation. It could have been nothing but autopilot.
Or maybe he was just finally running toward something.
The answers of who he was.
And what worth he might finally have.
Chapter 2: CHAPTER TWO
Notes:
A/N: Thanks to everyone who read and reviewed the first chapter! I feel like I started this with a singular goal to save JJ, but ultimately it became a project to save them all. S4 was just -- not a very well written season in the back half. And for the terrible things the writers did to JJ, they really maligned all of the Pogues. They were nearly nonsensical at points, and some of their actions were just THAT bad. This deep dive into the season allowed me to get into all their heads, give their actions more context, and hopefully create a more sensible explanation than what we saw on screen. It's not AU, but it is contextualized, because all the characters need to be redeemed after what goes down in this season.
That said, it's a long, long haul. I hope you're all up for it!
Comments are loved, everyone. This has taken me so long to do, so I'd love to know if you're reading!
Chapter Text
CHAPTER TWO
-o-
Kiara didn’t want to go home.
Shoupe had broken up as much of the crowd as he could, taking away Pope and threatening them as well if they didn’t go. She’d been reluctant, but John B had nudged her along. JJ wouldn’t stay with the crowd anyway.
She wanted to keep looking — and she might have, too. But the others had quickly outvoted her. The town was burning. JJ had an arrest warrant out on him.
There was nothing to do but go home.
Except, it wasn’t even their home anymore. And not all of them were there now. JJ was on the run from the cops, and Pope was in jail.
So being here? Without them? Felt weird. Felt wrong.
Because, really, home wasn’t a building. Home wasn’t a piece of land or even a business. She loved all of that – she did – but that wasn’t what it was. That had never been what it was.
But it was all they had. They had nowhere else. They had nothing else. Even now, bedraggled and lost as they were, it was their starting point. The four of them – John B, Sarah, Cleo, and herself – standing on the dark front porch, trying to figure out if they could salvage any of it.
It wasn’t about the building anymore. It wasn’t about the land.
At this point, it was just about them.
Home – after all – was her family.
The family she’d made. The one she’d chosen.
Home was JJ.
She’d known it all along, maybe. From the moment he showed up at Kitty Hawk to rescue her. And before, when she’d seen him go overboard and felt like she’d fallen with him. When they’d brainstormed the surf trip in a shipping container. When he’d broken down and let her in the hot tub all those years ago.
When she’d seen him dancing on the dock, truly happy – blissfully free – for the first time in her life.
There was a reason no one had ever held it against him, spending all the money on the land. There was a reason not one of them had the heart to blame him. Because they could see what it meant. They could see that this was a transformative thing for JJ. He wasn’t just buying back his home. He wasn’t just sticking it to a Kook. It wasn’t even economical stability for the first time in his life.
It was home.
For a kid who’d never had that, it was hard to begrudge him that now. Seeing his joy – well, there was never a price tag on that, and they all knew it.
But he’d been the one to give it life. He’d been the one to make it real.
It was JJ.
They all lived it; they all worked it. They shared it and loved it.
But it was JJ.
“Okay,” John B said, because he was John B. Their de facto leader when shit went down. Usually he could play it well – tonight, he was clearly struggling. “So, JJ’s in the wind–”
“You mean he’s on the run,” Cleo said. “With some very angry cops on a very small island.”
John B paled slightly and Kiara closed her eyes, feeling it settle over her. JJ had done it; JJ had crossed that line. If the cops wanted to, they could lock him up for years. It was all of JJ’s worst nightmares coming true.
She’d always known this about JJ. She knew he was reckless. She knew he could be prone to self destruction. When he lost control, he lost it completely.
It was just, the last 18 months, things had gone so well. She’d let herself believe things were different, things were better.
But they hadn’t been, had they? All of JJ’s issues were still there. They hadn’t done any of the hard work. They hadn’t talked about his PTSD or the trauma from his childhood. She hadn’t thought about how triggering it would be for him to face economic uncertainty again.
The last 18 months, he’d been able to ignore the Kooks.
When he didn’t have that luxury, this was still JJ.
A damaged kid with nothing to fall back on.
And to find out his dad might not be his dad? To learn that the man who beat him might not have had a right to him anyway?
To find out that he could be a Kook? That the most trusted part of his identity — to be a Pogue — might not be real either?
JJ didn’t have a chance.
“It doesn’t matter,” John B said, neatly ignoring just how much it did matter. To all of them now. “JJ is smart enough to lay low, so we should do the same.”
“Us searching for him will only draw attention anyway,” Sarah added softly. She looked at Kiara with regret. “He’s going to be safest on his own, and if we can find him and talk him down—“
Kiara clenched her jaw. It wasn’t an unkind sentiment. It wasn’t even wrong.
But Sarah would be singing a different tune if it were John B.
And it had been, once.
They’d risked everything for him then.
They owed JJ the same now.
“What about Pope?” Cleo asked.
Which was another topic. JJ was a wanted man. Pope, though? Had already been arrested. “Do you think they’ll let him out on bail?” John B asked.
Sarah looked miserable. “We don’t have money for it anyway.”
They had nothing, Kiara thought numbly. They lost more and more with every passing second. She thought of JJ in the hyperbaric chamber, telling her they were winning.
But the odds against them grew more daunting by the second.
“We can’t leave him there,” Cleo said, and her agitation was evident.
Kiara wasn’t the only one with a man in trouble. She felt momentarily guilty for being so selfish about it. JJ was on her mind — and heart — but his actions had put them all at risk now.
“Look,” John B said. He shook his head and shrugged. “Why don’t I go down there, see how it’s going.”
Cleo’s face was set, though, her defiance plain. “I can do it.”
The growing sense of disbelief Kiara had felt all night broke just for a second. “No,” she said, and it was clear Sarah and John B were having the same thought. “Cleo, the Kooks are out to get us – all of us – any way they can. They took the land out from under us. They’re looking to string JJ up. They’ve put Pope in jail. What do you think is going to happen if you waltz into a police station right now?”
Cleo turned up her nose, clearly undaunted. “I’m not scared.”
“You should be,” Sarah said. “Cleo, you know that your immigration status–”
“Isn’t an issue here,” Cleo said. “I haven’t done anything.”
“Before the courthouse, none of us had,” John B reasoned, sounding almost helpless about it. “They still took our land. I wouldn’t put it past them to demand your papers.”
“I know these Kooks,” Sarah said somberly. “Once they get going–”
“They take everything they can,” Kiara finished for her, as grim as ever. The charges against Pope would stick, too. And JJ’s chances for leniency were only half the battle. She wasn’t sure they’d let the cops bring him in alive anymore.
It wasn’t an answer Cleo liked. Backed into a corner, she was inclined to fight, but the last thing they needed was another Pogue running around like a loose cannon. JJ had complicated things enough.
“Look,” John B said, trying to preempt a fight he clearly didn’t want to have at this point. “I can go and I can see what’s going on with Pope. You three can stay here and lay low.”
“Is it even legal for us to be here?” Sarah asked in a low defeated tone.
John B shrugged, even more helpless than before. “We haven’t gotten an eviction notice yet, have we?”
They were scraping at the bottom of the barrel, then. Aiming for the lowest bars they could find. There was always something left to lose, apparently.
It was a bit defeatist – a tad fatalistic. But, at this point, not unrealistic. When things fell apart, they fell apart fast. Kiara wasn’t sure what would be left when the morning came.
“Fine,” Cleo said tersely, and her expression made it clear how much she hated to say it.
Sarah mustered up a smile for her, but Kiara couldn’t do the same.
John B looked at them each, his gaze lingering on Kiara knowingly. It drove him crazy, she knew, that JJ was out there all alone. Doing a JJ thing.
As if that wasn’t code for absolute self destruction.
And they could do nothing.
“Okay,” he said, nodding in resignation. “Lay low. Stay safe, okay? I’ll be back.”
“Bring Pope,” Cleo said.
John B glanced at her, hesitating. “If I can.”
Kiara wasn’t dumb enough to ask him to bring JJ.
With that, John B slipped out into the night, taking his bike to make his way back into town With him gone, Poguelandia settled into silence. It was a stillness she used to love, when it was just them – just family. Their little respite from the real world.
The stillness felt different tonight. Suffocating. Like the night might envelope them whole and leave nothing left when morning finally came. It wasn’t home without JJ. It wasn’t home.
She should have told him that from the start. She should have made sure he understood. She never should have assumed he knew, that he understood.
She should have done a lot of things.
She would do a lot of things.
She wasn’t stupid; she knew she couldn’t fix him.
But she also wasn’t naive. He needed someone to help him do the work. And when they got out of this? When this whole mess was behind them?
They’d put in the work. Together.
She didn’t realize how lost she was in that thought until Sarah touched her gently on the arm. “Kie?”
Startling, she came back to herself. Sarah looked worried, brows knitted together as she bit her lower lip. Cleo pursed her lips and watched her response carefully. “Yeah,” she said, trying to sound normal.
It didn’t sound normal. It sounded forced.
JJ was on the run; Pope was in jail. Poguelandia was gone.
So it wasn’t like normal was a thing anyway.
“We should go inside,” Sarah suggested gently from where they were still standing on the open porch. She smiled softly. “Get some rest.”
Kiara was a mess – but she wasn’t that far gone. She still knew when she was being babied.
She knew her friends had good intentions, but her defiance reared its head anyway. “JJ’s out there,” she said with a huff. She shook her head. “How am I supposed to rest?”
Sarah pressed her lips together, but Cleo didn’t back down. “JJ made his choices,” she said with just a twinge of bite.
Kiara felt her defenses flare even more. “Oh, and you think I should just leave him to it?” she asked, letting her incredulity sink in. “We should just cut him loose?”
Cleo rolled her eyes. “No, but his actions have an impact on all of us. Pope is in jail because of him.”
Kiara couldn’t bring herself to concede the point, even though she had no ground to stand on. Kiara was protective of JJ – to be sure. But Cleo was equally defensive of Pope.
“It’s not that,” Sarah said. “But we can’t help JJ right now anyway. We can’t fix it while he’s on the run, no matter how much we want to.”
Cleo drew back a touch, her look softening. “And you know better than the rest of us, you can’t reason with JJ until he’s ready,” she said. “What the town did to him tonight – what they did to us – it’s going to take him some time to get his head back together. We probably should have taught that boy some coping skills.”
They probably should have done a lot of things.
Kiara sighed, her anger fading. She wasn’t mad at Cleo anymore than Cleo was mad at JJ. But Kiara’s desire to whitewash this – to pretend like it wasn’t that bad – wasn’t going to help any of them. It wasn’t even going to help JJ.
She knew what losing Poguelandia would do to him under any circumstances. He blamed himself – and not without reason. And to lose it because of Luke? Because his abusive father came back for one last screw you?
On top of all that, JJ’s entire history was in question. That Luke might not be his dad. That he could be Jackson Groff. That his birth mother was dead. That he was a Kook.
JJ was in no place to handle any of that – much less all of it together.
What had she been thinking? Letting him go into that courthouse? She should have taken him out on the boat, as far away as she could. She should have packed their shit and left on the surf trip, right then, right there.
JJ didn’t know how to face his mistakes. JJ didn’t know how to face his family.
JJ didn’t even know how to face himself anymore.
And now he was alone. Out there on his own.
And there was nothing she could do about it.
Sarah took her silence as an invitation to press whatever advantage she imagined she might have. “Which means you should rest,” she said. “JJ would want you to take care of yourself.”
There was part of that she knew was true.
But there was part of it that didn’t mean shit.
JJ respected her, and he respected what she needed and what she wanted. He wouldn’t tell her to quell her rage. He might help her temper it. Or he might help her let it loose.
None of which mattered. “He’s alone,” she said, emphatic as she looked from Sarah to Cleo and back again. “And he’s hurting so bad that I’m not even sure he feels it yet. He doesn’t know what he’s doing. He has no idea what to do.”
She didn’t have to say how scared that made her. Because JJ? Could still make this worse.
JJ might still not come home to her.
“Which is why we need to rest now,” Cleo reasoned. Her voice softened now, too, which was how Kiara knew she was losing this battle. “He’s going to need us – you – to help him put the pieces back together.”
But they didn’t know, did they? They didn’t know about Groff – about Luke. About JJ’s entire life being turned upside down. It didn’t even make sense, when she thought about it. That Luke might have taken JJ in – and then proceeded to abuse him all his life. What part of it was worse? That his adoptive father abused him? Or that his real father hadn’t wanted him?
Not to mention a mother who may have drowned.
And that he might be a Kook.
For JJ, being a Pogue was everything.
Without that – well, she was pretty sure the whole town was seeing what happened to JJ without that. He would prove himself a Pogue, even if it meant burning every Kook building in the Figure Eight to the ground.
He couldn’t be alone.
Kiara swallowed hard, tears stinging behind her eyes.
It was supposed to be her.
It was supposed to be her.
“At least lay down,” Sarah said, nodding to one of the hammocks. “We’ll give you some privacy.”
No matter what JJ had done – no matter what risk JJ had put them all in – she still owed him this amount of privacy. Didn’t she? It wasn’t her secret to tell. How could she let everyone else process it when JJ himself clearly hadn’t yet?
“Yeah,” she conceded finally, letting herself deflate. “I guess it’ll pass the time.”
Sarah looked encouraged by that answer. “Do you want us to stay?”
Kiara shook her head. “No,” she said. “I’m fine.”
“I doubt that,” Cleo said.
Kiara shrugged, smiling weakly. “As fine as I can be.”
Cleo nodded in understanding. “Someday we’re going to have to teach that boy to think.”
“Well, it’s part of why we love him,” Sarah said, and it meant something. It wasn’t just words. She wasn’t placating Kiara.
They did love JJ.
JJ was family.
The only person doubting it right now was him.
And it nearly broke her damn heart.
“I’m sorry,” she blurted, shrugging helplessly. “For – all of it.”
“You didn’t do anything,” Cleo said.
“And we all know JJ,” Sarah said. “It’s just been a tough run.”
“Still,” Kiara said, smiling weakly. “Just when I think I have him figured out.”
Sarah reached over and hugged her. Cleo joined in, and Kiara exhaled heavily into their touch. She squeezed her eyes shut against the tears she was afraid to cry and let them remind her that JJ wasn’t alone.
And neither was she.
Sarah rubbed her back. “Get some sleep, Kie.”
“I won’t say things will be better in the morning,” Cleo said as they parted.
Kiara smiled again, a little sheepish now. “But at least we’ll be able to confront them head on.”
With that, the other two girls slipped inside, and Kiara waited until she heard their footsteps shuffle out of earshot. She stood there for a moment, rubbing her hands up and down her arms, and turned out across the yard toward the marsh.
The Snapper was still there, bobbing in the waves.
The sign – Captain JJ Maybank – was just barely visible in the darkness.
But there was no JJ.
Sighing again, she made her way to the hammock and sat on it. She swiveled into it, letting it rock her as she settled in, exhaling up into the night sky.
“It’ll be okay, Jayj,” she whispered, her voice barely audible in the stillness. “You’ll see. We’ll get through this together.”
She let her eyes flutter shut, willing herself to believe it.
Even if she had no idea how.
-o-
The truth of the matter was Sarah was exhausted.
They’d been working hard for the last 18 months – trying to get their business up off the ground and trying to make Poguelanida a reality. It hadn’t been easy. The whole idea that adulthood was carefree and fun was a fantasy. She thought about it sometimes, how easy things might have been had she stayed in the Figure Eight and been Daddy’s little girl.
Easier.
But not better.
This was where she belonged.
These were her people.
This was the life she chose, and she didn’t have regrets. Sure, she’d go back and sit on JJ’s face to keep him from spending all their money. She would shackle him to the bed to keep him from racing. But that wasn’t regret. She understood, actually. Being willing to put it all on the line. She’d done it, too.
She just wasn’t quite as reckless.
And shit. She was so tired. After the town hall meeting – and then the riots? And now it was the middle of the night, Pope was in jail and JJ was on the run and it was all so completely exhausting.
It was catching up with her. She could feel it, the weariness. Not to mention her stomach – it panged and churned, threatening to turn itself inside out for a second. She couldn’t remember the last time she ate; some food would do her good, if she was hungry at all.
Her appetite hadn’t been right for weeks, not since Pope dropped the news about the payment. And ever since the race, her energy levels had been shit. She felt sick and bloated and worn out. This whole thing was catching up with her for sure.
Moving toward the back of the house, away from where Kiara was staying on the front stoop, she had an inclination to climb the stairs and find some respite in sleep. Cleo, however, seemed to have other plans.
She planted her feet, lips pursed. She glanced back, as if to make sure they were far enough away from Kiara. “This is no good.”
Sarah scoffed despite herself. “You think?”
Cleo didn’t crack a smile, though. If anything, her expression only hardened. “This is the very definition of bad going to worst.”
It wasn’t a joke was the problem. Cleo’s heaviness was pervasive, and Sarah sighed. “I’m sorry about Pope.”
To say it was almost trite, in a way. Cleo wasn’t looking for her pity. And it wasn’t like Sarah arrested him. Sarah didn’t do any of this. She didn’t burn down the town; she didn’t steal Poguelandia. She didn’t lose the money or any of that shit. In so many ways, none of this was on her.
But family wasn’t like that. What happened to one of them, happened to all of them, and Sarah is torn between throttling each and every one of them and hugging them while they cry. It strikes her, suddenly, how young all of them are, and how this life is for keeps now.
As terrifying as that is, she can’t shy away from that.
Even if she wants to.
Cleo shifted and sighed, long and hard. “It’s funny,” she said wryly. “I always figured that Pope was the one we could trust not to go flying off the handle.”
Sarah offered her back a sympathetic wince. “That’s what you get for dating the smart one.”
She smiled a little, but shook her head. “I keep telling him to stop thinking – start acting,” she muttered with a note of resignation. “I should be more careful what I wish for, eh?”
“I am sorry,” she said. “JJ wasn’t thinking.”
“JJ’s never thinking–” Cleo interjected.
It was impossible not to concede that point. “If he had – if he’d had any idea what Pope was going to do – he wouldn’t have let it happen,” she said, because she knew it was true.
Cleo drew a breath, setting her lips rigidly. “The funny thing is, JJ I understand,” she said. “I know why that boy does all the shit he does. But Pope? Just when I think I have him figured out, he goes and does something like this.”
Now, Sarah chuckled – a soft, humorless sound. “Boys are such idiots.”
At that, Cleo grinned. “The biggest,” she agreed. “Ah, but we love them.”
“We do,” she said. “Even now.”
“Especially now,” Cleo said, and there was something invective about her voice now. She drew herself up a bit and nodded out into the night. “I know things are a mess with JJ–”
And Sarah knew where this was going. “Cleo, we got this,” she said. “I’m here for Kie – and John B will be back soon. We can take care of JJ. Pope needs you.”
Cleo looked at her, her expression shifting gratefully. “You know I’m not pissed, right?” she said. “This isn’t me, choosing sides.”
“There’s no side to choose, we’re all Pogues,” Sarah said simply. “People can make mistakes, and we still love them.”
“Because I do get him,” Cleo said, a little bit more earnest now. “I do understand JJ.”
Sarah reached out, clasping Cleo by the arm. “I know that.”
“But Pope–” Cleo started, and her voice choked off a little as her countenance wavered.
Sarah released the hold, pulling Cleo into a hug instead. “You take care of yours,” she said, whispering into Cleo’s ear. “And we’ll each take care of our own for a bit, hm?”
Cleo relaxed into the hug, and Sarah felt her nod against her. Then, after a moment, she pulled back. Her face was set with resolve. “Kie’s going to need your help with JJ, though.”
At that, Sarah laughed. “You think?”
Cleo grinned. “I know,” she said. She hesitated, just one more second. “I’ll be back.”
Sarah nodded. “Good luck.”
“I would say I don’t need it–” Cleo started.
“But I’m pretty sure we all do,” Sarah agreed.
With that, Cleo ducked out, moving out the back door into the night. Sarah watched her as her figure disappeared, and then sighed. She rubbed her hands up and down her arms, wondering how it came to this. Kiara restless in the front. Cleo sneaking off into the night. Pope in jail, and John B trying to see if he could help. And JJ? Who the hell knew where JJ was, and Sarah was standing here, just waiting for them all to come home.
She looked around, this place they’d built. This dream they’d put together. This home.
Losing it seemed impossible.
But losing them – was worse.
She sighed again, drawing herself up with a deep, long breath. She couldn’t let that happen. She didn’t know how – she had no idea how – but she wasn’t going to let that happen.
This wasn’t her family. This was her home. Sarah had already lost one family.
She would hold onto this one with all she had until fate pulled it from her hands, once and for all.
-o-
The land receded behind him, and JJ tried to find comfort in that.
After all, for JJ, being on the water was usually a good thing. Honestly, it was usually when he was at his best. His instincts were better; his decisions were more sound. He was the smartest version of himself when it was just him against the wind and the waves.
That was the shit he could deal with.
No abusive fathers.
No parents who didn’t want him.
No friends to betray.
No Kooks to kick him while he was down.
It used to be freedom. His one place to be himself.
But the further away he got from the land, the less sure he was. About what he was doing? Yeah. He had doubts about that. Chasing down your maybe long-lost father who may have abandoned you was always a dicey thing.
Doing it while you were literally on the run from the cops was probably even sketchier.
But that wasn’t even it, was it? No, JJ wasn’t doubting where he was going.
He doubted where he was coming from.
What if it was a lie? What if Poguelandia had never been his, just like the town told him? What if this future he was building was just a falsehood? What if the entire universe was right, and he was a worthless piece of shit?
The water cut beneath the boat, and he flexed his fingers on the wheel. He glanced at the navigation tools, but couldn’t make sense of them. His eyes weren’t working; his brain wasn’t working. Everything that was happening now was impulse.
Which was going to be great, he was sure. That had worked so well for him until now.
It was ironic, really. JJ was leaving behind the OBX – his friends, the Pogues. He was running away from everything he thought he knew about himself.
And he was running toward Goat Island and the Genrettes. Chandler Groff. He was running toward everything he might be.
Everything he hated.
It caught in his chest, twinging his heart with an intensity that made him shiver. The night was getting colder, and he could feel the moisture on the wind. He was going too fast – but not fast enough – and even with the salt air in his face, he couldn’t hardly take a deep breath to save his life.
Not that it was possible. To save his life.
You only got so many chances before they were spent.
You only got so many do-overs before it all caught up with you.
Karma was a bitch, right? You only lost so many bets. You only burned down so many buildings. You only incited so many riots.
JJ Maybank was living on borrowed time.
The cops should have shot him, he realized numbly.
The thought made him lift one hand from the wheel, rubbing at his chest as he blinked blindly at the muted, black horizon. His fingers were heavy as they pressed into the skin.
His friends should have let them shoot him. It would have spared them so much shit. All of JJ’s mistakes washing back on them. How could they still want him? How could they love him?
JJ sure as hell didn’t love himself.
He couldn’t stand himself.
And – he thought with a horrible clarity as the boat raced toward Goat Island – he wasn’t even one of them. He was a Groff. He was a Genrette. He was a Kook.
Just like that, his vision went white. The pressure in his chest reached an unbearable pitch. He pressed his hand flat against his chest, but it didn’t do any good. The sound of his heart thundered in his ears and his stomach turned over on itself violently. He wanted to be sick, but he forgot how to move, how to think, how–
The boat pitched, jarring his hand. He startled badly, fingers flexing as he instinctively kept the craft on course. Somehow, he managed to breathe, letting the oxygen filter through his lungs as he blinked again and his vision came back into focus, the white receding at the edges. The nausea receded enough for him to swallow – hard – and his entire body trembled as the emotion threatened to capsize him entirely.
On the horizon, across the water, he could just make out the lights of Goat Island. Approaching now, JJ felt his resolve waver. He couldn’t do this.
He couldn’t.
What if it were true? What if he was a Kook? What if another family had thrown him away? What if everyone had known, right from the day he was born, just how worthless he was?
But what if it wasn’t? What if this was another lie, another disappointment? What if JJ didn’t have a place? What if JJ didn’t have a family?
Part of JJ wanted to keep going, right on past the island, straight out to sea, never to come back again. But the truth was indelible, and JJ had run away long enough.
This could be the family he always wanted. This could be the inheritance he needed to salvage the mess he made.
JJ had to face his family, his history – himself – for the first time in a long, long time.
-o-
John B wasn’t sure why this seemed so crazy.
Really, if anything, this was just the way it used to be. Back when he was 16 and his dad was missing at sea. He’d been running from DCS, barely making ends meet. He’d been scraping enough to pay rent, and sleeping through his classes while JJ crashed on the front porch. He could still remember, buying beer instead of buying bread, and telling himself the carbs were the same so it must be okay.
Back then, he’d thought he could fix it by finding the merchant gold. Three treasures later – one lost fortune – and here he was. Still screwing around wondering what the hell he was even doing. The familiarity of it all only made it worse.
For as far as he’d made it – for as much as he’d accomplished — here he was, scraping the bottom of the barrel, making shit up as he went along. Really, if anything, this was the inevitable conclusion, wasn’t it? It didn’t seem all that crazy for JJ to be starting riots and running from the cops.
But Pope? In jail?
Pope was in jail.
They’d all known from the start, Pope was the smart one. If anyone was supposed to make it, it was supposed to be him. He was going to go to school. He was going to be a doctor or something. Whatever it was you needed to do to work with dead people.
JJ had bet the last of the money, though. JJ had risked it all.
And now they were all scrambling to pick up the pieces.
It would be easy to hate JJ for it. It would be easy to be pissed as hell.
But it was JJ. He didn’t know how else to do it. He just didn’t. It wasn’t selfish – he did it for them. He tried to take risks so they didn’t have to. He had wanted to save them.
That bullshit was contagious now. Pope was falling into line, throwing himself in the line of fire right after him. Because that was what John B’s Pogues did. They chased treasure. They didn’t care who was trying to kill them. They got even. They took revenge. They didn’t learn.
It would be easy to pin that on JJ, but it was all of them, starting with John B all those years ago when he thought he could find the merchant gold. That was the problem with a touch of success. It made the impossible seem real, and instead of making smart choices, you kept making stupid ones. Stupid things had good outcomes, yeah. Sometimes they had bad outcomes, though.
John B knew that.
So really, it wasn’t crazy at all, walking up to the sheriff’s station in the middle of the night. He took a breath and girded himself against the inevitability of it all.
Things were quieter at least. The streets had been locked down by the station, and it was clearly all hands on deck. A few officers were out front, seemingly on patrol, and when he scaled the steps, they gave him a look.
He smiled and waved, or tried to anyway. It felt like a grimace; it felt wrong.
Considering the riots and all.
Which, while not technically John B’s fault, he was still a part of. Everyone knew that JJ and John B were two screwed up peas in a screwed up pod. If JJ was out of control, it was usually an oversight on John B’s part Because who the hell else was around to understand JJ things?
But this wasn't about JJ for now. He wasn’t about to turn in his best friend – and at this point, he didn’t know where he was.
When he approached the desk, though, the lady manning it looked less than pleased to see him. “Unless you’re here to give us a tip on Maybank–”
John B flushed. He wasn’t surprised, but still. “I haven’t seen him, not since your officers almost shot him to death.”
He was going for a sympathy play here, but it was the wrong audience. The expression on her face clearly suggested she thought things would be better if JJ was in the morgue right now – and not on the run.
“Maybank incited a riot,” she said shortly. “We have reports of widespread damage, looting – the entire island is terrified, sleeping with the doors locked tonight. He’s finally living up to his name, I think.”
John B grimaced in earnest this time. Any time he might have thought about telling JJ to turn himself in, shit like this happened. And people like this existed.
People who took JJ’s land and respect – and then wondered why he took it badly.
He hated how it didn’t seem crazy at all.
He was so pissed that he wanted to leave right then and there, but he really wasn’t here for JJ. So he forced himself back on task. “I’m here to see Pope.”
Her expression didn’t lighten. If anything, it took on a slightly perturbed look. “The Heyward boy is in the lockup,” she said. “Given what’s going on tonight, we’ve declined to set bail. He’ll be arraigned in the morning.”
That was more than John B knew how to process.
She rolled her eyes, clearly exasperated with him now. “He has to go before the judge and enter a plea,” she said flatly.
That was an implication that was hard to miss.
This wasn’t going to just go away. There might not be a plea deal to fix this. There might be nothing to fix this. Pope could go to jail; they could be homeless. And JJ might end up dead yet.
Shit. Just – shit.
He swallowed – and hard. “Can I see him?”
She looked at him like he might be crazy.
For real, he might be, though.
Somehow, she ended up saying yes, taking him back to the cells herself. She watched him carefully, as if eager to see his discomfort, but when John B said nothing she huffed a little.
“Guard is right outside so don’t try anything,” she muttered. She nodded up to the corner. “And I assume you know you’re on surveillance.”
“What do you think I’m going to do?” John B asked.
“Your lot has set the whole town on fire,” she said. “So don't act so surprised. You’re lucky I’m letting you back here at all.”
From the inside of the cell, Pope was on his feet now, stepping out of the shadows and taking the bars in his hands. “You haven’t even officially charged me,” he said.
“We’re a little busy,” she snapped.
“I'm just saying,” Pope said. “My rights in a holding cell—“
She rolled her eyes, shaking her head. “Just make it fast,” she said, stalking past John B to the exit. “And don’t try anything.”
At this point, John B wasn’t sure what he’d try. If JJ were here, he’d have some ideas.
But JJ was the problem, then, wasn’t he.
John B was just trying to keep up.
“Is everyone okay?” Pope asked, breaking the silence first.
John B was chagrined, if only a little. He’d come here to check on Pope, not the other way around. “We’re worried about you,” he admitted, stepping closer.
But Pope wasn’t at all swayed. “I’m literally in a cell,” he said. “I couldn’t be safe. But the others – JJ–”
John B’s jaw tightened, despite himself. “We haven’t seen JJ,” he said. He shrugged, almost in futility. “If they’d found him, we’d have heard about it by now.”
Pope exhaled heavily. “At this point, any kind of confrontation is going to go badly – unless it’s Shoupe,” he said. “We have to find him and talk some sense into him.”
“This is JJ we’re talking about,” John B reminded him.
Pope huffed. “I know it’s JJ, trust me,” he said. “I know better than the rest of you right now.”
John B felt the flush on his cheeks. He swallowed it back, and kept himself back on point. “You shouldn’t be in there,” he said.
“I did interfere with a cop in the line of duty,” Pope said. “I should be in here.”
Only Pope would agree with the cops for arresting him. Pope was too good for this world. “They had no business pulling a gun on JJ,” John B said. “He wasn’t armed.”
“I know,” Pope said. “And for the record, I don’t regret it. I don’t regret this at all.”
He said it with such confidence – such unabashed confidence – that John B almost wanted to believe him.
Except Pope was in a jail cell.
Pope.
Was in a jail cell.
Just like that, his dreams of going to school and building a future – were gone.
“I know you were trying to help,” John B said, lowering his voice. “But you don’t owe JJ this.”
He nodded around at the jail cells around them.
Pope knitted his brows together. “It’s not about owing JJ anything,” he said. “It’s about doing the right thing. JJ showed me that. We can have everything – but if we don’t have each other, then what the hell is any of it for? They were going to shoot JJ, and I don’t care if JJ loses the money. I don’t even care if JJ burns down the town. I can’t lose him, John B. None of us can.”
It wasn’t just Pope’s conviction.
It was the fact that he was telling the truth.
As plain and simple as it was.
All he could do was smile – a little wry, a little sad. A little everything, after the night they’ve had. He could swear, sometimes, if he didn’t love JJ with all his heart, he would hate him.
“JJ’s such an asshole like that,” he quipped.
Pope nodded in resolute agreement. “He is,” he agreed. “But he would do anything for us – anything. Everything I know about friendship – no offense – I learned from him.”
John B snorted. “None taken,” he said. “Because the same is true for me. He’s just – so frustrating, you know?”
Pope nodded around at their surroundings. “Yeah, I think I know.”
John B inclined his head, duly chagrined.
But in the cell, Pope shook his head in resignation. “I should have said I loved him,” he said. “He’s always saying it to us. He’s always on me about it. And now he’s out there – and I don’t know if they’ll bring him in alive. I should have said it, John B.”
“You’re in a jail cell for him,” John B reminded him. “I think he knows.”
Pope’s face hardened, though, and he still shook his head, resolute in his denial. “I still should have said it. JJ of all people needs to hear it.”
That was a point John B couldn’t argue. “We all should have said it,” he said. “I should have known how hard this would hit him–”
“Well, it’s not over,” Pope said. He held onto the bars now, suddenly purposeful again.
“But we lost Pogeulandia–”
Pope rolled his eyes. “It’s just land,” he said. “The key is to not lose each other. You have to find JJ, and you have to talk some sense into him. We can’t run from this.”
“You think we can convince JJ to turn himself in?” John B asked, skeptical now.
But Pope didn’t hesitate. “You can,” he said. “And Kie can. All of us together. We’ve both been saying it: JJ would do anything for us. Anything.”
Even turn himself into the police.
That was a high wager.
But honestly, Pope was right. With the right logic – JJ logic – it might work. It might spare all of them – including Pope.
And it might just save JJ’s life.
JJ wouldn’t do it for himself – not at all. But for them?
Well, John B had to concede, that might just work.
“I’ll do what I can,” he said. “But what about you?”
Pope shrugged. “They’ll have to charge me in the morning,” he said. “I haven’t called my folks yet. They’re going to be pissed.”
John B winced. “As if they didn’t hate us already.”
“Whatever,” Pope said. “I know why I did it. I don’t regret it.”
“But school–” John B ventured.
“I don’t regret it,” Pope said, more decisively now. “JJ always did what he thought he had to do.”
“And sometimes JJ’s wrong–”
“For all the right reasons,” Pope said, utterly matter of fact. He believed it; he did. “I mean, we have to talk some sense into him, I know that–”
“But we have to find him first,” John B said, finishing the thought for him.
Pope nodded in agreement. “We have to find him first,” he agreed. “I did what I could–”
John B took a breath, finding some consolation in the mutual understanding. He was so used to being the only one to protect JJ. He forgot, sometimes, he didn’t have to do it alone. JJ things were no longer his burden to bear.
And they weren’t a burden at all.
It was just the give and take of family.
JJ gave all he had.
Even when he did it all wrong.
“We’ll take care of it – we’ll take care of him,” John B promised. “You’re not in there for nothing.”
“Good,” Pope said. He huffed, shaking his head. “Because I can’t lie, it does kind of suck in here.”
John B nodded in commiseration. “Try being in there for murder,” he said.
“This is bad enough, thanks,” Pope said warily. Then, he hesitated. “We are going to make this work, aren’t we?”
Pope needed him to have a plan. All along, this had been his idea. From the start, it had been his hunt. It had been his vendetta, his obsession. Him.
All that had changed – they were all invested for their own reasons – but this was still on John B in ways he couldn’t explain.
His hunt. His crew. His family.
John B should have told them from the start that he didn’t have a clue what he was doing.
All these years later, it was probably too late to claim ignorance now.
Not with Pope in jail and JJ on the run. Not with Poguelandia gone.
He’d shitted his way blindly through it then.
It was all he could do now.
“Of course we are,” he said, because it’d never been about reality. It’d never been about the odds or common sense. John B had believed all of it into existence then. He could do it again. “I swear to you, Pope, we’re going to get a happily ever after one way or another.”
That was a promise.
One that John B would take to his grave.
-o-
For JJ, it had been obvious from the second he stepped foot on Goat Island again. Dark and dreary, the night was heavy and JJ’s nerves were shot, but he knew. Because this island – this place – full of darkness and secrets.
This place felt like home.
He couldn’t explain it, the way he knew. The way the familiarity seemed to seep into his bones. Coming back was the only natural choice he had. Because he knew these waters. He knew this land.
And it knew him.
It called to him like a siren’s call; it tempted him like a lullaby. To just let go. To just accept it.
Why did he know this island? Why did this place call to him?
He moored the boat, tying it off hastily, as he stepped onto the dock. He thought about it, a family boat. Going on family picnics. A beautiful blonde woman and a baby; a doting grandfather. It could have been him.
It wasn’t really a question of where, in the end. No, this was a question of who.
God help him, as he crossed the dock, coming up the walk. This was a question of why.
Who was he? Genrette or Maybank? Kook or Pogue?
And why the hell didn’t anyone want him?
Just once.
Why had he been exiled from this place? Why did it beckon him even as it pushed him away?
Someone had to want him.
After all these years, anyone.
Up the walk, up the porch, right on the front door. He looked up at it – the massive building - and found it hard to breathe. Hard to think.
But it was easy to do, in the end. Just lift his fist and knock.
He had to know. He finally, after everything, had to know. No more questions; no more doubts. JJ had spent his entire life feeling lost. Like a puzzle with a few key pieces missing.
He wanted to be found.
He wanted to see the big picture.
And maybe – just maybe – all the rest would make sense.
Please, he thought as he pounded again, please.
All those years, teachers had wondered why he was the way he was. All those times, Kooks had rolled their eyes and said that he wasn’t worth it. All those people, who had looked at him like they thought they knew him.
And all the moments he’d let his friends down, when he’d been less than the person he wanted to be.
Please.
There had to be a reason.
There had to be something left of him to salvage.
Because after tonight – after all he’d done – he wasn’t sure anymore.
JJ wasn’t sure of anything.
Either he was going to get answers tonight.
Or he was going to leave the OBX forever and just keep going.
That was where this was going, right? That was what he was doing. He was burning his bridges. He was cutting himself off. There was nothing left for him there, and maybe there never had been. Maybe he’d been trying too hard. Maybe he’d been holding onto something that wasn’t his. He’d save everyone so much grief if he just didn’t go back.
If he just didn’t exist.
He pounded the door again, swallowing back the thought. His ears were ringing and his eyes were burning. It was desperation now. He was begging for a response, his one last plea to the universe.
Please, please, please.
This was how it was, though. JJ could get so close, but it was never his to have. Every success was followed by failure. One step forward, two steps back. Climb the mountain just to fall into the abyss. All he got was a moment of home, a taste of family, and then it was gone again, and it was all his fault.
The sky opened up, the rain finally breaking. And JJ felt it, washing him away, and the futility was too much. He wouldn’t run away. He’d just let the ocean take him. He’d jump in and go and go as far as he could until his arms gave out. No burial; no goodbye. No body to contend with. No mess at all. It was the least he could do. For his friends.
For the whole damn world.
No one would miss him. Or – they shouldn’t. His friends would move on, they’d be better off.This was as close as JJ would get.
Answers almost revealed. Family almost realized. Home almost made. Identity almost understood.
A life almost lived.
He stepped back, shoulders falling as he ran out of fight. No one was coming for him.
Why would anyone come? For him?
It was his fate, then. To be alone. To die alone.
To die–
His breathing caught, and he felt the hard thudding of his heart as the rain soaked him. He stepped back, ready to give up – ready to give in.
And then, suddenly, the front door opened.
There was a sliver of light, a burst of air, and hope.
JJ stood there, soaked and needy, while Chandler Groff opened the door to let him come inside.
Chapter 3: CHAPTER THREE
Notes:
Writing this fic required me to rewatch all of S4 in some depth, which was a chore I had intended to never do. It was frustrating and disappointing to rewatch, and the second viewing definitely drove home my dissatisfaction across the board with the storytelling and character development. The writers had some elements that could have worked -- but they didn't put any effort into actually honing them and making all of it in character.
So -- I did. I'm hoping that differentiates this enough to make it an engaging read!
Comments are loved. I'd love to know what you're thinking and what you'd love to see for JJ and the rest!
Chapter Text
CHAPTER THREE
-o-
The second JJ stepped through the door at Goat Island that night, he knew.
It was weird; he’d been here before. The first time, things had been strange about this place. Everything had felt – off.
But this time, it was like all the pieces fit into place. Everything else had been stripped away; he had no more pretenses. There were no plans; there was no hope.
There was just the truth, plain and simple, laid bare. He didn’t understand the picture he was looking at, but he knew it was complete.
Because he was the missing piece.
He made this place whole.
It was him.
The pictures on the wall. The relics lining the tables. The way the old boards creaked and the dimness of the lights. He didn’t remember it exactly, but he knew it.
Just like he knew the man in front of him.
Chandler Groff looked like a Kook. He had the clothes, the well-coiffed hair. He could smile like a Kook, so fast and smooth, and his lilting voice sounded like one.
And yet, he didn’t feel like a Kook. The entire thing was a careful presentation. Groff was hiding something.
JJ suspected, in the pit of his stomach, that this man was hiding everything.
He waved JJ in with a polished little grace. “What a night, huh?”
It was funny the way he said it, like it was easy conversation. Typical chit chat. Normal.
Like it wasn’t anything at all.
JJ slipped inside, feeling himself bounce gingerly on the balls of his feet. Everything was on full alert; every synapse in his body felt like it was set alive by the lightning outside. The entire situation felt electric, no matter how Groff smiled and preened.
There was nothing normal about it, not any of it.
Groff shut the door behind him, and JJ found himself, dripping wet and uneasy. His heart was still pounding; his anxiety was still roiling through him. He felt like it was harder than it used to be, to keep the broken bits of himself together. He could just fall apart, right here, on the floor of Goat Island.
Groff looked at him – like he knew it, too. “Let’s uh – get you a towel.”
Right. Because that was what JJ needed.
A towel.
It felt wrong, but then – everything felt wrong. JJ followed him, step by step into the next room. If JJ felt uneasy, Groff seemed keen to compensate with complete indifference. “Is there any news?”
JJ felt his chest tighten reflexively. “What?”
In the last few hours, he’d lost his home. He’d lost his livelihood. He’d lost everything for himself – and for his friends.
Oh, and he’d started a riot.
So.
That was new.
JJ was used to being a screw up. But even JJ didn’t usually screw up that bad.
“They found the amulet,” Groff continued, by way of conversation. The context collected a little, at least, and JJ was able to ground himself. Even as Groff smiled with sadness that felt contrived. “Too late for Wes, I’m afraid.”
They were still walking, moving through the rooms. The air felt cold; the house felt haunted.
And then, standing in the study, JJ knew why.
That portrait was still there. The one of Larissa Genrette. Blonde and beautiful and young–
He forced himself to keep it together. He had to keep it together. There was no such thing as ghosts; there were just old lies, the kind that took people apart. You didn’t need a spirit to haunt. All the things that could have been – should have been – do the job well enough.
Somehow, he remembered to breathe.
That was why he was here.
Those questions. Those doubts.
Her.
Him.
“No, it’s actually not about that,” he said, finding his voice. He sounded funny; he felt funny. Distant and disconnected, like some part of him was still walking down the aisle of the courthouse, standing on the precipice of burning everything. He could stop, couldn’t he? Could he? “It’s–”
The weight of it was too much. The portrait of Larissa in front of him. Groff standing below it.
And JJ.
The baby lost to the waves. The body they never found.
No wonder it always felt like he was drifting.
The first time he’d been here, it had made him pause. Like it was just a creepy effigy from a man who couldn’t let go of the past.
Now, it felt like his chest might explode. Because she was looking right at him. She had always been looking at him, this invisible force, spiriting after him his entire life.
He had to know.
He’d burned it all down around him. In the ashes, he had to know why.
“It’s actually about you,” he said, turning his eyes from the picture of the woman to the man who could be his father.
Outside, the storm continued to rage, wholly unabated. With the wild winds, Groff stood perfectly still, poised with a smile spread over his lips. Like he had no idea what JJ was talking about.
Lying was easy, though.
Covering up your true self? Well, JJ did it better than anyone he knew.
Unless, it was possible, he didn’t.
“Yeah,” he said, and it made him feel stupid. Shit, he was stupid. He was the dumbest piece of shit on this whole damn island, but here he was. He couldn’t not ask the question. He couldn’t just deny, deny, deny any longer. “Okay, I just – I frickin’ – I really don’t know how to ask this.”
He started pacing, the rhythm of his heart skyrocketing. The pressure was back, building uncontrollably in his chest as he tried to calm himself down enough to get the words out.
Abruptly, he brought himself to a stop.
For the love of God, he just had to stop.
Groff stood there, ever expectant but not inviting.
“Am I–” he started and faltered. He looked at him, this man who would have been his father. This man who would have held him as a baby. This man who abandoned him to Luke. “Are you my father?”
He sounded young – he felt young. Like he was still a little kid, desperate for attention. Luke had given it to him, when he was young. Before the years became hard and affection became a closed fist. JJ never stopped going home. JJ never stopped hoping that it would be a hug and not a punch. JJ was pathetic, hopeless. Always searching but never finding.
Groff stood there with a smile. Then, he scoffed. “Your father?” he said with the kind of detached bemusement Kooks knew how to muster. It was an affectation, though. The bullshit you pulled when you wanted to hide something. He’d burned down his own walls along with the town, so he had no defenses now, even as Groff’s flared. “What a thing to ask.”
It hurt, actually. The way the words formed, the way they settled. Cold and hard, unsettled and wrong. It wasn’t a denial, though.
It wasn’t a denial.
That just made it worse. This in-between. This might have been.
What a thing to ask.
To be a damn kid, who just wanted someone to choose him for once. To want.
He could break glass. He could burn things down. He could face off with the police.
But none of it got him what he wanted.
This was the truth he was trying to unearth, one broken promise at a time. This was the justice he was seeking, for someone to love him once and for all.
And the absence of it was destroying him.
All these years, it ate away at him.
Tonight, the foundation had fallen out. There was nothing left to support him.
“Yeah,” he said, looking away as his heart crashed. Because he shouldn’t have to ask. No one should have to ask. He shouldn’t have to be here, not if this was his home.
None of this should have happened at all.
He burned it all down – his hopes, the hopes of his friends – for nothing.
For absolutely nothing.
He hadn’t come here with confidence, but desperation. But that fuel was running thin, and he faltered again, so badly this time that he genuinely didn’t know if he could recover it. “I guess you’re right,” he said softly. The resignation he felt – he’d felt for a lifetime. “It is odd.”
The futility of it was suddenly too much. The utter injustice of it all. That people could take and take and take for him, and never give him anything back. That he could be insulted and derided – even by the people who loved him – and he was supposed to take it. He was supposed to smile and take it and love them anyway.
The town. Luke. The Pogues.
And now Groff.
The rejection felt raw. He wasn’t sure he could take it anymore.
It was time for the truth.
Or it was time to burn himself down with the rest of his life, once and for all.
“But, uh, okay,” he continued, because he was in too deep. He was too far gone. “I got this letter – and Wes Genrette wrote it, and I couldn’t make any sense–”
And for the first time, JJ saw it in the old man’s face. Something behind the mask he curated. Something real. Surprise. “Wes wrote you a letter?” he asked, before he quickly pivoted the thought. “Wow – he really – he really wasn’t there in the end.”
The seamless way he covered it. As if the lie had been one he’d spent years making.
Well, JJ thought ruefully. About 20 years. He knew from experience it got easier.
Until it didn’t.
Standing there, Groff had the audacity to shake his head, composing himself so easily while he chuckled.
The more Groff pulled himself together, the more JJ felt himself come apart. It wouldn’t hold anymore. The careful balancing act he did to keep his shit together – it wasn’t enough. Everything was off kilter and askew, and he couldn’t.
It was all for nothing.
Everything, every damn thing – good and bad – in his miserable, pathetic life.
It meant nothing.
“Look JJ, you seem like a fine young man,” Groff continued with a kindness that felt painful to JJ. “I'd be – I’d be lucky.”
The words of kindness cut like a knife, cutting deep into his gut. He could feel it, practically gutting him like a fish. That was it, then. This man, this asshole. Was a liar.
Luke was an asshole, too, but an honest one.
This guy? His deception?
He had the audacity to say that to JJ’s face. To say it to JJ’s face now. Like this.
No one had ever looked at JJ and thought he was a fine young man. No one looked at JJ and thought they’d be lucky. Hell, he was pretty sure his friends only just tolerated him half the time, and after tonight? After what he’d done?
Well, needless to say the lie was so ostentatious that JJ didn’t know if he needed to laugh or cry.
Because if Groff was lying about that. Well, Groff could be lying about everything.
“But – don’t you have a father?” Groff pressed, as if he thought deflection might work.
It didn’t. It wasn’t even a good deflection. It wasn’t worth shit. Some pisspoor attempt, like JJ wasn’t worth a better attempt.
JJ felt his control shudder, and he looked at the ground while his jaw worked. “Luke,” he said, jaw locking for a moment as he pushed through the emotion choking him as he stared at the ground – hard. “Except he was the one who told me.”
He raised his gaze, feeling the determination settle over him. No matter how this ended – it would end. JJ was sure of that. The questions would be answered, and whatever truth was laid bare, JJ would live with.
Or not.
At this point, he just didn’t care.
He had to know.
He had to put it all out there, for better or worse.
He had to know.
“After I got the letter from Wes, he told me,” he said, straightening himself now. There was surety in his pain. Even if this was going to be another rejection, he would face it. “He told me that you gave me to him after Larissa died.”
It sounded stupid. It sounded so damn stupid.
Common sense would tell him it was bullshit.
But the story resonated. Deep inside of him, it made sense. It clicked.
Groff seemed to feel it, too, and JJ could see him wither under the intensity of his gaze. He postured. “Luke told you that?” He asked, as if he was putting the pieces together. As if bemusement could hide what they both knew. “Extraordinary.”
The bastard was a good liar, JJ could see that. He was seamless with it. He could pull it off, perfect execution. Guilt-free.
Better than JJ could ever hope to be.
Better than JJ wanted to be.
In the portrait, on the wall between them, Larissa’s visage still beckoned him. It was almost painfully vivid, the way she looked at him.
Warning him off.
Beckoning him home.
Only time would tell.
“Forgive me, but he’s got kind of a checkered past, doesn’t he?” Groff continued, almost oblivious to JJ’s struggle. The man all but shrugged. “Fugitive, I believe. Drugs.”
It was a cruel thing to say, designed to put JJ back on the defensive. Designed to shut him up.
But JJ didn’t need the reminder.
And Luke’s crimes didn’t make him shrink away the way they used to.
“Yeah,” he said, conceding that much. His jaw felt tight, the pressure in his chest almost unbearable. “I guess you’re right.”
Groff seemed to take that as a kind of victory. He eased back, clearly relaxing, like he thought that might be the end of the conversation. Like it was all he wanted to say.
It didn’t matter.
JJ had never learned how to shut his mouth.
Not with Luke.
And certainly not with Groff.
If he was going to dig himself a grave, then what the hell. He might as well bury himself in it, too.
He took a breath, finding the determination inside of him. 19 years of questions. And this was the answer. “Can you tell me what happened to that baby, then?”
The question, even more than the others, seemed to be not what Groff was expecting. As if thinking of the baby was a whole different thing, as if he could separate himself from the man he was and the baby he was supposed to love.
“My baby,” he said, eyes a little distant as he considered it. He breathed, hard and deep, before he looked at JJ again. “He drowned.”
And there it was; the tell.
The way he rubbed his face. The way he looked away, hands in his pocket.
“They never found the body,” he said, turning back to look at Larissa. “Imagine that. Not being able to bury your own child.”
It was good; it was.
That kind of grief – well, JJ almost bought it.
Almost.
“If you couldn’t find him,” he asked. He hoped, maybe. “Do you think that baby may have survived?”
Groff looked at him.
He finally looked at him.
“That that baby–” he said, pointing to himself. “–is me?”
JJ had taken shit all his life. He’d accepted half baked answers. He’d let people tell him who he was and what he could do. He swallowed every bitter pill because what other choice did he have.
But not here.
Not about this.
His world was burning. So he didn’t care anymore if he went down in flames with it.
Groff’s expression turned guarded. “JJ, I don’t know what Luke told you,” he said, watching JJ carefully, for any weakness in his face. “And if I — had someone like Luke as a father, I guess I’d want to swap him out too.”
The reason was false. The sympathy rang hollow.
Because this wasn’t JJ chasing an idle dream. This wasn’t wishful thinking.
This was JJ, face to face with a truth he couldn’t deny any longer. The pain was too much. It was too deep, it was too raw. It was consuming him, tearing him apart from the inside out. This was the kind of wound that didn’t heal. This was the kind of pain that just hurt worse with time. It was the kind of pain that made you drink yourself stupid. It was the kind of wound that made you take all the pills, consequences be damned.
No matter what the truth was, he had to know. Before there was nothing left of him at all, he just had to know. He had to hear Groff say it.
Groff approached him, and the concern on his face was so horribly composed that it made things worse. “But I–” he said, and he reached out now. Placing a hand on JJ’s shoulder with a weight that threatened to put JJ in the ground. “Look, JJ. We all draw certain cards in life. I mean, I wish it weren’t so, I really do, but–”
It was the classic Kook answer.
The same bullshit they’d told JJ all his life.
That life was just meant to be like this.
That some shit was just unfair.
It wasn’t their fault. There was nothing they could do about it.
That JJ was born to be unwanted. That JJ was born to be less.
That JJ was born to suffer.
And he had to take that on the chin, he had to accept it.
All his life, JJ had. All his life, JJ had taken the hits. He’d believed them, every damn time.
He couldn’t do it anymore.
Honestly, JJ couldn’t do anything anymore.
Whether this truth saved him – whether it killed him – either way, this shit was going to be over.
But before he could speak. Before Groff could finish. A sound split the night. It was louder than the rain. More piercing than the thunder. JJ frowned, looking toward the window with confusion.
Groff didn’t seem confused, though. He startled, but the clarity on his face was even more unsettling than anything else. “Oh, no.”
JJ felt his heart skip a beat. “What was that?”
Groff turned, making his way to the window. He kept to the side of it, peering out into the night as the rain lashed the glass. “It’s a warning.”
JJ had come for answers.
But this?
This was just another question. He shook his head, struggling to keep up. “A warning for what?”
There was a flicker of regret on Groff’s face. Fleeting before he harnessed it. Backing away from the window, he nodded at JJ, matter of fact. “Trouble,” he said, far too easy. “Come on – follow me.”
It had already been a long night. Sincerely, it had already been the longest night. Running from the cops had left him spent, but it didn’t take much to get him back on high alert. “What do you mean – trouble?” he said.
Groff was cool, and far too calm, as he unlocked a cabinet on the other end of the room.
With no response, JJ frowned, going to the window to look for himself. “Can you tell me what’s happening?”
Groff looked at him. “Stay away from the window!” he growled.
JJ turned back, still confused. The questions about his parentage were already a lot. So whatever this was, JJ was at a loss.
It didn’t help when Groff threw him a damn gun. “I assume you know how to use one of these.”
JJ caught it reflexively, giving it a quick once over as he resisted the urge to laugh. “What is this piece of shit?” he asked, trying to move the parts and check it over. The ancient metal groaned and caught. “It’s rusted over. You can’t even open it.”
“Oh,” Groff said, far too casual for the fact that he’d just handed JJ a gun. He took it back and handed him the other. “It’s been awhile since I’ve handled one.”
All things considered, the total nonchalance was probably concerning. But at this point, everything was concerning, so JJ didn’t really know which part to be upset about. The part where he might be confronting his long lost father or the part where his long lost father was handing him a gun.
Or the part where he might be on the verge of another shootout. Twice in the same night; he was on a roll.
He really wanted answers. To any of those questions at this point.
His frustration mounting, JJ cocked the gun. He scowled at it, shaking his head. This was bullshit, but if he wanted to survive the bullshit, he had to think. “You got ammo?”
He wasn’t sure if it was good news or bad news when Groff handed him some.
More to the point, Groff handed him one.
The bare minimum.
“One round?” JJ asked, feeling incredulous.
Because what the hell? He had come here for everything.
And Groff?
Was giving as little as he could in return.
JJ, pathetic asshole that he was, took it. He took it all. Always had; always would.
He was so dumb. He was worthless. No wonder Luke beat the shit out of him. No wonder Groff abandoned him and refused to acknowledge him now. It was only a matter of time until his friends figured it out; they probably already had.
JJ couldn’t do this. JJ couldn’t do anything.
Fingers numb, he loaded the round. It was funny, right? Downright hilarious, honestly.
He couldn’t do this. Could he?
Could he keep doing this?
After losing Poguelandia. After starting a riot.
Could he do this?
“All right, then. 25 yards,” he handed the gun back, loaded and ready. He’d given too much. He’d extended himself too far. If Groff didn’t want him, then fine. If no one ever wanted him, okay. “Whites of their eyes. Good luck.”
The futility of it was too much. He turned to leave, but this time, Groff stopped him. “No, no,” he said. “You keep it.”
And he grabbed him. Groff’s hand on his arm, holding him there. He turned JJ toward him and looked at him. Right in the eyes.
JJ knew why he’d come.
He also knew, looking face to face with this man, why he had to leave.
Did he want answers? Yes.
But if this man didn’t want him, he would go back to the last people who did. He owed it to his friends to make this right. He owed it to Kie.
This was a mistake. Coming here was a mistake.
All of it, all the way back to the courthouse, was a mistake.
All the way back to the start.
JJ was a mistake.
“No, I’m not keeping this,” he said, because his story didn’t matter. Theirs did. “Whatever this is, it’s not my fight.”
But then – a window broke. JJ flinched as the glass shattered, ducking away.
“It is now,” Groff said, herding him out of the way. “Come on!”
At the door, they stopped short, holing up as safely as they could. JJ had the gun; Groff pulled out his knife. A small blade. But deadly as it glinted in the lightning. Sharp enough to kill a man, if you knew how to use it.
He looked at Groff’s face.
He knew how to use it.
And JJ knew this was a bad idea, just like all his other ideas. He shouldn’t have come, he shouldn’t be here, but here he was.
Groff denied it. JJ tried to deny it, too.
But the weight of Larissa’s gaze was too much.
And hope?
It made you bet everything on yourself in a race. It made you burn the town down.
It made you stand in front of your father, giving him one last chance to want you, when all he had ever done was give you away.
JJ knew, right then and there, that Chandler Groff was his father.
And he knew, without a doubt, it would probably kill him in the end.
-o-
This place – their Poguelandia – had been Kiara’s refuge. After getting back from South America, her parents had drawn firm lines in the sand. She had to pick: them or the Pogues.
Them.
Or JJ.
She’d picked the Pogues. She’d picked JJ.
No hesitation, no regret.
But it had been hard.
To be without a home. To be without a place to belong.
Really, she hadn’t been mad when JJ bought the land. To her, it was priceless. A place to call home, sure. A home she didn’t owe to anyone or anything. On their terms.
It was the freedom she’d been pining for.
The freedom was closing in on her now. She could feel it, tightening around her like a noose. Freedom to make her own choices.
Freedom to live her own failures.
She closed her eyes and sighed, shifting restlessly on the hammock. Sleep was elusive, and there was no way to go to bed – not without JJ. He had always liked it out here anyway. The two of them, alone beneath the stars. Tucked against each other in the hammock, he was always at his most restful.
She had hoped she’d find solace with it.
But it was anything but. The absence just felt all the more painful.
She’d watched him implode tonight. She’d stood there and let him detonate. She’d done nothing while he fell apart.
It was damning, was what it was. All her posturing, like she was an adult, and she’d stood there like a child. And now JJ was gone–
She could only hope he was safe.
She could only hope he’d come back.
She could only hope.
The night was quiet – deceptively peaceful – so it wasn’t hard to hear it. The sound of a car engine, distant at first. Then, the crunch of tires on the gravel. Her breath caught, and her senses came back – fully alert.
She was up in a second, looking out across the yard. She saw the headlights dance across the grass, and for a split second, she thought it was the cops. To evict them, maybe. To bring them in for questioning – or just to arrest them for good measure.
To tell her that they’d caught JJ.
To tell her that they’d put a few bullets in him.
Kiara’s jaw clenched at the thought, and it took her a long moment to realize it wasn’t a police cruiser.
But it was familiar. She squinted in the dim light, and she wasn’t sure if it was a relief or a terrifying prospect that she recognized the car as her mother’s.
It pulled up, close to the house, parking just outside. The engine idled for a moment, and Kiara held herself very still. Then, the car turned off, and the door opened. Her mother in the driver’s seat. Her father in the passenger’s.
She got up just that fast, everything hardening inside of her. It was reflex, really. She knew she was an adult; she wasn’t beholden to them for anything.
But damn it all if they didn’t bring out the rebellious teen in her.
“What?” she snapped, stalking across the yard before they even had a chance to cross toward the house. She didn’t want them here; she didn’t want them at her home – at JJ’s home. They hated JJ, so they had to hate it here, and if she couldn’t protect him right now – well, then screw that shit. She’d protect this. “You come to gloat?”
“Baby, of course not,” her mother said, and she was smart enough to recognize the very clear boundary Kiara was setting, stopping just outside her car door.
Her father rounded from the other side, falling into position next to her. “We were just worried,” he said. “When we saw everything go down.”
There was a note of sincerity there, but Kiara found herself skeptical.
These were, after all, the parents who told her they needed boundaries.
And the parents who sent her to Kitty Hawk.
The fact that they couldn’t accept JJ into their lives was just the icing on the shittiest cake possible.
She exhaled, long and hard.
“How did you even find me?” she asked, crossing her arms over her chest stiffly. The night was dark and still, far from whatever riots might still be occurring.
Far from JJ, she had to speculate.
Too far.
“We knew you’d probably go home,” her mother said, and it sounded sad somehow. Her mother smiled weakly, nodding around. “It’s lovely, by the way. What you all made here.”
The kindness was almost worse than the cruelty. Kiara felt tears sting the back of her eyes as she blinked as hard as she could. “Not that it matters now,” she said. “They took it. The Kooks.” She swallowed, face contorting into a hard rage she couldn’t suppress. “Your Kooks.”
Her mother looked devastated – and legitimately so. “Kiara, we would never–”
“We tried to talk people out of it,” her dad said with an unexpected vigor. “The whole thing – it was just petty and vindictive.”
Kiara scoffed. “And how does that surprise you? I told you – Kooks.”
Her mother looked crestfallen, but her father nodded in agreement. “It’s not fair,” he said. “When you work hard and do everything right. They take it from you anyway.”
She felt her edge shift, and the unexpected empathy was a foreign thing. She knew her father’s story. She knew his background.
But if anything, it made him harder to convince.
He’d hated the Pogues so much more than her mother. He’d hated JJ.
She drew herself up, bringing her defenses back up to bear. “You never cared before,” she said. “They’ve been shitting on us from the start. JJ’s whole life–”
Her voice broke, keeping her from continuing. She took several deep breaths, trying to get herself back together. She felt a tear leak down her cheek, and she wiped it as quickly as she could – but her parents both saw.
Her cheeks went red, and she was thankful suddenly that it was dark outside. “If you’re looking for him, he’s not here,” she said, and she let her tone get as pointed as she could. “You can’t turn him in just to gloat.”
“That’s not why we’re here,” her mother said quickly.
She pursed her lips, unwilling to flinch again. “What? Just here to offer me another chance to come home? An I told you so now that it’s all falling apart.”
“Kiara–” her mother said.
But she couldn’t stop now. Her pounding, Kiara couldn’t. “Or are you just here to say how you’re not surprised, that you knew it would happen sooner or later. Have you just been waiting for JJ to lose control so you could swoop in and take me back? I mean, you knew, right? You knew all along that it would end up like this.”
It shattered her again, and this time she couldn’t catch the sob before it escaped from her lips. Her mother reached out – to catch her, to hug her – but Kiara stepped back, pushing the cries back down viciously. “You have no idea how hard he’s tried,” she said, wiping her eyes again, even as fresh tears fell. “You have no idea how much he’s had to fight against and how few people have believed in him. He screwed up tonight – I know that – but you have no idea–”
This time, she couldn’t get it back in check. The sobs came, hard and uncontrollable, and it nearly took out her knees. It was such a hard grief – a sudden grief – that she couldn’t catch herself, and when her mother’s arms were around her, she didn’t have it in her to hold the grudge.
For a second, there was no Kitty Hawk. For a moment, there were no boundaries.
There was just Kiara and her parents.
Mother and daughter.
With her mother’s arms around her, Kiara couldn’t help herself anymore. She clung to her, just like she was still a little girl. She cried, hard and desperate, while her mother smoothed her hair down.
“Sweetie, it’s okay,” she soothed gently. “It’s okay.”
Kiara drew back finally, gulping for breath. Her nose was starting to clog up, and her eyelashes felt thick. “It’s not okay,” she said haltingly. “We’re losing the land, and Pope’s in jail, and JJ–”
She cut off miserably, shaking her head.
“You don’t even care about JJ,” she said, almost despite herself.
Her mother reached up, cupping her race. “Honey, it’s not that, it’s not,” she said.
Kiara glanced over her mother’s shoulder, surprised to find her dad still standing there, earnest as ever. She almost couldn’t make it parse.
“We just know how troubled JJ’s life has been,” her mother continues, pressing her hair back from her face, disentangling the strands from her tear-soaked cheeks.
She took a ragged breath. “So, what?” she asked, unable to let it go. “He’s just doomed? I shouldn’t be surprised?”
Her mother’s eyes widened, and she shook her head. “No, no, no, of course not,” she said, and her voice was a little too quick – but so sincere that Kiara felt herself waver. “We just knew how much he had to overcome, and we didn’t necessarily want that for you.”
She inhaled sharply, feeling a fresh wave of tears threaten to overtake her. “But I love him,” she said. “And he deserves so much – everything.”
Her mother nodded along, smiling sadly. “I guess we hoped he could figure it out first, then be with you,” she said. She shrugged, almost helplessly.
There was nothing hidden in her face, and when she looked at her father again, his expression looked even more sympathetic.
“Kiara,” he said. “I know who JJ is. I was JJ. I know how hard it is–”
“Then why do you hate him?” she asked. “Why could you never give him a chance?”
“Because I wanted better for you,” he said. “Better than what I had to give your mother, when she first loved me.”
She stepped back from her mother’s touch, wrinkling her nose. “But sometimes love is the whole point,” she said. “Sometimes, that’s what makes the difference.”
“You can’t fix him, Kiara–” her mother started.
She shook her head, sharply now. “But you fixed Dad,” she said. “He’s all Kook now, thanks to you.”
Her mother hemmed herself back, pursing her lips.
Her dad stepped forward instead. “JJ may have just completely ruined his life,” he said softly. “You do know that, don’t you?”
As gentle as the words were, they hit hard. She set her jaw stiffly. “You have no idea what he’s been through recently. He’s made some mistakes–”
“Kiara, he started a riot and escaped police custody,” her mother said.
Kiara blinked hard against the tears, unable to stop them as they started falling again. “So I give up on him? I turn my back on him just like everyone else in his life? His own parents–”
She stopped, breath catching. She inhaled through her nose and shook her head.
“He’s never had anyone to believe in him, anyone who chose him,” she said “So, if he’s thrown away his life – fine. I’ll be there to help him build it again. Because I believe in him. I choose him, and I’m not stupid. I’m not blind. I know who he is and what he’s done – and that’s why I won’t give up on him. I won’t. So, if that’s why you’re here–”
“We’re here for you,” her mother said, even before she could finish.
Her dad exhaled, almost reluctantly. “And for JJ,” he said. “If you can get him to turn himself in, I know a lawyer who can help.”
The offer was plain. No malice, no reservations.
“What?” she asked, wondering if she’d misheard.
Her father lifted his shoulder, almost in somber acceptance. “You’re right that JJ has no one in his life to show him how to figure things out,” he said. “We didn’t want you to be that person, because you can’t change the boy you love. You just can’t.”
She swallowed hard, defenses still flared.
“The power of therapy, though. The support in getting real career advice,” her father said. “Parents.”
The offer seemed genuine, but that was too good to be true. Kiara struggled with her skepticism, looking from her father to her mom. “Why now?” she asked. “Why not before, when I came to you – when I tried to bring him to you?”
“I guess we thought it was a phase,” her mom said. “We thought you’d be back.”
“Did you ever go back, Mom?” Kiara asked pointedly. “Really?”
Her mother smiled faintly. “Once I remembered that, it started to make some sense.”
She looked at her dad. He didn’t muster up a smile for her, but his gaze was solemn. “When I saw JJ in that courthouse, I recognized something I hadn’t seen in a long, long time,” he said. “I saw myself in him, Kiara. I had people to pull me back from the brink, and I know it. JJ deserves the same.”
“We want to help, Kiara,” her mother added, reaching out again and putting a hand on her arm. “I know you’re mad about Kitty Hawk – and we’re mad about South America. We betrayed you, and you lied to us. We all took each other for granted, and it’s not until it’s burning down around us that I’m able to admit it.”
It was true, was the thing.
It was a shift in perspective. Losing Poguelandia. Seeing JJ square off with the cops. Pope in jail.
Kiara was playing for keeps now. These weren’t errant fancies. These weren’t childish adventures.
This was real, and the implications could affect her life – all of their lives.
Boundaries mattered, yes.
Sometimes love mattered more.
It had taken JJ a long time to let her in, to let her love him unconditionally. So anything was possible, really.
Even this. A restoration for the Carrera family.
If she could get JJ back, then anything was possible. She could make nice with her parents. JJ could turn himself in and cut a deal with Shoupe. They could figure out the truth about Luke and Chandler Groff. They could be happy, they could be whole, they could.
Kie had to believe it: anything was possible.
-o-
There was part of JJ that felt like it was the last piece to the puzzle. Groff was his father, and yeah, he brought up more questions than it answered – but it fit. It made sense.
It was like JJ’s entire life was put into perspective.
Luke, being out of place. Not fitting in, fighting and clawing for everything.
He was always trying to find himself, to prove himself.
And here he was.
Here he was.
Jackson Groff, for better or worse.
Getting into shit with his old man.
He should be scared – and he knew it. Whoever was after Groff meant business. They had guns, and they were shooting to kill. They were outnumbered and outgunned, and JJ had every reason to be scared shitless.
And he wasn’t.
He was loving it.
“This way!” Groff said, tugging him at his waist. JJ was already veering that direction, following a less beaten path, a more complex route, jutting through the trees. “That’s it! And–”
Groff didn’t have to say it this time. JJ anticipated the next order, banking hard to the left and coming out from the line of trees toward the open shoreline. The move was perfect, planned and executed with precision, the two of them in utter tandem, like they’d been doing this all their lives. They thought alike, JJ and Groff.
They were alike.
Reckless and smart. Short-sighted and impulsive. Just like that.
Behind him, Groff whooped.
“That’s it!” he cried, slapping JJ on the shoulder. “That’s it!”
JJ couldn’t help it; it made him smile.
He was always weak for shit like this. Always had been.
It was a thing, right? All those times Luke had hit him, kicked him – beat him – and JJ had kept coming back. He’d returned like a damn dog to his own vomit, looking for more. He’d told himself a thousand things – that it was his own fault, that Luke was doing the best he could, that Luke loved him – but the simple fact was that JJ had loved him.
And love made you stupid.
It made you blind.
It gave you second chances when you shouldn’t have any.
How many times had he gone back to Luke? How many times had he believed he could change?
Well, shit, part of him still did.
If he could trust that piece of shit, then why would he hold out on Groff?
If Luke got that many chances, didn’t Groff deserve this one?
After all, after all these years, JJ was still waiting for someone – for anyone – to prove him right.
-o-
It was fully dark by the time he got back, the overcast sky obscuring the moon and clouds. Usually he liked weather like this, like there was something comforting about the gloom. It was a refuge; a place to hide. Nothing looked as bad when you didn’t have to look into the nooks and crannies.
You couldn’t hide from yourself, though. Not in the long run.
The simple fact was, Luke had a choice. He could save himself and be done with all this shit, all of it. The boy wasn’t his; this hunt had nothing to do with him. He had no dog in this fight.
Or he could make the choice he made 19 years ago.
The choice to protect a kid who deserved better.
The choice to protect a kid who deserved everything.
His gut was telling him one thing. His head another.
And his heart?
Well, Luke didn’t know what to trust anymore. Trusting himself seemed like a bad idea, but where did that leave him? Trusting Groff? With JJ?
That had seemed like a bad idea 19 years ago.
It seemed like a worse idea now.
And yet – what was he going to do? What could he do? He was a felon and a drunk; he had spent most of his life as an addict, and sobriety was an ill fit on him. The last time he’d tried to do the right thing, he’d made a mess of it. How could he possibly fix that now?
His car was still at the marina, back where he’d parked it. It was a piece of shit, but Mike had let him keep it after he fixed it up. It worked well enough. Luke had never been picky; he could make anything run. Starting up the engine, he had a mind to head back to Mike’s. To get back to work, rebuilding his life.
Somehow, he ended up back at the house anyway.
The old Maybank property had never been much. Land in the Cut had been cheap when he bought it, and he’d struggled more paying taxes on it than making the payments. He’d liked it for the large yard and the access to the marsh. He’d had plans – to build a pier, to make a clubhouse in the backyard. He’d meant to set up a playground, build a sandbox, all that shit.
He’d never done any of it.
Even now, in the dark, he could see what was left of it. The little house was still standing, despite his lack of attention and care. JJ and his friends had taken it over and made it their own. It wasn’t fully updated or nothing like that – but it was kept up and remade. Reimagined as an actual home.
He wanted to go up closer. He wanted to walk the land and step up on the front porch. He wanted to remember JJ’s first steps across the living room. He wanted to relive JJ’s birthday, with the cake he’d made smeared all over JJ’s face as he grinned happily.
He’d had plans. He’d had dreams.
He’d drowned them in the bottle and swallowed them with the pills. And when he was face to face with the failure of his life, he took it out on JJ instead.
Sitting there, parked on the street, the guilt was hard to contend with. When he saw the land now, he saw what could have been. He saw a place where JJ might have brought his prom date to. He saw a place where they might have had a graduation party. If he’d done it right, maybe JJ would have gone over college acceptance letters with him at the kitchen table, planning out a future for a job, a career.
A family of his own.
Except JJ had done it, hadn’t he? He’d found a job. He’d made a career.
He’d built a family.
Despite Luke.
Shit, in spite of him, too.
There was no way he could go up that drive. There was no way he had any right to knock on that door. It wasn’t his anymore. He’d given up his rights, all of them. And not just legally. He’d given them up in every way possible, every time he’d raised his fist to JJ.
And that last day, when he’d abandoned him for good.
It was a hell of a thing to do, and he knew it. JJ had been left by everyone who ever loved him, and Luke did it, too. Luke left JJ behind.
He was no better than Groff.
He just wasn’t.
But – he sat there and felt it settle over him, this certainty – he could be.
It wasn’t over yet, was it? JJ had built his new life. Luke could build his, too. And he could make a foundation strong enough for both of them this time.
He couldn’t go back. He couldn’t undo all the years of drinking and drugs. He couldn’t change the bruises or the insults.
All he could do was move forward.
He had to be proactive.
He knew it was possible. He’d been a good person once – he had. A hard worker. A trusted individual. Larissa had trusted him, and she was the best person he’d ever met. She’d seen something in him, and maybe it was still there.
Maybe he could find it again.
Across the water, he could see the sun start to come up over the marsh. Small at first, and then splintering across the sky. The rays illuminated the house – the little house that JJ had transformed – and Luke saw it for what it was.
Something old and decrepit, filled with pain.
Into something new and familiar, filled with hope.
It was a new day; it was a better day.
It was a choice, right? Every drink he took, every pill he swallowed. Those were choices.
The day he took in JJ, that was a choice.
And every day he chose to keep him – those were choices.
Good and bad, the control was still his.
He’d chosen to be a parent once.
He could do it again.
The sun continued its ascent, filling out over the water and brightening the sky. To say it felt like hope was a little too easy. But it felt like a possibility.
It felt like a chance.
Luke wasn’t sure he deserved it, but JJ did. He could still do right by that boy, one way or another.
Groff had thrown JJ away once, when he thought he had no need for him. Now? When he saw a possible use for JJ?
It was even worse.
If Groff could give JJ up – then, what would he use him for? And what would he do with JJ when his utility had run its course? Whatever schemes Groff had in play – JJ was just a pawn, as much as Larissa had been. Larissa had ended up dead for her troubles. Hell, Wes had, too.
He didn’t want JJ added to that list. There wasn’t any Genrette curse. There was just Groff, pulling all the strings.
And what could Luke do? JJ wouldn’t listen to him – no way, no how. And that was more than fair. He’d made his play at Groff, and he’d probably only made things worse for JJ.
No, if Luke was going to do this, he had to be smarter about it. He couldn’t come straight at the bastard. He didn’t know shit about treasure, and he didn’t know what games he was playing at – what games he’d probably been playing at all along.
He couldn’t outsmart the asshole. He couldn’t hope to outplay him. He didn’t trust himself to play along with him, either.
But if someone was after Groff–
Then, the enemy of his enemy–
Well, that could just work.
Someone was already after Groff, that much was clear. If Groff was willing to hire him for protection? Then it was serious shit. So maybe Luke didn’t need to figure Groff out.
Maybe he just needed to make friends with the bastards who already had.
And, to be clear, Luke knew this wasn’t just about Groff. He didn’t need revenge, and he wasn’t looking for a payout. If it was just Groff’s ass on the line, Luke would cut him loose and be done with it.
But Groff had already started to use JJ.
He wouldn’t stop now, not if he sensed his advantage. And now that JJ knew the truth – well, why wouldn’t the boy go to him for answers? JJ was smart enough not to trust Luke, but he’d never met Groff. He had no idea what he was getting into.
The mercenaries would get him to Groff, he was sure of that.
And if Luke could get to Groff, he might be able to protect JJ in the process.
How? He wasn’t sure.
But why? Well, because it was about time he did the right thing.
The sun was up now, full and bright over the horizon. Time was slipping away from him. Another minute, another day, another year.
Time he owed JJ, after all this.
So Luke put the car back into gear, giving the old house one more look, before pulling away once and for all.
-o-
It felt like failure.
Well, if John B’s being honest about it, it was failure.
Walking back to Poguelanda. Without Pope. Without JJ.
And the damn land wasn’t even theirs anymore.
They’d lost everything – and then, somehow, managed to lose more. He wanted to think – surely – this was rock bottom, but at this point, he was a little afraid to tempt fate.
Trudging up the walk, the sense of loss was pervasive. The land was beautiful, was the thing. The way the yard overlooked the marsh, and the trees that grew tall around the house. The buildings were a bit ramshackle – and probably not up to code – but in the sunrise, there was something undeniably grand about them. This had been their home; this had been more than that. It was a refuge, a promise. Poguelandia was everything.
To lose it – to the Kooks. To lose it – after putting in all the money. To lose it – after putting in all the work.
To lose it – to Luke.
Well, John B understood why JJ lost it. He wanted to rage, too. He was just able to see that there was nowhere for that to go. It just gave the Kooks more ammunition against them. To not just take their land, but their freedom, too. At this rate, he wasn’t sure they could save JJ – much less Pope.
In truth, it felt like they might not salvage anything.
They weren’t just back where they started.
They had less.
Walking back up the familiar road hurt like hell, and the feeling of dread only grew deeper as he made his way up the drive. He knew every inch of this land; they had claimed it as their own. They’d remade it, reformed it. It had been home.
A place to work. A place to live.
A place to be.
Their place.
He stood there, looking up at the property. The shark hanging out front. JJ’s Poguelandia flag dropping in the still dawn air. The courts said it wasn’t theirs anymore, but it still felt like it. Anyone who had been here knew it. This was always meant to be their home.
Their legacy.
Sighing, he made his way up the steps and inside.
The house was quiet, settled into the darkness. It was funny; how the building couldn’t know what was going to happen. The property itself couldn’t know the loss.
John B wasn’t sure he understood it himself. He couldn’t fully grasp it, what it meant. The idea that it was over, that they were out of chances–
Well, John B was well versed with denial.
But sometimes the incontrovertible facts were a little much.
He couldn’t put it off. Forcing himself forward, he dragged himself up the stairs, trying not to feel the pang of loss just yet. The door was open, and Pope and Cleo’s room was empty. He peeked in to see Kiara, asleep with her clothes on atop the covers, reaching unconsciously for the space where JJ was supposed to be.
He didn’t dwell; he couldn’t bring himself to. Instead he padded quietly over the creaky floorboards until he reached his own room. The door squeaked as he opened it, and he lingered for a moment, watching Sarah as she dozed in the pale moonlight coming in through the windows.
She was still in her clothes, too, and she looked exhausted. Hair unkempt, clothes rumpled. And even in exhaustion, she was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.
It still struck him, sometimes. Even after all this time. That Sarah Cameron was in love with him. That Sarah Cameron was his wife in all the ways that matter.
Sarah Camera – was his.
Just as much as he was hers.
He knew they were young, and he knew they were stupid. But they weren’t naive. They knew that it was work; they knew that they had to keep at it. They had to talk, they had to make time for each other. They had to put each other first.
That sounded easy, and most of the time, it was. When things were happy and good, when there was money and work.
But ever since taxes had come due.
Ever since JJ had bet the money.
Ever since JJ had rioted.
Well, needless to say, a lot of things would have been easier except for JJ.
Not that it was all JJ’s fault. The whole thing – it wasn’t fair to foist all the blame on JJ. They all played a part in it – and they all knew it.
The rest of them just had the self control to not make it worse.
And John B knew all the reasons. John B knew that JJ struggled with impulse control. When JJ got scared, JJ got stupid, and he took risks so the rest of them didn’t have to. JJ couldn’t fully conceptualize loss because he didn’t know how to grasp what he had. Simply put, JJ didn’t know how to trust people or trust himself. JJ didn’t know how to be a functional adult – period.
But that was the problem, right?
Not that JJ needed a little help right now.
But that it couldn’t be all about JJ.
Not for John B.
Not when he had her.
Sarah Cameron.
His wife.
The fact that she didn’t blame him. The fact that she didn’t make it a contest. The fact that she didn’t question why John B had to do the thing he had to do for his friends–
Well, it was more reason to love her.
It was all the reason to love her.
Moving to the bed, he set himself gingerly on the edge. He leaned down, inhaling her scent as he nuzzled her. The gentle kisses to her cheek and neck made her rouse, and she rolled toward him with a smile as her eyes fluttered open.
“You’re back,” she murmured.
He smiled back, pressing a kiss to her lips. “I’m back.”
For a moment, it was just the two of them. As if they were suspended outside reality. It had always been like that with her – her impossible ability to make him feel like she was the only thing that mattered. He’d turned his life upside down for her. She’d left her life for him.
The only thing you could call it was love.
But they didn’t exist outside reality. And tonight, more than ever, they couldn’t pretend they were. Sarah sobered first, her brows knitting together. “How’s Pope?” she asked. “Any word on JJ?”
John B sighed, sitting up while Sarah levered herself up. “Pope’s okay. I think they’re charging him in the morning, so we won’t know how bad until then,” he said. He shook his head, feeling the defeat looming large. “I don’t think there’s any word on JJ.”
She sighed, crossing her legs as she ran her hand through her hair. “He’s really done it this time.”
“I think he just lost it,” John B said, as if he could explain it. “I mean, he put up with so much shit from Luke. And the Kooks have picked on him for years. To lose the house to them – like that. I think he just lost it.”
He looked at her with a helpless little shrug.
“I almost don’t blame him,” he said.
She gave him that look of hers, that one where she made sure his bullshit didn’t stand.
Yeah, he got it a lot.
And yeah, it usually involved JJ.
“He started a riot,” she reminded him flatly.
He winced, shrugging meagerly. “I said almost.”
At that, she smiled, but fainter than before. It had been a long night. Too long. He nudged her. “You okay?”
She shrugged, fiddling with the blanket beneath her. “That seems like a dumb question.”
He nudged her again. “Are you?”
She looked at him again, her face softening gratefully. “Yeah,” she said. “I’m just worried.”
“About?” he prodded.
She rolled her eyes. “Where do I even start?”
He leaned back a little, face worn with sympathy. “How bad are the girls taking it?”
“Cleo left. She can’t just sit back while Pope’s in jail,” Sarah said.
John B frowned. “She won’t do anything stupid–”
“What, like start a riot?” Sarah quipped. She shook her head. “No, I think she just wants to be sure he’s okay. She’s got it together, at least.”
That sounded about right, honestly. Of all the Pogues, Cleo seemed equipped for disaster. She had the mind for action like JJ – with a lot more restraint.
“Kiara, though,” Sarah said, sighing heavily now. She shook her head. “Kiara’s a mess.”
He winced – it wasn’t a surprise, really. Kiara loved JJ; they’d been inseparable the last 18 months. When Kiara’s parents had cut her out, JJ had been her family. As JJ struggled to build anything of a future for himself, the centerpiece of what was possible had always been Kie.
They were chaotic; they were unpredictable.
They were perfect for one another, in every way possible.
It was a coupling intended for a happily ever after.
Assuming they survived that long first.
“Can we help?” he asked.
Sarah shook her head, letting the futility show. “I think we need to wait it out,” she said. “Nothing’s going to be better, not until we find JJ and figure out what to do.”
He nodded. That was the truth of it. This whole thing – all of it – was up in the air as long as JJ was in the wind. They’d told him to run, and he’d listened to them.
They just hadn’t told him where.
Or when to stop.
JJ, unfortunately, might not be the best to judge those factors. At all.
But he couldn’t fix that now. And he couldn’t fix Pope – or Kiara and Cleo.
What he could do, however, was help Sarah.
His beautiful, perfect wife.
“What about you?” he said, smiling gently. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” she said, almost scoffing like it was obvious. “But what about you?”
“Well, how bad could I be?” he said. He cocked his head to the side. “I’m here with you after all.”
Despite everything, it made her smile – which had been the point. She was too beautiful not to kiss, so he leaned in, pressing his lips to hers once more.
“And it’s always good with you,” he murmured against her lips, kissing her deeper still and running his hands under her shirt.
She giggled. “John B, come on!” she said. Her body moved toward him, even as she protested. “Are you serious right now?”
“Sure,” he said. “I mean, there’s nothing else we can do tonight–”
He kissed her again, letting his hands roam a little more, peppering kisses along her jawline and neck as she moaned slightly, body bucking up toward his touch. “We can’t.”
He drew back, frowning. “What?” he asked. Then, he tilted his head the other direction. “Is it your time of the month? Because you know I don’t mind–”
She rolled her eyes, swatting at him playfully. “No, I’m not–”
He made a face. “It’s been awhile, hasn’t it?”
She made a face back. “What?”
“You know,” he said, shrugging. He felt stupid saying it. “Since you–”
She swatted at him now, rolling her eyes. “That’s not what this is about,” she chided him, grinning now. “It’s just that we should be focused on other things. We’re losing our home. Our friends are in trouble.”
All valid points, and he knew it. He did.
But he was also 19.
With the most attractive woman in the world right here. “I know, I know,” he relented. He shrugged, though. Almost sheepish. “But we can’t do anything about any of that right now.”
She chuckled.
“And, I mean,” he continued, running his hands up her shirt again. “It’s not like we’re going to be able to sleep.”
She rolled toward him, humming a little. That argument, at least, seemed to be swaying her.
He kissed her again, wet and sloppy along her chin and ear. “And we have a few hours before dawn,” he murmured.
She kissed him back, reaching her hands up to run through his curls. “John B Routledge.”
He grinned back, eyes sparkling. “Sarah Cameron Routledge.”
She softened now, fully pliant beneath him. The last 24 hours was haunting. And he had no idea what the next 24 would bring.
But he’d been through everything with this girl.
Hell and high water. Death and life. And everything in between.
Whatever it was, he would do it with her.
“I love you,” he said, because with everything going on, it mattered. Saying it mattered.
She reached up, touching his lips and cheeks. “Not as much as I love you.”
This time, when he kissed, she leaned up to meet him. They twisted, pressing against each other as the bed beneath them creaked.
It had been a hard night.
Tomorrow was going to be a hard day.
But for a few hours, John B had her.
And that, he decided, would be more than enough.
Chapter 4: CHAPTER FOUR
Notes:
I believe this chapter delves even more into one of the unique parts of my S4 storyline, which will continue to be developed and serves as the foundation of the fix. It also became plainly apparent to me that there was no way the Pogues would have acted the way they did on screen without context. It drove me nuts in S4, watching them ignore the things JJ was going through -- responding with illogical indifference or anger. I didn't change the overall reality of what we saw on screen, but by giving them all POVs, it was possible to at least make it more sympathetic. Because, for me, the Pogues DO love JJ and they would care deeply about his crash out.
Anyway, thank you to everyone who has reviewed! This fic has been such an investment of time and energy, and hearing from you all means the world.
Chapter Text
CHAPTER FOUR
-o-
JJ had taken it as far as he could go. He’d come to Goat Island; he’d made his case. He’d helped defend Groff, made a run with him, all of it.
Now, here he was, standing on the boat where his mother drowned, and what?
Did Groff really think this was how it was going to go? That he could ask JJ for everything and give him nothing back? That he could deny the truth and still expect JJ to follow him?
The ghost of the portrait was still haunting him, and standing here, on the rusted out skiff, he didn’t know what the point was. As if the hollowed out secrets of his past could help him move forward. There was nothing here, was there?
Just ghosts.
And promises of what might have been.
It didn’t matter, in the end. He couldn’t do this anymore. He’d stuck with Luke all those years. Too many years. He’d let himself get beaten to a pulp. He’d let that man degrade him. He’d given that man all his power, all his agency, everything he had. His money, his freedom, his self worth.
He couldn’t do it again.
Not with Groff.
Not with anyone.
JJ would rather die.
He’d rather drown, right here, in these damn waters.
If Groff didn’t want him, then fine.
If he wanted to deny it, then JJ wasn’t going to stop him.
But JJ?
Also wasn’t going to stay.
It was a futile desperation. It was a humiliating defiance. To hold together the rejected scraps of who he was, and swim himself back to shore. Alone and broken and unwanted.
He could only hope the cops would be lenient.
He could only hope that his friends would forgive him.
Or maybe he could just hope that he didn’t make it and that his body was lost between the islands.
Either way.
JJ jumped in, diving off the boat house with a settled determination. The water was cold, and he surfaced with a shiver, but he didn’t look back, taking strong strokes as he pulled away.
“They’re coming!” Groff yelled from behind him. “I can’t make it without you!”
Groff’s panic was real, but JJ didn’t want his panic. He wanted his acknowledgement, plain and simple.
“JJ,” Groff begged. “JJ, please.”
But JJ felt it now. This water where Larissa drowned.
This water where his mother died.
Maybe he could skip the OBX. Maybe he could just swim to her.
Be done once and for all.
He could just find hell. Hell, he probably should. What else did he have to lose now? At this point, losing himself would be a blessing for everyone around him. And if he didn’t know who he was – if no one wanted him–
“JJ,” Groff called out, voice teetering with the first real emotion JJ had heard from him all night. “I’m your father.”
Just like that, JJ came to a stop. His breath caught in his lung, his entire body going ice cold. It was all he could do to keep his legs treading water, his head just above the surface as his world narrowed to a pinpoint.
He’d known it. From the moment Luke confirmed him, JJ had known. Maybe he’d known all along, ever since he was little, that nothing in his life made sense. And face to face with Groff, he’d known.
Larissa was his mother.
This island was his home.
And Chandler Groff was his father.
The emotions, then, swept over him. In the wake of the shock, came everything else. He could barely process it, the intensity of it. The emotions waged against each other – joy and heartbreak, confusion and certainty.
Luke Maybank wasn’t his father, but he’d spent a lifetime abusing JJ anyway.
The mother he thought he knew was nothing but a girlfriend, who probably had never loved him at all.
His home on the Cut wasn’t his. He’d come crawling back to it all his life – he’d blown his friends’ fortune to buy it before losing it – and it wasn’t his.
This was his, though. JJ was the Kookiest Kook on the East Coast, and shit. His real mother? The one who had wanted him? Was dead and buried and gone.
And Chandler Groff?
Had spent all night lying to him.
After giving him away 19 years ago.
JJ should just keep swimming. Away from Goat Island. Away from the OBX. JJ should leave everything and everyone. If he were strong, he would.
But JJ wasn’t strong. That was the truth of it, in the end. JJ was weak, just like he’d always been. Weak and needy and desperate.
He hated himself, more than a little, when he turned back to face the man.
He hated himself even more when he started swimming back, stroke by stroke, like a good little boy. Just like he always did. Always going back.
To the ones who never wanted him.
He pulled himself out of the water, getting his numb legs beneath him. He felt like he was walking on rubber as he approached Groff once more.
As he approached his father.
“I’m sorry, JJ,” Groff said, with a helpless little shrug. “I don’t know why I couldn’t tell you.”
Right, JJ thought as his stomach went hard. For 19 years, he was sure that was really difficult, walking away and not looking back.
He reached for JJ, as if to hug him.
But there was no way.
JJ stiffened, and he snarled, grabbing Groff before he could make contact. “Either you’re lying to me now, or you lied to me then.”
Groff stepped back, eyes widening in a fair approximation of surprise. “Easy, son.”
The use of the word riled him, almost turning his stomach. “Which is it?” he demanded.
He was so fixed on answers – so fixed on Groff – that he didn’t clock the movement until it was too late. Within seconds, there were men everywhere – each of them armed, guns pointed right at Groff – and right at him.
JJ was this close to answers.
But the universe seemed content to keep JJ at bay. From every truth. From every answer.
From every good thing.
Some things, he decided as his hands were forced behind his back and he was shoved to his knees, really never did change.
-o-
The simple fact was, Luke had a lot of acquaintances, but he had relatively few friends. Most of the good people he’d known had fallen by the wayside over the course of his addiction. The more and more he used, the fewer of them would stick around, and even his family had grown tired of his antics over the years.
The friends he’d made since then were friends of convenience, usually because they were in debt to the same assholes or got high in the same places.
Barracuda Mike wasn’t a friend, but he was more than an acquaintance. Mike liked him well enough, given that Luke was a hard worker when he needed to be, and he came through in the clutch. He could do that on the job, way easier than he ever could as a father.
Apparently he was motivated by money.
Fatherly duty, not so much.
He knew what that said about him, he did. It was his intention to make that better.
Which was why Barracuda Mike was his only shot.
True, Mike had been his fallback plan for a while. A long while, if he were being honest, and he had no reason not to be at this point. When he’d left the OBX 18 months ago, he’d planned to make it to the Yucatan. He hadn’t had the money, however. He also hadn’t had the stamina, wherewithal, or sobriety. He had made it to the mainland and proceeded to crash and burn even worse than he had back on the island. Desperate – in need of cash, drugs, alcohol, and food – in that order – he’d taken work with the first crew that would hire him.
That crew had taken him up the coast a few ways, and when the deal was closed with Mike himself, he had taken it as a sign. He’d volunteered his time and talents for a ride back home. He had family, after all. And JJ–
Mike had been the one to tell him, in the end. That the punk had gone and went missing. It wasn’t supposed to bother him – he’d abandoned the boy first – but the idea of JJ being out there alone suddenly got to him. All he could think about was that little blonde baby in a car seat, who needed him for everything, and shit.
He signed onto Mike’s crew, taking the longest and hardest shifts, always volunteering for anything that got him away from Kildare. He drank himself stupid for most of it, working through his hangovers with the tenacity of a man who had already blown his fortune. There was nothing left to lose, only because he’d given all he had away in the first place.
By the time word came that JJ was back on the OBX, he was properly primed for the mind games, and he’d laughed until he cried, and Mike himself had dried him out and sat him down and told him it was time to get his shit together or get cut loose. Luke entertained the option of getting cut loose, but when he asked Mike if he could go back to the OBX, Mike agreed.
And just like that, Luke Maybank was on his way home.
No richer. No wiser.
But different somehow. It was one thing to walk away from what you had.
It was another to lose it
If that wasn’t sobering, then Luke didn’t know what was.
He hadn’t really had a plan, though. That was the story of his life, at least, and when he finally made it back to the OBX, he lost his nerve.
Or maybe he found it.
Because, what the hell was he going to do? Waltz back in and claim his spot in JJ’s life? He knew who he was; he knew what he’d done to that kid. He could justify it in his head – how hard he’d worked, how tired he’d been, how much he’d sacrificed – but that didn’t really do shit now, did it? You couldn’t justify beating a kid. You couldn’t pretend that taking a child in gave you the right to beat them black and blue. And nothing – not one thing – made it okay to tell a kid they were worthless.
He couldn’t fix it. He couldn’t fix JJ.
By all accounts, JJ didn’t need him to fix anything. JJ had found gold; JJ had found fame. He was happy and healthy and whole and fine.
All Luke could do then was fix himself.
When he asked Mike for a full time gig, Mike had been happy to oblige him. “I have to know, though,” he said. “If you’re going back to JJ.”
“Why does that matter?” he’d asked.
“Kid and I had some business,” he said. “He squared me up, but–”
Luke had shook his head. He had no right to be defensive, but here he was. Playing daddy. “We leave him out of it,” he said shortly. “Kid’s got a good thing going.”
Mike had given him a discerning little look. “And you don’t want a part of that?”
He’d reddened. He’d never been afraid to use that kid. JJ had been free labor; JJ had been a great ploy. Some employers gave him the sympathy vote when they saw the little blonde haired, blue eyed kid who called him dad. Others were happy to use JJ as a payday to get what they wanted.
Luke hadn’t thought much about it.
He should have.
He did now.
“It’s nothing to do with JJ,” he’d snapped. “In fact, as far as anyone on this island is concerned, I’m not even back. He doesn’t have to know.”
Mike was an easy sell, in the end. Because he liked Luke – maybe. Because he sensed the power imbalance – likely.
Either way, Luke got room and board while he ran jobs for Mike, and within months, he was the right hand man. Mike was generous with him, and when he started to clean himself up, Mike talked to a few people – pulled a few strings – and got him in touch with enough Kooks to talk about clearing up his legal woes.
Giving up the land had seemed like a no-brainer. He’d given up his rights already. Signing the paper freed him up entirely. He was going to do it right this time. He was going to stay clean and get his damn ducks in a row, and he was going to show JJ he was capable of being better. He was.
But Luke was a Maybank.
And despite his birthright, so was JJ.
And Maybanks? Could never get all their shit together at the same time.
Luke was getting his life together – finally.
JJ, on the other hand, was losing control. He went big – and lost big, and when Luke sat there in that courthouse, he’d seen himself. He knew what the last 18 years had looked like for himself. He didn’t want that for JJ.
He couldn’t let that happen to JJ.
Because a little loss, led to a little drinking.
A little drinking, led to a few words you didn’t mean.
A few words you didn’t mean, made enemies you couldn’t fight.
Drink enough, say enough, lose enough.
Until you dig your own grave.
And wait for the world to bury you in it.
Mike had saved him then.
Luke had to hope he would save him now.
At this point, it was his only option. Which meant, it was JJ’s only option, too, even if the damn kid was spiraling too hard to see it now.
Making his way back up the property, he was relieved to see that Mike’s truck was still there. Some of the other crew was there, too, which was fine. He just needed to talk to Mike.
Killing his engine, he climbed out. A few of the boys were on the porch, and he greeted them. He asked where Mike was, and they directed him out to the work shed. Mike was in charge, but he didn’t run shit like some kind of kingpin. He was the type who got his hands dirty, and Luke respected that.
Mike respected him right back. They had an understanding, so Luke had reason to hope this request wouldn’t be too much.
Even if Luke knew it was a lot.
“Hey,” Mike said, wiping his hands on his pants. He was working on an engine, and he stopped to greet Luke with a nod. “I heard shit got pretty bad last night.”
That was, of course, an understatement. “No one told me that JJ bought the land.”
Mike shrugged. “I figured you knew. It’s pretty common knowledge.”
Luke huffed. “I haven’t been around town, you know that.”
There was a little bit of resignation in Mike’s expression, like maybe he had known, like maybe he hadn’t. Like maybe he had made a choice not to know.
It would be easy to get pissed. Two years ago, Luke would have been stupid enough to let it push him over the edge. But he couldn’t burn this bridge, not when it was the only one he had. If not for himself, then for JJ.
“I just made a mess of it for him, that’s all,” Luke said.
Mike tipped his head. “Kid made a mess of it for himself.”
Luke’s face pinched off. “Right, and those Kooks trying to screw him over – they didn’t do nothing, right?”
Mike didn’t argue that point.
Luke scoffed. “And shit, Mike. I’m not innocent in all this–”
“You didn’t know about the land, Luke–”
“And you don’t know about the rest of it,” he snapped. His temper was flaring – he hadn’t slept all night – and whatever. It wasn’t just one night. It was all the nights, all the days, all the years. All the bad choices he’d made, leading him – leading JJ here. He had to take accountability for himself, and he had to finally take accountability for the baby he’d agreed to raise. “Whatever mess JJ’s made, it’s not just on him, it’s on me. It’s on me.”
Mike wasn’t going to make him say it, but he was pretty sure he knew. Hell, Luke was sure the whole town knew. They’d just never done shit. The Kooks hadn’t cared. The Pogues had just assumed that was the way it was. And law enforcement? Just thought Maybanks would be Maybanks, resigning JJ to a fate that never should have been his.
Luke could be mad at all of them.
Except for the fact that he was the one who raised his fist.
Again and again and again.
Mike went still, nodding his head just a little. “You do what you got to do, Luke,” he said, but he knew more was coming. “What is it you want from me?”
Luke took a breath, relieved that the preamble wasn’t necessary. Because Luke wasn’t here to share stories. He wasn’t here, begging for sympathy – especially not when he didn’t deserve it.
No, Luke was here to solve this problem, once and for all.
After all this time, Luke was here to do the right thing.
“JJ’s in trouble,” he said.
Mike inclined his head knowingly. “I can’t change his felonies.”
Luke shook his head. “No, I mean – beyond that.”
Now, Mike raised his eyebrows. “Trouble beyond felonies?”
Luke pursed his lips, allowing himself to appreciate that point for a second. JJ was digging a grave for himself at this point, and Luke knew that too well. It caught up with you, and it was a hell of a thing to make right.
But until JJ got things straight with Groff – until JJ got things straight with himself – none of the rest would matter. They could talk about doing time or cutting deals. All that was possible, especially for a first time offender.
Groff was going to get JJ killed before any of that could happen.
That was the most pressing concern.
“It’s a long story,” he said, shaking his head a little. “But the mess JJ’s in – it’s more than the law. There are some folks in town – mercenaries.”
He saw it, the shift in Mike’s disposition. He knew who Luke was talking about. Mike had all the right connections. With his operation, he knew most of the legal employers on the island – and all of the illegal ones. Whatever the assholes after Groff were doing on Kildare, Mike would know something was up.
“I need an introduction,” Luke said, putting it out there.
Mike looked unimpressed by the request. “To do what exactly?”
“I don’t know for sure,” Luke admitted, because it was true. He knew he needed to be close to Groff – so he knew he needed to be close to the mercenaries. All so he could be close enough to JJ when Groff’s shit blew up in their faces. “But that’s my business to figure out.”
Mike chuckled coolly. “I”m not sure you know what you’re asking, Luke.”
“I know,” Luke said, puffing his chest out a little bit. Pride was a precarious thing for a man like him, but this wasn’t a bad stand to take. No, it was a necessary stand to take. He had done nothing about Groff 20 years ago, and Larissa ended up dead. No way in hell he was letting the same thing happen to JJ. “I know exactly what I’m asking.”
Mike snorted, shaking his head as he walked around toward him from the engine he was tinkering with. “I’m not sure you do,” he said. “These guys – mercenaries – they’re the real deal. They’re bad shit. The worst kind – the kind we don’t usually get washed up on our shores. Modern day pirates, and walking the plank ain’t as cute as it sounds.”
He knew Mike was warning him – that much was clear. And in any other situation, he’d agree that it wasn’t worth the risk.
Like, Luke was okay with risk. As long as the reward proposition was strong enough. He wasn’t the type to throw himself into criminal activities because he enjoyed criminality. He liked making money, was all. When he’d been hooked on shit, he’d been working for the next high any way he could get it.
He was sober enough to know the difference now.
And yeah, he understood the difference.
He didn’t flinch. “That’s why it matters,” he insisted. “I need an in.”
Mike drew a breath, his face pinched. “Look, I think it might be too late.”
That wasn’t the answer he was expecting. “What?”
Mike shrugged, as if resigned to the truth. “Word is they already got tabs on that boy of yours.”
It still didn’t make sense. Luke shook his head. “JJ?”
“I’m just telling you what I heard,” Mike deflected.
It didn’t mean shit, though. “Tabs how?”
Now, Mike sighed, as if he knew he couldn’t escape the rest of this revelation. “Last I heard they were scouting out Goat Island,” he explained. “They had Groff and JJ just this morning.”
He felt that one, like a punch to the gut. He struggled to catch his breath and keep his keel even. “They have JJ?”
Mike was quick to ease his anxiety. “They did – but word is out they escaped,” he said. “They’ve got monetary hits out on both of them – alive only.”
Luke wasn’t sure if he was going to laugh or cry the way this shit just kept getting worse. In one day, he’d managed to blow up the entirety of JJ’s life. And now he was in Groff’s influence, kidnapped by mercenaries, and out with a cash bounty on his head.
Mike was warning him off, but it only made him more sure of what he needed to do. “I need that meeting, then. Now more than ever,” he said.
“Shit, Luke,” Mike said, making a face and shaking his head. “This ain’t my fight. These are the kind of people that I don’t like dealing with. They take their shit too seriously, and I don’t need it.”
Calm and rational was a luxury for Mike. Luke didn’t have it. “He’s my boy,” he said, because that was it. That was all there was. “Please.”
“Aw, hell,” Mike said, but there was a tone of futility now. “If I don’t help you, you’re just going to do it stupider, aren’t you?”
Luke didn’t deny it; couldn’t.
Mike rolled his eyes. “Okay,” he said. “But I’m warning you, Luke. This isn’t a game.”
“I know,” Luke said with a solemn nod. “I know.”
-o-
Cleo was early, well before the courthouse was due to open, but she wasn’t the first one there.
Not even close.
Apparently, no one had slept last night. And the Kooks? Were out for blood.
As JJ was in the wind, Pope was the only blood they had on hand. Cleo pursed her lips as she slipped through the crowd. Their whispers about her weren’t quiet, and they weren’t subtle. They were lucky, though. They were in front of a courthouse, after all. She couldn’t shank all of them.
At least, not if she wanted to get away with it.
She could hear the people whisper as she made her way through the crowd. If they wanted to shame her, they would have to try harder. Cleo stared down as many as she could, daring them to try something, anything.
She wasn’t opposed to joining her boyfriend in jail, at this point.
There was no need for that; no time, either. Across the lawn, she finally saw a familiar face. She made her way over toward Pope’s parents, who were standing huddled together anxious at the base of the steps.
“Bobby!” she said, quickening her pace to meet them. “Jo!”
They turned, and Josephine smiled at her. Heyward’s face was pinched, like he wasn’t sure if seeing her was a relief or not. All things considered, that was probably fair.
“Hey, baby,” Josephine said, pulling her into a hug and rubbing her back. “How are you holding up?”
She pulled back, smiling a little. “Well, I’ve been better,” she said wryly, letting out a breath.
Josephine ran her hands up and down her arms as she pulled back. “I can only imagine. You poor thing.”
Heyward’s face was terse, which was his only way of hiding just how concerned he was. “Have you talked to Pope?”
Cleo shook her head. “I think John B was going to try to see him,” she said. “But considering I’m not exactly a legal citizen–”
Heyward pursed his lips. Josephine clucked her tongue. “Those vultures would go for anything right now, out for blood,” she muttered.
“We best all keep our heads down,” Heyward agreed, looking warily out at the crowd still gathering in front of the court house.
“How are the others, dear?” Josephine asked.
“Reeling, I think,” she said. “I’m not sure any of us have grasped it. That we lost it.”
Their home. Their jobs.
Everything.
Cleo had been here before, and she swore to herself she wouldn’t let it happen again. Her no-love club hadn’t just been about romance. But family.
But here she was.
Reeling along with the rest of them.
“And JJ?” Josephine asked.
Even as she said it, Heyward stiffened, looking anxiously out at the crowd, as if the mere mention of the name might incur wrath.
Which, Cleo wouldn’t put it past them. These people, milling about. And for what? To watch Pope face some farce they called justice? If he got leniency by some miracle, were they there to protest that?
Cleo couldn’t muster a smile this time. “We haven’t seen him. Not since he ran.”
Not since they told him to run.
That dumb boy. Running blind and hard.
If they had kept him in that cop car, Pope would be a free man right now. And JJ might be able to cut a deal without a full blown riot to contend with. But they hadn’t thought about that.
Sometimes, she wondered if they thought at all.
Or if they really were as dumb as everyone in town thought they were.
Heyward sighed, shaking his head now. “That boy is trying awfully hard to get himself killed.”
His wife gave him a look, not quite scathing, but not soft either. “That boy has lost everything,” she said shortly. “They took it all from him, just out of spite. Because his last name is worse than theirs.”
“I know,” Heyward said with another long breath. “But he has to learn. He has to be careful. If they’re out to get him, he can’t give them an inch.”
“Agreed,” Josephine said, and her expression turned stern on her husband. “But who is there to teach him, Bobby? I haven’t seen you trying very hard.”
At that, Heyward reddened. No doubt, they’d talked about this before. About how much they owed – and didn’t owe – Pope’s friends.
Calling them friends made it easier to draw the line.
When you considered them for what they were – family – well, Cleo knew that was harder.
It worried her – it did. But Cleo was practical. She wanted to help JJ – and she would. But Pope’s problems were here and now. She needed to be here for him.
Besides, she loved JJ.
But she loved Pope.
He was her person, her one. Her family.
She’d already lost Terrance to this mess. JJ was out in the cold.
She had to help Pope now.
“It’s nothing to talk about now. With JJ in the wind, we can’t help him until things have settled down,” Cleo said reasonably. “Right now, we have to focus on Pope.”
Her determination was real, but it was met with palpable wariness. “At this point, I’m not sure there’s much we can do,” Heyward said, sounding dejected. He shook his head. “I think enough has been said and done. Tempers are too hot, and judges in this town know what side they live on.”
“Justice is blind, baby,” Josephine said.
“You know that’s not true,” he said back with a frown. “But once things die down, he’ll have a better chance at a fair shake. Right now, we just got to sit down and shut up. And maybe the judge will have an ounce of leniency.”
Josephine clucked her tongue. “Pope was just defending his friend.”
“They’re saying he assaulted an officer,” Heyward argued back.
“It doesn’t matter,” Cleo said, before the familiar back and forth could keep going. “I guess we just have to see, hm?”
Heyward shared a look with his wife, and then looked down. She smiled primly, just a little forced, as she reached out and clasped Cleo’s arm. “You’re so good for him, dear,” she said. “I know you won’t waver.”
“Cleo, sure,” Heyward muttered. “But the rest of them–”
“They’re his family,” Josephine said sternly. “We can’t raise our boy to do the right thing and then be surprised when he does.”
Cleo gritted her teeth. She understood them, she did. The Heywards were good people, law abiding people. They’d worked hard to raise their son, and they’d given up everything to get him as far as they could.
But she understood the Pogues, too. She even understood JJ. She knew what it was to have nothing, and to have the world take more from you. She knew that sometimes you had to fight back. Granted, starting riots might not be the answer – but then, what was the answer?
There wasn’t one.
Cleo could appreciate that much at least.
“Pope was there for JJ. And we’re going to be there for Pope,” she said, trying to offer a reassuring – if diplomatic smile. “That’s a promise.”
Heyward huffed. “Let’s hope it’s enough,” he said, glancing up at the action moving on the front steps. “I think they’re opening up–”
The crowd surged forward, clearly eager to enter. Cleo smiled at Heyward and took Josephine’s hand. She understood action, just as well as JJ.
But she was also willing to face the consequences.
Just like Pope.
No matter what.
-o-
John B had had a mind to wait. To let things simmer, to let the girls rest. Eat some food – get their shit together.
That was a lost cause, though. The land was a lost cause, and the thought of packing up was more daunting than any of them had even started to think about. And what did it matter? Without Pope? Without JJ?
They knew where Pope was, at least. He was, in theory, safe for now.
JJ on the other hand.
JJ wasn’t safe. Not with the cops looking for him, and not with the Kooks out for blood after last night. At this point, John B wasn’t even sure JJ was safe from himself. He’d seen JJ crash out before; it was a typical JJ thing.
But he’d never seen JJ crash out like that.
JJ had completely lost control – like he’d completely lost himself. He knew JJ blamed himself – hell, they had all blamed him, too – and when faced with the consequences of his actions, JJ couldn’t. It wasn’t surprising that he would go down swinging.
But to riot? To literally burn shit down? He nearly got himself shot, if not for Pope’s intervention, JJ could be in the morgue. John B might have lost his best friend last night.
Because something had snapped. No, something had broken. JJ had lost something, something he couldn’t afford to lose, and John B didn’t know how he was going to get it back. God help him, he didn’t know how he was going to help JJ get it back.
It was like trying to rescue someone who was drowning. In their panic, they risked taking you down with them.
Worse, John B knew he should have seen it coming. For days, for weeks, for months. It had been so easy to pretend like JJ was okay. It was so easy to pretend like all of JJ’s trauma and shitty coping mechanisms wouldn’t catch up with them.
It had been so easy.
Until it got too damn hard.
And now, here they were.
Trying to pick up the pieces.
Literally.
They’d been out last night – this was true. But walking back into town in the naked daylight was shocking. The damage had been done, and it was real. Storefronts busted up. Goods and debris littered all over the street. A few cars were burned out, but most of the fire damage seemed superficial, at least.
That was the only consolation.
The rest was bad.
Like, bad bad.
He knew JJ hadn’t done all of it. Hell, he knew JJ hadn’t done most of it.
But he’d started this, and the whole town knew it. Leave it to JJ to have a mental breakdown in front of everyone who was out to get him.
They would be here to make sure JJ finished it, too.
John B didn’t know any way around it.
At this point, John B didn’t know anything.
“Shit,” Kiara said, growing increasingly anxious next to him. “I was hoping it wouldn’t be this bad.”
On his other side, Sarah swallowed nervously. “You mean, you were hoping that your boyfriend hadn’t torched the town?”
It was a joke. Kind of.
Kiara shook her head. “He didn’t do all this.”
John B watched as a few people still rifled through the uncontrolled mess. Some of the shopkeepers were out now, trying to board things up with Kooks patrolling the streets like some kind of do-go, overzealous militia. John B, Kiara, and Sarah were benign here, unarmed and not looking for trouble.
But they were already attracting stares.
A lot of them.
Some idle curiosity.
Some a little less idle.
Some a lot less curious.
“I’m pretty sure that’s not a distinction they’re going to care about,” John B muttered, trying not to show how uncomfortable this made him.
Kiara scoffed. “The imbalance of power in this town isn’t nothing,” she said, a little louder than she needed to. “The anger that pushed it this far – that can’t be swept under the rug like some Pogue overreaction.”
That was true – and John B agreed. Vehemently.
This wasn’t the place to say it, though.
And Kiara – as JJ’s girlfriend – wasn’t the one to say it.
“It doesn’t matter,” John B said, keeping his voice hushed to encourage Kiara to do the matter. “This is a mess.”
They walked a little longer, eyeing another row of stores destroyed by the riot. Sarah’s breath caught a bit. “John B’s right,” she said. “They won’t let this slide. They’re going to make an example out of JJ.”
“They’ve been trying to make an example out of him for years,” John B said, shaking his head. His gut churned at the idea of it. “And I’m worried he just gave them everything they need.”
Kiara’s face was flushed, her jaw working. “It’s not fair.”
“I know,” John B said. He drew them to a stop, looking at Kie more fully. “And we’re going to help JJ. We’re going to protect JJ. I just – don’t know how.”
“Or if we can,” Sarah said. She looked at Kiara, her expression a little pleading. “Maybe having him run wasn’t a good idea.”
It was a thought they’d all had, and they all knew it. In the heat of the moment, helping JJ escape had been the only thing they could think of. Pure reflex.
After all, John B was the one who had experience as a wanted criminal. He was the one who set that precedent.
But they weren’t kids anymore. The stakes were real.
And JJ wasn’t okay.
Like, really.
Kiara drew a breath, looking around again. Her resolve seemed to crumble. “This can’t be real,” she said. She closed her eyes. “This can’t be real.”
John B reached out, squeezing her arm. “We just have to fix it.”
She opened her eyes again. “How?” she asked, the futility of it all showing. “We can’t even find him.”
John B looked at Sarah, who just shrugged helplessly. He looked back at Kiara. “I don’t know,” he said. “But JJ always comes back around. He does.”
Kiara nodded, looking back out across the damage again. “We have to find him first,” she said. “If we can get him to turn himself in–”
John B made a face. “Kie–”
Her eyes were hard when she looked at him. “It’s his only option,” she said. She gestured widely. “If he ever wants to set foot on the OBX again, it is his only option.”
His gut rebelled against it, but Sarah’s hand was soft on his back. “She’s right.”
The rebellion was reflex only. He couldn’t maintain it; he didn’t want to.
He was so tired of running.
He was so tired of pretending.
He was tired of everything.
“Well,” he said, relenting just a little. “We have to find him first.”
He nodded out at the scene.
“I’m open to ideas,” he said.
Sarah had nothing.
Kiara sighed, starting to walk again. “We just keep going, I guess,” she said, with more than a note of resignation in her voice. “For JJ, we have to keep going.”
-o-
Sarah had to admit, the whole thing was a little surreal. Over the last few years, she’d seen most of her life burn down around her. Her relationship with her family was nonexistent. Her brother – and her father – had tried to murder her. She hadn’t seen her step mother and little sister in over a year, and she’d buried her father’s body in South America.
She’d gone from Kook Princess to Pogue, and she’d found a fortune and lost a fortune.
Somehow, walking through the downtown, it seemed like an apt metaphor. All that wreckage, all that debris. People picking through it, trying to put things back together, when the truth was, sometimes you couldn’t rebuild.
Sometimes, you just had to let go.
Because the life you used to have – was gone.
The life you were going to build – that was up to you.
Sarah had embraced that; she’d found solace in it. And while things were good – while they had Poguelandia – it had worked.
Now, she was a little less sure.
She’d worried when she was young about how her whole life was mapped out for her. Now, with the future so unknown, it felt like an entirely different problem. There wasn’t any bubble wrap at all. It was all make or break, and it was all on them.
Clearly, she reflected as she looked at the damage, that was going well.
One friend apparently had a mental breakdown. The other was in jail.
The rest of them were just trying to keep up. And Sarah?
Didn’t even know what life she was trying to build now.
But life would go on.
Life.
She reached down, fingers brushing over her stomach as she thought about it. With everything that had been going on in the last few weeks, it really had slipped her mind. Her periods had never been especially regular, and between the race JJ lost to the riot JJ started, she hadn’t really been looking at a calendar.
And besides, it was stupid, right? She was only 19, and she and John B were careful.
Mostly.
There was an occasional misstep. Maybe he didn’t always pull out when they ran out of condoms. With all the chaotic ups and downs over the last few years, taking a regular hormonal pill hadn’t really worked very well, and they mostly had it under control.
Yeah, they couldn’t pay their bills or manage a budget.
But surely they knew how to not make a baby.
Except–
It had been awhile. And there were other things, too. Her appetite was off; her sense of equilibrium was just slightly askew. She could feel it, the dull ache in her pelvis, which she once thought meant she was getting her period – but the period just never came.
Not to mention her breasts getting perky. Or the way her hair was better than ever.
The fact that she was suddenly more and more drawn to babies meant nothing. Nothing at all. This was all a coincidence. A series of ridiculous and unrelated events that 100% did not mean that she was–
She swallowed hard.
The denial only took her so far before she ran up against the inevitable brick wall of reason.
It hadn’t just been weeks.
It had been months.
She hadn’t had her periods in two months.
Sarah wasn’t stupid.
Except she was pretty damn stupid.
To not put it together.
Not until now.
They needed to find JJ. They needed to secure his future, and figure out how to help Pope. Not to mention, they needed to find some way to keep their home and livelihood. Their futures were at stake.
She gnawed at her bottom lip as her stomach fluttered.
But what if there was one more future?
That would change everything.
For her, for John B. For all of them.
They needed to find JJ. They needed to get Pope out of jail.
And Sarah needed to take a pregnancy test once and for all.
Because all Pogues needed to be accounted for this morning.
She flitted her hands over her stomach one more time.
Up ahead, she saw the pharmacy with its windows busted out, and she knew what she had to do.
All Pogues would be accounted for.
John B looked confused when she told him she’d be right back, and Kiara looked concerned. She didn’t bother to explain; she didn’t bother to ask.
Inside, her own heart was already hammering in her chest as she scanned the scattered racks. The place was a mess, with medications everywhere. She worried for a second, that someone may have looted what she needed, but there they were.
Fully stocked.
Apparently pregnancy tests weren’t popular during a riot.
She snatched a package, making her way back to the bathroom. She locked herself in, and then she locked herself in a stall for good measure. She sat there, a few deep breaths before she opened the box. She read the directions once. She read the directions twice.
Then, she opened the package and sat herself down.
Her fingers were shaking as she held the stick in place, her heart so loud she could hardly hear. Her breathing came too fast as she emptied her bladder, willing the last drops out to make sure the test took. Then, she put the cap back on, resting the stick on the counter.
Two minutes.
She had to wait two minutes.
That was stupid, right? To sit in a bathroom, waiting for your pee to turn a stick pink and blue? One line or two? Pregnant or not pregnant?
This wasn’t how you dreamed about starting a family. In the aftermath of a riot, while your best friends were on the run or already in jail. Without a home. Without anything.
Her father would be so disappointed in her.
Rafe would scoff and roll his eyes. He told her so.
Rose would never return her calls now. Would Wheezie ever know she was an aunt?
Or she might not be pregnant. She probably wasn’t pregnant. She couldn’t be pregnant. Not at 19. Not when she was poor and homeless and no way. She wasn’t. She wasn’t.
She glanced at her phone.
One minute.
One more minute.
Then she looked at the test.
And looked again.
Because there it was. One line for control. Two lines for–
Two lines for–
She picked it up and her breath caught. She blinked rapidly, half choking on a sob. A split second of terror. A moment of grief. Then, a flood of shock.
And joy.
Pure joy.
Because Sarah?
Was pregnant.
-o-
This day. Honestly.
The entire thing was just on its head. JJ on the run from the cops; a riot in town. Her parents reaching out to her. Her parents being nice.
Her parents – being right?
Kiara could barely put that together, much less anything else. The key was finding JJ. None of this could get back on track until she found him.
When she found him, she was going to kiss him and never let him go.
Then she was going to hit him and tell him how angry she was at him.
Love was stupid like that. None of the emotions made sense. The hot and the cold, the vibrant and the bleak. She couldn’t stand JJ Maybank, not at all.
She also couldn’t live without him.
He was the dumbest, most selfish asshole she’d ever met.
And he was also the sweetest, most selfless man she’d ever known.
She just had to remind herself sometimes that JJ’s recklessness wasn’t cute. It wasn’t boyish tomfoolery. He wasn’t a rebel without a cause.
No, JJ was damaged. JJ still struggled to understand what love was, and he still had a limited sense of how to be in a relationship. And his coping skills?
He didn’t have any. Not a single one.
She’d taken it slow for 18 months, letting him unfurl at his own pace.
In 24 hours, he’d forced the issue a bit.
The whole burning the town down and being Kildare’s most wanted forced it a lot.
Just as she was getting her mind around that – convincing her fiercely defiant boyfriend to turn himself in – she followed Sarah into the pharmacy and saw the pregnancy test.
And okay. This day. Honestly.
They were broke; they were homeless. They were fugitives and exiles.
And now – parents?
She said all the right things. She offered hugs and reassurance and promises, but back out in the glaring daylight, Kiara wasn’t sure. They were still kids, weren’t they?
She had thought so. She had thought they were figuring it out.
But they’d been playing for keeps. They just hadn’t known it. They hadn’t grasped it. Maybe if they had, they’d have been careful. Maybe if they’d looked at this as the rest of their lives, they could have kept perspective.
Because yeah, you could rebuild houses. Fortunes came and went. Good luck could be spent, and races could be lost. But kids?
What the hell were they going to do with a baby?
Where would it sleep? How would they pay for things? Babies needed safety and food and stability. They needed all the things they’d just lost.
And yet, Sarah wasn’t sad. And really, neither was Kiara. Because a baby was a possibility. A baby was life. A baby was a promise for the future, even when you didn’t know what it looked like yet.
That was the point, though. The point her own parents hadn’t always grasped. Having a kid wasn’t about making them in your image. It wasn’t about shaping this little person into the person you wanted them to be. It was about being there for them. It was about bearing witness to their growth. It was about seeing them blossom – and learning how to help them bloom without plucking their petals.
Too much water, too much sun. But never too much love.
She watched them, Sarah and John B. Hand in hand, shared smiles and quiet understandings. They were going to love that baby. They were going to be good parents. That baby was going to be lucky – to have them, to have all of them.
It was funny, though, wasn’t it? Motherhood.
She hadn’t really thought about it. She hadn’t craved it. Other girls played baby dolls, but Kiara had been outside saving turtles and cleaning up the beach. When her friends were babysitting, she was organizing volunteer efforts. She wanted to save the world for the children, sure.
She just hadn’t conceptualized them as hers.
She wasn’t opposed to it, she realized suddenly.
She just – she hadn’t thought.
Would she have kids with JJ? Would she give birth to his children? Would they have dark curly hair and brown eyes? Would they have her passion and his untamed love? Would they be reckless? Would they be as vibrant as he was every time she looked at him?
The idea of it galvanized her suddenly, stretching out in front of her with a clarity she’d never considered before. A little hand in hers. A child laughing on JJ’s shoulders. Back to school nights and soccer games. Piano recitals and surfing lessons. Family days out on the charter, catching fish and frying them up on the beach for dinner.
A true love. A growing love.
A family.
A future.
It was possible, wasn’t it? Even after all this. Even with criminal charges and jail time. Even with poverty and homelessness. They could rebuild. They could come out on the other side, better and stronger than ever. She saw that; she believed it.
It was right here, wasn’t it? In front of her. In Sarah’s smile and John B’s gentle touch. In Pope’s selfless act and Cleo’s dedication. JJ just didn’t see it; JJ couldn’t see it. All this time she’d been worried about turning him into a functional boyfriend.
And she’d forgotten.
He needed to be a functional person first.
All these days, he just barely kept it together.
Now he was coming apart at the seams and she’d told him to run.
That wasn’t what family did. That wasn’t how you built a future. You couldn’t run from it.
You had to plant your feet. You had to face it. You had to look it, square in the eye, and you couldn’t flinch. For family.
She watched John B steal a kiss, and Sarah blushed, tucking her hair behind her ear.
For family.
This day. Honestly.
For all that had happened, it was still about family. It was about what Luke had done to JJ in that courthouse. It was about what JJ had lost when the judge refused compassion. It was about what JJ hadn’t been able to save for them.
JJ was reeling because he had hurt his family.
He was reeling because his family had hurt him.
He was reeling because, God help him, he didn’t know who his family was anymore. He didn’t know who he was.
Suddenly, it wasn’t so hard to grasp. It wasn’t so out of control.
She knew exactly what he was doing.
She knew exactly where he was.
Because the entire thing was up on its head.
And finally back to where it all made sense again.
Chapter 5: CHAPTER FIVE
Notes:
Sometimes, I admit, staying in this fandom is really, really hard -- considering the state of things. Knowing there's an S5 without. JJ just about breaks me sometimes, but I'm committed to this fix-it and I love JJ so much that I guess I'm trying to cling to things. I hope there are enough JJ fans out there to keep on keeping on. But man, it's so hard.
Living in a world of denial? Is all I've got left.
Thanks to anyone who has read, reviewed, or left kudos. You'll never know what it means! And ongoing thanks to woudsohfiv, for being everything, and PrincessOfCharmingNothing for enduring my moods. You are both amazing!
Chapter Text
-o-
CHAPTER FIVE
-o-
JJ looked over the room again – the interior cabin of the boat – and cataloged it again. He’d already done this once, twice – three times.
There were two exits, both locked. Bolted and secured.
There were no windows.
The metal was thick, and it wasn’t rusty.
There was no way out.
For the first few hours, that’d been okay.
Now going on the better part of a day, and JJ was getting restless.
No, JJ was on the verge of crawling out of his skin.
It figured, really. The moment JJ finally started getting answers that made sense.
Was exactly the moment nothing made sense at all.
Apples and trees, he said to Groff. The old man was his dad, no doubt. It was in their mannerisms, it was in their deflection. It was in their natural need to lie to protect themselves.
All the pieces to JJ’s life were falling into place. It was like a picture with sudden clarity, like everything was coming into focus for the first time ever. Chandler Groff was his father.
It explained everything.
And nothing.
The more he thought about it, the more it bothered him. That Groff was lying to him, sure. That Groff was admitting to haunting JJ’s grandfather, yeah, that was weird. That he had given JJ away all those years ago to Luke.
That he had never come back for him, not once.
Not even when he knew what kind of man Luke was.
Those questions needed to be asked.
But JJ?
Well, it turned out, JJ was a coward after all. He couldn’t make his mouth form the words. Instead, he paced inside the locked room until they chased him down, until they ate him up.
Apples and trees, he’d said.
Diseased trees.
Made rotten apples.
He felt it, the flash of anxiety across his chest. He tried to catch himself, he tried to quell it, but Groff saw.
They were locked in a tiny room with nothing to do and no one to distract them.
Of course Groff saw.
“It hasn’t gotten bad yet,” Groff said, as if that was some type of comfort. “And really, I think we’ll be fine. If I can clear up this misunderstanding–”
JJ looked at him, pacing off the room tersely. “The valid misunderstanding you caused?”
Groff smiled at that, too glib to deny it. “I have something they want. Which means I have leverage.”
He paused, looking at JJ for a long moment, and added the next bit, almost as an afterthought.
“We have leverage.”
The inclusivity was supposed to make him feel better, and he knew it.
But it didn’t.
The way Groff said it.
The way he inclined his head.
The way every truth was couched in two lies.
The way JJ knew he couldn’t trust him. Because apples fell from trees to get away. Apples couldn’t grow into their own tree until they fell away. If you left it on the tree, it shriveled up, it died. Those damn apples. Those God forsaken trees.
He continued pacing, unable to get it in check now. The emotions were spiraling, and he could feel it – the way the pressure was building. It had built back before the race, when the note from the bank was coming due. It had driven him crazy until he took the last nugget and bet it on himself in a desperate bid to make things right.
It had built back in the courthouse. When all of it came crashing down, and he realized that the Kooks had taken it all from him again. They’d had everything, and they’d taken what little he had out of spite. He’d started a whole damn riot that time, burned down part of the town.
But now here he was. Locked in a room. Out at sea.
With his father.
There was no respite. There was no outlet.
There was just the growing pressure, the deepening despair, the overwhelming reality that he was going to explode and take everyone around him down, too.
It was stupid; he was being stupid.
Most of the time, JJ thought he was pretty decent under pressure. Like, he knew how to keep his shit together and make decisions on the fly. When it came to fight or flight scenarios, he was ready to do both – and to do both vigorously.
Of everyone, he was the one who you wanted around when shit got real. He didn’t get scared. He didn’t freeze up. He didn’t run away.
JJ wasn’t good at a lot of things, but under pressure? When you needed someone to face a fight?
He was your guy, your go-to dude.
He paced off the small space again, aware of the way his breathing was quickening. He could feel it, the way his heart thrummed, louder, faster, more insistent.
But what the hell, this time? He was falling apart.
Like. Completely
Falling to pieces.
He was a damn mess, and he had no idea how to get himself together at all.
But then, this was new. He hadn’t been kidnapped before.
Also, he hadn’t lost his home and his identity and become a wanted man in such a short period of time before. Just, really, this wasn’t a good week for him.
Of course, understanding why he was losing his shit didn’t really stop him from losing it, and yeah. He was losing it.
He’d done okay with the actual kidnapping. He’d made it, being taken at gunpoint, forced onto a boat with his long lost biological father in the middle of the night. All that, okay, he could handle.
But once the threat was passed.
Once it was just him and the truth.
There was no way.
There was just no way.
The panic spiked, nearly closing off his throat. He walked to the far wall, clutching his fist at his side and shaking his head. He wanted to try the door again, but he knew it was locked. On the other side were armed guards. There was nowhere to go.
But shit.
He needed to get out of here.
Oh, shit, oh, shit, oh shit. He really needed to get out of here.
“Are you – okay?” Groff asked finally, voice breaking across the silence.
JJ jerked his head toward him, swallowing hard even as he felt himself start to tremble. It didn’t help, and his chest felt tight. His throat was tighter. “I’m fine, whatever,” he said, short and curt.
They’d been talking earlier and he’d managed that okay. But Groff’s answers were too smooth and this boat was too remote and these people couldn’t be trusted. Groff had made his grandfather think he was crazy, and he did it with a smirk, even though the old man was dead.
That was his father-in-law.
That was his grandfather.
If Groff could do that to Wes–
JJ didn’t finish the thought. He couldn’t.
No, he had to get out of this room.
This stupid room. It didn’t have any windows. He swore to God, there was no air.
“You don’t look okay,” Groff observed, sounding oddly casual despite the fact that JJ was on the verge of a complete mental breakdown.
Extremely not helpful.
JJ forced air out through his nose and grimaced. “Well, I did just get kidnapped,” he said. “It’s been kind of a shitty few days.”
Poguelandia, the riot, his police standoff. He’d broken out of the back of a police car, right? They would be hunting him down, shoot to kill.
That’d be easier.
He tried not to think about it, shaking his head and opening his eyes.
Groff, standing on the other side of the room, was still watching him. “You’re the one who came to me.”
Right. JJ laughed, it was actually funny. It was. Of course it was his fault.
What wasn’t his fault?
At this point, he was pretty sure you could pin all of global warming and the breakdown of the ozone layer on him, too.
He made bad choices.
Everything that happened was his fault.
“Is that why you abandoned me?” he asked, blurting it out before he knew how to stop himself.
Groff stopped, freezing in place. His face was almost comically blank for a split second before he composed himself with a smile. “JJ–”
He shook his head, finally getting his shit together enough to push from the wall and start pacing. “Nevermind,” he said.
It was better not to know.
He shouldn’t have gone to see Groff at all.
It was better not to know.
Deny, deny, deny. He was slipping.
“It’s okay,” Groff said and when JJ turned back, Groff was closer. Too close.
JJ startled, almost falling back to the wall.
Groff reached out to steady him.
The touch made JJ flinch.
And bad.
He felt it, like lightning through his body, every nerve and every synapse come to life. The hairs on his neck rose, and his stomach roiled violently as he went momentarily blind. His heart – too fast. His breathing – too shallow. The air wasn’t getting to his brain, and he could feel it, as the world started to dim and everything threatened to shut down.
Hands shaking, he pressed his hand up to his chest. It was his last ditch effort to ground himself.
Or he was going to pass the hell out, right here, right now.
It didn’t work. His head went light as his vision dimmed entirely. He felt his body stagger, groping blindly but unable to catch himself.
But before he could fall, Groff caught him.
Out of it as he was, JJ couldn’t fight. He couldn’t even flinch as Groff grabbed him by both arms, propped him up right and tipping his head back. “JJ?” he said. “Can you hear me, son? JJ!”
Son.
Well, that was a novel concept.
Son.
He focused on that, the sound of Groff’s voice, as the pressure started to recede. His head started to clear, and his next breath was steadier as he blinked.
Groff was right there, hands still holding him up, looking intently at JJ until he finally was able to look back.
“You back?” Groff asked.
JJ was still shaking, but he nodded. He pulled back, a little less vigorous than before, reaching up to try to hide the fact that his eyes were wet. “Yeah, I’m fine.”
“Panic attack?” Groff asked after a beat.
JJ felt the shame burn up through his whole body.
“Your mother used to have them,” Groff said.
JJ startled again, breath catching as he looked at him. “What?”
“Your mother had panic attacks,” Groff said, and he smiled faintly. “She was prone to all sorts of anxiety. It was a problem, and it got worse after, well – you were born.”
JJ looked down again, like someone had punched him in the gut.
So that was his fault, too.
Everything was.
He worked his lips and clamped the emotion down.
It wasn’t a surprise.
“They couldn’t find the right medications,” Groff said, explaining what JJ hadn’t asked. “She stopped when she was pregnant. And after you were born, they couldn’t – she couldn’t–”
JJ frowned, not sure what he was implying. “She drowned, though,” he said. “It was an accident.”
Groff was quick to nod. “Of course. An accident,” he said. Then, he smiled, as if fond – but not exactly. “I never did know why she was out on the water that day. Or why she would lose control. She’d spent all her life out there, you know? It was so strange – so sudden–”
He drifted off, gaze unfocused for a moment as he sighed.
“So tragic,” he said, looking at JJ again. That smile was back, that one of pure composure.
It still made JJ’s stomach turn. “My mother,” he said anyway. It was impossible not to ask. Not when the only person who knew the answer was standing right there. “Larissa Genrette?”
It seemed to please him to be asked. “Yes, Larissa,” he said. “And the Genrettes are a great family, JJ. Such a long history. Goat Island is an amazing homestead.”
He hesitated, swallowing for a second as he nodded at JJ. “Your homestead. You’re a Genrette.”
This had been the logical conclusion from the start. JJ knew it, and he’d known it the moment Luke told him so back up at the lighthouse. It had been in the back of his mind at the courthouse, and it’d been with him every time he picked up the bat and lit the fire.
He was a Genrette.
He was a Kook.
He felt lightheaded again, and he looked down to focus on his breathing. He blinked hard a few times, letting the air filter in and out, in and out. “So, I’m a Kook, huh?”
The humor in his voice was empty. And when he looked back up, Groff’s expression turned funny. “Well, yes,” he said. “Larissa – your mother – was a Kook. The oldest money in the area, I’d say.”
It was a lot, really. Almost impossible to put his mind around. Growing up poor – growing up desperate – he couldn’t make it compute. That he was born on Goat Island.
And grew up without running water and electricity half the time.
“Was she – like, a bad one?” he asked, not sure what else to say or even how to say it.
“No, no,” Groff said, waving his hand through the air. “She was a lovely woman, really lovely. Sweet little thing.”
It was – the right thing to say.
But – the wrong way to say it.
This was his wife. The mother of his child.
Sweet little thing sounded like talking about your cousin or your neighbor’s wife.
Groff continued, hastily, as if for JJ’s sake.
“Genuinely a good person, and she had no interest in high society,” he said. “She barely even cared about her own wealth.”
He stopped with a chuckle, and the noise reverberated uncomfortably off the four enclosed walls they were locked in.
JJ was trapped.
Looking at Groff, it felt true in more ways than one.
“And she loved you, JJ,” he said, stepping closer to him again. “She would have given up her life for you in a heartbeat.”
That was the one thing JJ had always wanted to hear, really.
The one thing he’d always wished for.
Somehow, it didn’t make him feel better.
Locked in the room, face to face with Groff, it didn’t make him feel better at all.
But there was nowhere to run anymore.
There was no escape he could make.
JJ was face to face with the truth.
After all these years.
He was face to face with who he was.
And he had no idea what to do with that.
“It’s okay, JJ,” he said with a smile. “Everything’s going to be okay.”
This time, when Groff reached out, JJ kept himself steady. At his father’s touch, he didn’t flinch. He didn’t pull away.
It didn’t feel right, and JJ knew it.
But then, nothing ever felt right.
JJ was starting to wonder if he knew the difference at all.
-o-
They were pulling away from shore when John B finally processed it. When Kiara’s revelation finally hit home. When it all made sense.
JJ wasn’t Luke’s son.
JJ was Groff’s son.
For as insane as it sounded, it also made perfect sense. JJ’s entire life had been a confusing mess, an untenable disaster. The sheer weight of JJ’s misfortunes had been almost impossible to fathom, much less live with. He’d accepted it – that JJ’s life would never make sense – but he’d never had much thought as to why.
Yeah, it was about poverty and addiction.
But that shit went down up and down the Cut.
Most of those parents didn’t beat their kids and break them apart.
No, it had always been different with JJ. The strangeness of Luke’s vitriol. The possessive power he had. He’d never thought about it before, but he could see it now.
JJ wasn’t Luke’s kid.
JJ had never belonged in that damn house.
It was never supposed to be JJ’s life. Luke knew it. And JJ knew it.
He looked out across the water, steering numbly. He knew the way of course. He just – wasn’t sure what to expect when they got there. Yeah, they had to find JJ. They had to convince him to turn himself in. They had to keep him safe.
But if this was true?
If JJ’s entire life had been turned upside down?
That explained it, at least. He knew something had made JJ crash out, but it wasn’t just some ambiguous, undefined thing. It was like JJ just snapped after years of abuse and neglect. It wasn’t like he was some inevitable powder keg, just waiting to explode.
No, JJ had just had his life detonated for him.
Like, for real. JJ had spent a lifetime trying to cope with the fact that Luke was his father.
And to find out he wasn’t? To have that shred of stability taken from him?
The implications were overwhelming. Why would Luke take him in – just to beat him? Who had been the woman JJ thought was his mother?
Chandler Groff had been creepy as shit, and the entire Genrette legacy had been sus. Was there a curse? Had Wes Genrette really been killed by a ghost?
And what kind of father abandoned their baby?
With Luke, no less?
Not to mention the fact that JJ’s mother was dead, apparently.
Oh, and he was a Kook. There was also that. JJ, who clung to being a Pogue with all he had, was a Kook.
If John B struggled to make it reconcile, then what hope did JJ have? This wasn’t John B’s family. This was JJ’s family. This was his history and his sense of self. This was everything.
Behind him, Sarah and Kiara were talking quietly to one another. About JJ – maybe. About the riots – possibly. About the fact that they were about to be homeless and on the run – well, yeah. This was just going from bad to worse to absolute disaster.
Tensing his fingers on the controls, he wasn’t sure it was going to work anymore. At this point, could he talk JJ down? Could he bring him back to his senses?
JJ usually crashed out and came to.
But this wasn’t just a crash out.
Shit, it was an entire identity crisis.
The darkness was starting to settle as the sun set, the light dimming across the water as he navigated them toward Goat Island. Kiara was confident JJ would be there. But what version of JJ? Would it even be a JJ who was ready to come back home?
Would it be a JJ who was capable of coming back home?
Because everyone had limits. Everyone had that point of no return. There was only so much one person could deal with. There was only so much shit you could throw on someone before it finally just buried them.
Seeing JJ at the courthouse – it scared him. He’d seen JJ lose control a lot, yes. But not like that. And waiting for JJ to do a JJ thing was fine – but only when he knew who JJ was.
More importantly, only when JJ knew who he was.
Kiara looked back at him, offering up a weak smile. “We almost there?”
John B glanced at his control, then scanned the horizon again. “Shouldn’t be too much longer,” he said.
Sarah nodded at Kie. “You really think he’ll be there?”
Kiara shrugged, looking at John B. “It’s the only thing I can think of.”
“JJ will always go home when he’s hurt,” John B said, directing the boat toward the island in the distance. “Even when he shouldn’t.”
Especially when he shouldn’t.
It didn’t matter, though. John B couldn’t dwell on that.
This had already been a bad enough couple of days.
He had to hope against hope that it wasn’t about to get worse.
-o-
As a kid, his parents had made big deals out of things other parents didn’t think about. Things like hand written thank you cards after every Christmas. Doing the extra credit at school. Sitting down every night for family dinner.
JJ had nearly choked in disbelief at that one. “You what? Just eat together?” he’d asked.
Pope had shrugged back. “I guess. We talk about our days.”
JJ’s eyes had nearly popped free of his head. “And that goes well?”
JJ had never understood, but Pope had never questioned.
Not until now.
Because sitting down for dinner? With a police tracking anklet?
Made small talk a lot harder.
On the one hand, he got it. It was dinner time. They needed to eat.
On the other, it felt like a farce. Eating his mama’s pot roast like it was just another day.
“Well, it was already defrosted,” his mother explained as they sat down. She shrugged, as if the four hours of preparation were just incidental to the fact that there had been a hunk of meat in her fridge. “And I think we’ve all had a long day.”
His father grunted, sitting down at his spot and unfurling his napkin with no grace whatsoever. “Josephine, just call it what it is: a disaster.”
Pope sat down gingerly in his seat, Cleo next to him. Under the table, she put her hand on his knee reassuringly.
His mother tutted, sitting herself down with a glare at his father. “Our boy is alive and well and right here.”
“He’s out on bail,” he reminded her. “If he doesn’t sign that plea deal–”
His mother rolled her eyes. “We’ll talk about that later.”
His father balked. “We might not get later,” he said. “With these kids off running around, making messes they can’t clean up. Losing races, starting riots–”
“None of this has been fair from the start,” she retorted, while Pope reddened.
“Two bad choices don’t make a right one,” his dad snapped, and Cleo’s fingers laced around his as he grit his teeth in shame.
“But we only condemn the second?” she said back. She shook her head. “Honestly, Bobby, I know we have to teach these kids responsibility, but that doesn’t mean we’re devoid of justice, does it? That doesn’t mean we don’t fight for our kids.”
She said it that way, that way they all had to listen. That tone of her that couldn’t be broached.
Our kids.
Pope, sure.
But Cleo, too.
And, without saying it, they all understood. John B and Sarah and Kiara.
Even JJ.
Right now, especially JJ.
Inhaling sharply, his father scowled. His brow darkened, and he looked down, his entire body tense. His father could be a rough man; he could be a stiff man.
But he wasn’t cruel.
He pushed because he cared. He had expectations because he believed in Pope.
Even the Pogues, he’d been the steady father figure for all of them. No matter what Heyward said, the Pogues were always welcome. Even JJ, at his worst, had been given odd jobs and a few snacks to tide him over.
When he didn’t mount another protest, Pope’s mother visibly relaxed. “Good,” she said with a little, decisive nod. “Now. I want to have a nice family dinner, you all hear me?”
The invitation was overt.
The threat was implicit.
Pope nodded obediently. “Thanks, Mom,” he said, mustering up something that he hoped passed for a smile. “It looks good.”
It did, too. That part wasn’t a lie. His mother was a good cook.
Next to him, Cleo pulled her hands out from under the table, pulling off a much more convincing smile. “It does look amazing, Jo.”
His mother nodded, apparently satisfied as she lifted the tray of meat and handed it to Pope’s father. He took some, still sullen and flushed, before handing it off to Pope. He took his own portion, before giving it to Cleo, who took a generous helping of her own.
They served the rest of the food in silence, each taking portions, before they started to eat, and Pope found it easier to stuff his mouth than to talk about – well, anything.
It wasn’t like he’d done this to them; it wasn’t like he’d done anything wrong at all. He knew that, deep inside. There was no way he was just going to stand by and watch as the cops killed JJ. And they would have. Because JJ was a Pogue – because JJ was a Maybank – and because JJ had crashed out so completely and so publicly.
By that point, JJ hadn’t been capable of reason. He hadn’t even been able to think things through. When JJ lost control, he lost it. Pope hadn’t understood it before, but it wasn’t hard to see that JJ was a textbook case for a domestic abuse victim.
They didn’t talk about it like that, not amongst themselves, and certainly not with JJ. But the literature was strikingly clear about what JJ was working against. The recklessness was an expression of his lack of self esteem, and the drugs and the alcohol were attempts to self mediate. JJ would act out to exhibit any sense of control, and with abuse as longstanding and pervasive as what JJ had suffered, he had to have severe attachment issues and a complete lack of understanding of unconditional love.
In other words, JJ didn’t know how to deal with shit.
At all.
Most of the time, that was okay
When things got bad – well, they got bad.
If they were smart, they would have put JJ in therapy 18 months ago to preempt the inevitable.
But instead, they’d squandered the money and squandered the time.
Now, JJ was unhinged and on the run.
And Pope?
Was a criminal.
“This is very good, Josephine,” his father said, taking another helping. “Did you do something different with the potatoes?”
“More butter,” she said, giving him another helping. She smiled across to Pope. “What about you, baby?”
He couldn’t bring himself to say yes. He shook his head, not sure if he was rude to say no or if he was rude to say yes. There was no sense of normal. He hated to do this to his parents, but this wasn’t about them. He tried to ground himself in that, but the awkward small talk was a bit too much.
“What about the vegetables?” Cleo asked. “I could use some more.”
“Of course, dear,” his mother said, handing the bowl of green beans to Cleo. Pope could only watch as she helped herself, wondering how the hell she did it.
How she acted like everything was normal.
When everything was falling apart. Poguelandia. JJ. Him.
He made it through most of dinner, while his father was mopping up the last of his potatoes and talking about sales down at the store, when he felt his frustration reach a tipping point. As his mother started talking about last week’s sermon at church, he couldn’t take it anymore.
“I don’t know if I can do this,” he blurted.
His father raised his eyebrows, going rigid like he might have a stroke.
His mother inclined her head. “Can’t do what?” she asked. She nodded at him. “Eat dinner? Because I think you already did.”
He looked at his plate, blinking stupidly. He shook his head. “No,” he said, looking up. “I can’t keep pretending like everything is normal. Like this is just some normal night for all of us.”
Cleo was watching him, but said nothing, and his heart had started to pound as he broke out in a sweat. He was bad at this – at confrontation, yes. At talking back to his parents, always. He still felt like a child when he was here, for better and for worse.
His mother inhaled and exhaled, giving his father a look to keep him from speaking. Then, she looked hard at Pope. “Nothing has ever been normal, dear. I’ve known that since you were around12 years old and first called yourself a Pogue.”
He wanted to laugh. Because yeah. He’d made the choice to be Pogue, and he was still making that choice. His parents fretted about how it would look to the neighbors and how it would look on a college essay, but maybe those things didn’t matter. Pope wanted to go to school, and he wanted to be a productive member of society, but on his terms.
With the family he chose.
That was never going to go down easy for the Sunday school crowd, and it would always be a sore point at family barbecues.
But he didn’t want to worry about that. He didn’t want to think about appearances when he had to think about things that actually mattered. Like his future – like Poguelandia – like JJ.
“That’s my point,” he said, lifting his chin. The gesture had a note of defiance, but it was mostly desperation. A needy plea for his parents to finally see him as the adult he was, making real life choices with real life consequences. “Why are we still pretending?”
His mother’s unrelenting stare back was not what he expected. “No one here is pretending anything,” she said. “We’re just making do the best we can with the choices that have been made by us and to us. Soon enough you have to decide what you’re going to do. I can’t make that decision for you, and your daddy – despite what he wants to believe – can’t make it either. So, maybe you go to jail. Maybe you join the military. I can’t pick, so for now, I’m going to enjoy this meal with my son and his beautiful girlfriend.”
It was a lot.
His mother didn’t lecture often. His mother didn’t lose her temper ever. She was as much a saint as anyone Pope had ever met, and that was a lot.
No condemnation. No blessings. No questions or begging or pleading.
It was startling to think about, really. That the only one here left pretending was him.
He swallowed, feeling his eyes burn. Cleo slipped her hand under the table again, giving his thigh a squeeze. “Mama–”
“Oh, shut up,” his father said, cutting in sharply, but he was near tears, too. “If you have half a brain, you’ll take the plea deal.”
Pope took a ragged breath, the emotions just barely in check. “I don’t want to be in the military.”
“You don’t want to be in jail either,” his father countered. “So it’s not really much of a choice now, is it?”
It wasn’t that his dad didn’t have a point. It just wasn’t the right point.
Or, at the very least, it wasn’t the point that Pope knew mattered most. “But if it’s the right thing–”
“Oh, son,” his father said, breathing heavily as he shook his head and wrinkled his nose. “Why do you think that doing the right thing matters?”
“You told me it did!” Pope exploded, throwing his arms wide. “All my life.”
His father flushed red, and his mother held her tongue. “Oh this island?” his father retorted. “Been doing it right my whole life, and it didn’t mean shit. These people would still screw me over the second they had the chance. You have to work the system, boy. You have to fight for everything you get and never cede an inch.”
Pope sat back, crossing his arms over his chest as he inhaled sharply. He pursed his lips, feeling own face flush uncomfortably. “I don’t think I can do that. Not anymore,” he said, and he felt Cleo’s fingers on his leg again as he met his father’s gaze and didn’t let it go. “That’s not how you raised me.”
It wasn’t so much a low blow as it was the truth.
The impact was the same.
His father slumped back, deflated as he looked down and picked up his fork again. “Yeah, I know,” he said. He shrugged meekly, giving Pope a small look as he nodded toward his mother. “Just consider it. For our sake.”
That one made him waver. It did.
Because, despite everything – or because of everything – Pope loved his parents. He knew his parents loved him, and he knew how much they had done for him. He knew they were there for him, no matter what. And that mattered.
Given the lives of his friends, he knew that mattered.
Which was, ironically, the point. His parents had taught him about family. They had given him integrity.
And now, he had to fight for that.
“I had to do this for JJ,” he said quietly. Next to him, Cleo sat back, her fingers lingering on the small of his back now.
His dad, to his credit, didn’t flinch. “And you think going to jail will help that boy? You think that’s what JJ wants?”
That was a point, then. It wasn’t what JJ wanted.
JJ had made an explicit effort to keep him from jail. JJ had weighed their futures and deemed Pope’s more worthy. JJ had weighed their futures and not seen one for himself at all.
But that wasn’t how it was going to be.
No. No way.
JJ had a future, just as much as any of them.
And Pope would make sure JJ knew that.
Even if that meant going to jail for JJ’s crash out.
Cleo drew a breath next to him, inclining her head toward his parents. “We have to do something,” she said. “JJ’s not well, so we couldn’t let them shoot him. We’re all he has.”
Those words mattered, coming from Cleo. She understood, after all.
His parents knew she understood.
His father looked down, shame reddening his cheeks again.
His mother reached over, putting her hand on her husband’s as she looked at Pope. “We’re going to help JJ, too, dear,” she said softly. “Once you get him to turn himself in, your father and I will do what we can.”
His father grunted and looked up. “One of the lawyers in town owes me a favor. He’s not a bad guy,” he said. “And maybe we can get his trial moved to the mainland, give him a fair shot.” He paused, tipping his head toward Pope. “You, too, maybe. If we play nice for a bit.”
That was – kind of a reasonable plan. It was more thoughtful than Pope had been anticipating, and more diplomatic than he himself had come up with. He underestimated his parents sometimes.
Just like they underestimated him.
“Like they’ve played nice so far?” he asked. “Dad. Mom. They railroaded us. They took everything, and they did it publicly to humiliate us.”
His mother sighed, and his father shook his head. “If I knew another way,” he started.
Pope felt his heart break a little. He felt the pressure of it bear down on him as he considered what he’d done.
Saving JJ’s life – that was easy.
Throwing away his own – that was real.
That was very, very real.
It was why his parents were sad. It was why they were disappointed.
No, it was why they were scared.
They loved him.
And they knew what he was up against.
They knew he probably wasn’t going to win.
Pope swallowed hard, picking up his own fork again. He looked down, and Cleo’s hand didn’t move from the small of his back. “I’ll think about it, okay?”
He glanced at them, willing himself to mean it.
His mother smiled.
His father bowed his head, the sense of loss still pervasive. “That’s all we ask.”
-o-
The sun was going down by the time they got out to Goat Island, and John B was glad they took the Pogue. She was smaller, more maneuverable. It made it safer to navigate the unfamiliar shallows around the island.
The practical considerations kept him preoccupied, at least. He didn’t have time to think about why he was here if he was thinking about how. He didn’t have to think about JJ or Pope; he didn’t have to think about town councils or lost treasures.
Just – don’t die.
Simple.
But, as Goat Island and the manor loomed large, he felt the darkness settle over him. The doubt that clawed away, that maybe this time they’d overplayed their hand. Maybe this time, the risk was too much.
Maybe this time, John B couldn’t bring them all home.
The trepidation was too much, and he kept his fingers tight on the wheel as he moved through, around toward the dock.
It was going to be okay, he told himself as his palms started to sweat.
Everything had to be all right.
-o-
Honestly, to Sarah, this had seemed like a good idea. Really, it had. She hadn’t had reservations. She hadn’t had doubts. She hadn’t thought twice
Of course they were going to go find JJ. Of course they were going to make sure he was safe and sound. Of course they were going to try to help him make the right choice and find the best possible ending for all of them.
That was what families did.
That was the heart of what being a Pogue was all about.
But her stomach turned hard as they approached the island. The fluttering in her stomach – she knew it was psychosomatic – but it felt real. That pressing reminder that things were going to change.
No, she had to remind herself, fingers ghosting over her stomach as she gripped the rail of the boat with her other hand. Everything had changed.
There was a baby in there right now. Her baby. John B’s baby.
She wasn’t the only one taking risks anymore. The consequences were no longer just hers to bear. She was putting the baby in danger.
How the hell was she supposed to balance that? How could she live her life – and make sure her baby was safe? It wasn’t like she was just going to leave JJ. Not when he was wanted by the cops and completely falling apart, if Kiara’s revelations carried any weight. JJ needed them.
Her stomach fluttered again as they neared, starting to slow. John B’s face was tense as he navigated the water, easing his way toward the dock
Kiara was standing anxiously on the bow, scanning the island for any sign of life or movement. “He’s got to be here,” she muttered. “Come on, JJ.”
It had been John B on the run once. It had been John B in prison and going before the judge. She’d been there for all of that, and the Pogues hadn’t left either of them then.
She pulled her hand away and took a deep breath.
She was going to take care of her family, was the bottom line. That included the baby now.
But it still included JJ.
They would find him. They would talk to him. They would figure out the best way forward. They’d fix this.
And then they’d go home – all of them.
Even if they had to build the damn thing from scratch again.
They’d done it before.
She saw the lights through the trees, but not on the grounds. In the water.
All of this, every last bit of it.
She came up next to Kiara, holding her breath as she made out the shape of an unfamiliar boat on the shores of Goat Island.
She swore to herself, for her baby’s future, they would do it again.
-o-
Really, Kiara had no idea how they managed to do anything.
They were idiots. Every last one of them. She liked to tell her parents otherwise – she damn near insisted – but sometimes it was impossible to deny.
She didn’t know shit about real life. She didn’t have a clue what it took to be a responsible grownup. Sure, she knew her causes. She had righteous indignation with the best of them. And she knew – beyond a doubt – she didn’t want to do it like her parents did.
But you couldn’t live your life in a negative stance. You couldn’t figure out who you were by only defining what you weren’t.
Her parents weren’t monsters.
And Kiara?
Was still a dumb-ass kid. Living with a bunch of dumb-ass kids. Dating the dumbest ass kid of them all. It was a miracle they hadn’t blown shit up earlier, if anything.
She probably should have taken her parents up on their offers to help a lot more than she had. They had seemed genuine. And frankly, Kiara was pretty sure – left to their own devices – they were about to get everyone involved in this escapade killed.
Because yeah, they’d found JJ. She was right, he was on Goat Island – with Groff, no less.
But so were the men clad in black, brandishing firearms as they held JJ against his will on the deck. She couldn’t hear what they were saying – she had no idea what they wanted – but it was pretty easy to see that it was bad.
The kind of bad that made Shoupe and the Kildare sheriff’s department look really pretty good right now.
John B was quick to kill the engine, but the position was just barely obscured. The fact that they were clearly preoccupied with other things was in their favor right now.
Except those other things involved JJ.
“We don’t have any idea who they are?” Sarah whispered as they eyed the interactions. They were too far away to hear the words, but the stances of the people involved were clear enough. JJ was tense, looking ready to break, and Groff seemed to be spouting most of the bullshit. The woman in charge was less than pleased.
“That’s not a small boat,” John B said, voice low and grim. “And that fire power? These are serious players.”
“The amulet’s a big deal but it’s not that big,” Kiara said, shaking her head as she watched JJ twitch. The man holding him tightened his grip, and JJ winced from the pressure on his shoulder.
She was glad he was alive; she’d found him.
She just didn’t know if she could keep him alive.
Between his own self-destructive choices and these newfound enemies, that was proving to be a harder and harder task by the second.
“And why do they want Groff?” Sarah asked, voice hushed as she shook her head. “What does he have to do with any of this?”
Somehow, Kiara was getting a sneaking suspicion, he probably had everything to do with it. Groff and Goat Island. Wes’s death and the amulet. This string of coincidences was a bit much, and by all accounts, JJ was the last Genrette now.
She hadn’t believed in curses before.
Watching the last two days unfold, she was starting to reconsider. “It doesn’t matter,” she said, and she could feel the color rising in her cheeks. “We just have to get him off the boat. Then we can figure things out. These assholes. Groff. The riot.”
“Yeah,” John B said. “But how?”
Kiara shrugged, the tension tightening in her chest. “I don’t know,” she muttered, because dating JJ for 18 months meant she was used to his messes. But she wasn’t any better at cleaning them up. “But I’m open to ideas.”
-o-
To be absolutely honest, Sarah wasn’t actually sure she was ready for motherhood. She had strong maternal instincts – sure. But she was also 19. She had only been on her own for 18 months, and that had ended disastrously by all accounts.
That said, as she watched John B proceed to light the boat on fire in a poorly executed rescue attempt, she had plenty of experience mothering toddlers. At least toddlers didn’t usually get to play with matches. She didn’t actually know how John B was alive right now. Not a clue.
It had been her idea to light the fire. It was the only weapon they had, the only way to draw enough attention from the bad guys and give JJ a chance to escape. JJ would pick up on the distraction immediately and he’d clock them within seconds. It allowed them to stay at a distance and still make an impact.
It was a good plan. Honestly, it was kind of brilliant.
And all John B had to do was execute it.
Light the fire.
Throw it at the boat.
Not lob it straight up in the air.
So it landed right back on them.
Now, they were fumbling to light a second bottle – and trying to put out a fire at the same time – all while the bad guys knew exactly where they were and were probably ready to shoot them dead.
JJ made things worse by losing control, and that was bad. That was really bad?
But John B?
Had a perfectly reasonable plan. He was thinking things through.
And he still managed to make things exponentially worse.
How the hell was this man going to be the father to her baby? This man? The one who was nearly on fire?
He had the second bottle and the slingshot now. Kiara was scrambling, trying to put out the flames. Sarah hesitated as she watched, and John B lined up the second shot.
The last shot.
At this point, their only shot.
And he let it fly.
Because their future had always been like this, slipshod, haphazard, and against the odds.
A hope and a prayer.
And maybe – just maybe – a little bit of luck for once.
-o-
Groff said it was going to be okay. And really, in JJ’s life, that bar was low. Okay could exist in varying degrees of shittiness, and sometimes, as long as JJ was alive, that was good enough.
Given that he was currently being held at gunpoint by mercenaries, that bit wasn’t a given anymore.
Groff said to trust him.
But Groff was a liar.
One who had abandoned him.
With Luke.
The sentiment was nice, and Groff had a convincing smile, but JJ had to go with his gut on this one. This wasn’t going to be okay. And he certainly couldn’t count on Groff to make it turn out.
Because truth be told? JJ still wasn’t sure who were the good guys and who were the bad guys. Groff had his sob story, but the malice in the lady’s eyes — Dalia — was a look he could feel. Groff had screwed them over. Hell, she was probably telling the truth. Groff had probably murdered her men and double crossed them.
JJ was just collateral damage. He was in the way.
Such was the story of his whole damn life.
So Groff postured. Dalia seethed. And JJ did what JJ did and looked for his out. Armed men, check. Happy trigger fingers, check. An angry merc, check. A man who was either going to throw him under the bus or save his life?
Yeah. Check.
Then.
He saw it.
Not the way Dalia grew exasperated. Not the tightening of the grip on his arm.
But the movement on the water. The boat, hidden on the foliage.
The familiar figure, standing on the deck.
Lighting himself on fire.
It wasn’t subtle, and it wasn’t effective. John B fumbled, and he squinted in the dim light as Sarah and Kiara rushed to put out whatever John B had set off. Was it a distraction? A rescue attempt?
Who knew.
But those were his friends.
Screw that shit.
That was his family.
He eyed Groff as the men shifted anxiously and Dalia moved to the edge. This shit was about to go from bad to worse.
But JJ wasn’t alone anymore.
He felt his confidence burgeoning up, solidifying in his chest. Apples and trees be damned. JJ was a pogue.
And those assholes on the boat? Lighting themselves on fire to rescue him?
Yeah, those were his friends.
That was his family.
The state of flux from the last 24 hours started to recede as the world came back into focus. He felt it, the way he pulled himself together. It had always been P4L for him, always.
A lot had changed – too much had changed – he’d made mistakes, more than he could count.
But that was still the same.
It was a thing to think about, after all. JJ had burned their lives down in the last 24 hours, and he’d run to the parent who had never wanted him, leaving them high and dry. But here they were. They’d still come for him.
JJ didn’t deserve it.
JJ had never deserved it.
It was a debt he could never repair. It was a burden he could never unseat. It was a deficit he could never make up.
So if they were here for him?
Then, JJ was ready to be there for them.
No matter what.
-o-
John B hit the water with a splash because at this point, there was no need for stealth. They’d completely screwed up any element of surprise, and right now, all they really had going for them was chaos.
Which, they were good at chaos.
Honestly, it was about the only thing they excelled at.
Because yeah, on some level, John B knew this was stupid. He didn’t know who these people were – but they were armed – and JJ was already on the run from the cops. Whatever they were about to do was going to probably end badly, and there was a high chance that they were about to make a bad situation worse.
They all talked smack about JJ, how he was the reckless one.
But here John B was, swimming toward the boat on fire, filled with armed, angry men.
Was it his best plan?
Was it even a plan?
There was no time to think about that now.
Because really, it wasn’t like John B was starting a riot. He wasn’t driving a UHAUL full of drugs. He wasn’t even trying to break anyone out of jail with a faked case of appendicitis and a stolen ambulance.
No, he was just going to rescue his best friend.
Who was probably having a mental breakdown.
And was definitely probably going to be arrested.
Whatever.
John B couldn’t think about that now. He could think about plea deals and sob stories to tell Shoupe later. He could even figure out how to get back Poguelandia and keep JJ from doing serious time later.
As soon as JJ was, you know, not dead.
Behind him, Kiara and Sarah were taking the boat wide. With the melee on the boat, at least they were relatively safe, but John B knew that the closer he got, the less likely that safety would be assured. Getting on the boat was a surefire way to put himself in danger.
But it was also the only way to get JJ off.
It wasn’t so much a conscious thought as it was a reaction. He grabbed onto the edge, finding the ladder on the side and started to pull himself up. He could still see flames licking the front side of the boat. There were scattered noises – yelling. Some splashing. There were flashes of movement, but whatever was going on, John B wasn’t their biggest concern at the moment.
At least, that was his hope.
Pulling himself up, still dripping water, he hefted himself over the rail and hit hard. He nearly immediately got trampled on as someone ran out of the way. They were more focused on running that him, and John B was able to get his footing just in time to whirl about–
And face another.
This one reared back to hit him, and John B yelped, throwing himself at the man. The man’s gun clattered, and John B wasn’t stupid enough to stay and fight.
He ran instead.
It occurred to him now that the plan had certain limitations. He didn’t know where JJ was; for all he knew, JJ had already jumped off and John B was – what? Just going to stay here until someone shot him?
But he didn’t know for sure. And really, he was in too deep on this plan to bail on it now.
Was it worth the risk?
Objectively, John B couldn’t say for sure.
But they were Pogues. Objective didn’t mean shit.
For JJ, this was worth it. For his best friend since third grade, for his ride or die, for the kid who would – and had – risked everything for him. It was worth it.
He grunted, throwing himself at another man, tugging back and forth while he struggled to get the gun free.
Always for JJ.
Chapter 6: CHAPTER SIX
Notes:
Slowing down the narrative means we can give the storylines the attention they deserve. JJ's struggles with depression, abandonment, self-worth, and his whole identity were never fully played out on screen -- we will definitely see them here. It's not pretty -- JJ's not in a good headspace -- but it's definitely a focus going forward.
And honestly, for as bleak as things feel right now in fandom, sharing things with the rest of you really is what keeps me going here. Thank you for reading, reviewing, and commenting. As much as I miss JJ in the show, I suppose we can love him better this way anyway.
Chapter Text
-o-
CHAPTER SIX
-o-
In crisis, shit went down. JJ knew that. He’d been in enough of them; shit, he’d caused enough of them. It was usually every man for himself, because – well, yeah.
It wasn’t that JJ actually thought this was different.
Except that he kind of thought this was different.
Apples and trees, and all that shit. Chandler Groff was his father. JJ was his long lost son. They’d bonded, right? Groff had acknowledged him; they’d shared their feelings. They’d cemented it: apples and trees.
So when shit went down, JJ looked to make sure Groff was okay.
Groff, however, was already on his way out. Pushing through the men, Groff was already jumping clear. He didn’t look back for JJ – not once.
JJ was on his own. On a burning boat with armed, angry men.
So, that was good.
It was time to bail.
It had been time to bail a long time ago, honestly. But with shit going down, the pickings were slim. Following Groff off the boat wasn’t an option. There were too many men, and too many of them were armed. He moved back, decking one of them as he tripped over his own feet, and turning down the side of the deck.
More men were coming, and JJ hissed. He opened the first door he could find, ducking inside and moving as fast as he could. He’d been on boats all his life, so guessing the layout wasn’t hard, but moving through the corridors was easier said than done when every corner he turned had an armed guard who looked pissed to see him. He didn’t stop to think about it. All it would take was one gunshot, and he was done for, but JJ knew how to live like Luke Maybank. You took the risk until it ran out.
You just did.
He scaled a set of stairs, darting his way through. Heart hammering, he searched for an exit, skittering away as more voices approached. Someone came at him with a machete – which, what the hell – and he took out another one with a headbutt that left him seeing stars. He reeled, trying to get his bearings.
But then – he heard it.
A familiar voice.
The best voice.
“JJ?”
John B.
Groff had left him. But John B?
John B had come for him.
“John B!”
Did anything else matter? Well, yes. A lot of things mattered. There were a lot of questions JJ would have to answer. There was a lot of blame JJ would have to contend with. There were the cops, and everything he’d cost his friends in the last 24 hours.
A lot of shit mattered.
But right now? This exact moment?
It was just JJ and John B.
That was how it had all started.
Hell, yeah, that was still how it ended.
JJ ran, changing course instinctually. He slammed his way through a few more men, scaling up the stairs. The sound of the fighting didn’t bode well in John B’s favor.
John B wasn’t much of a fighter. Really, he wasn’t much of a planner either. He was a leader, good at rallying shit, and he could put clues together even if he couldn’t figure out how to make anything happen.
Simply put, on his own, John B was a mess. He knew it, even if he hid it well. All the times he got pissed at JJ for his half-baked ideas, and he had no room to talk. JJ had ideas at least. All John B had was a desperate need and no viable means to attain it.
JJ made things happen. John B made sure they didn’t die.
Together, they made a pretty good team.
Of course, when guns were being fired and flames were burning all around them, he had to think that bar was a little too low. But if it was all he had, then it was all he had.
After losing his fortune, after losing his home, after probably losing his freedom – yeah. This was all he had.
His best friend and a pisspoor getaway plan, and the rest of his friends waiting in the getaway boat. Would it work? Who knew. Should it work? Probably not.
But were they going to do it?
Oh, hell, yes.
JJ didn’t need him to say anything. They didn’t have to discuss it. They didn’t have to ask questions or give explanations. The second they made eye contact, it all fell into place. They just knew. They barely shared a single brain cell between the two of them, but share it – they did.
They had always made it work.
That was the sort of stupid invincibility that made you think it always would.
It didn’t matter.
The posturing, the thinking, the hand-wringing. It was all bullshit.
All that mattered was finding John B.
And getting the hell off this boat.
Together.
-o-
It was starting to feel a little bit like a mistake, if John B were being honest. There were too many men – they were far too armed – and he didn’t know where he was going or what he was doing. The mere idea that he might survive this ordeal was getting harder and harder to imagine – much less how he was going to get all his friends back to the OBX in one piece and somehow – miraculously – get both Pope and JJ from serving actual time.
Oh, and saving Poguelandia.
That was what started this, and John B was starting to think that was a moot point now. Like he might have to concede their home and livelihood – for the mere sake of trying to salvage anything.
Everyone thought they were impulsive. Everyone knew JJ was reckless.
But John B knew it wasn’t that simple.
JJ was in survival mode.
And when JJ was in survival mode, all bets were off. All bets for moderation. All bets for reason and logic. When JJ wasn’t sure he would get tomorrow, he would burn today to the ground, no questions asked.
It was dumb, and John B knew it.
He also knew there was no other choice. The Kooks in this town loved to back them against the wall, push them into the corner, and then act surprised when they came out swinging.
JJ got stupid like that. He got even stupider when Luke was involved.
What would he do with Groff? This long lost father?
What would he do then?
Well, John B was going to find out.
He slammed into another man, grappling helplessly as he tried to get the upper hand. He grunted, skittering across the floor as a blow caught him. He jerked up, catching the man and driving him down.
Once he found JJ and got him out of here.
Light the fire. Take the shot.
You couldn’t pull your punches.
You had to risk it all.
Unfortunately, that meant you lost it sometimes. Which, you would think they knew by now. But still, when John B found the galley occupied, he was left scrambling. One hit with the refrigerator took a guy down, but it didn’t last. He was back up, and coming at John B, and to be frank, John B wasn’t much of a fighter. He’d only kicked Topper’s ass by blindsiding him, and all the years he and JJ had spent fighting the Kooks – was mostly years getting their asses kicked.
The man hit him, sending him down. He scrambled, trying to get back on his feet, but the man caught him first. Locking his arms around his neck and starting to squeeze.
He panicked, flailing as he tried to pull free. He reared back, ready to punch.
Wild, blonde hair. Terrified blue eyes.
Hands up.
JJ.
He exhaled, feeling relief flood over him for the first time in 24 hours.
He’d finally found JJ.
He could get JJ home. He could figure out the shit with the cops. They could buy more time for Poguelandia. They could get Pope out of jail. Now that they had JJ, it was going to be okay.
John B told himself that one more time.
It was going to be okay.
-o-
Finding John B was what JJ needed. Forget apples and trees. Try best friends.
Leading them up the stairs, JJ was close behind. Whatever plan John B had was better than the one JJ had – which was to say none at all. JJ had nothing. He was making shit up as he went along, and honestly, it was surprising he wasn’t dead already. It would probably be easier if he was, but–
Yeah. Not now. This wasn’t the time or place.
Ducking back through the hallways, JJ found the machete from earlier and figured – why not. It wasn’t a gun – but it would do in a pinch.
They were in more than a pinch, so–
JJ wasn’t going to be dead weight. Yeah, this was a rescue mission. His friends had come for him.
But JJ?
Had screwed shit up enough. He wasn’t about to play damsel in distress here.
He started this.
He could finish it.
Because apples and trees?
There was still something to it, if JJ was being honest.
Groff wanted a treasure.
JJ, though, had no qualms finding it first.
With that in mind, he did the only sensible thing. Something Groff would do. Hell, something Luke would do.
He circled back, back to the room. It was still there, where he’d seen it before. The scroll.
In the fallout, the damn thing had been left unattended, apparently forgotten on the table. All JJ had to do was snatch it, take it with him.
Would these mercs be unhappy?
Given their reaction to Groff, yeah. They would be pissed.
But they’d already tried to kill JJ several times.
And also, the Pogues had technically found the scroll first.
It was part of JJ’s birthright.
And whatever. He needed something to make this whole shitshow worthwhile.
Teeth gritted together, he grabbed it.
He grabbed it.
It wasn’t like Dalia was a saint. Her honor among thieves spiel was nice and all, but it was clear those guns on her men weren’t for show. It wasn’t like she hadn’t stolen it first. And to be fair, they had kidnapped him. This shit? It was restitution. Pain and suffering shit.
Mostly, though, it was his only way to get them back in the hunt. And maybe, just maybe, he could salvage something for his friends.
Because JJ had lost so much for them.
It was time to give back.
He clutched the scroll tight, heart thundering as he followed John B up and out of the cabin. The air outside was cool and crisp, but the goosebumps on his skin had broken out well before he stepped back out.
He would make this right for them.
Any way he could.
-o-
Taking the Pogue around, circling her through the waters in a holding pattern – well, that seemed about right.
That was how it was, right? Especially when JJ was concerned.
You had to wait for him to get his shit together.
You could come close – and then you had to give him space.
Just when you thought you had it, you were circling back to the start, looking for him all over again.
After 18 months together, it felt like she was right back where she started, trying to keep the boy she loved from imploding.
She’d pulled it off that time.
Barely.
She had to hope she could do it again.
Because hey – at least there were no overpasses for him to drive off of this time.
“That’s far enough,” Sarah said, jerking her head back to the boat. “We can’t get too far away.”
Kiara grunted, turning the controls sharply. “Yeah, but we also can’t sit too close,” she said. “If we go down–”
“I don’t care!” Sarah yelled. “I’m not going to leave my boyfriend on a boat full of angry men with guns! Are you?”
Kiara raised her brows at Sarah, even as she navigated back. “Are those pregnancy hormones kicking in?”
Sarah flipped her off. “My boyfriend is in danger because of yours,” she said snidely. “So shut up and drive.”
That was a point, Kiara decided, she couldn’t argue with.
She circled them back around, face set as they made another run.
-o-
The plan had always been to find JJ and get him off the boat.
Simple, right?
The armed men, the boat on fire – acceptable complications.
But now that he was standing there, at the top of the boat, looking down at the water, he had some trepidations. Because shit that was a long way to fall.
He did the mental calculations, trying to consider how deep it might be. A boat this size – with this height – would need a lot of clearance, so they couldn’t be too shallow. This high up – the force going down – they probably wouldn’t hit bottom and die.
Probably.
Of course, the force of the water – from this height?
That shit was going to hurt like hell.
He looked at JJ, who was having the same mental calculations.
But behind them, the men were closing in again.
They were out of time.
Hell, they’d been out of time before this started. This whole thing was borrowed time.
He looked at JJ, expecting to see him, ready to go.
But JJ was pale, face pinched. He eyed the water, and for the first time ever, John B saw his best friend hesitate.
Nothing to lose, no more.
Everything to lose.
Something inside JJ had changed. Since the race, since the town council. Since the riots, since Groff.
The JJ he came to rescue.
Wasn’t the JJ he was bringing home.
But what else could he do?
He nodded at JJ, who nodded back grimly.
What else could they possibly do?
-o-
JJ had always told his friends – belabored the point, honestly – you didn’t need to think. Thinking was pointless when you had a plan. Thinking just slowed you down. Thinking made you second-guess shit. Thinking was the thing that held you back when you needed to just move ahead. No thinking.
What good did it do? To think about the limitations of your plan? To think about the limitations of your whole damn life?
It didn’t help to think about how much you had to lose or how little you had to work with. It didn’t help to think about the paper thin margin between success and failure or about how little success would mean anything anyway.
None of it mattered.
None of it had ever mattered.
Because when JJ was just a baby, his father had dropped him off with an unqualified stranger. When he was six, Luke balled his fist up for the first time and hit him against the face. It was just a few weeks ago, JJ’s friends had laid him bare, told him it was all his fault, and been forced to tolerate him ever since.
None of them had to think about it. Not Groff, not Luke. Not his friends.
None of them thought about how little JJ meant before they washed their hands of him. His friends hadn’t been pushed that far yet, but it was just a matter of time.
Why would JJ think about that?
Why would JJ think about anything?
If he stayed here, he was going to die. Dalia and her men – they were going to kill him, and Groff wasn’t going to save him.
If he went with the Pogues, he could carry that relationship as far as it would take him, until he ruined that, too, burned it down just like everything else.
If he thought about it, staying here made sense. If he thought about it, it was easier to be done.
If he thought about it–
John B looked at him, eyes wide and pleading.
JJ shut it down. Shut down his thoughts, shut it all down.
John B came for him.
The Pogues came for him.
If he could put off the inevitable – just a little longer – then, okay. He wouldn’t dwell.
And, without another thought, he jumped off the edge of the boat, side by side with his best friend.
-o-
Finally.
Kiara saw John B at the top of the boat, JJ right beside him. She felt it, the slightest bit of relief, as they shared a look.
It was stupid to jump — too high, too much gunfire, too little escape — but it was stupider to stay. Kiara had dated JJ long enough to know how this worked. The choices you regretted were the ones you didn’t take. The only unforgivable thing was ceding control, of course JJ was going to jump.
She saw him, though. She saw him hesitate.
Like she was confessing her love. Like he wanted to etch a sketch it. Like he had her dad’s money clip and he couldn’t say shit about it.
JJ only hesitated when it was something he wanted.
JJ only hesitated when it was something he needed.
So why was he hesitating now? When all they wanted was to rescue him? Had he lost that much in the last 24 hours? Had he lost his confidence that they loved him? Had he lost his confidence that he belonged with them?
“Come on!” Sarah yelled, tugging the controls. “We don’t have much time—”
They veered back, making their loop toward the boat. More men were in the water, and there was yelling. A stray gunshot, but it was far off.
It scared her.
Not that JJ was in danger. No, she was used to that.
That he might not save himself.
That he might not take her hand when she offered it to him.
The Kooks took Poguelandia, but it was more than that. It was more than a business or a home. It was their identity. It was who JJ was. It was all he had, all he was. To lose it, was to lose everything.
Luke and Groff. The Genrettes and the Pogues.
JJ stood on top of the boat, and he looked just like the boy she’d fallen in love with.
And nothing like him all the same.
“JJ!” she screamed, voice lost in the melee. “Please!”
And JJ, thankfully, finally, made the leap.
-o-
Well, Sarah thought as she watched John B jump in the water – JJ just a beat behind him – at least this was progress.
Really, she loved being a Pogue. She did.
There was just something in the art of aiming low.
Like, really low.
Like as long as they were alive, that was victory. That kind of low.
Because yes, she was pregnant and soon to be homeless.
But at least her baby’s father and uncle weren’t dead. Yet.
The chaos on the boat was still unfolding, and honestly, the night was young.
“Come on,” she yelled to Kiara, getting the boat into position as John B and JJ swam toward them. “Come on!”
They were good swimmers at least, and the men on the boat seemed to have enough going on that stopping them wasn’t their primary concern currently. Apparently setting the boat on fire had been a brilliant idea. She wasn’t about to admit it; the last thing she needed was for it to go to John B’s head.
John B had half pulled himself up by the time Sarah got there, yanking him up and over. He hit the deck hard, water splattering around him while he panted. He scrambled back to his feet, leaning over to extend his hand to JJ. JJ held up what he was holding first – and Sarah took it – while John B hoisted him up – yanking him clear over the edge until they both crashed onto the deck in a wet, sopping mess.
“Go,” John B gasped, looking at her. “Go!”
Sarah blinked, still trying to make sense of it. The case in her hand. John B’s tense voice. The vacant look in JJ’s eyes.
“Oh, shit,” Kiara said from the controls. “We need to go!”
And it was all Sarah could do to brace herself as they took off, speeding off without reserve now and no pretense of stealth. John B flopped back down, clearly exhausted. JJ hadn’t gotten up at all.
“What is this?” she asked, looking at the case again.
“The map,” JJ said, eyes closed and his head tipped back as he caught his breath. “The one you and Pope almost had. The map.”
The map, she thought.
The treasure.
“Shit,” she said. She gaped it at – and then at John B. “Really?”
He shrugged, like he had no idea.
But JJ nodded, looking at her with exhaustion. “Consider it my penance,” he said.
Her stomach dropped a little.
John B frowned. “JJ, that’s not–”
JJ shook his head now, letting his eyes close again. “You shouldn’t have come–”
“Of course we were coming,” John B said. “We’ve been worried sick.”
Sarah sat down next to them, on her knees. “You know how this works. You taught us.”
He grimaced, looking at her once more. “This is my fault,” he said. He looked from her to John B, lips twisted in a smile so rueful that it looked painful. “I got to do something, don’t I? To earn my way back to you all.”
“JJ,” she said, voice catching. “That’s not – that isn’t–”
He shook his head, staggering to his feet. “It doesn’t matter,” he said, brushing past her for the front of the boat. “I got it, didn’t I?”
She watched him, her heart sinking. She looked at the item in her hand, and then looked at John B. He was pale, face drawn in the night. “We got him back, at least,” he murmured, getting to his feet and pausing next to her. He looked at the container she was holding, and then kissed her. “At least we got him back.”
Then, he brushed by her, too, to join JJ at the stern.
It was hard to imagine, then. Fighting for her baby’s future.
When she couldn’t even be sure about theirs.
But what choice did she have?
She moved toward the controls, to stand next to Kie, watching the boys in the night in front of them.
What choice did any of them have now?
-o-
It had been a long trip out to Goat Island.
Somehow, even after finding JJ and getting him out safely, it felt longer back. The weight of everything was piling up, after all. And OBX wasn’t a refuge. JJ was a wanted man; their home was as good as gone. Pope might still be in jail, for all he knew. They had to face that, sooner rather than later.
And that wasn’t even the worst of it, was it?
Standing at the front of the boat, John B pressed closer to JJ. He hesitated at his side, coming shoulder to shoulder with him for several long moments as Goat Island receded into the distance behind them, and the distant shores of the OBX came into view.
The night was growing dark; the waters were choppy. The cool air felt sharp against his wet skin, and John B knew he couldn’t avoid this forever.
“Is it true, then?” he asked.
JJ glanced at him, nose wrinkled. “The map? Yeah, I think,” he said. “That’s what everyone’s fighting over anyway. It’s the next step to the treasure.”
JJ was still thinking about how he could fix things.
Looking at him now, John B just wondered if there was enough to fix JJ.
He sighed. “Not the treasure,” he said. And he paused, taking a deep breath before he finally just said it. “Groff.”
JJ went still – horribly and painfully, like he was braced for something. JJ’s sense of fight or flight was well honed and overly developed. It hurt to watch him like that, a deer in the headlights, ready to spook or get creamed.
“Kie told us,” John B admitted softly, laying his cards on the table.
JJ swallowed, visibly suppressing a shudder. “Oh,” he said, and he nodded. Once and then twice as his jaw worked.
He waited, giving JJ a chance to continue, but when no answer came, John B pressed anyway. “So?” he said. “Is it?”
JJ nodded quickly, brow furrowing deeply. “Yeah,” he said, nodding again. “Yeah, it is.”
He looked at John B, and even in the growing dark, John B could see just how haunted JJ’s eyes were.
“Groff’s my father,” he said. “Larissa Genrette was my mother.”
The admission was so plaintive, so matter of fact.
It almost didn’t sound as overwhelming as it was.
It upended everything JJ had ever known about himself, everything he thought he knew. It changed his entire life story.
And John B wasn’t sure if that was for the better or for the worse.
Because Luke Maybank was a God-awful parent, it was true.
But Groff? Larissa Genrette?
How did any of it make sense? How did JJ end up with Luke? What did Groff want with him – or not want with him? And Luke may not be JJ’s blood relative, but the blood spilled between them was copious.
None of those answers parsed.
At all.
“Shit,” John B said finally, exhaling heavily into the night. He blinked, shaking his head as he looked out at the skyline. “That’s – shit.”
JJ nodded, ducking his head again. “Yeah, I got that, too.”
The shock of it didn’t wear off, but John B reminded himself that this wasn’t about him. He looked at JJ, brows drawn together. “Are you okay?”
JJ flinched somehow, something deep and uncertain. His entire body caved in for a second, and he looked horribly, impossibly young. He watched as the emotions flitted over his face – anger and fear and pain – before he took a breath and straightened, tightly shaking his head.
“Look, I got the map, didn’t I?” JJ said, voice sharp. He wet his lips and looked back at John B with a forced air of indifference. “The map will find us treasure, and the treasure will find us cash. We’ll buy back Poguelanida. I can fix this.”
Whether or not that was true – whether or not it was even possible – John B didn’t know. He just knew that wasn’t that point.
After everything, that just wasn’t the point.
“JJ–” he started.
The sympathy only made JJ recoil more. His face wavered and then set, so stiff that it looked like he could shatter. “I can’t change my family, John B. I can’t change me,” JJ said, gesturing to himself helplessly. Then, he pointed out across the water. “All I can do is fix this. I have to fix this for you guys. I have to give back what I took.”
It was too much; it was too fast. The emotion was too raw, and John B felt the words he couldn’t say stick in his throat. Apologies were too much like pity. Regret was too much like failure. JJ would crumble under all of them.
JJ was just barely holding it together as it was.
“I have to do the right thing, man,” JJ said, almost pleading now. “I have to do the right thing.”
He stepped forward, reaching out to place a hand on JJ’s shoulder. “You are, JJ,” he said, waiting until JJ’s eyes locked on his again. “And this isn’t all on you.”
JJ didn’t flinch away, but his body didn’t relax under his touch. “Isn’t it?”
John B dropped his hand, letting his own shoulders sag. Finding JJ had been hard.
Rescuing JJ had been harder.
Pulling JJ from whatever emotional gap he’d lost himself in?
Well, John B had never been able to do that, not when things got this bad.
“JJ–”
JJ pulled away now, shaking his head. His eyes were too bright. His face was too pale. “Isn’t it?”
No answer would be enough, in the end.
Because the night was growing dark, and the lights of Goat Island receded behind them. They couldn’t outrun things fast enough; they couldn’t escape what was coming.
For JJ, it had always been about blame, as if it was the only thing he could control.
But pointing fingers didn’t solve problems. Assigning blame didn’t make things go away.
“JJ, this doesn’t change anything,” he said, shrugging a little.
JJ laughed, short and bitter as he looked out again. “Are you sure about that, B?”
John B tried not to flinch, even as JJ looked at him.
“Because I don’t know, man,” he said. “I think everything’s different now.”
And, speeding back, to whatever was left of their lives, John B only wished he had the guts to disagree.
-o-
The night had fallen, deep and dark, by the time they got back to the dock at Poguelandia. The cover of darkness was probably for the best, all things considered. She was a little surprised the cops hadn’t staked out the property by this point, but she knew they still had a lot of cleanup to do.
She also suspected that Shoupe didn’t have his heart in it. The Kooks loved it, knocking down the Pogues a peg or two. And some of Kildare’s finest agreed.
But not all.
It was a reason to reconsider their entire approach. Shoupe might not be their enemy, and if it was true, what JJ was saying about his family might matter – and not to mention the mercenaries. There was more going on here, things bigger than a riot. Sarah thought Shoupe might see it, but as she watched JJ get to work, she wasn’t sure he would.
JJ could be his own worst enemy, so laden with his own issues that he couldn’t see his way around them. Even now, she saw the weight on his shoulders as he helped pull them into the dock, securing the boat for the rest of the night. So many people had told him, all his life, that there was no way to escape his future.
She wasn’t sure when he started believing it, honestly. She hadn’t known him long enough.
She just wasn’t sure they could break him out of it. If they could explain to him the options. If they could help him see the possibilities.
Because you couldn’t rationalize hope, could you? You couldn’t teach someone how to believe.
That was a lifelong thing. You had to build it up from scratch.
Her fingers ghosted over her belly again.
From birth.
Before birth.
Her baby was loved. Her baby was wanted. She hadn’t told John B yet, but she knew him. She knew he’d love this baby. She knew he’d protect this baby. This baby would never doubt its future or its place.
But JJ was 19. He’d been abandoned by one father, and beat into the ground by the other. What chance did he have?
And what chance did they have to help him?
It felt overwhelming suddenly, the sheer powerlessness of it all. It was probably what JJ felt all the time, lost to the system that was rigged against him. To fight and fight and never make a difference. The Kooks liked to think their hard work and upstanding lifestyles made them different, but it was bullshit.
Pogues worked just as hard. JJ worked just as hard.
It just didn’t mean anything.
How could she make it mean something for her baby?
She swallowed hard, flinching as John B came up next to her, slipping an arm around her waist. “Are you okay?”
She collected herself with a shiver, pressing her lips into a smile. “Yeah,” she said, and she licked her lips. “Crazy night, though.”
John B exhaled, short and humorless. “Kidnappings and mercenaries. And here we were worried about riots.”
Her smile faltered. “And JJ’s family–”
John B shook his head, the smile fading immediately. “Yeah, he’s not okay,” he said, voice low as they both watched Kie and JJ finish with the ropes. “He’s not okay at all.”
She looked at him – her husband.
The father of her child.
She had already decided he was a partner to spend her life with. Now, when she looked at him, she thought about the way he’d protect this baby. The way he’d raise it. He’d tell the best stories; he’d take them all on the best adventures. They would get their hands dirty, and they would laugh. They would be happy.
They would be loved.
No matter what. Richer or poorer. Sickness or health.
They would be loved.
But they also had to be safe. The practical reality was more pressing than it used to be, and Sarah couldn’t pretend like it wasn’t. “Do you think we should talk to him? About turning himself in.”
He frowned, looking at her in surprise. “What? You know JJ can’t–”
She knew that, she did. She knew JJ and every excuse in the world. She knew the reasons.
But she also knew the complicated reality.
The extenuating circumstances didn’t change what had happened. That might go away with the right creative legal wrangling, but it wouldn’t just evaporate. If they wanted a life in the OBX – with JJ – they needed to face this.
“John B, we’re not kids,” Sarah said, feeling the frustration churn. It wasn’t anger; it was fear. A fear more desperate than she knew how to fully articulate. “We can’t just think about ourselves.”
John B’s face went blank for a moment, and then he looked confused. “Sarah, I’m thinking about JJ.”
“Right, because JJ’s the one with the best judgment?” she asked.
He looked hurt now, like she’d hit him. “That’s not fair–”
“You’re not understanding the point,” she said. “I know what JJ wants, and I know why JJ wants it. But that doesn’t mean it’s what he needs, John B. I think we need to consider the possibility that JJ isn’t okay. You just said it yourself.”
“JJ’s fine,” John B said, but it was too reflexive. “I didn’t mean it like that.”
She stared him down. Hard. “He started a riot, John B,” she reminded him. “He’s wanted for breaking and entering, arson – and who knows what else the Kooks will come up with to nail him. That’s not just a JJ thing.”
John B grew quiet, but he couldn’t deny it. He drew a long slow breath of his own, his eyes diverted. “I know,” he said finally. When he looked up at her, his expression was softer and he bit his lip. “And I’m pissed, okay? He lost the money, and he’s put us all in danger.”
He took a step closer, gently taking her hand into his. “He put you in danger.”
It still made her heart flutter. This boy could still make her heart turn over on itself.
This man.
“And I don’t know. I get it, I do. JJ’s going to have to work this out with the cops, but we can’t force it,” John B said. He shrugged, a little helpless. “I have to let him see this through.”
“Even if it destroys him?” she said.
“He just lost everything he thought he knew about himself,” John B said. “Sarah, he already hated himself – and now? He doesn’t even know who he is. If JJ doesn’t have time to make sense of this, it might kill him. It really might.”
It wasn’t a threat – and it wasn’t idle.
And yet, it wasn’t enough. Not now.
She steadied herself, thinking about the two lines on the pregnancy test.
Not anymore.
“But what about us?” she said. “What about what we need?”
At that, John B softened – so much that he nearly caved entirely. “Sarah, we’re going to be fine,” he said. “I will figure it out. And, I swear, if push comes to shove, I’ll do what I need to do – with or without JJ.”
It was a conviction she wasn’t expecting. Certainly not the one she was looking for. “That’s not what I’m saying.”
He turned toward her, taking her by the shoulders. “I know, but it is what I’m saying,” he said, ever resolute. “I swear to you, Sarah. You are my priority. No matter what.”
How did he do that? How did he know exactly what she needed to hear?
He had no idea what was coming. He couldn’t possibly now.
Which just made it better.
It affirmed what she had known from the start: this was the man she wanted to spend the rest of her life with. This was the man who would raise her children.
This was the man.
Finally, she nodded. “Okay,” she said. “What can we do to help?”
He dropped his grip, sighing again as he turned back to look at JJ and Kiara. “I don’t know,” he said. “Usually with JJ, it’s best to wait it out, you know? He’s not ready to deal with shit until he’s ready.”
Pragmatic, and they both knew it.
And hard at the same time.
It felt like not enough.
To watch someone you love come undone.
Waiting it out? Didn’t feel like enough.
“Come on,” John B said, nudging her gently up the path. “We should get some rest.”
She allowed herself to be led, gaze lingering on JJ and Kiara for a second longer while they worked to secure the boat. Wanting to help was easier than helping. Not for a lack of love, but for a lack of understanding.
What could possibly help now?
They’d have to talk about it in the morning. They’d have to figure it out eventually.
But tonight–
Tonight felt spent.
Tonight felt done.
She turned away, tipping her head against John B’s shoulder as they moved up the dock toward the yard. They didn’t speak now, pressed against each other in the dark, his skin warm against the cool night air. There was comfort here, at least.
Looking up, the house loomed in front of them. It was still here, at least.
She just didn’t know if it’d be here tomorrow.
She didn’t know if they’d be here tomorrow.
Where would she put a nursery? Where would she bring a baby home from the hospital? Where would the first steps be? Where could they hold a first birthday party?
But where didn’t matter.
Not as much as who.
She let herself relax against John B a little more, closing her eyes as he guided them up. “Is it going to be okay?”
“For JJ?” he asked.
She opened her eyes and looked at him. “For all of us.”
He gave her a look, long and surprised. Then, he pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “Of course,” he said, wrapping his arm tighter around her. “I’m always going to take care of you. I’m always going to take care of all of you.”
She relaxed then, snuggling against him.
She didn’t know what they’d have in the morning.
But if she had this, she told herself that would surely be enough.
-o-
Making landfall was familiar, of course. Something they’d done hundreds of times.
It felt different.
Kiara couldn’t ignore that.
It was different.
It had been their home, their refuge.
Now, it was just a horrible reminder of how much they’d lost.
Because they had lost it. No matter what they did, no matter how they postured – it was a done deal. The Kooks had won. They’d taken it out from under them, just like that.
The struggle to find JJ – the difficult path to get him home – had helped her forget. But here, standing on the dock, the reality loomed large.
It was hard for her to face.
Next to her, it was almost too much for JJ entirely.
His face twitched, even as he tried to keep himself composed, his lips working anxiously as he furrowed his brow up at it. “It’s still here, huh?”
She followed his gaze, and she felt the weight of it, too. “Yeah, they haven’t kicked us out yet,” she said softly. All she could do was shrug. “I think they’re still busy cleaning up the town. Shoupe doesn’t have a spare deputy to serve the eviction notice.”
It was a joke. Black humor.
Usually that worked.
But usually JJ wasn’t going through a total identity crisis. His breathing staggered a little bit, his face going hard and his eyes bright. Something trembled in him for a moment. “It’s my fault.”
She was too tired for this. She couldn’t. JJ had started a riot; JJ was a wanted man.
And he’d just been kidnapped.
She couldn’t.
“JJ, don’t–”
There was a wave of pain in his expression, before it hardened. He took another breath, deeper than the last, but it seemed to work even less. “I gave it to them,” he said, blinking rapidly a few times. “I gave them us on a silver platter. I fed into every stereotype, every bad expectation of a Maybank–”
“JJ–” she said, reaching to take his hand.
His fingers didn’t grip hers back. She could feel it now, the way he was shaking. Too hard. “And they don’t even know,” he said, voice breaking. “I’m not a Maybank – I’m a – I’m a – shit–”
He broke off, voice strangled and funny. He staggered, reaching a hand up to his chest in desperation as he tried – and failed – to take another breath.
“They’ll kill me,” he said, gasping now. “They won’t let me be a Kook. I don’t want to be a Kook.”
He blinked, but his eyes were half blind. She steadied him as best she could, her own heart started to race. Up the path, John B and Sarah were out of sight now. She thought about calling for them–
“And they’ll kill you, too,” he said, eyes flicking to her. “Shit, Kie. You can’t be here. I can’t stay here. You’ll be an accessory. They’ll arrest you. An accessory–”
He was rambling, his control slipping. He’d run to Goat Island to avoid these truths.
Now that they were back, it was all crashing down on him again.
And if Kiara wasn’t careful, the next crash out could be worse.
Because between the cops and Groff, JJ was running out of places to hide.
“I have to go,” he said again, trying to take a step away from her. He stumbled, and she caught him, even as he pushed against her. “I can’t be here–”
“JJ, you’re fine,” she said. “We’re fine. We’re going to be careful–”
He wasn’t listening to her, though. His eyes wide and looking through her entirely. “I can’t get you arrested.”
She didn’t have the heart to tell him that Pope was already in jail – not while he was losing it. She tightened her grip on him, doing her best to keep him still. “Breathe, JJ–”
He inhaled, but the sound was strangled and funny. He blinked wetly, eyes unseeing as the color drained precariously from his face.
“JJ,” she said, more stern now. She lifted up her hand, pressing it on top of his in the center of his chest. Hard enough to feel the beat of his heart. Hard enough for him to feel her. “You’re going to pass out, Jayj. You have to breathe.”
He made a whining noise, something keening in the back of his throat as his heart raced – too hard, too fast – beneath her touch. She kept herself steady, looking at him fully.
“JJ, inhale. JJ, you have to inhale–”
He tried, face going dangerously pale as she watched his gaze start to unfocus and his body started to get heavy. This time, when his knees gave out, they went out entirely, and it was all Kiara could do to catch them as they both crashed to the ground.
She caught him, pulling his lax body on top of her, until his back was to her chest, his body splayed out between her legs. She wrapped him up then, both her arms around him, pressing him close to her.
“I’m here,” she said. “Do you feel me? I’m here.”
He gaped like a fish, unable to answer. She could feel her own heart – hammering – but still slower, less frantic than his.
“We’ll do it together,” she said, coaching him now. “We breathe in–”
He didn’t respond, body almost seizing with the effort.
“We’re doing it together,” she said. “You and me.”
And this time, when she breathed in, she felt his chest rise, too. Short and tremulous. But in.
Then out.
“Good,” she said, coaxing him gently. “In and out, Jayj. Just keep breathing.”
The second breath was almost harder than the first, and she kept her grip firm as his body trembled beneath her. The thrumming was too fast, too hard, but she felt each contraction of his lungs.
“That’s it,” she said. “We’re just breathing, JJ. We’re breathing.”
She held him like that as his breathing even out, and the worst of the panic attack passed. None of them talked about it – they all knew JJ was prone to them, and had been for as long as Kiara had known him – but it was another one of their worst kept secrets.
Like not talking about it would keep them at bay.
Ignorance was bliss.
Until it wasn’t.
And she wondered, if it was ever bliss for JJ. Or if he always lived with that fear in the back of his head. That maybe not talking about it was easier for them – not him. He wouldn’t want the attention, but that didn’t mean he didn’t need.
They weren’t kids anymore. The consequences were real. Not talking about it had lost them Poguelandia and put Pope in jail. It had turned JJ into Kildare’s most wanted.
But sure.
They could go on pretending.
Since that was working out so well.
“Come on,” she cajoled, urging JJ to his feet. She got up first, supporting him as she pulled him up after her. “Let’s get inside.”
His breathing was better, but it was clear his head still wasn’t quite right. He leaned against her more than normal, letting her steady him as she started them back up the path toward the house.
It was slow and unsteady, but JJ seemed to struggle the closer they got to the house. He all but hesitated at the base of the stairs, blanching as he looked up at the home he loved so much.
It seemed to hurt him now.
To be so close to it.
And know it wasn’t his.
It was just like fate, wasn’t it? To show JJ a future he wanted just to take it away from him. The Kooks would never understand, the bastards. They could have the whole damn island. But they couldn’t afford them one parcel of happiness.
Dealing with that was going to be hard.
Dealing with the cops was going to be harder.
But none of that was going to happen tonight. Not while JJ was still dealing with an apparent kidnapping and the entire upheaval of everything he thought he knew. He was exhausted; he was spent.
JJ was done.
“Come on,” she said, voice low as she coached him up the first step. John B appeared at the top of the stairs, looking worried and clearly ready to intervene. She waved him off, shaking her head. JJ’s head was still dropped low, and he seemed to be taking all his energy to just keep moving.
It was work to get them all the way up, and John B’s face was pale with worry as he let them pass, opening the door for them as she got him inside. The trip up the stairs was harder still, but he didn’t fight her. The anger from the last 24 hours had drained out of him.
Everything had drained out of him.
In truth, she wasn’t sure what was left.
And as she laid him down on the bed, the look in his eyes suggested he wasn’t sure either.
He stared up at the ceiling for a moment, before he shuddered and closed his eyes. “I’m sorry.”
“For what?” she said, sitting down next to him, the mattress sagging beneath her weight.
“I messed everything up,” he admitted, so quiet that it was hard to hear him.
She shook her head. “You didn’t–”
He looked at her, and the grief there made her close her mouth. “I lost Poguelandia. And then I started a riot,” he said. “Shit, Kie. I was in a police stand off. What was I thinking?”
The obvious answer was that he wasn’t. JJ hadn’t been thinking; he hadn’t even been capable of it. Fear led him to risk everything for the land. And the fear eclipsed his reason, shut down his brain as he let the anger take over. She knew him; she knew it wasn’t conscious thought. The only way JJ knew to survive was to fight, tooth and nail. And when things got tough, JJ got self destructive.
She knew this.
Why had she let him near that courthouse? Why had she not made him talk about it?
About the bet? About Poguelanida?
About Luke and Groff?
Was it so hard? To ask what he was thinking? To ask what he was feeling?
He might not tell her.
But – maybe he would.
He never had the chance if she didn’t ask. He would never learn until she showed him. It was like teaching him to breathe through his panic. In and out; together.
“It’s okay,” she soothed instead, lying herself next to him. She curled up, so they were face to face on the mattress. “We’ll figure it out in the morning, okay?”
The sense of loss, however, was palpable. He seemed to deflate now, like there was just nothing left of him.
“Hey,” she said, reaching out to him. She pulled him closer, stroking his back. “Together, remember? You and me.”
He caught himself, just on a breathless sob. “I don’t know who I am anymore,” he said, head cradled against her and his body limp. “Kie, I don’t know who I am.”
Her fingers flitted through his hair. “Of course you do,” she said. “You’re the same person you’ve always been, the one I fell in love with.”
His face contorted, the tears not quite shed. “But I’m not,” he said. “He confirmed it. Groff told me it was true.”
She blinked, not sure what to say.
Not sure what to think.
He pulled back, looking at her. His blue eyes were strangely empty now that the panic had receded. In its place was something hollow, something she wasn’t sure how to fill. Something she wasn’t sure could be filled.
“And you believe him?” she asked.
“Why would he lie?” JJ said weakly. “It’s not like I’m some high commodity kid.”
“JJ–”
“It’s true, Kie,” JJ said, circumventing her denials. “I’m the last Genrette. I’m the Kookiest Kook on this side of the island.”
She gaped, the words failing her. She couldn’t compute it. She just couldn’t.
“And worse, they didn’t want me then,” he said. “And I don’t think they want me now.”
She considered what that meant. Not just that Luke wasn’t his father. But that Groff had abandoned him – and Luke had abused him anyway.
And he wasn’t even a Pogue.
“JJ,” she said, heart threatening to shatter for him.
He didn’t want it, though. He pulled back, face hardening at the mere thought of her sympathy. “And you shouldn’t want me either.”
He was so final, he was so sure, that she didn’t know what to say.
She didn’t know what to do.
“JJ,” she said, reaching up to caress his cheek.
He froze at the contact, leaning away. Not that he didn’t want it.
But that he thought he didn’t deserve it.
“You don’t have to do that,” he said hoarsely.
“I know,” she said.
Before she could continue, before she could explain, he shook his head. “So don’t,” he said, a little too sharp. Like someone had stabbed him, and he was using the blade to cut her, too. He closed his eyes, and turned away as the night settled over them. “Just don’t.”
Chapter 7: CHAPTER SEVEN
Notes:
By this point in the season, the characters were nearly unrecognizable on screen, so these missing scenes/extended scenes strive to give context to that. JJ is spiraling -- hard. And the others are struggling to keep up while facing their own uncertainties. And Groff is just an asshole all around.
I'm someone who had to cut this show out of my life after what happened, so rewatching the scenes from this point on was a really difficult task for me. Because JJ was burdened with so much -- and literally no one on screen cared. My second watch will be my final watch -- I won't click back into Netflix ever again, they're not getting views from me -- and it reinforced how much I hated the writing and characterization.
They all deserved better. We deserved better.
LOL, why are my notes always just rants about injustice? I don't know. But I have a lot of feelings now, even still. Thank you for reading, commenting, and leaving kudos!
Chapter Text
-o-
CHAPTER SEVEN
-o-
Luke wasn’t sure he knew what he was doing.
To be fair, he’d lived most of his life that way. Swinging from job to job, paycheck to paycheck. He’d made a career out of half-assing everything, and his main plan had been to get into shit without a plan to get back out.
It had been a hell of a way to live.
The worst way to raise a kid, no doubt.
Ever since running from the OBX – and back again – he’d been sober. His work had been steady, if not exactly legal, and he’d been working to clear his debts and make his amends. He’d made his plea deal to close that chapter out.
For the first time in a long time, he’d been trying to do shit right – and it had backfired.
Spectacularly.
So here he was, standing on the end of the pier, waiting to meet up with out of town mercenaries who were likely up to absolutely no good at all. As far as plans went, this was barely one at all, but it was his only play to protect JJ.
And yeah, he needed to protect JJ.
For all the years he didn’t, he owed the kid this much.
Mike had been reluctant, and Luke was starting to understand why. But Mike was good to his word, in the end. Luke had barely been at the meet point for five minutes when someone approached him. People came and went – it was a public space on a beautiful afternoon – but this group was easy to identify. They were overdressed to be tourists, and they had the cold, hard look of business.
They made no effort to be subtle. They piled out of their vehicle together, and Luke watched them, bouncing anxiously on the balls of his feet as they sauntered down the boardwalk, glaring at the kids pointing at the waves and the couples buying snowcones. It was mostly men – oversized types, with one staying back in the conspicuous van – but a woman, too.
It didn’t take more than a glance to figure out she was the one in charge. She was slight in build with cropped, dark hair. Something about her expression was telling, and Luke did his best not to look as shit-scared as he was.
No, he had to keep it cool. He had to keep his shit together.
That had never been easy, though – not while sober.
And the closer the crew got, the more obvious it was why Mike hadn’t wanted to get involved. Mike ran drugs, sure. He was a big name on the OBX. His men were armed, but mostly for show. These men?
Well, Luke couldn’t see their weapons, but he knew at a glance they weren’t afraid to use them.
Even in a public space like a pier in broad daylight.
But he’d come this far.
JJ was in too deep, so he was too. No turning back.
“Luke Maybank?” the woman asked as she neared. She made no effort with pretense.
“That’s me,” he said, suddenly wishing he’d thought this through – at least a little. Here he was, giving his real name, meeting in public with no backup. And almost nothing to offer.
If he played this wrong, his ability to track Groff was gone, and his chance to protect JJ with it. Here he was, still starting shit with good intentions and no practical means to finish it.
Same dumb story.
He wasn’t sure how he expected to change the ending except he had to.
He just did.
The woman gave him an appraising look, and her lips turned a little in a small smile. “I was told you could help me,” she said. “I’m curious how.”
Curious was a nice way of putting it. She had clearly found him wanting.
He was going to have to sell himself here.
Like he never had before.
“I heard tell you were after something,” he said.
Now, her expression was withering. “Pretty sure you can’t help me find the Blue Crown, mate.”
He lifted his chin, refusing to let her intimidate him — even if he should. “Maybe,” he said. “But you can’t find it either. You need Chandler Groff.”
It was the right card to play. Her expression shifted, a sudden interest sparking. “You know Groff?”
It was his in. His only leverage. His stomach flipped, but he thought of the look on JJ’s face when he left the courthouse. He thought of the smirk on Groff’s face as he offered to pay him off.
And he held his nerve. “Better than I like,” he said.
Her eyes narrowed as she seemed to consider that. “And how’s that?”
“I raised his son,” he said. “And I knew him, way back when. Before all your shit.”
She considered that, assessing the answer carefully. She seemed to regard Luke with some caution. He was a stranger, so that was her right. And he was a shitty person, that was true. But he had nothing to hide here. He was here, honest and plain, as sober as he’d been in the last 20 years.
“Okay,” she said, pursing her lips. “So what’s your ax to grind? Is this personal?”
Luke shrugged. “If you’re worried about me going off book, don’t be,” he said. “I’m short on cash and looking for a few opportunities. Helping you with Groff – that’s all this is.”
That answer was less truthful than the last, and she seemed to know it. She snorted softly. “You raised his son,” she reminded him, as if he could forget. “And this isn’t personal?”
He bristled, drawing himself in and sucking in a long, slow breath. “I’ve been a piece of shit to that boy – but Groff? I think he’s worse. I don’t trust him,” he said.
“And you want to – what?” she asked, tilting her head and raising her eyebrows suggestively. “Looking to kill him?”
“I don’t need no blood on my hands,” Luke said. “I figure if I can keep tabs on him, then I can make sure he leaves the boy out of it.”
“The boy,” she said. She was putting it together faster than Luke expected. “Blonde? About 20?”
He tried not to flinch. He still felt the heat rise up his cheeks as he adjusted his stance.
“I’ve met him,” she said. “Groff indicated he’s involved.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of,” Luke said. “Groff’s a liar, and he can’t be trusted. He’ll use the kid to get what he wants. I don’t give a shit about who gets what. I just want him out of it.”
His inflection was stronger than he intended, and he worried for a second.
But she seemed satisfied by the answer. Something in her posture eased, and she nodded. “I think this is personal, but not for reasons that bother me,” she said. She smiled, a little too sweet. “I’m down a man as it is, so I could use the warm body to spread out the work. As long as I know what your angle is, I think this can work out. You can help me find Groff – and help me keep Groff in line when I do find him.”
Luke nodded readily. “And I’m a good worker–”
She smirked now. “Don’t get any high ideas,” she said. “You’re entirely need to know in my operations, and completely expendable. The paychecks will be directly proportional to how useful you are to me, and I won’t be afraid to cut you loose at any time.”
It was a strict litany of requirements, and he was pretty sure that getting cut loose was – well, the kind of loose you didn’t tie up again from. But after all his years of running illegal jobs on the side, he wasn’t scared of getting his hands dirty.
And this time, he was sober.
This time, he knew why he was going.
This time, he couldn’t screw it up.
She patted him on the arm. “And besides, if you become a problem, I know the right leverage,” she said. “Because the boy may be your red line, love. But he’s not mine. I keep all my pieces on the table.”
He swallowed. Trying not to show it, he worked hard to keep his composure. It was a risk he hadn’t anticipated – trying to keep JJ safe from Groff – he might have put him in risk in other ways.
But he knew Groff.
And he knew JJ.
The chances of this being a clean break were slim to none. If he stayed involved – if he played his cards right – he might be able to protect JJ from Groff – and these assholes.
“I think we understand each other,” he said finally, because that was it, the bottom line. Men like Luke didn’t have the luxury of options. Men who have made as many mistakes as he’d made didn’t get to bicker about the way their second chances came. You took them – you made them – any way you could.
“Very good,” she said, and she extended her hand now. “My name’s Dalia.”
Luke reached back, giving it a shake.
She beamed at him. “Welcome to the team.”
-o-
As a child, John B had been called home by the dinner bell. He could still remember it, running up from the marsh to his father’s welcoming arms. He still remembered that, the way it felt to hear the bell peeling across the water. The way it drew him back, where his father would greet him with a smile and a hand on his head.
It wasn’t the place – it never was. The Chateau was still ash and rubble, and Poguelandia would be gone, too. Even the bell – moved to the front lawn here – was expendable. It was never about any of that.
Home wasn’t a building. Home wasn’t land.
Home was the people.
His father had made a lot of mistakes, but he’d taught him that. John B was doing all he could to hold onto that. For himself – for his friends. For his family.
Bring it on home..
That was what he was trying to do.
To bring them home, all of them.
They just made it hard.
Especially JJ. Always JJ.
He watched with some concern as Kie brought JJ up the driveway, letting him lean a little too heavily on her. After his adrenaline on the boat, he looked distant now, like his eyes couldn’t quite focus. He didn’t lift his head.
He moved to intercept them – to see if something was wrong – but Kie shook her head at him, and he realized the futility.
It wasn’t if.
It was just what.
And really, what wasn’t wrong for JJ? It was easy to look back at the last 24 hours and undo a litany of mistakes. The last few weeks had been an unmitigated disaster for his best friend.
But that was silly. It wasn’t just a few days or a few weeks.
JJ had spent a lifetime without any ability to cope.
There was no reason to pretend like this was a surprise. Like he shouldn’t have seen it coming.
Because he knew JJ. He understood JJ things.
And he let JJ implode because he was too busy being happy to notice that his best friend wasn’t. He wasn’t wrong to be happy. But he was wrong to be blind to it. It was so easy to hold JJ accountable for everything while waving away their own mistakes. JJ’s blind spots were so much more glaring, and he had no natural defenses. He was an easy target.
Luke had made sure of that.
John B had a sinking feeling that Groff would be the same.
There was nothing to do about it, though. He’d gotten JJ back home; for now, that was all he could do. The morning would bring different questions – and harder answers. About what to do. About how to start fixing it. About whether or not they could.
Once JJ and Kie disappeared upstairs, he looked tiredly to Sarah. “Come on,” he said. “You need to get some sleep.”
Last night, they’d been fun and flirty, even in the face of insurmountable odds.
Now, they just felt tired. The odds hadn’t changed – probably.
But they had.
There were only so many losses they could endure.
There were only so many obstacles they could overcome.
“Do you know what we’re going to do?” Sarah asked, and her voice was bleak in the dimness of the house.
She could be asking about the house.
She could be asking about JJ or Pope.
She could be asking about all of it.
“No,” he admitted. He tried to smile, but the motion didn’t come. He sighed. “I thought it was a simple solution of getting JJ to turn himself in.”
“JJ’s in no condition,” she fretted. “With his head all turned around with Groff–”
“I know. He’ll either fight the entire time – or he’ll just give up,” John B said.
“But he can’t keep running,” Sarah said, chewing the inside of her lip. She shook her head. “I mean, I care about JJ – I do – but this isn’t just about him. And his choices–”
John B sighed, shaking his head. “He wasn’t thinking straight,” he said. “I mean, if Luke hadn’t screwed him over enough already – now he’s got Groff and a whole new set of daddy issues.”
“Not to mention a mother who died,” Sarah pointed out. “And all the stories, they said the baby died, too. That JJ is supposed to be dead.”
That rolled over in his head, sending a shiver down his spine. It just kept getting worse. “Maybe Shoupe will understand if we explain it.”
“I don’t think we understand,” Sarah pointed out.
Just because the point was valid didn’t mean he knew what to do with it. John B had known the truth about JJ a lot longer than anyone else. That didn’t mean he knew what to do with it. Knowing it – didn’t mean you understood it. Just because he’d come to expect certain responses from JJ – disassociation, denial, and recklessness – didn’t mean he understood it. It didn’t mean he knew how to change it.
All he’d ever done was wait it out, and let JJ come back to his senses.
JJ was back home, at least. He was safe. As long as they were together, they could protect him. John B could protect all of them.
What did that look like?
John B didn’t have a clue.
“It’s not a problem for tonight,” he said. “We’ll deal with it in the morning.”
She huffed. “You really think I can sleep?”
He took her by the hand, smiling at her wearily. “I think we should try.”
She followed him, smiling gently. “That’s awfully mature of you.”
He pulled her close, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “Just because I'm looking out for JJ and Pope, doesn’t mean I'm not looking out for you, too.”
The stairs creaked, and the house groaned. In JJ and Kie’s room, silence had fallen, and Sarah was out the second she hit the pillow. He stayed there for a moment, stroking her hair before he got up and went to the window. The yard was quiet, and the water of the marsh was still. Pope was out there somewhere, and so was Cleo.
A whole town, clamoring for blood.
A demolition crew, ready to take their dream.
And Chandler Groff, poised to take JJ apart bit by bit, until there was nothing left of him at all.
Bring it on home, John B, was still the invocation.
Even if it had never seemed harder.
-o-
Normal had never been a concept Kiara could apply to JJ. JJ didn’t know how to be normal; JJ didn’t want to be normal. Kiara loved that about him; she did.
But they could have used a little normal right now.
Like, any normal.
The uncertainty of their future probably wasn’t a surprise; but the newfound risk was harder to grapple with than she knew how to explain. For all that she told JJ they’d figure it out – she still wasn’t sure how. Was he really going to walk himself into the police station? Did she really think that Shoupe would work with them?
Would JJ get a fair break? Would JJ be calm enough to even accept a deal if they offered it to them? Or was this really it? The last night of freedom either of them would ever enjoy?
But he was here. He was right here. Tucked safely in her arms, back at Poguelandia. If this was the last night, then she didn’t want to miss it. She didn’t want to miss a single moment.
He’d been so happy, hadn’t he? He’d been so complete – so full. She’d never seen him like that – ever. Free.
They hadn’t taken the land. They hadn’t taken the house.
They’d taken that.
They’d taken something she didn’t know how JJ could ever get back. And if JJ lost that – then she could lose JJ.
Honest to God and all that was good in this world, Kie didn’t know if she could survive that.
She laid there, watching him sleep. He looked peaceful like this, with his guard down. He rarely let anyone see him like this. Even now, sometimes he pulled his walls up so she could see. Most people didn’t see this side of JJ; most people weren’t looking.
But he was right here.
He had always been right here.
Her heart swelled, even as her chest ached. She reached up, brushing her fingers gently through his hair. Her fingers lingered, ghosting over the smudges on his face and caressing over the soft skin of his lips where they were parted lightly in sleep.
Beneath her touch, he stirred. With a small inhalation, his face seized up, and he leaned toward her for a moment before consciousness seemed to settle over him and his eyes opened.
For a second, their eyes locked. Blue on brown. Fire on fire.
It was all still there. That spark that started this. JJ could burn the town down, and she’d burn with it. He could do that to her, she loved him that much. She loved him.
“Hey,” she said. “You should be sleeping.”
He blinked at her, glancing around. “What time is it?”
“Just after 2,” she said. “How are you doing?”
He breathed for a moment, as if considering. “Better,” he said. He made no effort to move, as if the idea of it was just too much. “I shouldn’t be sleeping.”
“Why not?” she asked.
“I don’t know,” he said. “I just – shouldn’t.”
“You’ve had a long few days,” she reminded him.
His face wrinkled slightly. “Yeah, and it was my fault,” he said. He pulled back a little now. “I should fix it–”
He was going to pull away. He was going to get up.
She pulled him back, though. Her arms around him. “No, don’t.”
He sighed. “Kie–”
“Just – stay,” she said. It wasn’t her begging. She wasn’t pleading.
And yet, she was.
“I can’t sleep,” he said finally.
She nodded. “Well, I never said you should sleep,” she said. She paused, biting her lower lip. “I said stay.”
It wasn’t that subtle. It wasn’t meant to be.
JJ rarely said no to that.
But the doubt set in, even stronger than before. “I don’t know, Kie.”
She rolled her eyes. “Oh, come on. If this is our last night here–”
He stiffened a little.
She wrapped herself around him, inhaling his scent. “Then it should be a night that counts.”
JJ had never been about conventions. He’d never played by the rules. They’d done things on their terms, and their relationship was theirs. They didn’t measure it by any outside standard. They weren’t joined at the hip like Sarah and John B. They weren’t adorably cute like Pope and Cleo. JJ still struggled with open affection. He rarely initiated touch. He didn’t know how to date her at all.
But she didn’t care.
She had never cared.
He wavered, visibly waffling. “I’m just – maybe not–”
She pulled back with a frown. “You’re not in the mood?”
It wasn’t an unkind question; there was no malice or accusation.
But JJ startled anyway. “No – I just,” he stuttered. “The things I’ve done–”
His self confidence.
Always the self confidence.
She shook her head. “I know what you’ve done.”
His face contorted, on the verge of breaking. “And who I am–”
“It’s okay,” she assured him, her voice steady as she smoothed her fingers through his hair. “I don’t care who your family is. Because I know who you are.”
Her confidence only seemed to wilt his own. “Oh yeah?” he returned weakly. “And who’s that? A felon?”
She didn’t rise to his bait. “The man I love,” she murmured, kissing him deeply for a moment and running her fingernails against his scalp, pulling just a little.
He kissed her back, even while shaking his head. “Kie, you’re being dumb,” he said, sighing as he stopped, dropping his head to rest against her. “You can’t be so stupid.”
She frowned, reaching down and lifting his chin so he was looking at her again. “I’m not being dumb.”
He didn’t fight her touch, but his eyes didn’t yield. They couldn’t, so colored with pain and doubt. “I”m not worth it; I never have been,” he said. “I never should have pretended. I never should have let myself–”
“Hey,” she said, tightening her grip on his chin. “You make your choices, and I make mine. And I chose you.”
Her conviction only seemed to deepen his fear. “You’re going to realize, sooner or later, that’s a mistake,” he said. “I mean, what happens when I get arrested? Kie, I’m going to go to jail. They’re going to throw me behind bars and lock me up. And you’re – what? Going to visit me? Because – spoiler alert – conjugal visits aren’t a thing.”
It was a joke, but JJ wasn’t exactly trying to be funny. Kiara didn’t laugh. “Don’t talk like that.”
He pulled back, brow furrowing as he propped himself up on his elbow. “You’re better off without me,” he said. He inhaled, long and slow. “If I were any kind of a man at all, I’d leave you and stop putting you through this.”
She was used to his self-deprecation. She had to be; it was all JJ knew, when things got bad. She would never let herself forget how scared he’d been at the start, the way his advances had sent him running. Even after 18 months, it didn’t take much to get him there again.
And this wasn’t a little.
This was a lot.
48 hours of total disaster.
She’d seen him crash out; she’d watched him disassociate. She’d helped him through a panic attack, and now here he was, begging her to reject him, too.
“Don’t you dare,” she said, scolding him gently as she caressed his cheek. His breathing stuttered, and she could feel the flush of his cheek, but he didn’t pull away. “You are worth it. The only person who doesn’t know it is you.”
This made him turn away. She could see the wetness in his eyes as he snorted, flopping on his back on the pillow next to her. “The whole town,” he reminded her. “And both my fathers apparently.”
Her stomach flipped. All things considered, the platitudes wouldn’t land as well as she hoped right now. It had taken her long enough to convince JJ that Luke had been wrong. Now that he was wanted by the cops – and had discovered the truth about his parentage – there was a whole new battle for her to fight.
One she wasn’t prepared for, to say the least.
But she had to try. For JJ.
She had to try.
“They’re idiots, every last one of them,” she said. “Especially Luke and Groff.”
He still didn’t look at her, lips twitching anxiously.
She rolled over onto her front, propping herself up on her elbows. “I love you, JJ,” she said, lifting her hand to tip his face toward her again. “And if you remember nothing else, remember this: I love you. Your future is my future. No matter what.”
His face creased, and she could see how he ached to believe her. He closed his eyes, letting out a short breath. “I love you, too,” he said, and he opened his eyes again, blinking away the tears as he kissed her. “I can’t stop myself. I love you so damn much.”
It was less a declaration than it was an apology. Something desperate and hurting, like he was admitting it against his better judgement. She drew him in, rolling them over so he was beneath her and kissed him. He didn’t fight; he fully relented as she trailed the kisses down his neck and chest before she found the hem of his shorts.
She worked her way down and he gasped, catching on a sob as he surrendered to her.
It could be the two of them, just a little longer. It could be the pair of them, perfectly in tandem, one more time. Their love had saved her.
Their love could save him.
She had to believe it.
She drew him in, gasping his name.
She had to believe it.
-o-
It seemed stupid, and not in the way it should have. JJ was the one who used to say it, right? Stupid things had good outcomes all the time.
Except when they didn’t.
When JJ had been young, he’d been able to buoy himself up, live off the scraps. Hints of good luck had been all he needed. He could do it, making his friends laugh and offering up all he had. It used to be enough.
It wasn’t now. Maybe it never had been.
JJ didn’t know. It felt like a lost cause, like trying to dig his way out from under a problem, just to look up and see his own grave caving in on top of him.
It was stupid. All of it.
Stupid, stupid, stupid.
He bet the money. He lost the race. He burned down the town.
He was the most wanted on the OBX, which was ironic. Since no one actually wanted him at all.
And here he was.
Sleeping with Kiara.
Like it could help. Like it didn’t make things worse.
He should leave her now, cut all ties. He never should have come back. He should have left, and left forever, and she’d miss him but she’d get over it. They all would.
But he wasn’t just stupid. No, JJ was weak, too. Uselessly. A drag on them all.
He hated it. He hated the Kooks. He hated Luke and Groff.
Standing in the bathroom, looking at his own reflection, he hated that too. He should have let them kill him. He should have drowned himself in the ocean. He should—
He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to shut his brain up. He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t.
Desperate to forget, he ran himself a shower, letting the water run hot and scalding over his skin. He tried to wash it away, wash himself away.
It didn’t work.
But he was clean, at least, and when he climbed out later, the emotions had numbed him, settled over him dully. It wasn’t good, but it was good enough.
Kiara brushed by him as he dressed, her fingers soft against his skin as she brushed his cheek with a kiss. He stiffened but didn’t pull away. Flushed with shame, he ducked out of the bathroom quickly as she ran the shower.
There was no way he could sleep now, despite the exhaustion he felt. He couldn’t sit there, and staring at the room he shared with Kie felt wrong. Like he didn’t belong here.
Like he’d never belonged here.
He massaged his chest as he made his way downstairs. In the quiet, he tried to settle himself, but there was nothing to be done. He paced for a few minutes, the memories haunting him. The idea of losing this, of never coming back—
He couldn’t.
He had to.
What had he done?
How had he blown it this much?
Why?
The failure was paralyzing, and it threatened to overwhelm him. He clutched his chest again, fighting with himself. His head went light as he braced himself against the table. He blinked, clearing his vision.
And there.
On the table.
The map.
He’d stolen the map.
With the rest of his life collapsing down on top of him, the map looked like salvation. At least, it was the best shot he was going to get. Finding this treasure was still the only way he could make it right. If he could buy back Poguelandia, he could give them something. Anything to make up for – himself.
Luke didn’t want him. Groff didn’t want him. He had to do something – and he had to do it fast – or the Pogues would figure it out, too.
Grabbing the map, he popped off the top. It was thankfully a tight seal, and the map inside seemed undamaged despite his little swim. He got it out hastily, unfurling it across the top of the table. He smoothed his hands over it, frowning as the edges curled up. He grabbed a few books from nearby to weigh it down, giving him a clear picture of what he was looking at.
Not that it helped.
It was a map.
JJ could read a map, sure.
But, like, only with context. He didn’t know what he was looking at – where it was or when it was. Most of the names seemed ancient – or foreign altogether – and JJ’s grasp of written language was, admittedly, limited. John B had tried to teach him, Pope, too. But Luke had always said it, hadn’t he? Dumb as a bag of bricks. Not worth the effort schooling takes.
Lost cause.
The bitter insults stung, if only because they were true.
He could bum a ride to South America. He could bet all their gold in a race.
But this? This shit? The stuff that actually took thought? Smarts?
Well, he didn’t have Pope’s brain. He didn’t have John B’s instincts. He didn’t have much.
Sighing, he stood back, trying to look at it again. Nothing.
He couldn’t make out anything.
Frustrated, he ran his hand through his hair, tugging at it. He had pressed his lips flat when he heard a sound on the stairs. He looked up, not sure if he was relieved or not to see Kiara.
She smiled, hair still wet. “Hey. You didn’t go back to sleep.”
He attempted a sheepish smile back. “Yeah, guess I’m not tired.”
She came down, sauntering toward him. “You look exhausted.”
He sighed, not bothering with a denial.
She hugged him, but when he didn’t hug her back, she followed his line of sight. “That’s the map?”
“Yeah,” he said, working his jaw. “It’s our ticket to treasure.”
She pulled back, leaning toward it. “What does it mean?”
He snorted. Of course that was the obvious question.
And he had nothing.
Absolutely nothing.
“I don’t have a clue,” he admitted, because he was out of energy to pretend. Lying was just insulting now. He’d already ruined their lives. He at least owed them the truth about his failure.
She leaned down, skimming her fingers across it. “Huh,” she said. “We need some context.”
The way she said it, like it wasn’t his fault and like he wasn’t an idiot. The albatross around her neck.
He hated himself. He hated himself so damn much.
“I need something,” he muttered, and he shook his head. “I have no idea, Kie. I have nothing.”
He felt it, the way the panic rose. His breathing hitched, and he reached up, grabbing his chest preemptively.
Kiara noticed. She reached up, taking his head. “Hey,” she said again. Eyes on his. Touch steady. She was there, right there, still there. “We just started. It’s okay.”
He turned away, eyes burning uncontrollably. “I’ve been screwing it up for weeks,” he snapped, pacing away from her. “This is a disaster 18 months in the making. 19 years. Shit—”
He was losing it, his shit. The emotion had reached a blinding pitch, and he couldn’t—
She grabbed him, turning him back until she was looking at him. “Don’t say that,” she said. “You’re exhausted. You’re stressed out. Of course you can’t think, JJ. No one could in your shoes.”
It was too easy. It wasn’t like that. He didn’t deserve it, he didn’t deserve her — or any of them.
She took his hand, squeezing it. “You know what will help?”
JJ looked at her but didn’t trust himself to speak.
She smiled, eyes glinting. “Some of my magic weed.”
Okay, that got him. It cut through the panic, blanketed his self deprecation. “You have some?”
“We better harvest the last of it before we get kicked out,” she said. “I was thinking about digging up the whole damn plant.”
At that, JJ smiled. “It would be a crime to let the Kooks have her.”
She grinned back, nodding. “Let me roll one,” she said. “And we’ll see how it goes then.”
He should say no. He should walk away.
But JJ was too weak.
JJ had always been too weak.
Luke knew it. Groff knew it.
He needed to cherish these last moments, before Kie knew it, too.
-o-
Being tired had nothing to do with it. No matter what John B told Sarah, it felt wrong to sleep.
More than that, it was impossible.
He tried closing his eyes. He tried settling his brain. He tossed and turned before finally just laying there and staring at Sarah. It wasn’t until she opened her eyes and stared back that he realized they were both making pretenses.
She rolled her eyes at him. “We might as well go downstairs,” she said with a long sigh as she rolled out of bed. “There’s a lot to do.”
It was unclear if she was referring to the legal mess with Pope and JJ – or the fact that they were probably going to be evicted any day now.
A lot to do was the nice way of saying they had to figure out their entire lives in a matter of 24 hours now.
So. Yeah.
He hadn’t gotten undressed, so following her down the stairs was easy. They were at the top of the stairs when they heard the voices – JJ and Kie.
Apparently, insomnia was going around tonight.
As they descended, he could smell the smoke. He had to admit, the idea of a blunt didn’t sound bad right now.
Then, as they came into view, he saw the map. Rolled out and laid flat.
That didn’t sound so bad either right now.
His father had taught him, after all. A little treasure could fix anything.
Still, as he came to the table, looking at JJ’s blue eyes glinting over the map, the blunt hanging from his lips as he took a long drag. He didn’t need to ask; they didn’t need to talk about it.
John B knew JJ better than JJ knew himself.
And that look?
Meant JJ was all in. There was no way he was turning himself in, not until he fixed the shit he broke. He blamed himself for this – all of it – and he wouldn’t stop until he fixed it – or until he died trying.
Not that John B would let it come to that. He wouldn’t.
Which was why he knew talking JJ into going to the cops was probably the right thing.
But to take away the hope of a future from him.
Well, shit. To say it now would be like a vote of no confidence. JJ would be crushed.
And it would go poorly, wouldn’t it?
If he turned himself in, he wouldn’t fight for anything. He wouldn’t try to explain it. He wouldn’t take a plea deal. He’d take the maximum sentence and piss off the judge to boot, just to see how bad he could make it. Get himself on the mainland, as far away from them as possible.
Or he’d run. He’d split and they’d never see him again.
JJ was teetering dangerously close to the edge here, closer than John B had ever seen. He’d always been able to bring JJ back before, but he wasn’t sure that would always hold. If JJ lost too much – if JJ broke too much–
John B couldn’t think it. He couldn’t lose his best friend.
So, if that meant finding this treasure – then he’d find this treasure.
If this meant helping be a fugitive – then, he’d do that, too.
He was just returning the favor, after all. John B could do that. He owed JJ that much.
“What do we have?” he asked, glancing at the map.
“I don’t know, man,” JJ said, and he held out the blunt. “But we could use your expert treasure hunting brain.”
John B smirked, taking a drag. The smoke passed through him, and he could feel it easing the tension in his brain. Their roles had been reversed once, after all. JJ had tried to talk him out of it – out of everything – but John B had guilted him forward. He’d told him he didn’t care who was trying to kill them, he’d looked at JJ and told him to ignore his own doubts, his own fears, his own problems – and help.
And JJ did.
JJ always did.
For all their lives, JJ had had his back.
So, screw it. John B would have his.
“Well, we need to figure out the location first,” he said, scanning the image again to see what he could make sense of.
“I think it’s Africa,” Kiara said from across the table. Sarah had fallen into place beside her.
John B made a face, nodding. “Maybe–”
She got out her phone, and showed him an image. The coastlines matched.
“But the names,” JJ said. He drummed his fingers on the table. “I can’t make heads or tails of them.”
“Guess we better start thinking,” John B said. He grinned at JJ. “Let’s take it from the top.”
-o-
By the time the blunt was nearly spent, the morning was quickly approaching. JJ, for the first time in a few days, was starting to feel optimistic. Maybe they could work this out.
Then, they just had to spring Pope, and find a Transatlantic ride.
True, they didn’t know where.
Like, at all.
But they were working on it. They were together.
It could work.
They’d found El Dorado with a lot, lot less.
But hope wasn’t just fickle.
No, hope was a son of a bitch. And everything good came with something worse. People talked about silver linings, but JJ knew about linings with jagged edges, cutting you inside and out.
So yeah, he was surprised to see Groff at the door.
And no, he wasn’t surprised at all.
The reversal was stark. Just a day ago, JJ had shown up, wet and desperate. Groff had taken him in — sort of. If you could count the denials, the shoot out, and the kidnapping.
Shit.
It was hard enough living this. But having his friends here? Letting Groff meet them?
How did you introduce your long lost father? The one who didn’t just give you up for adoption but literally left you with the first piece of shit he could find?
He already lived under the shadow of Luke Maybank.
He didn’t know if he could do it with Groff, too. If he could let his friends look at him and see Jackson Groff, the Kook of Goat Island.
“Look,” John B said, pulling him back from the door, where Kiara and Sarah held anxious guard. “This is your play. You get to make the call.”
The vote of confidence felt like anything but. Like JJ was a fugitive who had cost them everything. They shouldn’t trust him. God knew, JJ didn’t trust himself.
He hated it. He hated all of it.
He hated himself.
Shit.
“Your call,” John B said. “You say the word and he’s gone.”
Like it was that easy. Like he could wave his hand and make his family history make sense. Like he had any freakin‘ clue who he was anymore.
“We don’t have a lot of other options,” JJ said, his jaw tight. “He knows that map better than us.”
John B shook his head, his brow darkening. “Forget treasure. JJ, this is about you.”
That was the sort of shit people said. For them, it might be true. For anyone else.
But Groff or Maybank, JJ knew who he was.
The screwup.
“JJ,” John B said, voice even quieter. “You can’t trust him.”
Even as he said it, it didn’t matter. None of it mattered. Not JJ and his anxiety. Not how much it hurt just to be near the man. Not the doubt, not the reservations.
Groff could help them find treasure. At this point, he had more to offer the Pogues than JJ. That was what mattered.
That was all that mattered.
“Let him in,” he said.
John B’s face fell. “JJ—”
He steeled himself, made himself as hard as he could to face this. “It’s my call,” he said definitively. “Let him in.”
-o-
Kiara had told her the basics. JJ had filled in some of the gaps and confirmed what he knew.
But after listening to Groff tell the rest – the full story of the Genrettes – Sarah felt at a loss. Her own family was messed up – her father dead, Rose gone with Wheezie. And Rafe–
It didn’t seem like it should be so hard. All those years, she’d taken it for granted. Her happy family. But listening to Groff – looking at the effect he had on JJ – the way he got smaller and smaller the more that man talked – it didn’t seem so easy.
Nothing seemed easy.
No wonder JJ had crashed out. Sarah only heard it secondhand and it made her want to burn things down, too. How could she be sure it’d be different for her baby? What if family was harder than she thought? What if the Camerons and Routledges were just as cursed as the Maybanks and the Genrettes? What if they didn’t have a choice, just like JJ had never had one.
When Groff had finally said all he needed to say, no one had questions, and JJ was the first to walk off. He seemed stiff and unsettled, and she watched John B trail after him – worried.
“We don’t really have an extra space,” Sarah said, awkwardly filling in the silence with Groff.
The man smiled at her. It was uncanny, how it made her skin crawl.
Kiara forced herself between them. “There’s plenty of space on the porch,” she said. It was phrased politely, but the venom in Kiara’s voice wasn’t hard to feel. “You can hang out there.”
Groff looked at her – careful and calm. Then, he smiled. “Of course,” he said, too bright, too sure. “Too excited to sleep anyway. Treasure!”
It was bullshit, like he was talking to toddlers.
She would be insulted, except she sort of felt like a toddler now. If only throwing a tantrum could get her what she wanted.
If only she knew what she wanted.
Groff made his exit, awkward and fast, leaving the girls alone once more. They stood, stuck in the silence between Groff on the front porch and the boys on the back.
“So, that was fun,” Sarah said, her sarcasm dripping.
Kiara didn’t muster up a smile.
Sarah leaned toward her slightly. “It’s a lot,” she said, more in commiseration now. She bit her lip, then added, “Is JJ going to be okay?”
Kiara looked back at her, eyes so tired that the exhaustion shook her. “Would you be okay?”
Not just to lose the land and your pride.
But your entire sense of self.
It wasn’t just hard. It was too much.
“That’s my point, though,” Sarah said. “We probably shouldn’t let him do this. He’s not in any state. There’s no way he could be.”
Kiara shrugged, the futility almost palpable. “But I can’t take the choice from him,” she said. “He’s already been through too much – most of it beyond his control. If I take this, too–”
Sarah was already shaking her head. “But Kie, if he’s not okay–”
Kiara, though, was settled. Her face was set as she shook her head right back at her. “No,” she said, firm and sure. “He gets to decide.”
There was no argument; there was no room to debate.
Kiara’s mind was made up.
And she wasn’t wrong.
Even if it didn’t feel right.
Choices mattered. People had choices.
Even those two little lines on the pregnancy test – that was a choice. A choice she was willing to make, to be a mother.
She had to give John B the choice, too, though.
If Kiara could give JJ the choice about Groff.
Then Sarah had to give John B the choice about this.
“I just hope it doesn’t blow up,” Kiara said miserably. “I’m not sure he’ll survive.”
Sarah reached out, pulling her into a hug. “We’ll be there for him,” she promised. “We’ll get through this together.”
Because JJ got a choice. John B got a choice.
They all got a choice.
And as long as they chose each other – well, Sarah had to believe that was all that mattered.
-o-
For Kiara, the stillness of the night was painfully deceptive. The dark and the calm elicited such peace.
The reality was anything but.
Instead, they fell into a tenuous silence, each retreating to their own corners. The tension rippled in the shadow. She watched as Sarah took John B by the hand. She watched as Groff settled on the porch. Pope and Cleo still weren’t back yet, their absence deeper by the moment.
And she watched as JJ struggled to find a place to belong at all.
She thought of her parents, safe at home back in the Figure Eight. Their offer still stood.
But they couldn’t help JJ, not now.
She didn’t know if she could help JJ.
Not when JJ didn’t even want to help himself.
There was a difference, she knew. Between protecting oneself and protecting each other. For all the times that JJ seemed to do selfish, stupid things, she knew it was never that simple. He was just trying – in his own, imperfect, flawed way – to protect them.
JJ didn’t have the survival instincts of a cockroach. Left to his own, she was pretty sure JJ wouldn’t survive at all.
But for his friends. For her.
She knew that he would do anything. He would burn down the town. He could give himself out. He would turn himself inside out.
She just didn’t know if he’d ever do it for himself, if he even knew how. Here she was, trying to bail out his lifeboat while he kept trying to jump over the side.
Would tomorrow be better?
She hoped so; honestly, she didn’t know how it could be worse.
Time would only tell.
-o-
It had been a night. If anything, John B was ready for a respite. A little time to recover before facing whatever the hell tomorrow threw at him.
But he was his father’s son. In the bedroom, he couldn’t put the book away, going over the clues, looking for something, for anything to help them on the hunt.
He was doing it for JJ – he was.
He was doing it for Poguelandia – of course.
He couldn’t pretend, though. He loved this shit. A lot. The way the clues came together. The way he could solve the hints, take the scraps and make a coherent narrative. His dad would be so damn proud of him right now.
“Holy shit,” he muttered, as he cross referenced the source. If the source was valid, then their data was valid. If their data was valid, then the whole thing was friggin’ real.
Behind him, he heard the door open. “Hey–” Sarah said softly.
John B grinned, though, going over the details in the book one more time, just to be sure. “Holy shit!”
Sarah’s footfalls were quiet, and he heard the door shut behind her.
He glanced back, grinning. “Hey, so come check this out–”
She came closer, and he pointed down in excitement.
“So there is actual historical basis on this Murad guy,” he explained. “Who drew the map.”
Sarah had been all-in on treasure hunting, and he knew that.
But, she wasn’t all in.
She didn’t love it like he did.
“Yeah,” she said, not really looking to where John B was pointing.
That was fine. John B had enough energy for the both of them. He grinned, shaking his head in disbelief. It was like Charleston, that first date. It was like South America, finding El Dorado. It was like the best things ever.
“I mean, he was like an actual historical figure,” he sputtered, unsure of how to cope with his enthusiasm. “We’re closer than we think.”
To finding the treasure. To buying back the land. To getting JJ and Pope out of legal trouble.
It was beyond everything. It was perfection.
“Which is awesome,” she said, still somewhat unconvinced.
Which, she had a reason. Things had been shit.
He knew that.
“JJ’s going to have to leave,” he said, continuing the line of thought. “JJ’s in a whole bunch of shit, so like this map actually leads to Morocco.”
It seemed obvious, right? It was obvious.
JJ needed help, and John B had to give it to him. He would do anything for JJ, just like JJ would do anything for him – just like JJ always had. JJ, who helped him run from the cops. JJ, who stole the Phantom just for John B to sink it. JJ, who never doubted, never asked, never questioned.
Sure, this wasn’t breaking him out of prison with a faked case of appendicitis, but it was still pretty damn good, if he did say so himself.
“So, if we have to go with JJ,” he reasoned with a shrug. “Morocco’s not a bad option.”
It was only then that he looked at her – really looked at her – and realized something was off. He reconsidered, remembering that this was more than a treasure hunt.
It was their lives. Sarah’s life.
The girl he’d wooed from Tannyhill.
And had forced to live in poverty ever since.
That girl.
“John B,” she said seriously. “I need to talk to you.”
He felt it, the air leaving his lungs. His enthusiasm dried up, and the hunt blinked from his mind. He reeled, trying to put these pieces together. Ancient treasures – not a problem.
Pissed off girlfriends – well, shit.
As if John B needed more ways to be in way over his head.
“It can’t wait,” she said, and he went still and silent as she took a breath and tried to smile. “So can we please just talk?”
“Uh, yeah,” he fumbled because you didn’t say no when your girlfriend asked you that. You didn’t say no when she looked like that.
You just didn’t say no. You didn’t.
Now that she had his attention, she sniffled suspiciously, turning away for the chairs by the window. “Come sit,” she said, settling herself down.
He had no choice but to follow, sitting down across from her. “Hey,” he said.
She smiled. “Hey.”
Her voice was too soft, though. Her face was too subdued. Face to face with her, he tried to place what was different, what had changed – but he came up short.
She reached out, offering her hand.
He took it with a smile. “Hey,” he said again.
This time, she sounded relieved as he squeezed her fingers. “Hey.”
It didn’t last, though. She looked down, smile falling and her whole body trembling. She took a breath, then another, her lips moving as if to speak.
No words came, though.
When she finally looked up again, she seemed to shrug. Her smile was futile, like there was nothing she had left.
“I’m pregnant.”
He’d been waiting for her to be mad, honestly. He’d been waiting for her to ream him out for letting things get this bad. For being homeless and poor. For being on the run again. For chasing treasure, for all of it.
He’d put a lot of clues together.
And he’d missed that.
He stared at her, mouth falling open as he tried to make sense of it.
She didn’t take it back. She didn’t laugh it away.
When he realized she meant it, he had no choice but to gape. “You’re pregnant?”
Now, when she smiled, it was hopeful.
It was apologetic.
It was scared.
Oh, shit, he realized.
Oh, shit. “You’re…pregnant.”
She nodded now, quickly and nervously.
He nodded back, slowly and cautiously. The clues were coming together, then. Slow and sure and he came to the conclusion. “We’re pregnant.”
Her gaze fell again, smile dissipating once more. “Yeah.”
His heart thudded and panic rose in his stomach. “Okay–”
“I’m really, really scared,” she admitted, her voice shaking. “I don’t know what to do. I know you don’t know what to do, and we’re so young.”
She was making excuses, John B realized. How long had she been carrying this? How long had she been scared to tell him?
All these words – they were excuses. She was afraid he wouldn’t be happy.
She was afraid he wouldn’t be all in.
“And I know, the timing’s probably terrible,” she said, tears starting to fall now as her voice tightened.
The conclusions came faster now, one right after another.
She was afraid he wouldn’t want the baby.
She was afraid he wouldn’t want her.
“And I know you and JJ want to go after that crown–”
Just like that, the conclusion broke him.
This was his wife. This was his baby.
That was the only conclusion that mattered. The only one.
“Hey,” he said. “Come here–”
He reached over, pulling her by the hand. She didn’t fight as he led her to him, sitting her on his lap. She was crying as she curled up, pressed against him.
“Hey, I got you,” he said, drawing her in.
Her whole body was shaking, the hairs on her arms standing up as he stroked her back, hands in her hair. “I was so scared to tell you,” she admitted.
“It’s okay,” he assured her, not releasing his grip. He buried his face in her hair. “I love you.”
She needed him, even more than JJ needed him. His baby needed him, more than any of the Pogues could need anything – ever.
“We’re going to figure this out,” he promised. “Because we always do, all right?”
He pulled back, just enough to cup her face.
“I promise,” he said, as she nodded. She gave in, melting into him now with relief. And when he drew her in, her lips were ready for his as they kissed.
Because John B was good at puzzles. He was good at putting the pieces together and seeing the details other people missed. He could come to conclusions that countless people missed, and he could make sense of shit that no one else could parse.
Everything had changed, just like that.
Everything had to shifted, just that fast.
The treasure? Wasn’t the main goal. Saving JJ? Couldn’t be his priority.
All his priorities suddenly became crystal clear.
Yeah, he cared about Pope and JJ.
But John B?
Was going to be a father.
He had to think about his kid.
It was the age-old question, every Routledge asked himself: treasure or fatherhood?
John B wasn’t going to screw this up. He was going to get it right from the start.
It was time to marry this girl.
And make sure everyone knew his priorities once and for all.
Chapter 8: CHAPTER EIGHT
Notes:
We're getting into a portion of the season I find exceptionally sad, and the fact that JJ is forced not just to see his mother's grave -- but to open it and steal from it always struck me as unusually cruel. Especially since he begged his friends to come -- and each one of them found an excuse to not come. Groff's manipulation of JJ in that scene always bothered me a lot, and I really do think that day he spends with Groff is a point of no return for him.
He hasn't been okay leading up to it.
Now, the poor kid basically needs therapy. He's not going to be okay.
I do love hearing from people who are reading. This is a long fic, so I know maybe it's not the most exciting, but clinging to other fans who want to pretend like S4 never happened is the thing that's keeping me in this fandom. For the reviewer who asked about Best of a Bad Deal, I'm writing it now. My hope is to finish writing it in June. I don't know when I'd post. Part of me would love to wait until I'm done with this one, but I can be persuaded.
Thanks again to everyone who has read, reviewed, and and left kudos. I appreciate you!
Chapter Text
-o-
CHAPTER EIGHT
-o-
JJ hadn’t really slept by the time morning came, but he accepted it with the same inevitable dread he accepted anything. Whatever was coming, was coming. He couldn’t hide from that; he couldn’t run from it. Not if he was going to make it right.
In the stark light of the day, the pressing knowledge that his time was running out to make amends was real. Not only was Poguelandia on the chopping block, but he was a wanted man. JJ had torched everything, and his window to fix that shit was small.
It involved treasure, of course.
And his old man.
In the grander scheme of things, forced bonding time with his father probably wasn’t his biggest problem. He knew that, like in his head.
But he couldn’t convince himself of that, like, in his heart.
Without sleep – or the respite of the weed from last night – he was left with his own anxiety, and shit, JJ was wound tight. Edgy and restless, he felt ready to burst. It was like a spring wound too tight, just vibrating. When he did pop off, there was no telling what damage he’d do.
He had to control that shit. He had to minimize the collateral damage for once.
He had to think, right?
He was supposed to think.
Like before spending all the money. Like before betting the last of their gold. Like before starting a riot.
All JJ could think about this morning was fixing shit for his friends.
At least, that was supposed to be it. As he got supplies ready and got shit together, he couldn’t get his mind off the other salient detail.
Groff was taking him to Goat Island today.
Groff was taking him to see his mother’s grave.
Groff was taking him to rob his mother’s grave.
JJ had done worse, and he knew it. And, like, it was his mother, right? So–
He wasn’t sure if that made it better or worse.
JJ wasn’t sure of anything.
Except he couldn’t do this.
He watched them go, one by one with their excuses. Kiara wanted to stay and pack up. Sarah in her pretty little white dress, skipping off to give him “privacy.” And John B with that goofy grin like he barely remembered JJ was there at all.
He asked them to come.
He asked them to stay.
But in the end, he was in the car, by himself. Looking at his father.
Groff smiled at him, sick and sweet.
JJ felt his skin crawl and his stomach turn. He thought about getting out. He thought about going back and begging Kie to come with him, please, please, please. He felt it, a surge of panic as it danced through his veins, and his whole body trembled as he focused.
This wasn’t about him. It didn’t matter if he was scared. It didn’t matter if he trusted Groff. It didn’t matter if this was his mother.
Right?
None of that mattered.
JJ didn’t matter.
He had to give his friends a happy ending.
“You okay, kiddo?” Groff asked, grinning at him as he pulled them away from the house. “You look a little peaky over there.”
JJ mustered up a smile, as best he could. He reached up, rubbing his chest preemptively. “Never better,” he said.
He would get the artifact. He would use it to decode the map. He would find the treasure. He would save his friends. He would.
Nothing else – not his father, not his mother, not the desperate terror building in the pit of his stomach – mattered at all.
-o-
It felt kind of dumb, and Kiara knew it. Packing stuff up was a little like admitting defeat; it had the vibe of rearranging the deck chairs on the Titanic. If it was all going down, what was the point?
The point was – well, it was theirs.
The Kooks could take the land, but surely they could salvage something. Walking around, though, Kiara wasn’t even sure where to start. How did you pack your whole life into boxes? Your dream?
You couldn’t quantify it. You couldn’t categorize it.
This had been more than their home. This had been their life. Even if they were able to take some of the supplies – enough to start over – would it ever be the same?
She couldn’t help but think that it would all just be gone.
Because it wasn’t fishing tackle or t-shirts. It wasn’t mismatched dishes in the kitchen or tattered blankets upstairs. It was the life they’d made together; the family they’d formed. The home they’d built, out of more than wood and nails.
JJ had been mad about the land, sure. He’d been pissed to get screwed over by the Kooks, and Kiara knew that. He was too brash, too prideful. His temper was too quick, and his ability to think things through was too scant.
But he wasn’t wrong.
This? This place?
It was worth fighting for.
It was worth burning the town down for.
The Kooks thought they had a right to it, just out of spite. Which was why they would never get it. They wanted them to play by the rules in a game they had rigged from the start.
Kiara wanted it, too. Despite herself, she did.
She didn’t want to be on the run. She didn’t want to live outside the law. She didn’t want to forfeit everything and spend her life looking over her shoulder. Which was what JJ was setting himself up for – setting her up for if she stood by him.
She couldn’t leave him – she wouldn’t.
Even so, he made it so damn hard. Too damn hard. It was exhausting to love someone who didn’t think things through. It was almost impossible to love someone who didn’t know how to love himself at all. It was hard to save someone who had no idea he deserved to be saved.
She thought about it, what her parents had said. The offer to work it out if JJ just turned himself in.
It was the smart thing to do, maybe. In some ways, it might be the right thing.
But could she do it? Could she ask JJ to submit to the people who kept hurting him? The system that kept him vulnerable? JJ had spent his whole life being victimized. Now, she wanted him to turn himself in and justify all of it.
She wiped her eyes and swallowed hard. She couldn’t do this. There was no time for that. John B and Sarah would be back soon, and JJ, too. They had to figure out the treasure. They had to figure out Groff. They had to help Pope and Cleo.
Then, and maybe only then, could they deal with the charges JJ was evading.
And this? Picking up the remnants of their perfect dream?
Well, that would have to wait.
Kiara would do the best she could in the meantime. She picked up a box, and started putting things inside. Important things. Valuable things. Things.
It would have to be enough.
-o-
Sarah had dreamed of her wedding. Yeah, she was one of those girls. The ones that had put a pillowcase on her head and grabbed dandelions from the yard to walk herself down a makeshift aisle. There had never been a boy, then. Just the idea of it.
To love, to honor, to obey.
To forsake all others.
For as long as you shall live.
Her dad had always promised her a big wedding, a beautiful wedding. The social event of the season, he’d said. There was going to be a live band, the best food, cake from the bakery in Charleston she liked. And she was going to wear the prettiest dress, the perfect dress, while getting married out in the backyard at Tannyhill.
That dream hadn’t panned out.
Because here she was.
Wearing a simple white dress and flowers in her hair. She was pregnant – to be sure – and she was poor and homeless. They didn’t even have money to file the paperwork, honestly, but she didn’t care. She didn’t care because she was going to marry the man she loved.
The man she was meant to spend the rest of her life with.
Because yeah, weddings were nice.
But that was one day.
She was looking at a lifetime.
A lifetime that started now. A lifetime that had started all those years ago, on a trip to Charleston, a kiss in the rain. Swearing vows beneath the stars, forever.
“Are you sure?” John B asked. He looked nervous.
Now, of all times, he was starting to think things through. Now, he was finally starting to wonder what he had to offer her.
Because he could see he had already given her everything.
“Of course,” she said.
“Because we can wait,” he said. “Clear shit up. Get some money. Do it right.”
“We’re getting married. We’re making a family,” she said, lacing her fingers into his as they made their way down the road to town. “What could be more right than that?”
The look on his face, boyish and young, as he smiled.
As he grinned.
“You’re the prettiest bride on the whole damn island,” he said. “Other woman need the dress and the hair–”
Sarah shrugged, fingers flitting through her own hair. “I wouldn’t mind the hair,” she said. And she held out her nails with a wince. “Or a manicure.”
John B stopped, grabbing her by the other hand and pulling her around to him, drawing her close until they were face to face. “Bullshit,” he said. “Forget the OBX. Prettiest bride ever.”
Her heart fluttered, her entire body feeling light as her breath caught. “John B–”
He leaned down and kissed her. “Marrying you once was the best choice I ever made,” he said. “Marrying you again?”
This time, when he kissed her, her entire body blinked out. Her ears rang, and she rose up on her toes to meet him, melting into him as he drew her to him.
He grinned as he pulled back, eyes punch-drunk on the high they were sharing, just the two of them.
Just the three of them.
It wasn’t what she dreamed, that was true.
It was better.
“Well,” he said, cupping her face. “That’s just sublime.”
And Sarah, kissing him again, had to agree.
-o-
When Kiara got the text, honestly, she was relieved. She needed the distraction. She needed something, anything.
The fact that it was from her parents was slightly disappointing.
But Kiara wasn’t going to be picky.
Wiping her brow, she crashed into one of the chairs and looked at the message.
Hey, just an update, her mother started. The second message came just as fast. We’ve poked around, asked some questions. They widened the net further from the Cut. There’s talk of looking on the mainland.
That wasn’t exactly good news, as best Kiara could tell. The farther the search went out, the less likely it was that this was going to die down. The last thing they needed was state police getting involved and making this worse.
Before she could reply, there was a third message. We think the house is mostly safe. They aren’t going to start any eviction process until this dies down.
That was – better. It bought them some time. The Kooks were more concerned with stringing JJ up than they were desecrating his home. It was a harsh comfort, but her parents were right. It was an opening they could use.
To get their heads on straight.
To figure out what to do.
If JJ and Groff could find the clues, they might find their way to treasure. JJ might be willing to turn himself in, to fall on his sword so to speak, if the rest of them could finish it. He would make a sacrifice for them. He’d do anything for them.
She just didn’t know if that included resigning himself to prison.
She knew JJ was terrified of it, paralyzed by the idea of it, more than he ever admitted. The entire idea made him feel doomed.
Which might make you think he’d be more careful.
But this was JJ.
He literally didn’t know how to be careful.
It drove her crazy, well and truly, but she knew him. She knew he couldn’t help it. He’d grown up in an abusive household. All of his coping mechanisms were shit, and for all that she’d thought she’d shown him that he was loved and wanted over the last 18 months, she wasn’t sure the lesson had stuck after all. If JJ was still the same scared kid he’d been when he’d stolen 25k and blown it on a hot tub.
If the only control he had was against himself, JJ would take it. That was what he meant, right? When he said he would bet on himself. That wasn’t confidence. That wasn’t selfishness.
It was a kid who didn’t know shit.
And a girlfriend who had forgotten to hold on tight when he needed her most.
Have you found him yet?
Kiara sighed, rubbing her hand over her face. Her parents were trying, and she appreciated it. But if she told them the truth – that JJ had been here and she’d let him leave again. That she hadn’t even broached the topic of turning himself in–
Well, whatever goodwill she had with them might be squandered just that fast.
It wasn’t like she had a good explanation. It didn’t make sense, and she knew it. But nothing about this made sense. JJ wasn’t a Maybank? JJ was the last Genrette? JJ’s father was sketchy as hell?
Bottom line, JJ wasn’t okay.
Turning himself in now would only make that worse.
They had to get some things figured out. They had to get him to a more stable place.
Then he could turn himself in without risking the whole thing going to shit. Because if he freaked out, the cops would shoot him this time, she knew it.
We talked to our lawyer friend, her mom continued. He thinks the case is strong. JJ’s cooperation would mean a lot, though.
She couldn’t take it anymore. She typed back, as fast as she could. Are you sure helping me is a good idea?
It was a deflection.
It was an out.
There was a pause, and she felt the weight in her chest deepen. Her eyes twinged, burning a little, and she looked up, taking it all in again.
Her parents had been right, in some ways. She hadn’t been ready, none of them had. In 18 months, they’d lost everything.
They could rub it in her face.
They could rub JJ in her face.
Her phone buzzed. She wiped her eyes quickly and looked down. You’re our daughter. If you’re hurting, we’re hurting.
It was so simple, when it was said like that.
Like lines hadn’t been drawn.
Like lies hadn’t been told.
Like she hadn’t walked away.
Like they hadn’t sent her to Kitty Hawk.
Please, Kiara. We want you to be safe. The cops aren’t looking for you.
At that, she bristled. Her fingers were numb as she replied. I’m not giving up on him – ever.
She was expecting a fight, honestly.
The reply was a capitulation. Get him to turn himself in. We’ll pay for his lawyer.
That was something. Her breathing caught, half choking on a sob.
Why was she crying?
Why wasn’t she crying?
JJ was the one who was wanted, sure. But this was about her, too. She’d joined her life with his. She’d chosen him. She couldn’t live without him. She didn’t want to.
That connection was foundational. It defined her.
It was the same connection her parents were trying to resurrect with her. Family.
We want to help him. We want to help you.
She sniffled, swallowing it all back with a gulping breath. Her fingers were shaking now as she typed. We have to figure some things out. But I know he has to turn himself in.
She knew it, just as much as she knew it would be impossible to convince him. On his own, JJ would die before he let the cops take him. It was easier to understand him now. The idea of nothing to lose. It wasn’t about nothing. It was about everything.
When everything was at stake, you took the chance.
You bet it all.
Because if you were going to lose it anyway.
Well, you might as well have it on your terms.
But JJ needed to find the treasure. JJ needed to find hope.
Then, and only then, could she ask him to do it. Saving them was the only motivation that would work. He’d never leave them until he was sure.
He would never leave them unless he had no other choice.
The sooner the better, her mother replied. This is only going to get worse.
Kiara put the phone down and flopped back, looking at the ceiling.
Like she didn’t know that already.
-o-
The trip didn’t take long.
It seemed like it took nothing. One breath, one blink, one stalled conversation.
And there they were.
Back at Goat Island.
Back – home.
It was an idea he struggled to grasp as they climbed out, crossing toward the gate in the yard. He thought about it, what it must have been like. If his mother had taken him for walks out on the beach. If they’d picnicked on the grass, underneath the trees. Maybe good old Wes had tickled his belly and given him raspberries right there in the shade of the oak.
Maybe he’d been happy here.
Maybe.
He couldn’t make it fit. He couldn’t make himself fit. Groff led him, confident and sure, across the grounds like he owned the place. Like it was his.
“Here we are,” Groff said, coming to a stop outside the building. It was old, not in great repair. A mausoleum. Groff looked up at it with a squint. “It used to look nicer. Wes let things get away from him, I’m afraid.”
There was something strange about it. Regret without remorse.
A commentary.
Not a sadness.
“Come on,” Groff said, letting them inside.
JJ followed, blind and dumb, until he crossed the threshold.
And he knew, just like that, he’d made a mistake. The air was cold and tepid, but that wasn’t it. It wasn’t the smell, lingering like death.
It was the weight of it. The presence.
A family, a history.
A mother.
She was here. She had always been here, all JJ’s life. So close and so far away.
She wasn’t a Pogue, was she? But had she loved him? Would she have wanted him if she lived? Would he have been happy? Would he have been whole?
Would everything be better?
He didn’t know. He didn’t know why he was here; he didn’t know what to do. His mind went blank, and the whole thing left him. The reasons, the plans. The motivation, the need.
His friends. Poguelandia.
What did it mean?
If JJ didn’t know who he was – how could he know any of that?
His chest twinged, and he felt himself stiffen.
He didn't want to be here.
He didn’t want to be here alone.
He thought of Pope and Cleo, out of jail. He thought about Kiara, cleaning up the house. He thought of Sarah and John B–
They hadn’t come. None of them had come.
That was for the best. JJ didn’t deserve them. JJ didn’t deserve anything.
But God, he hated this. He hated himself for wanting it. For needing it.
He didn’t want to be alone. Pathetic and weak. He didn’t want to be alone.
Groff turned back around, still smiling as JJ’s entire body went ice cold. “You ready for this?”
The answer didn’t matter.
JJ knew, in the end, the answer had never mattered.
-o-
Goodbye, as best Cleo could tell, was bullshit.
It was a point of view, a mindset. You made the choice, simple as that. Goodbye was either temporary or permanent and you got to choose.
Until you didn’t.
That was the rub, yeah? All her talk, no goodbyes club. But she knew better than anyone it wasn’t her choice. Her whole family, gone. Terrance, buried at sea.
She could promise Pope anything, and he could promise back. Sealed with a kiss and all. But it wasn’t their call. Sometimes, life made the call. Sometimes, fate made you say goodbye. Too early. Too soon.
Too final.
And here she was.
Walking away.
No matter what her intentions were, it wasn’t always up to her. It wasn’t up to Pope either. Sometimes doing the right thing made you do things you didn’t want to do.
And what would she do, then?
She knew why he’d thrown himself at the cops. If anything, she was proud of him for it. Standing by idly while they plugged JJ with holes wasn’t something any of them could live with, and Pope had done something about it.
But what if he took the deal?
Dear Lord, what if he didn’t?
Both options looked like goodbye. Both options looked like seeing the man she loved walk away from her.
After everything, that hurt. All the good reasons, all the reasons she knew – it still hurt.
Turning back, she looked down the street back to the Heyward house. A place she’d called home. A place where she’d found family.
Yes, the Pogues were her family. Yes, Poguelandia had been her home.
But that little house mattered. With Josephine’s cooking on the stove and Heyward watching basketball in the evenings. The family pictures lined up on the paneled walls, and little figurines on the mantel. Photo albums lining the bookshelves and the warm, familiar smell of belonging.
If Pope went to the military.
If Pope went to jail.
What would home look like then? What would it feel like?
She swallowed hard, and she refused to let herself cry. No goodbyes, she swore. She got to choose.
She started walking up the road again, decided on that much.
No goodbyes.
She’d make her way back to the Pogues. They’d find JJ. They would save Pope.
And no goodbyes.
-o-
The thing was, everybody knew who JJ was. Mike Carrera had said it: a liar and a thief. The cops all thought it, that he was destined to be back in a cell, just like his old man. They said it, Maybank, like it was a bad word, and when they looked at him, he could feel the weight of it. Their expectations. They always knew he was a bad seed. Worthless.
They were right.
Every last one of them.
JJ had cost his friends everything. JJ had burned the town down.
And now, here he was.
Standing over his own mother’s grave.
Ready to rob it.
And just – there was no way, right? Groff was breaking it open, standing there. Saying how he couldn’t do it, he couldn’t possibly.
And then JJ was there.
Standing above it.
He thought – should he be doing this?
Groff postured, like there was no other option. But JJ looked down at the grave, and couldn’t bring himself to make sense of it. Some things were meant to stay buried. Some things deserved to stay at rest.
It was a luxury, though.
A luxury he didn’t have.
A luxury he gave up when he overspent on the land. A luxury he forfeited when he bet the money on the race without telling them. A luxury he had no right to when he started a riot.
JJ didn’t get to have morals now. JJ didn’t get to have second thoughts now.
Who the hell cared what JJ thought? What did it matter how JJ felt?
He had to do this for them.
If he could save Poguelandia. If he could fix things.
Then he had to.
No matter what.
He would do anything.
He would do this.
Open the casket, look at the body. Look at the decaying skin, the wispy fragments of blonde hair. See the indentation on her skull, deep and violent, and the way her face was contorted with the years. See the dress, starting to fade, and smell the death as it permeated everything.
It wasn’t real, was it? This wasn’t his mother. This body wasn’t the woman in the portrait. She hadn’t carried JJ in her womb and cradled him against her breast when he was a baby.
It didn’t matter. None of it mattered.
Simple motions. Easy motions.
Take the necklace.
Don’t think. Don’t feel.
JJ didn’t matter.
Take it.
She wasn’t a person. She wasn’t his mother.
And JJ wasn’t a beloved son.
JJ was no one.
No one here at all.
He held the necklace in his hands, and finally let himself breathe. It was done. He’d done it. For his friends. He’d done it.
Where he expected to feel relief, however, there was only pain. Gnawing, deep, and empty. Hollowing him out, from the inside out. Taking him, consuming him, leaving him with nothing.
He closed the casket again, hands shaking as he put his mother to rest again.
He hadn’t thought it possible to hate himself more.
But JJ, as it turned out, had a penchant for always being wrong about the things that really mattered.
-o-
It wasn’t that John B was having doubts.
Not about marrying Sarah. Not about having a kid with her.
That all – well, he was all in on that. That shit, he bought, hook, line, and sinker.
It was just.
Well.
He was having doubts about the rest of it.
Because things were kind of a mess. Pope was up on charges. Cleo was – gone. And JJ was on the run. Kiara was trying to salvage something from the home they were about to lose and JJ was off with Groff, his long lost, sketchy as hell, biological father from Goat Island.
So, you know. A little doubt was earned.
Sarah tugged at his hand. He glanced at her, noting her frown. “You getting cold feet?”
“What?” he said. “No!”
They were walking the road, taking the pace easy. The sun still felt hot, though, especially as she lifted her eyebrows at him. “You look like you’re getting cold feet.”
“Not about marrying you,” he said. And then, even more confidently. “And not about the baby.”
They walked several more steps, her eyes on him. “So–?”
He sighed. “I just. We left Kie with the house. And I mean – JJ.”
Sarah made a little face, looking out down the road. “Yeah, I feel kind of bad about JJ, too.”
John B felt a surge of relief. “He really wanted us to come, didn’t he?”
Sarah sighed. “I mean, I kind of get it,” she said.
“He doesn’t trust Groff,” John B said. “And given all he’s been through with Luke, I can’t blame him.”
She gave him a quizzical look. “It’s not just Groff,” she said. “It’s also the fact that they’re going to his mom’s grave. I mean, a mom he doesn’t even remember. And now he’s going to – what, rob her grave?”
That one hit a little harder than John B expected. His shoulders fell a little and he watched the ground as they turned the bend toward town. “I didn’t think about that.”
Sarah nodded, but was quiet.
Now that she’d said it, though, it gave him more reason to pause. JJ had all sorts of issues, and John B knew it. His mom – or the mom he’d thought he’d had – had ditched him when he was young, and her absence had always been definitive for JJ. It had made him cling to Luke more – the parent who stayed.
To find out he had another mother, one who might have loved him – a Kook – would be a lot for him to process.
To visit her grave would be emotional.
To rob it–
Hell, that meant JJ was going to have to open it up.
And the only person there for him? Would be Groff.
Groff, who none of them trusted.
Groff, who had already abandoned JJ once.
Groff.
“Shit,” he said.
Sarah sighed, stopping and bringing him to a stop with her. “We can go back,” she said. “If we hurry, we can take the Pogue out to catch up.”
His eyes widened.
She was quick to deflect him. “It’s okay,” she said. “Really.”
It was just like Sarah. To know what other people needed and do something about it.
She was – well, she was going to be a great mother, a natural mother.
That mattered.
She mattered.
And John B’s commitment to them mattered. He didn’t like to think about it, but he had to.
Now, he had to.
Because someday, he was going to have to choose. Where his first loyalty rested.
Sarah and the baby?
Or the Pogues?
JJ.
The last thing he ever wanted to do was hurt JJ. He knew JJ needed him, and he knew that JJ had attachment issues and abandonment issues and all issues.
But he couldn’t fix that.
He couldn’t save JJ by himself.
He didn’t like to think about it, not like that. The idea that he might not get to save them all.
It wasn’t just hard. It was damn near impossible.
But if he had to choose. If John B really had to choose.
Then it had to be his wife and his baby.
JJ would agree. JJ would agree in a heartbeat.
“No,” he said, nodding decisively. His father had been flighty. His father hadn’t been there when he needed to be. He hadn’t always stepped up; he’d left John B behind. He wasn’t going to be like that. Never. “No, we’re going to do this.”
“But JJ–” she protested.
“We’ll take care of JJ when he gets back,” he said. “We’ll make sure he’s fine and see how he’s doing.”
Sarah looked skeptical. “You think we can trust Groff?”
“No,” John B said. “But JJ knows better.”
Sarah bit her lip. “Are you sure?”
Was he sure?
It wasn’t like JJ was dumb. JJ wasn’t dumb, not at all.
But JJ had certain trust issues. Outside his family, he didn’t trust anyone. But in his family? His trust knew no limits. His loyalty knew no bounds.
After all, he’d watched Luke beat JJ to shit for years. And every damn time, JJ went back. With no regard to his safety. With no regard to common sense. With no regard to anything. Luke was clearly going to kick his ass again and again – until JJ fought back, left – or was dead.
But Groff wasn’t Luke. He could be creepy – they couldn’t trust him – but he wasn’t Luke.
JJ would be safe – as long as he kept his head up. JJ would be fine.
“I’m sure,” he said. And he smiled at her again. “Just like I’m sure we’re doing this.”
Sarah rolled her eyes, but her face noticeably brightened. “So no cold feet?”
He inclined his head toward her. “Not unless you–”
“I’m on fire,” she said, proudly now.
“Then, let’s burn this, baby,” he said, giving her hand a tug, and they started moving forward again.
-o-
At this point, JJ knew better. Just when things got bad. He should know.
They could – and they would – always get worse.
Because okay, today was shit. He’d seen his mother’s dead body. He’d desecrated her grave. Shit, he’d robbed her grave.
All so Groff could stop him at the door, panic on his face. Telling him he needed to wait.
To wait here.
Before JJ could question. Before JJ could think.
Groff slammed the door in his face and locked him inside the mausoleum.
You know, the one with all of JJ’s dead relatives.
And his mother’s still-open tomb.
He started pacing, walking the space as the anxiety ratcheted up.
This was fine, he told himself. It was totally fine.
It wasn’t weird.
Crypts were meant to have visitors.
This was normal.
You came here to pay respects.
JJ was fine.
His pacing did nothing to assuage the restlessness, and he found his breaths coming shorter – harder. He braced himself on the wall, trying to get his shakiness back in check.
But then, he saw it.
Shit, there it was.
Because there it was.
A grave.
Jackson Genrette Groff.
His grave.
For a second, he didn’t know what to do. He didn’t know what to say. His whole body froze up, his mind reeling.
And it was surreal, right? To see your own grave. To look at your own final resting place. To see yourself, dead and buried and gone. A forgotten placard in a crumbling crypt. The last piece of a dying legacy. Rotten flesh and decaying bones, until there was nothing but dust.
It should have scared him.
It should have scared him absolutely shitless.
There should have been denials, desperate and posturing. There should have been pain, deep and hard to control.
There wasn’t, though. JJ had none of that.
He looked at the grave, his name carved into stone, and all he could think was that it made sense. More than anything else the last few days: it made sense.
That he was already dead.
That he’d been dead from the start.
He couldn’t help but think how much easier it would be that way.
He couldn’t help but know, deep inside, how much better it would be, too.
-o-
The progress was slow. Painfully so.
Kiara had filled a dozen boxes.
And she’d barely made a dent.
At first, she’d prioritized the big ticket stuff – their merchandise, things they could sell. The idea was that they could still use something to make money and support themselves. They’d still have the boat, after all.
But soon, the futility had set in. Her parents had provided a distraction, but it didn’t last. She couldn’t just sit there while all her friends were trying to make things work out. She had to do something.
In her desperation, she’d moved onto personal things instead.
That, somehow, was even worse.
Packing up your memories into boxes. Trying to capture the things that mattered most.
It was impossible.
Worse than that, it was torture.
She thought about texting her parents. Maybe they could help her pack – or bring more boxes. It was tempting, but the idea of talking about JJ–
Was less tempting.
No matter. From outside, she heard a noise. She frowned, walking to the window to assess who it was. She thought vaguely it might be her parents, coming to help her anyway. Or – worse, the cops. Coming to look for JJ.
To her surprise, it was neither. It wasn’t Kooks. It wasn’t John B or Sarah – or Pope and Cleo.
It was Groff.
Chandler Groff, in all his creepy glory.
She stepped out onto the porch, the sense of foreboding deepening.
Because Groff?
Was alone.
There was no way. There was no way JJ would leave Groff on his own, not with the stakes this high. He wouldn't let Groff come back here without him – not to their home.
Not to her.
The man smiled, far too fast, far too easy, and Kie felt her stomach bottom out. She’d been doing it wrong. Staying behind to pack up this shit?
It was the wrong choice.
She’d been saving the wrong things.
It wasn’t this stuff. Not the merchandise. Not the mementos.
It was the people.
It was JJ.
She’d left JJ with this man. This man who had abandoned him. This man who had never loved him. This man they couldn’t trust.
She’d left JJ with him. When he was hurting and reeling, vulnerable and scared.
It was JJ.
It wasn’t hard to see that disaster was coming for the Pogues.
But damn.
Kiara had been looking for it in all the wrong places.
Because Groff smiled. Groff feinted. He had a thousand excuses for where JJ was and where JJ wasn’t.
When push came to shove, Kiara was out cold on the lawn.
And Groff? Was free to abuse JJ any way he wanted.
-o-
Pope knew it was time to make his decision.
Like, very simply. There was no way around it. You couldn’t just put off a court appearance. Well, you could. But his parents had paid his bail. So that would be shitty of him.
And really, he wasn’t looking to run. He didn’t want to obfuscate justice. He never had.
He wanted to do the right thing.
He knew there were laws and that justice existed for a reason. He believed in the power of police work, and he thought JJ and John B were woefully naive to assume the whole system was corrupt.
Of course, that had been before he lied about the dead body at the house.
And before he’d gotten himself arrested.
So.
Perspective.
Thinking about it all night hadn’t helped, either. Usually Pope could reason his way out of things. Usually he could think shit through and come to the right conclusion.
But this? There was no right conclusion. His parents needed him to be safe. Cleo was there, warm and happy, talking about no goodbyes.
And where was JJ? Was he even okay? Had they taken Poguelandia yet? Was there any hope of a happy ending at all? Or was this all just a tragedy, playing out in tedious detail.
The thing was, everyone had an opinion. Everyone had an expectation.
Sitting there, looking at the papers, he knew what his parents wanted him to do. He knew what the judge expected him to do. He knew which option would keep him out of jail.
But he also knew that Poguelandia was theirs.
More than that, he knew that JJ wasn’t okay. JJ had been having a mental breakdown that night. It hadn’t been a riot; it had been a mental health crisis, and no one here gave a damn about it.
Was it worth going to jail over?
Maybe. Maybe it was.
Because Pope knew who he was.
Pope got to choose, didn’t he?
Sign the papers – or not.
Stay with his parents – or not.
Play by the rules – or not.
If they found the treasure, they could still fix this. If they talked to Shoupe off the record, they could still fix this.
Not by playing by the rules.
By breaking them.
Because Pope had played by the rules all his life – and for what? To be condemned by them? If he knew what he wanted, then he didn’t need to think about it. You didn’t need to think, when you already had a plan.
It made him grin, despite himself.
JJ was right, sometimes.
JJ was right.
So Pope put down the pen. He apologized to his parents.
And he ran.
-o-
Straight up, for JJ, seeing his own grave was weird. A little surreal; a strange perspective. Kind of like an out of body experience or some shit like that.
But seeing his mother's grave?
That was worse.
That was so much worse.
Groff was gone – locking him inside and telling him to wait. Like it was totally normal to just chill in your own grave. Sitting there, hanging out with your mother’s damn corpse.
The mother you didn’t know.
The mother you couldn’t know.
The mother whose body you just desecrated for personal gain.
Shit. It was awful.
That much was probably a given. No one was excited about visiting a mausoleum – much less shacking up in one. JJ was a practical sort; he knew needs must and all that – but shit.
It was awful.
He’d just – what? Robbed his mother’s grave?
The mother he didn’t even know he had.
He’d just broken open her grave like it was nothing.
Some damn means to an end.
Groff had been nice – probably. He said it wasn’t really grave robbing.
But JJ had looked at her.
He’d looked at her.
His mother.
Probably the only person who had ever loved him. Had she rocked him to sleep at night? Had she sung him lullabies? Had seen made him smile? Had she blown raspberries on his tummy until he smiled?
It was a hard thing to imagine – being loved. In fact, it was damn near impossible to conceive it at all. That someone had wanted him.
Groff hadn’t wanted him; he’d given him up.
Luke said that he kept JJ willingly, but it hadn’t been enough either. He’d beaten him half his life and left him all the same.
Love wasn’t supposed to be that hard, was it? Love wasn’t supposed to be that complicated. Not for parents and their children. It was supposed to be easy, the most natural thing in the world.
But three parents – four if you counted his – what, stepmother? All these parents, and none of them had wanted JJ at all. Maybe they’d looked at him and seen whatever everyone saw in the end: that he just wasn’t worth it.
He gnawed on the inside of his lip, almost viciously as he tried to regulate his breathing. His heart was starting to pound and his chest ached –
And constricted. It felt like a vice, and stars danced at the edges of his vision. The mausoleum went strangely dark for a moment as his ears rang, the sound of his own heartbeat more daunting than anything else.
That heartbeat was all there was. The only thing separating him from every other body in this mausoleum. How easy would it be to stop it? Would anyone even know the difference if he just stayed in here, buried with his mother – his family?
His heart twinged now, so painfully that he heard himself cry out. It was a thin, desperate sort of sound. Like he was keening. Like he was dying.
He lifted up his hand to massage his chest, willing the rhythm to slip back into time. It didn’t work; the pain just escalated. Now, his throat constricted, and he blinked hard. His lungs seemed to stop working and the room started spinning. He was already sitting down – back pressed against the wall beneath his mother’s grave – waiting for Groff to come back.
Which – shit, that was ironic. The story of his life.
He laughed – and cried – the sob choking him as he felt himself slip. He pressed his fingers against his chest harder still, trying to ground himself, trying to remember.
He forced the air in and out, in and out – until his head cleared a little. Just enough.
She wouldn’t want him dead, he thought suddenly. He wasn’t sure if that was wishful thinking – the selfish dream of a child who just wanted to be loved. But Luke had said it – Wes said it – even Groff said it. Larissa was a good woman. Larissa loved him. She wanted him.
He’d seen her body. He’d touched her.
She would have died for him.
The indentation on her skull, and the cold, calculating grief in Groff’s voice.
JJ couldn’t shake it, no matter what he did. She drowned.
But JJ knew from experience.
There were a lot of ways to go under. And most of them? Too many of them?
Weren’t your choice.
She might have died for him.
He labored for air, throat squeaking as his eyes watered.
He was being stupid. He was always being stupid. Dumb as shit; blind and willful. He didn’t have any common sense, did he? Never thinking shit through, and then clinging to all the wrong things. Larissa was a body in a grave. She didn’t care about anything now, much less him. If he wanted it to mean something, that was on him. He was so damn pathetic. Here he was, clinging to a corpse.
Wanting to be buried with her.
And for what?
Just for one person to finally want him?
As if that could make it all make sense. As if her love could put the world right again.
He’d squandered it anyway.
He’d thrown it away, burned it to the ground.
Maybe he deserved this. Maybe if he stayed here, he could stop hurting everyone. Maybe he could stop hurting period.
Because the struggle was hard. The struggle was exhausting. He didn’t know–
He wasn’t sure–
He couldn’t–
The burning in his chest reached a desperate pitch as he massaged his chest uselessly. His vision was dimming rapidly here as it spiraled away from him. He had to think, he had to focus. He had to remember, didn’t he?
Kiara loved him. Kiara chose him. She knew him, all his faults, and she chose him anyway.
John B and the others, too. They hadn’t abandoned him, even when they should have.
He had to believe it. He had to will himself to believe it.
It just – never made sense, did it?
This mausoleum, these graves, they made sense. His name on the stone – that made sense.
Even now, when Kiara said she loved him, after 18 months, it made him stop. It made his breathing catch and his heart skip a beat. He had to force himself to accept it.
And it wasn’t fear, exactly. He wasn’t afraid to love her, to give her everything he had.
He just couldn’t convince himself that he was worth it.
That he was meant for anything more than this.
Dead bodies in forgotten tombs. Broken legacies and failed bloodlines.
The fear clutched in his chest.
No, not fear.
Dread.
Certainty.
That made it worse. The pressure was almost unbearable now, and dots filled his vision as he wheezed. He heard himself make a sound but he couldn’t keep it in check. He just – couldn’t.
Couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think.
He wasn’t worth it. That was the horrible, unrelenting truth. He had never been worth it.
Look at what he’d done. Look at what he’d done to these people who loved him, who chose him. How much better would their lives be without him? If his little bones were buried in this crypt? If he was a memory, a ghost, a figment of island lore.
His existence was better in the past tense, a name on a marker. A tomb to pillage.
He would have died innocent, at least. He would have died whole. He would have died in the arms of the only person who maybe ever loved him before he had a chance to ruin the lives of everyone he ever met. He was meant to die as a baby.
This was a mistake.
He was a mistake.
And his existence exacted a toll on anyone who ever came close.
The Pogues.
Luke.
He inhaled, gasping now. What broke free next was a sob, deep and guttural, and he was unable to hold it back. He hated this, being here with his father and raiding the tomb of his mother. He hated the stiffness of her body, the decomposition of her skin. He hated the way Groff had made him do it, made him do it all.
And he hated that it didn’t scare him anymore.
He hated that this was the only thing that made sense.
The final resting place of Jackson Genrette Groff.
And JJ Maybank had never existed at all.
Chapter 9: CHAPTER NINE
Notes:
At this point in the season -- things are about to get complicated -- and fast. Canon dictates that things will get worse before they get better, and JJ's downward spiral is probably worse in this fic than what we even see in the show. The poor kid is going to go through it.
And he's not going to have the support he needs.
The end goal is better, but it's going to be a really, really long road getting there.
Also, on a practical note, I will post the next chapter early -- probably Wednesday morning instead of Thursday. Then, there will be a week's hiatus as I'm traveling with the fam. Could I figure out how to post from my phone? Maybe. But that's just not going to happen, so we all get a week off.
Thank you to everyone who has read and reviewed! You're the best! Thanks you for sharing in my denial and making this all just a little bit easier for my broken heart to manage.
Chapter Text
-o-
CHAPTER NINE
-o-
He might have thought, were he being honest, that mercenaries were more professional. After all, Luke had worked on some shitty crews in his life, made up of hard men, desperate men, who were so far past the point of caring. Men with no schooling and no discernible skills. Bottom of the barrel sorts.
Luke wasn’t judging; he knew he was one of them.
So he imagined these mercs – with their high-end guns and actual resources – would be different. High-class criminals, if you pleased.
They weren’t.
Same assholes as the rest. And honestly, just as dumb.
“I don’t see why we don’t just do it without him,” one of them was saying. “Groff ain’t so special.”
Luke was in the kitchen, preparing some of the vegetables for the dinner stew. The bread was already baking; he just had to take it out.
“And neither are you, shit head,” Lightner growled back. Luke didn’t have to look back from where he was working to identify his voice. “Groff has what we need.”
The other groaned. “But we do it without him, you know?”
Lightner sounded genuinely exasperated. “He has the clues–”
“So we find new ones–”
“That would take too long,” Lightner said, his voice terse and short. “We have bigger fish to fry.”
“That’s what I’m saying,” the first insisted. “Groff’s a small fish. We should be looking at Finch.”
This made him stop. He paused his chopping, hesitating to hear the answer. Because Finch? Was a new player. And Luke was already in to his eyeballs here – with no sense of the stakes at all.
“Finch is why we’re doing this,” Lightner snapped. “We already missed the deadline once. If we show up in Lisbon empty-handed, we’re all screwed.”
Luke blinked, trying not to give himself away. He started chopping again, with less vigor than before.
A third voice came in, tired and weary. “Finch?” he said. “Finch will just kill us all where we stand. If we don’t get the artifact, we should all go underground now and do our best to save ourselves. It probably won’t work, but some of us might get away.”
The first grunted. “He’s one guy.”
“One guy?” Lightner said, voice thick and mocking. “Finch is more powerful than anyone we’ve worked for. He’s got the clout that makes governments crumble.”
That was either hyperbolic – or terrifying as shit.
Luke feared it might be both.
Because sometimes, hyperbole was truth.
“I’m with you,” the third said, making a sound as he cracked open a can of something. “So there’s no way in hell I’m leaving this place until we have Groff back with us.”
Small fish; big power. That was Groff’s play, then. He knew he had what the mercenaries needed, which meant he could be outnumbered and outplayed – and it wouldn’t matter. As long as he still had value, he still had his life, and the bastard would try to sweet talk his way out of another – and double cross as many of these assholes while he did it.
That was nothing to Luke, to be sure. He didn’t love the Corsairs, and what happened to them was no concern to him.
But this back and forth mattered to him a great deal.
Because the dynamics could shift – and they could shift fast. If Groff was still stringing JJ along, that made him a variable. A pawn, more like. Someone both the Corsairs and Groff could use to get what they wanted when they wanted.
Which meant, Luke couldn’t blow this yet.
For JJ’s sake, he had to see this through. Until he knew his boy was safe.
“And why don’t we just off him when he shows his ugly face again?” the first asked.
There was a chuckle from Lightner. “If we need a fall guy for Finch, he’s our best bet,” he said. “The man is still worth something to us.”
“But you can’t trust him,” the first argued. “He’s a snake.”
There was another guffaw, and a loud belch from the third man. “You act like you’ve forgotten your line of work, Mario.”
“We still have our honor,” the first – Mario – replied.
Lightner huffed, shuffling to his feet. “And we’re still thieves,” he said. “And we best not forget it.”
It wasn’t clear if dear Mario got the point.
But Luke did.
Chopping the vegetables, he definitely did.
-o-
Time stopped having meaning.
It just – stopped.
JJ felt suspended, trapped between one world and the next. His heart was beating, his lungs were working – but it wasn’t living now, was it? He wasn’t sure he had been living for a while, though. Going through the motions. Pretending.
He didn’t feel it, though.
Even when he was burning down the town, he hadn’t felt it. He couldn’t feel anything. He felt like he was already gone, dead and buried.
So when the door opened – the lock giving way – JJ was surprised. He looked up, dumbfounded as the light filtered in. Standing there, smiling at him, was Groff.
Like a savior, maybe. Come to pull JJ out of this hole.
Or come to bury him.
Once and for all.
“Come on,” Groff said, all smiles again. “Sorry that took so long. You know how these things are.”
JJ didn’t. JJ didn’t know anything.
Groff came closer, frowning at him. “Are you okay?” he asked. He tilted his head to look at JJ. “You look–”
JJ felt his heart stutter. He looked up at the man – his father.
Groff shook his head, as if he could shake off the doubt that easily. “You’re okay. It’s okay,” he said, like he was convincing himself. He reached down, grabbing JJ by the arm and yanking him up. JJ startled, but was too numb to react more than that, even as Groff took him by both shoulders and righted him once more.
He pulled back, looking JJ over with a nod.
And a smile.
“I need you to stay with me, JJ,” he said. “We just have a few errands to run.”
JJ didn’t know what to say; he couldn’t make his mouth work.
Groff reached up, patting his cheek with a familiarity that sent a shudder down his spine.
“Can you do that for me?” he said. “Can you do that for me, son?”
And with his mother’s corpse – and his own grave – behind him, calling him home, who was JJ to disagree?
-o-
In retrospect, it wasn’t really a surprise. For one, John B didn’t really have much luck. And two, JJ had burned down the town a few nights ago.
So, all things considered, yeah. Things were probably still locked down.
And, really, if he’d thought about it, showing up at the courthouse. After last time–
Well, he was pretty sure any Kook judge wasn’t going to be keen on doing them favors any time soon.
He had just been excited. He’d been committed to doing things right. He’d intended to marry her.
Instead, here they were. Pregnant, not married – and on the run.
Because surely she wanted to be an unwed married mother. Without a home.
Living as a fugitive.
He wasn’t his dad, at least.
But at this rate, John B wasn’t sure he was much better.
“John B!” she yelled, as they turned a corner into the town. “Where–”
Where? The whole street was bustling with restoration. Kooks and their little Cut workers, fixing storefronts and sweeping things up. They were too far from home.
And home was too unsafe.
And–
“Here,” he said, veering them sharply to a building that looked darker than the others. If it was empty, there was no one to turn them in.
Also, Kelce and his little gang had just turned the corner.
“Come on!” he said. Because he’d made his choice, in the end. He knew what line he’d fall on – every time. He tugged Sarah, willing her to go faster as they clamored inside the building. “Let’s get you safe!”
-o-
It was just – whatever.
It was whatever.
JJ told himself that, again and again.
He was just sitting in the car, waiting for his dad. Just like he’d done countless times before.
The details didn’t matter. Not really. It didn’t matter that he’d just been to Goat Island. It didn’t matter if he’d touched his dead mother’s body – nope.
And whatever, so this was Groff. One father or another – they were all bullshit. JJ was used to bullshit, wasn’t he?
He was.
He was.
So, he was just sitting in the car. Waiting for his dad.
Like, Groff probably wasn’t inside getting drugs at least. He wasn’t trading his soul with every low life dealer on the island with his kid locked in the hot car.
No, this was just – errands.
Groff was running an errand.
While in the middle of a treasure hunt.
In a swanky part of town.
With people JJ didn’t know and had no reason to know.
It was normal. Totally normal.
Just because it felt weird? Just because JJ was anxious?
Like JJ’s judgement meant anything. He’d been wrong about everything – and not just a little wrong. Spectacularly wrong. Horribly wrong.
No, JJ had to see this through. He couldn’t screw this up.
For his friends, he had to keep at this.
He glanced out the window anxiously, looking over the fancy cars in the parking lot – and the fancier boats out in the marina. The Twinkie was out of place.
And JJ?
Was bound to stick out like a sore thumb.
With the whole island looking for him.
Well, it didn’t feel great. It didn’t feel smart.
But who was JJ to say?
Who was JJ to doubt?
Who was JJ to do anything but take orders and get his friends out of this mess?
So he would sit there. He’d sit his ass in this damn car and wait for Groff.
Like the good little boy he needed to be.
-o-
In the end, Kildare wasn’t a very big island.
Small world and shit.
All the same, when John B ushered Sarah out the back and he ran into Cleo and Pope – there was a moment, okay?
Like, he was happy to see them.
He was confused to see them.
And also – they all had to get out of here now.
“Like – are you supposed to be here?” John B asked, guiding Sarah around another corner, following close behind Cleo.
Pope snorted, breathing heavily from the pace they were maintaining. “Would I be running for my life if I was?”
John B couldn’t argue that. “So, you–”
“Broke out of police custody?” Pope asked.
Cleo navigated them away from the main part of town, through some of the back alleys and toward the poorer part of the Figure Eight.
“You broke out of police custody?” Sarah asked, face washed in sweat.
John B didn’t know shit about pregnancy, but he knew Sarah was in her wedding dress.
So, this wasn’t ideal.
“Tell me you have a plan to finish this,” was all Pope said. “Like, so we can fix all of it?”
That was a tall order. Given the house. Their complete lack of funds. JJ’s riot. Pope’s escape from police custody.
Oh and Sarah’s pregnancy.
Could they fix that?
All of it?
“Well,” John B panted. “JJ’s off with his father to find a missing clue to help us crack open the mystery to the long lost blue crown.”
Pope came to a stop, gaping at him.
John B stopped, too.
Sarah after him.
Cleo finally, stopping several paces ahead of him.
“What?” Pope asked.
John B shrugged, brow dripping with sweat.
“We’re going to find the blue crown,” John B said.
“Oh, and Groff is JJ’s father,” Sarah said.
“I–” Pope started, gasping for air.
“The hell?” Cleo said.
“It’s been kind of crazy,” John B said. “But it’s fine. We’ve got it under control.”
Pope gaped. Cleo actually laughed.
“You all actually made it worse, didn’t you?” Cleo said.
“You are all impossible,” Pope agreed.
“Says the one who broke out of jail!” John B retorted.
“I escaped police custody!” Pope argued.
“Oh, come on,” Sarah said. “Are we doing this?”
“Look, we’ll figure it out, okay?” John B said, because he didn’t have time. He didn’t have answers.
He didn’t even have an official wife.
So.
“But right now,” he said. “We need to go.”
Because things were bad. Things were insane.
But at least they were together, right?
They started running, moving their way back home.
Right.
-o-
Kiara came to with a start.
She gasped, head spinning and heart pounding. The world was askew, everything dark and–
Cold.
She shuddered, trying to sit up. The resistance she found on all sides was–
Disconcerting.
And closed in. She moved again, body hitting something hard. Her feet couldn’t press all the way out and her arms slid against something–
Icy?
She blinked rapidly, hard and fast, until she realized the darkness wasn’t her eyes or her vision. It was dark.
And cramped.
And cold.
She flailed, slamming against everything hard. This only aggravated the pain in her head, and as she shifted, she felt something crunch. Confused, she picked at the uncomfortable surface, only to find–
A box of ice cream bars?
The hell–
She reached out again, more carefully this time, tracing her fingers along the inside of wherever she was. Smooth walls. Frost coming off at her fingers.
Boxes of food.
She blinked up, breath catching.
She was in the freezer?
For real?
She remembered confronting Groff, and she remembered the pit in her stomach when she realized they’d made a mistake in letting JJ be alone with the man. She remembered that – and a hard hit to the head.
Groff must have knocked her out.
And put her in the freezer.
Because, great, like Kiara needed to live out another archaic, patriarchal cliche.
Gritting her teeth, she worked herself up, pushing as hard as she could against the lid. Unfortunately, it was locked, a conclusion she had to accept after a minute of fruitless laboring. She kicked again, lashing out at anything in her frustration.
She wasn’t some damn damsel in distress. She wasn’t going to be fridged in this narrative. No way, no how.
Not when JJ needed her.
She had to save her boy.
Screw this bullshit.
She had to save JJ.
She thrashed again, using all her strength. Something cracked but it didn’t give, and she howled in frustration. This wasn’t happening. This was not happening.
Every second she was in here was a second Groff had alone with JJ. JJ was already emotionally compromised – and he was prone to giving his parents anything they asked. He was vulnerable, plain and simple. Luke had broken him down. The Kooks had made him crack. She couldn’t let Chandler Groff swoop in to use the rest of him – and discard him.
His tactics were dirty; and he wasn’t afraid to play hard. JJ was in more danger than she could have imagined.
Frustrated, she looked for her phone – but that was gone, too. She reached up, finding the lid and trying to pry her fingers underneath. She was able to get a few centimeters, but the damn thing held. It was old; they didn’t build them like this anymore. The kind of freezer that you could use as a bomb shelter.
She had to get out.
She had to save JJ.
Kiara sighed, flopping back with a shiver. Her head ached, and her skin was wrinkled with the cold.
She just had no idea how.
Getting out, after all, was just the first step. How did you save someone from their own father? How could she save him from the years of self doubt and insecurity?
She pounded again, yelling at the top of her lungs.
Because, as it was, getting out of this fridge?
Might just be the easiest thing she had to do today.
-o-
Luke had never had much schooling, that was true. He’d eeked out a high school education and only just. He had no interest in books and learning and shit.
But he wasn’t a dumb man. The alcohol dulled his senses, sure. The pills made him out of his damn mind. The stupidest thing he’d ever done was give into them – most of the mistakes in his life could be tracked back to that one, stupid choice.
Because the rest? Well, hell, Luke had done okay for himself. He’d made a life, hadn’t he? He knew how shit worked, and even when high or strung out, no one was better with an engine than he was.
So he wasn’t stupid. And now that he was sober – almost painfully so at this point – it was impossible not to pick up on things.
To point, shit was about to go down.
He didn’t know what.
He wasn’t entirely sure why.
But this whole damn mercenary crew was ready to do something. There were too many hushed conversations. All the snippets of dialogue he’d been picking up on were suddenly nothing but radio silent. Things were packed up and stowed away, and Luke was getting the distinct impression that they were ready to get the hell off this island.
So, when Dalia called him, he was expecting to be lobbying for his place to stay. Whatever they were up to, Groff was still involved – and if Groff was involved, JJ was involved. He couldn’t dip yet.
To his surprise, however, they weren’t about to cut him loose.
No, Dalia was giving him an upgrade.
“I need you to do something for me,” she said. Her face was drawn hard, with something malicious in her eyes.
If not malicious, then calculated at least. And Luke braced himself accordingly. “Okay,” he said benignly.
Her lips turned up, but the smile was empty. “We have a lead on Groff and his activities,” she said, voice cloying and thick with the accent. She pursed her lips and held out a slip of paper to him.
Luke hesitated, but took it.
Dalia inclined her head. “We have reason to believe Groff has been corresponding with someone here,” she said neatly. “How and for what reason – I don’t know. But Groff’s getting ready to make a play, so I have to assume that everything he does now is linked to that.”
Luke eyed the address, mentally mapping it in his head. He didn’t know it exactly – but it was in the Figure Eight. Someplace nicer than he could ever afford. Groff was a Kook – or playing one anyway. He could be there for purely social reasons, for all they knew.
But Groff was like Dalia, totally on point. She was probably right.
“What do you want me to do?” he asked, looking at her again.
She seemed satisfied by that answer. “Investigate it,” she said. “Tell me who lives there and find any connections to Groff. You are a local, so you’ll blend in a bit better than some of my more – colorful men.”
Luke attempted to match her smile, but it felt like a grimace. It didn’t matter, though. Figuring Groff out was the only way to figure JJ out at this point. If he was in, then he was in.
“Sounds good,” he said, folding the address and shoving it into his pocket.
“Thanks, love,” she cooed at him coolly. “I expect you back here with a full report.”
He nodded his understanding, and turned to leave. She slid in front of him, just enough to stop him.
“I hope you know,” she said, and the smile fell, and in its wake was a dead, serious stare. “That catching Groff is the end goal here. If you get in the way of that–”
She let her voice linger suggestively, the threat not so idle and not so subtle.
“Don’t worry,” he said, and he lifted his chin, steady as ever. “Catching Groff is my only goal here.”
She smiled again. She reached her hand up, tapping Luke on the cheek with a forced camaraderie that felt intentionally intimidating. “Just so we understand each other.”
He nodded, ducking out of the room without another word.
Because he understood, sure.
What he was here for. What he had to do.
Luke understood perfectly.
-o-
Like, he’d done this before.
Right?
JJ had been out at sea hundreds of times with his old man. It was the only time they’d ever gotten along, the two of them, out on the open ocean. Catching fish and shit. Those times had been good.
He would think of those times – cutting lines or gutting fish – when it got bad at home. When he was curled up on his bed, squeezing his eyes shut, telling himself it wasn’t true, it wasn’t true, it wasn’t true – he wasn’t worthless – he thought about the way Luke used to hoot and holler when he reeled one in. When he was in the bathroom, throwing up an empty stomach and spitting blood after a bad one, he tried to remember the way his father had said how proud he was of him, how he was a good kid, his boy.
And when all he could feel was a fist.
He remembered a pat on the back. A hand on his arm. A hug.
He’d done this before.
A reset. A respite.
Hope.
After all these years, JJ hated himself for it, but he couldn’t give it up. Hope clung to him — or he clung to it — at this point, he didn’t know.
He always thought it could be different. He always thought it could be better.
Even Luke was sober sometimes. And at sea, he was more free, happier. When it was just them and the open water, it had been easier. No bosses demanding hours. No mortgage payment overdue. All the pills back on dry land. Luke let his guard down here and it was better.
But every mile he pulled away from the shore with Groff, the more JJ realized this was different. Luke used to let his guard down. Groff seemed to pull his up. For all of Luke’s laughs, too loud and boisterous, Groff was cool and collected.
Like he was trying too hard.
Like he was hiding something.
Everybody was hiding something, though. Especially when it came to treasure hunting. It didn’t make him bad, not exactly.
If this guy wasn’t JJ’s biological father, this would be nothing. He'd be cool as shit. It’d be fine.
So he needed to keep some perspective; he needed to keep himself together.
This had nothing to do with Groff being his father. This had nothing to do with the fact that he’d just robbed his mother’s grave. This had nothing to do with the fact that Groff had abandoned him, that Luke had abused him, that he’d just touched his mother’s dead body.
He had to focus, okay?
He was the one who lost the money.
He was the one who started a riot.
He was the reason they were screwed.
Him. He was the problem. This was all his fault. Now, he had to fix it, by any means possible.
If that meant taking uncomfortable and suspicious boat trips with his biological father out into the middle of the Atlantic?
Well, okay.
JJ would do that.
For his friends, he would do anything.
Even face all his doubts, all his questions, all the things he hated about himself.
Even face the truth of why no one wanted him.
Because he had done this before. Every time Luke beat the shit out of him, he always came back, tail between his legs, ready to make nice. He always believed the asshole when he said he wouldn’t do it again. He always gave him a second chance.
So here he was.
Doing it for Groff.
Doing it for his friends.
Except, as the shore finally disappeared from the horizon, he wasn’t so sure. That sinking feeling in his gut wasn’t going away. It was getting worse.
“Are you sure this is where we should be?” he asked, glancing nervously at the navigation charts, looking for some sort of clue.
Groff was entirely nonplussed. He grinned at JJ. “Almost there,” he said. He winked at him. “You getting excited?”
JJ tried to smile, but the effort felt lackluster.
Groff reached over, clapping him on the shoulder. “Don’t be so anxious! This is a good thing!” he said, giving him a shake. “Father-son bonding time!”
It was everything he wanted to hear, in some ways. The sort of thing he’d yearned for with Luke. Groff might give it to him.
He couldn’t shake it, though.
If Groff had wanted to give it to him, he could have done it a thousand times. He could have come back whenever he wanted. He could have kept JJ safe when he was a baby.
Instead, he left JJ. He called it grief, but JJ knew grief. JJ knew grief like a mama walking away and never looking back, not once. He knew grief like a father who was supposed to love you, hitting you instead. He knew all sorts of grief; shit, grief was about the only thing he did know.
Along with fear.
JJ knew what it was to be afraid.
And he knew better than to ignore it.
“You’ll see,” Groff assured him, taking his hand and putting it back on the wheel. “You’ll see.”
Except, JJ did see. He always had.
He was just an idiot, that was all. He never did remember the right things at the right times. He never had the right ideas; he never came to the right conclusions.
His friends were back on the Outer Banks. Kie was there. That was the family that had never abandoned him. That was the family that had never hurt him.
That was the only family that mattered.
Looking at Groff, the man was filled with purpose. His entire body was nearly vibrating with it, the expectation and anticipation.
For fatherhood?
Maybe.
For gold?
Probably.
JJ swallowed hard, looking back for any sign of the land. He’d made a mistake. It settled over him with a clarity he could not deny. JJ shouldn’t be here, not by himself, not with this man. All the times he’d trusted Luke, and he’d ended up bruised and broken.
People didn’t change, not really. Zebras didn’t change their stripes.
Luke hit him once; Luke would hit him again.
Groff abandoned him once.
JJ’s breathing caught and his eyes burned unexpectedly.
Groff would abandon him again.
The hope that this was different. The desire to give Groff a second chance.
That was foolishness.
Just like all of JJ’s ideas, each one more stupid than the last.
Because JJ wasn’t a lovable person. They all saw it, Groff first among them. Luke, too.
It was just a matter of time before his friends saw it, too, and shit like this? Running off with Groff?
Would only make it happen sooner.
“Okay,” Groff said, checking the controls and slowing the speed. “I think we’re just about there.”
JJ felt himself shudder. There was nowhere to go. There was nothing he could do.
It was time to face this.
His father, this treasure, and his entire past.
And hope like hell he made it back to his friends to fix whatever the hell he’d done now to get them here.
-o-
Luke understood what it meant to have a job. You didn’t have to like what your boss told you to do, but you did it. No questions asked. Do the shit or quit – there wasn’t much in between there.
And quitting this job wasn’t an option.
So Luke double checked the address and parked his car. He looked around, feeling anxious. This area was nice – too nice for the likes of him. He would stick out like a sore thumb. The mercenaries had the luxury of being unfamiliar. Everyone on this damn island knew his stupid mug. He was more than a little conspicuous.
That said, orders were orders.
He set his jaw and climbed out of the car. He started this for JJ. So what the hell – he had to finish it.
At the door, he hesitated. He glanced around, gauging just how noticeable he was being. Scooting around, he peered through the windows. Inside, it was dim and quiet. No sound; no movement.
Cautiously, he went back to the door and rapped – once and twice with his knuckles. He waited, then leaned close. “Hello?”
There was still nothing.
Looking around again, his face flushed. He didn’t want to do this, but there weren’t a lot of other options. He had to clear this address and look for leads on Groff. If he didn’t come up with something, these assholes might not keep him around. And if Groff had been here, then Luke needed to know.
He bit his lip, and tried the door.
Of course it was locked.
Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out what he needed. He wasn’t some professional thief. He didn’t have a lockpick or some garbage.
But the tools on his pocketknife?
Well, yeah.
That would get the job done.
He jimmied the lock, mindful of how obvious he was being. The noise was unsettling loud, and it felt like the whole damn island could hear him. The surrounding area was mercifully quiet, and he hoped against hope that there weren’t no nosy neighbors in the window nearby, taking video. The last thing he needed was another arrest.
The lock clicked, and Luke grunted in satisfaction as the knob gave and the door swung in.
He was in.
Quickly, he slid through the doorway, crossing the threshold and shutting the door behind him. Inside, he breathed, getting his shit together. There was a rush about it, sure.
Terrifying and exciting. He couldn’t pretend otherwise.
Look, it wasn’t like Luke was proud of it necessarily, but he also wasn’t faint-hearted about this shit. He knew who he was. He knew what he’d done to survive, both right and wrong.
So breaking and entering?
Well, he knew it wasn’t strictly legal. He also knew how to do it without getting caught. The only times he’d been picked up for it were times when he was too drunk or high to do it right.
He was neither now. Not a drop of alcohol since this shitshow started, and he hadn’t been high since he arrived back on the OBX.
The minute he got inside, though, he wished he was.
Because shit.
He had known Groff was probably bad news, but this was a little more than that.
This was a dead body on the floor.
A gunshot wound and blood all over the tile.
For a second, Luke stared, gaping stupidly. He wondered vaguely what fingerprints he’d left on the door when he jimmied the lock, which was not the right thing to think about.
There was a dead woman on the floor.
Fleetingly, he wondered if he should check her, just to be sure. It seemed wrong, the way she was just laying there, and Luke knew he was a bad guy, but come on. He wasn’t completely heartless.
But Luke had seen dead bodies before. He’d seen the way the body went limp. He knew the colorless hue skin took when blood stopped moving. The color of the lips; the stillness.
No, she was dead.
There was no way to survive with that much blood all over the floor.
The impulse to do the right thing came on fast and sudden. He needed to call the cops. He needed to report this.
But Luke was a pragmatic man. Too much so for his own damn good sometimes.
This lady wasn’t newly dead; this body wasn’t that fresh. Sure, she hadn’t gone stiff and it didn’t smell to shit yet – but there was nothing to save here. She was gone already.
Calling the cops wouldn’t save her. Someone would find her and do the right thing. Calling the cops now only put suspicion back on him, which wouldn’t fare so well for the deal he’d cut to minimize his sentence.
It also wouldn’t help JJ.
Because this location?
Was where Groff was headed.
If Groff was the last person to be here, then there was a good chance he did this.
Why?
Well, how was Luke supposed to know. He wasn’t no cop. But he was a man, and he knew what greed did to people. He knew what addiction did to people.
Groff wasn’t addicted to drugs or alcohol, maybe.
But treasure? Well, that was greed. Gambling in its own way, just with an intellectual bent.
You pushed and pushed and pushed until you crossed all the lines you said you wouldn’t cross. That was how you ended up robbing pharmacies and beating workers half to death.
That was how you spent your rent money on crack.
That was how you beat your own kid into the ground.
It was also how you put a bullet in someone and left them for dead.
This was Groff.
This had to be Groff.
Luke looked around, heart starting to pound anxiously. The scene was making him nervous, and he didn’t know how long he had before someone else came by. By her clothes and the little designer purse of hers, this lady had money. She was done up nice, too. Impeccable hair and makeup, before someone bled her dry.
There was no sign of a fight. No forced entry.
She probably knew Groff.
Lovers? Maybe.
Or maybe just a business acquaintance, another person Groff tried to screw over. It occurred to him now, what he might have done to Luke if he asked for more money – or if he’d tried to give JJ back. All those years, he’d been afraid Groff would demand JJ in return. Now, Luke wondered if the man might have offed him just for showing up and getting in the way.
If he might have offed JJ–
The thought shuddered through him, cold and certain. He had always had suspicions about Groff and Larissa’s death. Seeing this woman on the floor? Only confirmed what he’d thought all along: Groff was capable of bad things.
Killing this woman – maybe, okay?
But killing Larissa? His wife? The mother of his baby?
What kind of monster was he?
And what lines wouldn’t he cross?
He’d given up JJ without a second thought, it seemed. Now that he had him, he could be ready to play father of the year.
Or JJ could be just another pawn in his long game. Just like Larissa. Just like Luke. Just like the Corsairs. Just like this lady.
He had to find Groff. He had to find JJ.
Scanning the room again, he found nothing of interest there. This was a murder scene, so he wasn’t about to go poking around, and Groff wasn’t an idiot. He wasn’t going to leave shit, not here. He gave the woman one last look, almost apologetic, as he slipped back out the way he came. Outside, he forced himself to breathe and did his best to get his bearings. His emotions were running high now – heart still pounding – but he was here on a mission.
The check on the house.
To check on the boat.
He glanced at the address – and dock number scribbled on the piece of paper. Squinting, he looked down to the water, mentally cataloguing the slots. He’d been in harbors like this all his life; he knew how it worked. Moving quickly, he made his way down the row, skipping over the ones he didn’t need until he found the slot.
It was empty.
He verified the number; he verified the slot.
There was no boat.
Could it be a fluke? Could the boat be somewhere else?
Possibly, but Luke wasn’t an idiot. He didn’t believe in flights of fancy. That woman was in the house. The boat could be docked anywhere, sure, but if she was here – then her boat had to be here, too.
He could be wrong. He could be wrong about everything – hell, it wasn’t like he had much experience being right.
But he knew. Deep in his gut.
He knew.
Groff had shot that woman. Then, he’d taken her boat.
Chewing his lip, he fiddled with his phone in his pocket, contemplating the call he knew he probably needed to make. He would cut the Corsairs loose in a split second if needed. But doing so prematurely would cut off his leads – and most of his resources. He had his suspicions about Groff’s involvement, but that didn’t necessarily mean anything about JJ.
At least, that was what he told himself.
Until he found his way back to the parking lot.
Where he saw it.
The damn VW van.
John B’s junk-ass Twinkie.
He had no idea how that thing was still running. It had been a piece of shit ever since Big John started bringing it around, and he himself had coaxed the engine back into running more than once. And sure, it was John B’s van.
But John B wasn’t the one running around with Groff.
No, that was JJ.
If the Twinkie was here–
Well, then, JJ was, too.
He looked around feeling his throat start to constrict.
At least, JJ had been here.
Now, the area was empty. No sign of Groff. No sign of JJ.
Just a dead body. A long history.
And more questions than answers.
Simply put, Luke was running out of time. 20 years, he’d been JJ’s daddy. He’d squandered those years. Now, as the minutes ticked by, the weight of that was bearing down on him. If he was going to save JJ – if he was finally going to protect that boy – he needed to step up his game.
Fast.
Before Groff finished whatever the hell it was he had started.
-o-
JJ stood there and put the clues together.
It was all laid bare now. The map and the crystal – along with the journal – all the clues were there. It was simple, now, as Groff delineated the facts. The mystery was solved. The pieces were in place. The treasure was theirs now. They could find it.
But JJ stood there, looking at the map. Looking at the crystal he’d stolen from his mother’s body. And he couldn’t share Groff’s excitement. Yeah, the clues fit.
That was the problem.
The clues fit.
Not to the treasure.
But to the bigger mystery. The one JJ had been unraveling about who he was and where he came from.
For JJ, this wasn’t really about treasure. Yeah, he wanted the money to save Poguelandia. He wanted the treasure to give it to his friends, to make it up to them – all his stupid, dumbass mistakes.
Groff was here for treasure. He was here for money and greed and fame and fortune.
JJ, though. JJ was here for family.
Those pieces, see, came together, too. In crystal clarity, JJ understood.
Miles from land. Miles from his friends. So far removed from everything he really wanted. He saw it now; he saw his mistake. Not the riot, not the race. Not buying the house in the first place. The mistake of not guarding his heart. All the walls he kept up, and he’d let them down at the wrong time to the wrong person.
JJ felt stupid; he felt pathetic. He was still that same dumb kid, running back to Luke, thinking this time would be different. He was still the same idiot child who thought each time was the last time. He was still the desperate, needy teen who just wanted someone – anyone – to love him, to choose him, to want him.
But that wasn’t why Groff was here.
Groff wasn’t going to help him save his friends. Groff didn’t care about them. He’d cut them out just as fast as he’d cut out the mercenaries – and with less regret.
More than that, though, Groff wasn’t here to save JJ.
These promises of doing it together. These words of pride and father and son.
They were 19 years too late.
Groff was lying to him about his mother. Groff was lying to him about how he got the map. Groff was lying to him about everything.
Including the fact that he loved JJ.
He hadn’t wanted JJ before. He’d left him behind and not looked back at him for 19 years.
He sure as hell didn’t want JJ now.
It was all a lie.
Everything in JJ’s life was a lie.
None of it was real. The family he had with Luke – that wasn’t real. The idea that Groff might choose him – that wasn’t real either.
JJ wasn’t even sure he was real anymore, if he were being honest. Did he even want to be real?
But it wasn’t about him.
Watching Groff as he preened in excitement, planning his next move, envisioning his endgame, JJ knew it wasn’t about him.
All he’d ever wanted, deep down, was to do the right thing.
He just wanted to do the right thing.
He didn’t need riches. He didn’t crave fame or fortune.
His family.
All he wanted was his family.
Not Luke. Not Groff. Not even Larissa.
The Pogues. Kiara and John B. Pope and Cleo and Sarah.
His family.
Groff would betray them.
Which meant Groff would betray him.
Just like Groff had betrayed every Genrette before him.
JJ? JJ didn’t know if he was a Groff, in the end. He wasn’t sure if he was a Genrette or a Maybank.
What he did know – what he had to believe – was that he was a Pogue.
And he still wanted to do the right thing.
All he had ever wanted was to do the right thing.
JJ didn’t need riches. JJ didn’t need treasure. He had no need for fame or fortune or anything else.
He just needed them.
He just needed his family.
This was what Pope would call irony. JJ had never been good with this shit, but he was pretty sure that was what this was.
Because the only time JJ was right?
Was about how completely wrong he was.
Maybe this revelation was particularly hard to make. Maybe that clarity wasn’t so dramatic.
JJ swallowed hard, looking out at the open water around him, and then looking back at Groff, salivating over the map.
He just wished he’d made it when he wasn’t alone with the man.
Miles from shore.
He drew a breath. He swallowed hard.
The final pieces were in place. Groff was ready to act.
As it turned out, so was JJ.
He just worried that only one of them was going to walk away from this with everything they wanted.
Or – he thought grimly – only one of them was going to walk away at all.
-o-
At the controls, Cleo maintained some semblance of repose.
That was, of course, a direct contrast to everyone else on the boat, who were all consequently losing their damn minds. Yes, knowing that Groff had attacked Kiara was bad. Obviously, knowing that JJ was alone with Groff was also very bad. And yep, the fact that JJ was out of communication probably indicated that bad shit was going down.
But Cleo had to be practical. All this bad news wasn’t insurmountable. They had the tracker on JJ’s phone. They were together again. They could save him.
And what the hell, Cleo decided pragmatically. They would.
It wasn’t like they had another choice. It was either do it – or not do it. To not try was to give up. To give up was to resign JJ to whatever fate Groff had in store. She wasn’t about to let that happen.
Next to her, Pope chewed his bottom lip anxiously. “Statistically, the odds of an ocean rescue–”
She glared at him. “Boy, this is no time to talk statistics.”
Pope paled. “But even with a GPS signal, pinpointing it–”
“–is the only shot we have,” she said flatly. “It’s the only shot JJ has.”
Out on deck, Sarah was scanning the horizon, bouncing tensely on the balls of her feet. Kiara was staring at her phone, John B pacing anxiously between the two.
“Do you think Groff–” Pope started, and he faltered. He exhaled, looking down.
“I don’t think anything,” she said, shaking her head. “We shouldn’t waste our time speculating.”
Pope looked at her, brows knitted deeply. “But if Groff is using JJ – and he’s already hurt Kie–”
She made a noise, clucking her tongue at him. “What good does it do thinking of the worst case scenario?”
“We have to be ready–” Pope reasoned, but there was more than a note of desperation in his voice.
“Yeah, to rescue him,” she said. “We’re going to find him. We’re going to get him, and we’re going to regroup. We’re going to do what we always do.”
Pope had no response, looking out across the water again.
“It’s Pogues for life, yeah?” she said, nodding at him emphatically.
He looked up and nodded with reluctance.
She huffed, rolling her eyes. “I’d ask for a woogity, but I need to keep steering,” she said. “Go get an update on the direction. I might need to correct course.”
He nodded tightly, taking a long breath as he headed out onto the deck. She looked at the control, and she looked at the others. She looked out at the ocean, vast and wide.
“Don’t blow this, JJ,” she muttered under her breath.
Because he could spend the money, he could lose every bet. He could burn the whole town down. But what he couldn’t do? The line he couldn’t cross? Was leaving them alone.
“We’re coming,” she vowed, pressing the accelerator a little harder. “We’re coming.”
-o-
It didn’t matter if you could see it coming. Pope was all about knowledge being power and shit like that, but JJ knew better. You could figure it out, and it didn’t change the outcome. Knowing what came next didn’t make it easier.
In fact, sometimes that just made it worse.
Ignorance wasn’t bliss, but beggars didn’t get to be choosers.
As a Maybank, JJ knew that.
As a Genrette, JJ should have known that.
As a Groff—
That was what he was, he realized, hardening with a terrifying clarity.
As a Groff, he knew what this was.
Not the treasure. Not the double cross on the mercs. Not the betrayal of his friends.
His betrayal.
From father to son.
The fact that JJ figured it out didn’t matter. He laid it out, all the facts, for Groff to deny.
That he was lying about Kiara.
That he was using JJ for the stone.
That Groff had killed Wes.
That Groff had killed his mother.
Knowing the answer didn’t make it easier, not when Groff confirmed it, every last thing. Not when he took JJ by the cheek and looked him right in the eyes.
“My beautiful, beautiful boy,” he said, each syllable laden with malice. JJ’s stomach turned, and his body washed with cold. He knew he had to fight back. He knew he had to run. He knew he had to do something because he knew Groff was about to kill him, too.
One last Genrette.
Until there were none.
Knowledge didn’t save him. Prescience didn’t do shit.
JJ took the hit, just like he always did. He went down hard, something cutting into his side as the force of the blow took him over.
And JJ knew, when he hit the water, that it was over.
Because Groff had come back to the OBX to finish what he started.
Chapter 10: CHAPTER TEN
Notes:
Look, I didn't decide all the horrible things that happened to JJ in this final stretch of S4. I'm just working with what the show gave me and letting it play out in a more nuanced, sympathetic, and ultimately redeeming way. But this is hard on all of them, and they're all just kids who have no idea what to do. Mistakes are being made by everyone, and that will be something all of them have to face.
Anyway, thank you to anyone who reads and reviews. I just -- really love talking to other people about the horrors of S4 and the possibilities of what could have been and what should have been. Ultimately, we're doing it better in fandom, so at least there's that.
Just an update -- I will not be posting anything for the next week. We're on vacation and while I could probably figure out how to post from my phone, that's just too much to worry about. So we'll have a week hiatus and I'll be back not next Monday -- but the one after.
Good news on Best of a Bad Deal -- I finished it! So I have a complete draft. It's probably around 350k? So it'll take a bit of time to...get it beta'ed and ready for posting. I won't make you all wait until I finish posting this fix-it. Let's tentatively plan to hopefully start posting in late July? Maybe early August depending on how my beta feels about it.
Chapter Text
-o-
CHAPTER TEN
-o-
Sarah couldn’t stop thinking: this was bad.
This was really, really bad.
It was supposed to be her wedding day, and now where was she? Kiara had been attacked, Pope was a fugitive, and JJ was in the hands of a man who was out to screw them over. They’d known that since Groff showed up the other night, but they’d been dumb enough to think they had it under control.
They hadn’t.
Working with him, from the outset, was a mistake – and they’d all known it. They’d just thought – what? That they could control it?
Could they be any stupider? Could they be any more naive?
It didn’t help, as the boat skimmed out across the water, that they’d left JJ alone with him. JJ had all but begged them to come, and none of them had listened. Kie had stayed to clean up. John B had followed her, wide eyed and goofy, to the courthouse. She’d been so damn preoccupied with the idea of her own happily ever after that she hadn’t even thought about JJ.
Not his rash mistakes that got them into this.
And not how poorly equipped he was to face off against Groff.
His father.
She chewed her lip, adjusting her grip on the binoculars as she skimmed her eyes over the horizon again, looking for any sign of movement on the waves. Anything, something.
She’d acted like she was giving JJ privacy.
It felt horrible now.
JJ didn’t need privacy. He had gone to his mother’s grave – alone. They’d let him rob her grave – desecrate her body – alone.
They all knew JJ was emotionally vulnerable around his father. How many times had he gone back to Luke? What did they think he was going to do with Groff?
She didn’t know.
She just knew Groff had come back alone.
And Kiara had a splitting headache.
And JJ was nowhere to be found.
A blip on Kie’s screen. Fading in the ocean.
This was bad. Not the kind of bad that lost houses and fortunes.
The kind of bad that had you burying your best friend.
Because you were too preoccupied with yourself to notice.
JJ could be anywhere, now. Lost at sea.
She had wanted her baby to have a father – but she’d forfeited the baby’s uncle. Happy endings weren’t singular. They didn’t exist in isolation. She couldn’t get everything she ever wanted – if JJ wasn’t part of that.
Sarah was thinking about building her family, which was good. It was.
Except, she already had a family.
She had this family.
She couldn’t afford to sacrifice one for the other. Not for the baby. Not for JJ.
From the controls, Cleo called out, “Anything?”
Sarah scanned the horizon again, shaking her head. “Nothing!”
Cleo’s face was pinched. “Keep looking!”
As if it needed to be said.
-o-
JJ had spent countless hours in the ocean. As a surfer, he’d been out in all conditions, staying on his board even when his body started going numb. He was used to it. He understood it.
It was vast and deep, the water dark. And cold.
Drowning was what people always thought about.
But the cold.
Riding on it made you feel alive, sure.
Going under, though.
Was like laying down in your own damn grave.
He’d walked that fine line all his life. He’d found refuge in the dichotomy. The give and take, the tension point, had been what kept him alive.
But the second he hit the water this time, he knew it was different.
He knew he was different.
The line had been blurred. The dichotomy had settled into a pressing, crushing truth.
This was it, he realized.
This was the time he went under and didn’t pull himself back up.
This was the time he couldn’t do it.
This was the time he walked to the edge and fell off.
This was it.
The cold hit him hard and fast, stealing the breath from his lungs. His entire body was overcome, and the clarity was unsettling. He struggled to the surface, just barely finding his way up, spitting saltwater out as he tried to force his frozen lungs to breathe.
It worked, but only just. The cold was robbing him of his senses, and his side—
He reached to it, feeling the throbbing pain as warm blood leaked into the ocean, diffusing into the waves,
The hot and cold.
The up and down.
He couldn’t—
He didn’t—
Bobbing there, the wake washed over him. He moved his legs, treading as best he could while the boat started away.
His father.
While his father left him behind.
“Wait!“ he called, voice faltering. “Come back!”
It was stupid, though. Groff had been turning his back on JJ for 19 years. He’d left him with Luke, of all people. He wasn’t coming back.
He was never coming back.
He didn’t want JJ.
No one wanted JJ.
And how pathetic was he? Bobbing on the waves, watching him drive off.
Wishing he’d come back.
Begging him.
After all these years, JJ still asked
JJ still hoped.
And JJ was still, inevitably, left behind.
-o-
It didn’t occur to Luke, not until he was back on the boat, that he was showing up empty-handed. His entire plan had been about making himself useful, and here he was, running back with nothing to show for his trouble. It was no way to prove his loyalty.
But this wasn’t some damn work opportunity.
Luke needed the mercenaries to help him get Groff – now, more than ever.
So screw this shit.
“I thought you were supposed to find him,” Dalia said, arms crossed as she looked at him long and hard. The man next to her – Roberto, he vaguely remembered – scowled, fingers twitching toward his gun.
The intimidation didn’t mean anything. “I found his trail,” he said instead. “Groff’s getting messy.”
Her smile was humorless. “Not messy enough to find him.”
“I don’t have the same resources as you,” he snapped, because pleasantries could be damned. Groff had JJ. And Luke was going to run out of time.
She seemed to accept that answer. “What did you find, then?”
He inhaled, doing what he could to keep his temper in check. For now, Dalia wasn’t the enemy. For now, he needed her more than she needed him. “A body,” he said. “Some fancy real estate agent, in a condo down by the docks.”
Dalia appeared neither shocked nor distressed. “And you think Groff killed her?”
“I’m pretty damn sure he did,” Luke said. “I told you, he’s getting messy.”
For an accusation of murder, Dalia seemed more interested than concerned. As if it was an intellectual curiosity and not a sign that the man was a psycho.
Then again, she was a gun for hire.
So, perspective.
“Interesting,” she said, tipping her head to the side thoughtfully. “What’s his play, then? He has the map, but we have the journal. What could he possibly need from — what, a real estate agent?”
Hell if Luke knew. He didn’t know shit about a map, and he knew even less about a journal – or where either one of them led. In truth, he had been out of his depth for a while now. This was a far cry from running drugs and subpar smuggling on the OBX. He could follow a trail, sure, and he had a sense of Groff.
But that had been a lot of blood.
He just wanted JJ as far away from this as possible.
Dalia frowned, her consideration deepening. “Was she anyone special?”
He shrugged, belatedly realizing that showing his dumbness probably wasn’t a virtue when his play was as a local expert. “Given where I found her, I'm guessing she had high end clients,” he said. “She looked the part, too.”
“It might not be directly related,” she mused, licking her lips carefully. “That man did love a side hustle.”
If that was what she wanted to call murder.
Then who was Luke to disagree?
Dalia ultimately shook her head. “It just means he’s reaching too high. His stakes are going up,” she said flatly. She nodded decisively. “We need to find him.”
“Seems like you do,” he said, keeping himself as noncommittal as possible. Being measured and self control was a lot easier when you were strung out on pills or drunk as a skunk, that much was true.
“Well, that was what I hired you for,” she reminded him with a saccharin smile.
Luke checked that and remembered to play the game. Groff was raising the stakes. So Luke had to up his bid, too. “Well, you said you have the journal, right?” he asked, and she nodded. So Luke shrugged. “He can’t make his next play without the journal.”
That point seemed to land. “Probably not,” she consented. “And I can’t do this without the map.”
“Exactly,” Luke said. “So, you all are going to meet up one way or another.”
She nodded slowly, in careful agreement.
“So, Groff’s tying up his loose ends on the OBX,” Luke posited. Trying to act like he wasn’t worried JJ was one of them. “And then he knows where you are.”
“You think he’ll come to us?” she said, in almost reluctant realization. She chuckled. “That wouldn’t be very smart of him.”
Luke shrugged.
She laughed again, shaking her head. “Why wouldn’t I just kill him the second he shows up?”
“You tell me,” he said.
At that, her eyes narrowed on Luke. She seemed to weigh him again – his posture, his insight. And his intel. “I’m not soft.”
“Didn’t think you were,” Luke said. “But the last thing we need is more bodies washing up on the shore.”
“I could be long gone by the time the cops find anything,” she pointed out.
“But Groff’s playing the long game,” Luke argued. “If he shows up here, he’s not going to be without his leverage.”
She crossed her arms over her chest, thinking that through. “Yes, there has to be leverage,” she murmured. “Or why would we all still be here? On this God-forsaken island?”
Luke had no answer to that. He stood, stock still. She laughed, shaking her head. “I need to get off this hellhole,” she muttered. Her eyes appraised him again. “You’re from here, aren’t you?”
“Born and raised,” he confirmed.
She made a noise, a little huff of air. Disgust was plain on her features. “I don’t know how you stand it,” she muttered. “This tiny little island. In fifty years, it will be all washed out to sea, with all you pathetic little people with it.”
Luke swallowed hard, doing his best not to flinch. For some reason, it hurt. “It’s not so bad.”
She looked like she readily did not agree. “There’s nothing here that’s special,” she said, and she pursed her lips. “Beaches and sand. You can find those anywhere.”
“Maybe,” he said. “But I don’t know. It’s more than that. A place to belong – to call home.”
She stopped at that, studying him a little more carefully now. “Is that why Groff came back here? To claim some piece of himself?”
It wasn’t the question he was expecting. And hell, he wasn’t sure how to answer.
If he wanted to answer at all.
To think about it. To think about why Groff came back.
To think about why he’d been here in the first place. “I’m not sure Groff knows what he’s got here,” he said. “He’s more like you, looking for treasure.”
“Is that all you think we are?” she asked him.
He shrugged. No way to hide it now. “It does kind of go with the name.”
At that, she smirked. “Fair enough,” she said. “But for us, it’s not a place we call home. It’s not a country. We’re loyal to each other. That’s what home is. Each of us, sworn together, no matter what.”
Luke considered it, nodding faintly. “The family you choose.”
She nodded in agreement. “Most people don’t understand that.”
He thought of JJ, not a drop of blood they shared.
And that kid was more Maybank than anyone Luke knew. “I think I get it.”
She seemed to accept that answer, pausing for a second. Then, she snorted wryly. “Groff never did.”
“I’m not sure Groff ever understood shit,” Luke admitted. “Not this land. Not family.”
“No loyalty,” Dalia agreed. And she considered him, more carefully still. “And are you loyal to us, Luke Maybank?”
He stiffened, feeling color rise just slightly in his cheeks. “I’m loyal to my family.”
“I make no promises about the boy,” she said flatly. “If he gets in the way, he gets in the way. He’s expendable to me. You do understand that, right?”
He nodded with a small movement. “And you understand I’ll protect him. That’s why I’m here.”
Her lips twitched, something cold and knowing in her eyes. “I make you no promises.”
He could only nod again. “I know.”
“And I suppose I can expect none from you,” she mused. Her eyes swept over him again. “Tell me again why you’re still useful?”
“I want Groff as much as you do, if not more,” he said. “Like you said, that man doesn’t understand family. He deserves every bad thing coming to him.”
Her smile was coy. “The enemy of my enemy?”
“For as long as it lasts,” he said.
She nodded, as if in agreement. “You swear I won’t regret keeping you around?”
“All my cards are on the table,” he said.
“Killing you would be easy,” she commented. “And really nothing to me at all.”
The threat wasn’t exactly idle, and he knew it.
He also knew what she was doing.
Testing his limits. Finding his weaknesses. And pinpointing his motivations.
If he was a tool, she wanted to know how useful he would be.
“I’m worth more than I’m not,” he reminded her. “Free labor, loyal service. Motivated to find Groff.”
“Until we cross the boy,” she said slowly.
He shrugged. “Until we cross the boy.”
After a long moment, she nodded. She moved past him, pausing to pat him on the arm. “I respect what you’re doing,” she said, voice softening just for a second. Then, her smile turned up again, hardening her features once more. “But that doesn’t mean I won’t kill you – or him – if you all get in the way. Yeah?”
Luke nodded, feeling the declaration settle over him grimly. This was a dangerous game, and he knew it. If he played it wrong, he’d pay the price. JJ would pay the price.
But he was a Maybank.
He knew he was going to bet it all, one way or another.
“Yeah,” he nodded in agreement, holding her gaze. “Yeah.”
-o-
Kiara knew she made a mistake.
To be fair, she had made a lot of mistakes. Getting herself knocked out and fridged may be the most embarrassing – to be sure – but it probably wasn’t the most pressing.
Because she was okay.
Embarrassed, sore, and humiliated – check, check, check – but JJ might not be.
It was true; JJ was an adult and his own person. He got to make his own decision, including his own mistakes. She loved him enough to let him do that, but that wasn’t what this was.
Ever since he stole the money and lost it in the race, that wasn’t what this was.
Because JJ deserved dignity to make his own choices, of course.
But JJ wasn’t always capable of making coherent choices. After a lifetime of trauma, some of his responses were suspect. Under normal circumstances, she could let that play out. But with stakes this high?
Well, she had made a mistake.
She thought she was giving JJ the slack he needed to pull himself up.
In reality, all she was doing was giving JJ enough rope to hang himself.
It wasn’t just the race anymore. It wasn’t the house or the money.
No, JJ was unraveling completely. The revelation about his parentage was too much, and she should have known from the moment he told her that it wasn’t okay. That he wasn’t okay.
Instead, she’d let it pass. She’d kept the secret. She hadn’t sat him down and made him talk about it.
She’d sat back and done nothing.
Not when he lost control at the courthouse. Not when he started a riot. Not when he almost got himself shot in a police standoff.
Even now, she’d let him go to his mother’s grave by himself. She’d let him spend time with Groff alone.
This was the same kid who put his friends at risk to help his abusive asshole of a father get off the island and run away from jail. He was the kid who loved that addicted shithead with all he had even after he abandoned him. She knew JJ had the psychology of an abuse victim – because he was an abuse victim.
This wasn’t about JJ’s dignity.
This was about recognizing when he was in over his head and getting him the help he needed.
Kiara had made a mistake, though. She’d let him go.
And now?
Speeding out on the Snapper, a small blip on the open water to follow?
She might have lost him altogether.
“Are we still going the right way?” John B asked, scanning the horizon anxiously. Pope was nearby at the controls, looking intent, while Cleo and Sarah scanned the water on opposite sides of the deck, looking for any sign of movement.
Kiara blinked, willing her eyes to focus on the screen. JJ’s tag was still there; fixed in the middle of nowhere. “Yeah,” she said. “It’s been static for the last 30 minutes.”
Too far out.
Too isolated.
Groff had already attacked her. The idea that he was just interested in normal paternal bonding seemed increasingly unlikely. Groff had already abandoned JJ once – as an infant. JJ’s mother died under mysterious circumstances, and Groff had let everyone assume JJ himself was dead.
And who did he leave JJ with?
Luke Maybank. A poor kid with nothing, who ended up beating the shit out of JJ when everything went wrong.
Those weren’t the actions of a loving parent.
Kiara should have told JJ that from the start.
Not because JJ didn’t know.
But because JJ didn’t think the idea of good parents applied to a kid like him. He wouldn’t know how to defend himself against any of Groff’s overtures until it was too late. Even then, he would probably just blame himself. He’d think it was his fault; JJ thought everything was his fault.
She kept her eyes locked on the blip.
It wasn’t too late, she told herself.
It wasn’t too late.
Looking over her shoulder, John B audibly swallowed. She heard him breathe, slow and steady as the boat slipped over the water. “We’ll find him.”
She wanted to believe him, but she didn’t know how anymore. She couldn’t help it when a short, bitter laugh escaped her lips. “Yeah, since we’ve done such a good job of that so far.”
“Kie–”
She shook her head, too tired to fight with him. “John B, he’s been coming apart at the seams since he found out we were losing Poguelandia. And we stood there and let it happen. I let it happen.”
John B stiffened, straightening up a little bit. “JJ crashes out. It’s just what he does,” he said. “We just have to get him through this, and then he’ll be okay.”
“His whole life has been a lie,” she reminded him. “I don’t know how he’s going to just get over that.”
John B drew back. The point was well made, and he locked his jaw as he processed that. “We’re going to find him, Kie,” he said again, when other words failed him. He looked resolved, sure. But he still looked scared. “We have to find him.”
She looked back down at the blip on her phone. Pope and Cleo were discussing the course now, Sarah still scanning the ocean anxiously.
He reached out, placing a hand on her shoulder with a gentle squeeze. “It’s JJ,” he said, like that was an incontrovertible truth, a pillar of their reality that could never be shaken. “He’s going to be okay.”
Because he was the backbone. He was the beating heart. He was the glue that held them together. He was everything they needed, and he was all things to each of them. When someone had a need, he didn’t stop to think about the practicalities. He was all in, instantly, for them. The loyal piece to their puzzle, the one they’d come to count on for all these years.
To make all the wrong mistakes.
For all the right reasons.
Their P4L.
The constant; the given. The one that would never leave because he had nowhere else to go.
Theirs.
John B let go, turning to go check in with the others. Kiara focused on her breathing, finding comfort in that solidarity. In that certainty.
JJ would never leave her.
JJ would never leave them.
JJ would give them all he had, down to his very last breath.
That was her fallback. The confidence she needed to keep going.
At least, it was.
Until the blip on the screen disappeared and the signal died.
Her heart fluttered. Her throat tightened.
The blip didn’t come back.
She blinked, reloading the screen. Her eyes burned and her breathing caught in her throat. She reloaded it again. She closed the app and opened it again, but the blip was gone.
It was gone.
JJ was gone.
-o-
Down beneath deck, Luke was doing what he could to make himself useful. It was a tried and true trait, learned by scraping together a living any way he could. If you did enough shit, usually you got paid. It didn’t have to be fancy; it just had to put cash in his pocket.
And when he wasn't strung out, he was good at it. Keen and resourceful. None too proud. A little work got you ahead. Shutting your mouth gave you the edge. If he looked like a piece of the background, people generally thought of him that way.
Which was to say, they stopped thinking about him at all.
Yeah, yeah, that was insulting. It was diminutive and all that bullshit.
It was also pretty damn useful sometimes.
Taking up residence in the kitchen helped him in more ways than one. There was always something to prep or clean up – and it was a common space. The men liked to hang out there, and when they ate, when they drank – they ran their mouths.
Luke made himself useful.
And picked up as much information as he could.
Certainly, not all of it was useful. He was getting to know some of their personal lives a bit more than he would care to. There was also the logistics of it. These mercenaries were the real deal. While Luke had sold himself to anyone paying a buck on the island, his times at sea had always been limited. He used to say it was for JJ, the kid at home.
But really, he’d never had the ambition.
The idea of leaving, of living like this, just didn’t drive him.
The OBX, right or wrong, was his home. That was where his family was, his roots. He was a saltlifer, sure, but he belonged right there on the shores. Always had, always will.
And really, he liked making a quick buck, but he didn’t need treasure. And the stakes? Well, no. Luke liked to come and go as he pleased, which was why the likes of Barracuda Mike were more his style. These guys worked for big names with deep pockets. The kind that didn’t let you bail when shit got too complicated.
Whoever this Finch guy was waiting for them in Lisbon – Luke could already tell that was no one you’d want to mess with. These men knew how to get their hands dirty, but they were scared of the asshole, that much was clear.
That was why Groff was a must-have proposition. These guys had the manpower and the guns.
Groff had the missing piece they needed, however.
The power imbalance annoyed them, and set everyone on edge.
“Hey, Lightner,” one of them said while Luke was washing the dishes. He peeked out in the main galley, where the large, brooding idiot had just come in. The smaller one – squirrely and dumb – was pointing. “I think you need to check your bandage.”
Lightner scowled, but looked down at his arm. Luke did his best not to stare – running water over a soapy bowl – but it wasn’t hard to see. Lightner’s arm was wrapped, and the bandage was clearly soiled. There was a smearing of blood.
“Son of a bitch,” Lightner muttered, inspecting it.
“How’d it happen again?” the little guy asked, popping some food into his mouth from his snack.
Lightner pursed his lips, reaching for a bottle of water. “Diving accident.”
“Diving accident?” the other guy said. “I thought that was a slam dunk.”
Lightner grunted, taking a swig while Luke picked up the next plate. “It was supposed to be,” he said. “But someone else was on the trail, too. Kid, no less.”
He perked up at that.
Kids did stupid shit, this much was true.
But yeah – the odds–
“Kids?” the other guy said.
“The same one we kidnapped,” Lightner said. “With Groff. Blonde, scruffy – stupid. Him and some girl.”
Luke’s hands frozen, in the sudsy water. His heart skipped a beat as his chest constricted.
JJ.
They were talking about JJ.
“Wait, you got hit by two kids?” the first guy asked.
Lightner gave him a shrug. “There were two of them,” he snapped. “And the one was armed. You see how you do that deep under.”
The other guy shirked back. Clearly, he knew his place in the pecking order.
Lightner grunted, turning back around, catching Luke’s eye and scowling again.
Luke looked down, busying himself with a cup.
“Doesn’t matter,” Lightner said. “That stupid kid is more involved than he lets on. Next time he shows up, I’ll make sure Dalia doesn’t see and pop him one.”
The other guy chuckled.
Luke flinched.
“Right between the eyes,” Lightner muttered, taking another drink. He winced and flexed his arm.
“Isn’t the rumor that that’s Groff’s kid?” the other guy said.
Lightner snorted. “Even more reason,” he said. “Pop him. Pop his kid. Nix the whole pathetic family line right there.”
He’d been a shitty father, and he knew it. But no one talked about his boy like that.
No one.
And yet – Luke couldn’t do shit.
If he wanted to keep JJ safe, he had to stay out of it. Shut the hell up and do the dishes.
Now wasn’t the time to act. He wasn’t sure what time would be right, but this? No way. He’d know. He’d know when it was looking at him. When it was time to pick his side once and for all.
The other man chuckled again, excusing himself. For a moment, the room lapsed into silence with Lightner taking long sips of his water.
“Hey,” Lightner called.
Luke looked up, expecting someone else to be there. But it was just him.
“Yeah,” Lightner said. “They say you know Groff.”
Luke stiffened, but he nodded. “Guess so.”
Lightner paused, taking another drink while he studied Luke. “Was he an asshole to you, too?”
Luke grunted. “You have no idea.”
At that, Lightner smirked. “Well, welcome aboard,” he said. “You know what they say. The enemy of my enemy.”
With that, Lightner shrugged, gulping the rest of the water and throwing it in a recycling bin. He flashed a smile at Luke one more time before leaving him alone with his dishes once more.
The enemy of his enemy, sure.
Wasn’t always his friend.
-o-
It was just – you know. Easy to think about.
Giving up.
JJ had pushed himself for so long. He’d never given up, never given in. All those years of deny, deny, deny, and the thing was – the thing really was – he was tired.
More than that, he didn’t know what he was doing.
What was the point?
What was he trying to salvage?
His life? What life? What value did he add to the world? The Kooks hated him, went out of their way to make his life hell. The cops wanted to throw him in prison and throw away the key. Even his own parents, every last one of them, had beat him, abused him, and left him.
Now one of them had tried to murder him.
And his friends?
What about his friends?
What had he done for them?
Cost them everything? Put them on the run? Cause them stress and pain and hardship.
Simply put: they’d be happier without him.
They’d be safer. They’d still have the money. They’d have Poguelandia.
They’d be happier.
They’d be better off.
JJ closed his eyes, eyes stinging as he was too tired to even sob. He couldn’t make his feet move anymore, and he let his body buoy up, floating on the top of the water. It was the last thing he could do. His last effort.
But why.
He wasn’t just tired of swimming. He was tired of floating. He was tired of surviving.
He wasn’t sure the last time he really lived.
Had he ever?
Sinking was easy. Letting himself go under – it was so, so easy. One gulp and he could go down. Let the darkness take him, deeper and deeper until the ocean swallowed him whole.
Just like his mother.
Drowned at sea in a tragic accident. They didn’t have to find a body. Little Jackson Groff would be with his mother after all.
The water rocked beneath him, sweeping over his face. He spluttered, spitting out the salt and gagging. He kicked weakly to get himself back up and looked up at the sky.
It would be easy. It would be better. It would be an appropriate ending.
The one he was destined for since infancy.
After all, he thought as he gasped for air against the pull of the ocean, they already had a grave for him.
-o-
It was a hell of a thing, Luke thought as Groff climbed aboard. This whole being right thing. He’d been wrong long enough that it felt like a novelty. Were he still addicted to the shit, he might be smug about it. As it was, sober as hell, it just made him skittish.
Because if he was right about Groff coming back–
Well, then Luke might just damn well be right about everything. Groff’s actions 20 years ago, Groff’s intentions with Wes Genrette. Groff’s plans for JJ.
If he could, he’d drown the man right here. But he was the one on deck. The others were watching as he helped tie off Groff’s boat, lending him a hand as he crossed over and boarded.
Luke felt cold inside, but Groff’s smile was warm. “Fancy meeting you like this!” he crowed.
Too loud. Too conspicuous.
Good thing he’d bet his place here on knowing this asshole. Groff’s familiarity validated that much, at least.
“I knew you’d come,” he said, his own voice low.
Groff eyed him – not quite suspicious. But it was a split second delineation before he smiled again, this time far more calculating. “Are you here for the score?” he asked. “Or are you still worried about JJ?”
Luke didn’t like it; he couldn’t help it. Hearing that man say JJ’s name made his stomach roil and his skin crawl. It was the feeling he’d gotten when Groff dropped JJ off that first time, leaving him in the car seat without touching him at all.
“I got my reasons,” Luke said. He nodded back to where Dalia was standing in the doorway, looking pleased. Lightner, her trigger-happy right-hand man, was approaching with clear intention. “And I think you have yours.”
Groff clapped him on the shoulder. “I do indeed, my friend,” he said. “I do indeed.”
“Come on,” Lightner said, making no secret of the gun he was carrying. He used it to gesture at Groff.
Groff didn’t seem to mind. “I recommend you be careful with the merchandise,” he said, even as he lifted his hands and started forward. “You can’t afford to replace me.”
“You’re a stepping stool, Chandler,” Lightner said as they retreated toward the cabin. “You know we’re working on the meet with Finch.”
“Still letting everyone else call the shots, huh?” Groff said. He made a low whistle. “You’re really happy being a little fish?
Luke watched as Lightner prodded him forward, face twisted with a smirk. “Better a little fish than bait,” he said.
Groff chuckled, turning back before he disappeared inside. “Keep telling yourself, Lightner. I’m sure it helps you sleep at night.”
The voices were muffled when the door closed, and Luke sighed, finishing the tie. Groff was playing them, just as much as they were playing Groff. It was a game to see who could get more – and who could get first – and last.
Who would win?
Luke knew better than to bet against Groff, that was for sure. But Dalia was no slouch, and her men were formidable. If he was lucky, they would kill each other out and clear the board. Really, Luke didn’t give a shit. Who got the crown. Who met with Finch. Who made out with millions and who made out dead.
As long as JJ wasn’t caught in the crossfire.
This could end up however it pleased.
-o-
Honestly, JJ wasn’t always sure, at this point in his life. What was cruelty and what was kindness.
That was the way of things, he figured. When the person you loved most was the one you hated. When all you wanted was a hug and got a fist instead. JJ knew it, knew it all too well. A gun in his hand, pointed at the head of his old man. Luke’s fingers around his throat squeezing and squeezing.
He exhaled, spitting out more water as it lapped over his face. The salt burned his eyes, and he felt too tired to keep them open. He was heavy on the surface, bobbing as it tossed him, pulling him farther and farther away from shore and everything he thought he knew.
If his dad loved him, he might never have hit him. That was how it started.
But now? JJ couldn’t help but think. If his dad loved him, he might hold on until it was over.
Living was a cruelty, plain and simple. Every day was torture, a struggle he didn’t want to wage anymore. A fight he no longer wanted to win.
Kindness was letting it be over.
Kindness was being done.
Kindness was sinking.
The next wave washed over him, and he didn’t fight it. It dragged him down, and he couldn’t feel the cold anymore as it seeped into his bones. It was easy, wasn’t it? He didn’t have to keep fighting. He didn’t have to keep up the struggle.
If he let go–
If he gave up–
His friends would be safe.
And JJ would be–
JJ would be–
He gulped, kicking to the surface almost despite himself. He heaved for air, spluttering as his legs kicked on autopilot. He sobbed with it, hating every second but unable to stop. They’d keep looking, he knew. John B would never get over it. Kie would grieve him. He couldn’t make Kie cry. He couldn’t–
And he lifted his head, gasping and flailing. He was too weak. He was too spent. He was too little, too late, too–
Then, he saw it.
A distant blur on the horizon. He thought he might be imagining it at first, but he lifted his head and squinted.
It was a boat.
No, he realized.
It was The Snapper. It was his friends.
Something unfurled, deeply clenched in his chest, but he didn’t know if it was relief.
Or regret.
He lifted his hand and waved it. Kicking his legs, he waved both hands, and yelled. “Hey! Over here!”
The boat veered, coming toward him. He sobbed, lungs heavy and legs numb. He dropped his head back and looked at the bleak, desolate sky.
Because JJ didn’t know the difference between cruelty and kindness at all anymore.
-o-
The surge of adrenaline was a thing, and John B wasn’t sure how much he had left. The last few days left him feeling strung out and exhausted, and this up and down, back and forth with his emotion was almost more than he could bear.
Not that he had a choice.
JJ and Pope were fugitives. Groff was a psychopath. Poguelandia was foreclosed. Oh, and Sarah was pregnant.
John B had to care, didn’t he? He had to give it everything he had.
There was too much at stake.
He could still remember, at 16, saying he had nothing to lose.
He’d been dumb as shit at 16.
As he steered The Snapper to JJ, he wasn’t convinced he was that much smarter. But finding JJ was something–
For now, it was enough.
“JJ!” Kiara screamed. “Hold on!”
“We’re coming!” Sarah said, binoculars at her sides. Cleo was running around, coming from the back as Pope stood, anxious, on the bow.
“Steady!” Pope yelled at no one in particular.
“Easy,” Cleo added.
John B came to a stop as JJ pulled himself weakly to the bow. He reached up, his arms flagging, and John B held the boat steady as Pope reached down and scooped him up.
It was hell, holding the controls while Pope dragged him up. JJ didn’t fight, but he didn’t help either. It was an effort to pull his legs over the edge and deposit him, wet and dripping on the ground. From his vantage point, it was hard to see, and John B’s knuckles were white as Pope steadied him and Kiara reached out to touch him.
“What happened?” she asked, and her eyes swept over him.
JJ, still panting, kept his eyes closed – slumped against the cabin. His face was pale, hair plastered to his forehead, mouth open. “Groff.”
It was all he said.
It was all he needed to say.
Really, John B feared, it was all he could say.
They’d known since the start Groff was bad. Even before he attacked Kiara, they’d known.
And they’d left JJ alone with him.
For an entire day.
They’d given JJ up, honestly. Their sacrificial lamb, like he deserved it. For risking the money. For starting the riot. For being born a Genrette instead of a Maybank.
Blame was easy to throw around.
But harder to reconcile on its face.
Kiara dropped down, hugging him, and JJ didn’t move. He couldn’t move. He didn’t lean into the touch; he didn’t pull away.
“Come on,” Sarah said lightly, nudging John B. “We should get him back to shore.”
“Is he okay?” he asked, gnawing his bottom lip.
Sarah’s eyes met his, and he knew the answer. They’d found JJ, but part of him was lost. They’d pulled him from the ocean, but some part of him would probably never reach the surface again. There were many ways to kill a person.
And Groff?
Had found the most cruel way possible to murder his own son.
“Sarah–” he started.
But she shook her head. “Drive the boat, John B,” she said. “We need to get him out of here.”
Relief was fleeting. Absolution was elusive.
Sometimes making a thing right.
Just meant making it less wrong.
He glanced at JJ, even as Kie sat back, taking his face in her hands and fingers running through his hair. He was listless beneath her touch, strangely deflated. Groff had taken the map, no doubt. He’d taken the necklace, more than likely. And he’d taken something else from JJ – something hard to define but impossible to miss.
John B swallowed thickly, starting the engine again. He turned her around, putting them back on course for home.
Or, he figured numbly, as Cleo got out the first aid kit, what was left of it anyway.
-o-
She’d found him, Kiara reminded herself. She’d found JJ.
That was supposed to be enough.
However, seeing him, stretched out, shaky, and pale, she wasn’t so sure. Really, she wasn’t sure what she’d found at all. Yes, JJ was alive. Yes, JJ was here.
But it was all wrong. All of it.
He didn’t look at her – he didn’t look at anyone. He seemed more lost now than ever, and even as Pope and Cleo helped him limp into the cabin, easing him onto the couch, nothing seemed better.
After all, the weight of it was still there.
Groff had taken everything he set out to take.
And he’d almost left JJ to die in his wake.
JJ, who had endured a lifetime of abuse, had been used, manipulated, and abandoned by his birth father. To say it wasn’t fair was an understatement.
To say it was cruel didn’t do it justice.
Nothing did.
There was nothing.
With JJ on the couch, Sarah had already retrieved the first aid kit. She hovered, and Kiara took it from her, sitting down gently in front of JJ. “We need to see it, okay?” she said.
JJ startled at her touch, eyes blinking open in confusion as she pulled at the hem of his shirt. He was too weak to fight her, and she pushed his hand gently to the side as she got her first real look at the wound.
It was bad.
JJ’s skin was still puckered from the cold and water, which had leached the wound of its color and exacerbated its jagged edges. It was a few inches long, plunged into the fleshy part of JJ’s side. Blood leaked from it sluggishly, and she winced as she reached forward to feel it.
JJ tensed, hissing preemptively.
She looked at him, waiting until his eyes met hers.
“We need to look at it,” she said softly.
He hesitated, but finally swallowed and nodded. His body didn’t relax, but he didn’t fight her as she touched it this time, prodding it gently around the edges.
Over her shoulder, Pope was frowning. “What caused it?”
JJ let his head drop back, face barely composed. “The anchor,” he said. “It was an accident–”
She eyed him warily.
He opened his eyes and stared dimly at the ceiling. “He was just trying to push me overboard,” he said flatly. “I don’t think he meant for me to hit the anchor.”
Since that made it better, to leave someone stranded at sea, as long as they weren’t bleeding to death. Like JJ would have been able to swim to shore otherwise.
She wet her lips, and didn’t say it. Instead, she reached for the antiseptic. “We’ll need to clean it out,” she said.
Pope nodded in agreement. “Use the whole bottle – flush it out.”
Kiara bit her lip, looking at JJ again. “This is going to hurt.”
He nodded, biting his lower lip and keeping his eyes fixed on the ceiling.
She hesitated, just one more second, before using the squirt bottle to pour liquid onto the wound. JJ tensed at the contact, and as she prodded the wound open to squirt antiseptic inside, his entire body went hard, jerking a little as his fists balled up.
“Keep going,” Pope instructed, and Kiara felt her confidence waver.
She squirted some more, and JJ’s eyes screwed shut, a tear leaking out as he whimpered.
Sarah hurried and sat down next to him, brushing his hair back. “It’s okay,” she soothed. “JJ, it’s okay.”
She didn’t stop; she didn’t let herself. A third of the bottle was gone, and she just kept going.
JJ cried out as she hit a sore spot, turning into Sarah’s touch as she pressed a kiss to his forehead. His breathing stuttered and caught, and he choked on something like a sob as she emptied more of the bottle, letting the liquid run pale red all over the couch beneath them.
“Okay,” she said shakily when she was done. Her hands were trembling as she pulled back. “That’s it.”
JJ didn’t acknowledge her, still tucked into Sarah, as she cradled him protectively. Pressing her lips together, she fumbled for the bandages, hastily securing them over the wound as best she could. When she was satisfied, she got up, pushing the kit out of the way and edging in front of Cleo on JJ’s other side. She took his hand.
“That’s it,” she said, squeezing his fingers. “That’s it.”
As if that were true.
As if they could clean it out and bandage it up, like nothing had happened.
JJ didn’t say anything for a long moment, and Sarah finally extricated herself gently. JJ lolled back, head on the back of the couch, mouth open as he continued gasping for air. Sarah retreated, taking Pope and Cleo with her – and John B was still at the controls.
She looked at him.
She hated to look at him.
He was supposed to be happy. He was supposed to be free.
And she’d never seen him more broken.
She had always hated Luke.
But Groff?
She wanted to kill him. Take a knife and plunge it into his gut. Why not? He deserved it.
For what he’d done to JJ.
For everything he’d done to JJ.
But this wasn’t about Groff, she reminded herself.
Lifting a hand, she flitted her fingers through his hair. He sighed finally, letting out his breath as he tipped his head toward her and opened his eyes.
“Why did you get me?” he asked.
The question startled her. It wasn’t the one she was expecting. “What?”
“Why did you even bother?” he asked weakly. “Kie–”
She shook her head. No – just no.
“No,” she said, a little firmer than she intended. She swallowed as hard as she needed to in order to retain her control. “JJ, we’re always going to come.”
“I don’t–” he started, but he seemed to give up. “I can’t–”
She reached over, tipping his face toward her. He didn’t fight her, eyes half lidded as he looked at her. She locked her jaw and nodded firmly. “I love you. We love you,” she said, almost insisting. “We’re always going to do this together. Always.”
Her conviction wasn’t enough, though. He seemed to sink deeper into himself. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”
“Why?” she asked, shaking her head. “Why?”
He lifted his shoulder, just ever so slightly. “Because maybe I’m no good for you.”
She shook her head. “You don’t get to decide that.”
“Maybe I’m no good for anybody,” he said simply.
Because Luke had treated him like shit. Because Groff had used him and left him.
Because everything, all of it.
The whole damn town let JJ be their scapegoat, turning him inside out just for shits and giggles. They had everything. Why did they want him, too?
They could buy their happiness?
Why couldn’t JJ just build his?
“JJ,” she said, cupping his face even more. “You’re good for me. You’re the best thing that ever happened to me.”
“You’re homeless and broke,” he said. “You lost your parents. You’re on the run. Because of me.”
“It’s a bad moment, yeah,” she said. “But it’s going to get better. If we do this together, Jayj. It will get better.”
He looked at her for a long moment, before his gaze slipped and he nodded weakly. It was a concession.
Not an affirmation.
It was the first time JJ might not have believed her.
In truth, holding him as they raced back to shore, it was the first time she wasn’t sure she believed herself either.
-o-
It was dark by the time they got back to shore, and everyone was quiet while they skipped the once safe harbor at Poguelandia for their camp on March Point. At this point, there was no way Poguelandia wasn’t under surveillance, and JJ – and Pope were both wanted.
The trip out was quiet, and no one seemed willing to break the silence by the time they docked the boat for the night. It was all old hat by now, but there was something strange about the familiarity. It was waning, somehow. Their days here were fleeting, and the harder they fought, the less they could control it.
For Cleo, honestly, it was a familiar feeling. That sense of impending loss. The inevitability of starting over. The ever-present impermanence.
She should have known better, honestly. She did know better.
But the dream was so good, wasn’t it? And what they built was so real.
Poguelandia had been their refuge from the outside world.
Their place for them, just for them. Carved out from everyone out to get them. Plucked apart from everyone who doubted them or wished them ill. And for 18 months, Cleo had been silly. She’d let herself believe that this time could be different.
That had been her foolishness, though. Life didn’t play fair – not a little, not at all. She never should have let her guard down. Because the land didn’t matter, in the end.
Not when the people mattered more.
It was why letting go of Terrance was so damn hard.
She’d lost too much.
She wouldn’t lose the Pogues. Her Pogues.
With the boat secure, she followed the others back up the dock to where their makeshift supplies were. It wasn’t as nice as Poguelandia, but it would do. John B was next to her, looking anxiously up the way, where Sarah and Kiara were helping JJ – arm and arm – up the walk toward the house. Pope had run ahead, presumably to get things ready. That left her to bring up the rear.
They talked, maybe; but no one said much. Sarah kept up a steady stream of reassurances that Kiara couldn’t bring herself to echo. There was no indication that JJ heard them at all. He was injured – that much was true. And Cleo had seen the wound. It wasn’t pretty.
Somehow, though, she knew that wasn’t the problem.
What was hurting JJ – what had made him quiet – wasn’t physical.
After all, the body could take hits, and JJ knew that better than almost any of them. Cuts and bruises, it was something you could deal with. Bandage it, pop a painkiller, and just keep going. That wound on JJ’s side was bad – but it wasn’t going to kill him.
Not like the knowledge that his father had tried to murder him might.
Cleo knew what it was to lose family.
But she didn’t know what it was to be betrayed by that.
To have your own blood turn on you. To have your flesh raise a hand against you. Groff had manipulated JJ and pushed him overboard, taking the boat and leaving JJ for dead.
That wasn’t the kind of thing you could slap a bandaid over. That wasn’t something you could dull with painkillers. No, Cleo feared, that was the kind of thing that ate you up from the inside out, the kind of thing that took you to your grave.
Pope had already opened up the house, lighting a few of the torches and prepping the fire area. Kiara eased JJ down at his favorite spot, and Sarah busied herself getting him water and something to eat. John B was quiet, face drawn and almost scared, as he sat down across from JJ, lips pressed together as if he wasn’t sure what to say.
None of them knew what to say. Beyond Sarah’s platitudes, there wasn’t anything to comfort him. There was no bright side. There was no silver lining.
In a matter of a few weeks, JJ’s entire family tree had been upended. The father he hated wasn’t his after all. The one who had abandoned him left him again. And his mother might have been murdered. Oh, and he wasn’t even a Pogue.
Truthfully, that series of revelations made Cleo a little glad her family was all dead. It seemed easier that way, at least.
The others thought JJ was hard to figure. They didn’t always know what to make of his dumbest choices. Like he was some enigma, flying unpredictably and half-cocked.
She got it, though. She understood his impulses. She could predict his choices almost perfectly, even the worst ones.
That was, perhaps, why she was so anxious.
Something had changed out there on the water. When Groff left JJ for dead, they pulled his body out of the water. She wasn’t sure they’d managed to bring the rest of him with it, though.
Between the group, the fire was soon roaring hot. Sarah brought food, and Kiara cajoled him into eating. He went through the motions, but only just. He followed the commands hollowly, and when they offered him weed, when they offered him beer, he didn’t seem interested.
When he made his way to the bathroom after a bit, Cleo excused herself, too. She busied herself in the shed, under the pretense of getting some food for herself, but she kept a wary eye on the bathroom door, sparing a glance back outside where the others were. Pope was tense by the fire, and John B looked sickly in the light of the flame, Sarah tried to comfort Kiara, who seemed despondent. None of them knew what to do.
Cleo knew what to do.
She just wasn’t sure it was going to work anymore.
JJ came back out, head down and posture slumped. “Hey!” she said, trying to catch his attention before he disappeared out the door again. “Rude boy!”
He stopped, looking at her with a frown. “Huh?”
She bobbed her head toward her. “I thought we could talk.”
He hesitated, shrugging a little. “There’s nothing to talk about.”
She huffed, using her knife to cut open a can of fruit just for fun. “Right, so you didn’t just get your world turned upside down.”
The others were all afraid to say it. They were worried about making it worse.
Cleo knew they couldn’t make it worse.
Not when she was pretty sure JJ was already spiraling toward rock bottom as they twiddled their thumbs and worried.
He drew himself up a little, giving her a cold look. “I was nothing when I was a Maybank,” he said. “Pretty sure I’m still nothing. Otherwise Groff wouldn’t have left me for dead – twice. He’ll be pissed to find out it didn’t take this time either.”
Fate was a cruel son of a bitch, that much was true. Cleo knew it.
She also knew wallowing didn’t change it.
It wasn’t fair; it wasn’t right.
But it was all she had. “Eh,” she said, swatting her hand through the air dismissively. “I know it hurts–”
His expression tightened, and his gaze sharpened. “Do you?” he asked. “Do you really?”
The others would have played a little nice. That might have worked with them, but Cleo held her ground. “Fate takes more than it gives for some people,” she said. “That much I know.”
He worked his jaw, drawing back down slightly. “One father beat the shit out of me,” he said softly. “The other abandoned me – twice. I just think maybe they know something I don’t.”
Cleo sighed. “They don’t know shit, that’s the problem,” she said. “If they had a clue, they wouldn’t have done it.”
JJ looked down, not sure what to say to that. He couldn’t deny it; he also couldn’t accept it.
Cleo drew a breath and took a step closer. “You know what I do know?”
He looked at her from beneath the fringe of his bangs, hesitating.
“I know that blood isn’t everything,” she said. “In fact, it’s not near as much as most people think.”
JJ stiffened, blinking hard as he looked down again. “Luke wasn’t my blood,” he said. “He didn’t want me either.”
“Maybe,” she said, stepping closer still. “But we do.”
He looked up again, color draining from his cheeks. “Cleo–”
“All the dumb shit you’ve done?” she prodded him gently, refusing to let it drop. “And we’re still here. You lost the money. You got us wrapped up in another hunt. So what? We’re still here.”
Something passed darkly over his face. “Maybe you shouldn’t be.”
“Not your choice,” she said. “Family’s a choice. Plain as day.”
He inhaled for a moment and held it. When he exhaled, he shook his head. “Cleo, I know you lost Terrance–”
“No,” she said, a little sharper now. That memory still hurt, too, even if she tried not to think about it. He’d died to protect her. He’d died trying to save her. Mostly, though, he’d died – just like everyone else she’d ever loved. “That’s not what I’m on about.”
“But you should be,” he said. “I mean, shit. I go off and do whatever. You’re still mourning him.”
Her face burned with color as the emotion flooded her again. “That’s my point, yeah?”
He held himself still, mouth shut.
“We have to hold onto each other, tighter than ever,” she said. “Family’s a choice.”
JJ seemed to shudder, something long and hard. When he looked at her again, she could see the depth of his loss. He’d known pain before, but he’d never known it like this.
Something was broken.
Something deeper.
Something harder to fix.
“This is different,” he said softly, voice almost broken.
“But it hurts all the same,” she replied gently. “But it will heal.”
When he looked at her now, he looked younger. Too young. Like there had always been this little boy inside of him, just wanting to be loved.
Cleo would know. She still knew that little girl inside of her. The one she kept down deep, down far. Because wanting hurt too much.
“What if it doesn’t?” he asked. “What if I just – never get better?”
The question was raw and honest, it was couched with a pain he’d never let himself show her before. His defenses were falling. Groff had taken more than he had the right to take, and left JJ devastated in his wake.
She wished it was a matter of trust with JJ.
And not just that he was running out of energy to protect himself.
“JJ,” she said, and her voice was gentle now, just barely audible over the hum of the night outside and the soft conversation from their friends just beyond the door. “We’re here.”
The quiet reassurance was steady and true.
But his expression was lost. “Why?”
If they weren’t careful, they’d lose him altogether, she realizes. This boy was barely tethered to anything, and they were all he had left. “Because that’s what family does.”
The soft snort was more pained than angry. “Cleo, I don’t have any idea what family does.”
The point hit – and the point hit hard.
She watched him turn to head back out, head ducked as he rejoined the others by the fire.
She worried, then, that they might not be able to hold onto him after all.
Chapter 11: CHAPTER ELEVEN
Notes:
I have exceptionally strong feelings about both beach scenes between JJ and John B, and how profoundly they impacted JJ and his position with the group and his understanding of himself. John B isn't wrong for being very, very upset with JJ, but these are things that break JJ, ultimately serving as part of JJ's unraveling and he never recovers.
This is a fix-it, so I do intend to put JJ back together. But yeah, he is going to fall apart first.
Also, S5 is physically painful for me. I am aware of the ongoing discussion of the BTS images, and I'm not a fan. I know some people are very excited -- and that's great for them. I know some JJ fans will still be watching -- and I respect that. I can't invest myself in a comfort show that provides no comfort, and I don't trust these writers to actually honor JJ at all. So yeah, I'm still out. It's a very hard time to be in fandom, though.
Chapter Text
-o-
CHAPTER ELEVEN
-o-
There were things to do. Fires to make, supplies to gather. Plans to set in stone and mistakes to rectify. JJ knew this, but he couldn’t bring himself to care.
Honestly, he couldn’t bring himself to do anything.
So far, everything he tried made things worse. Every time he attempted helping, he somehow provoked the situation. Enduro, Goat Island, the courthouse, Groff. JJ took one step forward, just to fall five steps back.
Yeah, they knew where Groff was going, and they knew why.
But he had a head start. He also had all the resources, all the clues, and what the hell was JJ even thinking? Was treasure going to erase his crimes? At this point, the best he could hope was to buy back Poguelandia, throw himself on the mercy of the court to get Pope out, and hope his friends never visited him in jail.
Sitting around the fire, no one wanted to look ahead, though. No one dared to say it.
But John B, after a while, finally asked, “So, what happened anyway?”
JJ wanted to laugh. He ducked his head and closed his eyes. His side ached, deeply twinging, and he felt the pull of it as he breathed.
“JJ?”
He looked up, inhaling deeply. “He screwed me over,” he said something, and the chuckle in his throat was rough like gravel. “And I was so stupid, I didn’t see it coming.”
The self loathing was so plain – he couldn’t hide. John B looked down uncomfortably. Kiara shifted closer to him, a hand on his back. “It wasn’t your fault–”
He couldn’t look at her, but kept his eyes on the fire. “I let him take me all the way out to sea. I believed every lie,” he said, grinding his teeth hard. “And he used me. He took what he wanted and threw me away. Just like everyone else.”
The color flushed his cheeks, emotion taut in his throat. He blinked hard, refusing to let himself cry.
“Did you find the necklace?” Pope asked quietly.
JJ nodded. “Took it, right off my mom’s corpse,” he said, hollowly. “Stole it from her like she was nothing.”
It rolled over him, stronger than he expected. He looked down again, starting to tremble.
“JJ, I’m sorry–” Sarah started.
He looked up, shaking his head sharply. “I did it. Me,” he said. “I did it to save all of us, and it didn’t matter. Groff used it to look at the map, and then he took it – and he took the map.”
“But why did he attack you?” Kiara asked quietly.
“Probably the same reason he attacked you,” Cleo muttered.
JJ looked up, startled.
Kiara was quick to reassure him. “Just a knock in the head, I’m fine,” she said. “We’re worried about you.”
It was too late, though. Putting himself in danger – fine. Making his own mistakes – okay.
But Kie?
Groff attacked Kiara?
He got up, the anger overwhelming him. He paced for a second, vision blinding him.
“I’m okay,” Kiara said again. “JJ–”
He looked at her, and the anger broke. Giving way to the fear underneath.
He collapsed back down to his seat, head in his hands.
“I did this,” he said, shuddering now. “I did this–”
“JJ, this isn’t–” Kiara started.
He looked up at her, eyes flashing. “It’s not? You mean I didn’t lose the money in the Enduro? I didn’t insist we take the Genrette job? I didn’t burn down the town and put us all on the run?”
He was breathing heavily, and he could feel them looking at him.
No one spoke, though.
He laughed, running his hand through his hair. “Like it’s not my fault Groff is involved at all,” he said. “You should have left me out there–”
“JJ–” Kiara started.
“J–” John B said at the same time.
JJ laughed, though. A small, hysterical sound. “You should have just left me.”
“Don’t talk like that,” Pope reprimanded.
But he – couldn’t. He couldn’t think. He couldn’t process. He couldn’t anything.
Stupid. Pathetic.
Worthless piece of shit.
He inhaled raggedly, mouth falling open as he tried and failed to get enough air to clear his head. “He killed my mom,” he said, the words falling out before he could stop them.
The tension dissipated, and the campsite plunged into total silence over the sound of the crackling fire.
He stared at it without seeing, eyes blank. Soul blanker.
“Groff killed my mother,” he said numbly. “He probably killed my grandfather, too.”
No one spoke.
What was there to say?
“And he tried to kill me,” he said flatly, a conclusion that felt like it was a lifetime in the making. Impossible to parse, impossible to ignore. Glaring and painful and real.
It defined him.
It put every mistake in context.
Of course he messed shit up.
His entire existence was a mistake.
How could he not?
“JJ,” Kiara said, her voice the first to break the silence. “I’m sorry.”
He didn’t need an apology. He didn’t deserve one.
“Whatever,” he said, swallowing it all back. He grimaced, picking up a stick and poking it at the fire. “It doesn’t matter.”
“Of course it matters,” Sarah said.
“It doesn’t,” he said. “Just – it doesn’t.”
It was a helpless thing; a futile thing. JJ felt like a baby again, like some stupid infant dropped off at the door of Luke Maybank. He’d messed up Luke’s life, probably drove him to addiction. And now here he was, messing up his friends’ lives, too.
He tossed the stick into the fire, watching as the flames consumed it. “Whatever,” he said. “That’s done. I just – don’t know what to do next.”
All his plans to fix it. All his hopes to buy Poguelandia and clear the charges. All his hopes for a happily ever after.
There were none left. There was nothing left.
He didn’t know how to fix it. He didn’t even know if he wanted to.
“We’ll figure it out,” John B said. “We always do.”
JJ got up, walking over to the cooler. “Do we?” he asked, and he bent over to open it. He wrinkled his nose, bypassing the beers, and grabbing the bottle of whisky from beside it. He opened it, and shook his head. “Because I’m pretty sure everything I do just makes shit worse.”
“We just have to do it together,” John B reasoned as JJ came back and sat down. “No more solo shit.”
JJ took a swig, long and hard. It burned, and he wrinkled his nose. “You think?”
They all nodded.
Every last one of them.
JJ took another drink. Longer. Harder.
“Whatever you say,” he conceded, because fine. Sure.
Whatever.
He took another drink. And another.
The firelight danced as the night slipped away.
It was getting away from him, completely.
He downed more alcohol, begging for the release.
At least if he was drunk, he figured, he didn’t have to face the truth that it might already be gone.
-o-
Luke had never trusted Groff, if he were being honest about it. When he was younger, he’d just been another Kook, and he hadn’t trusted none of them. And what did he know? Maybe they were all cold to their wives. Maybe none of them knew how to hold their babies. If Luke got paid, he hadn’t worried about it.
And after he’d left JJ with him — well, what then? He liked the kid. He wanted to do right by him, by Larissa. The money was good, even if the logic wasn’t, and Luke hadn’t trusted him, had he? He’d known, even then. That something wasn’t right. With Groff. With Larissa. With Albatross.
He hadn’t had much to offer a baby, but—
He had thought he’d keep the kid safe.
That had been the plan.
Now Luke knew his mistakes. He knew he hadn’t lived up to any of it. He had no right, fretting over another man’s baby and acting he had some moral high ground. JJ didn’t remember Groff, but he’d sure as hell never forget Luke.
And still.
Still.
Luke didn’t trust the man. Not a little. Not at all.
“This cabin’s free,” he said, doing what he could to keep the vitriol out of his voice. It wouldn’t help, and Luke was a man on mission here.
But when he turned back to Groff, who was trailing behind him, his face was smirking. “Fancy us, crossing paths like this,” he said. He reached up, tapping his finger to his nose. “I saw it in you when I picked you. You’re like me.”
That one turned his stomach, and Luke’s smile turned to a grimace. “Yeah, well, we all got to make a buck, don’t we?”
“We do,” Groff said, his sincerity too heavy to be real. “But let me give you some advice.”
That was what Luke wanted. Advice from this son of a bitch. The man whose baby he’d raised.
“You have to work smarter – not harder,” he said, leaning in with a nod. His eyes glinted with something like anticipation. He jerked his head back, letting his voice drop even lower. “Especially with this lot. Their little honor among thieves thing is cute, but you can work it.”
Luke bristled, but managed to keep himself still. Really, if Groff was here when they set sail, then maybe Luke could cut and run. If Groff was here, and JJ was safe–
Except, he’d seen the murder scene.
He’d seen the Twinkie.
There was no way to pretend like Groff was done with JJ.
Unless–
“You seen JJ?” he asked finally.
Groff leaned back, apparently surprised by that question. “JJ?”
Luke pressed his lips, flattening them. “Yeah, you know. Your kid.”
“I have,” he said, and his grin widened. “We, uh, spent some quality time together.”
Given this man hadn’t come back for JJ once in 19 years, Luke felt his hackles stand on end.
Groff reached out, slapping him congenially on the shoulder. “I’m afraid JJ’s got some issues right now, though,” he said, and he gave Luke a little shake and a wink. “He’s more like you than I thought he’d be, I will admit.”
The insult didn’t mean shit. Luke kept on point, even as the doubt began to tear into the pit of his stomach. “Issues?”
“Oh, you know,” Groff said, releasing him and swatting through the air dismissively. “Legal issues.”
He frowned. “The vandalism downtown?”
That was a nice way of saying it. Arson, burglary, rioting. Small shit.
At that, Groff just chuckled. “If it makes you feel better, I’m pretty sure the cops aren’t going to care so much about that,” he said. “Not once they figure out the murder.”
That little niggle of doubt?
Became a damn canyon.
Luke felt his stomach drop damn near to his feet as all the color drained from his face. Because he’d seen the scene. He’d seen the body. He’d seen the Twinkie. He’d already put two and two together, and implicated Groff.
But Groff–
Well, shit.
“Murder?” was all he managed to say.
Groff seemed to be enjoying this. A lot. “I needed the favor, I just did,” he said, as if that explained anything. “I needed some time to tie up the loose ends–”
“Wait,” Luke said, shaking his head to get his mind around it. “Are you saying you killed someone – and then – framed JJ?”
Groff blinked as if the answer was insultingly obvious. “It wasn’t something I planned, but it came up, and really, children owe their parents, don’t they?”
Luke scoffed, letting out a short, incredulous breath. “You ain’t parented that kid a day in his life.”
Groff sobered now, eyes going hard. “And you did so much better? I mean, come on, Luke. His little temper tantrum downtown – that was you. It’s what makes him the perfect fall guy. Everyone already wants to get him, and so murder will be the cherry on top.”
It was surreal. The way this man casually talked about framing his son – ruining the boy’s life. He was never there, not once, for JJ.
And now, he waltzed back in.
Just to take everything.
“You son of a bitch,” he growled, lurching forward and taking Groff by the shirt. He slammed him against the wall with a bang, and Groff held up his hands.
“Easy, easy,” he said. His eyes were cold and his voice knowing. “I’m a precious commodity around here. So–”
Luke eased up, reluctantly releasing his grip. He hated to admit it, but Groff was right. Groff was more valuable to Dalia than he was. He couldn’t mess that up.
Big picture.
Luke had to keep the big picture in mind.
Not his strong suit, sure. But he couldn’t mess it up now.
“Why set him up?” Luke asked, his voice rough and just barely restrained.
“Opportunity. Convenience,” Groff said, straightening his shirt with a smirk. “Just seeing what you taught him about obeying his parents.”
He felt the rage simmer now, just barely in check.
“Oh, don’t worry,” Groff said, tone brightening again. “He’s not your son. It won’t fly back on you.”
The fact that Groff wanted that to be the consolation just made it worse. Luke moved back another step, nodding stiffly. “He’s supposed to be yours.”
“Sentiment?” Groff asked with a small chuckle. “Seems too little, too late.”
“And you’re one to talk?” Luke shot back, not missing a beat. His nose wrinkled, and he was unable to control his disgust. “You really are a piece of work.”
“Hey,” Groff said, hands up as if in mock surrender. “I’m just trying to finish what I started with the Genrette family 20 years ago.”
As if Luke needed that reminder. Larissa and Wes – both dead.
And JJ was the last Genrette standing.
“I ought to kill you now,” he muttered, and he considered it. The mercenaries would be on him – sure. It might get him shanked or worse.
If he thought it could fix things, then he would.
But if Groff was telling the truth? If he’d framed JJ for murder?
Then shit.
Now he had to clear JJ’s name, too.
“Look, the murder charges are nothing,” Groff continued, ever smooth. Ever flippant. His lips quirked up, and he looked amused. “Honestly, I’m not sure he has to worry about them at all. He’s not going to worry about anything – and you don’t have to either.”
He narrowed his eyes, trying to parse through that bullshit. He wanted to say it was all hot air.
But with Groff, the mix of lies and truth was a scary thing.
He couldn’t take the chance.
Not with JJ on the line.
Groff seemed to recognize the suspicion, because he postured quickly. “Look, you want to help JJ, right?” Groff asked, clearly changing his tactics in the conversation with a light smile.
He didn’t trust himself to speak, even as his gaze narrowed further.
Groff brightened all the more. “Then work with me.”
The suggestion was so outrageous that Luke half choked on his disbelief. “You’ve been messing with his head ever since you got back.”
“No, JJ came to me,” Groff reminded him.
“And you used him from the start,” Luke argued. He stepped closer again, glancing down the corridor to make sure they were alone. “You just framed him!”
Groff’s eyes were wide as he nodded. “And I can get him off,” he said. “I just needed the distraction. That’s all. I can clear it all up.”
His lip curled, and the distaste sat on his tongue. “How?”
“I just have to pull this deal off,” Groff explained simply. Like it was easy. Then, he leaned forward again. “And if you help me, keep my back with Dalia and her men, then I’ll help him. I’ll help both of you. I swear.”
He shouldn’t have considered it.
But he also was in no position not to consider it.
It was why he’d sought out Groff in the first place. He knew this man had the power and position to fix things for JJ – on a lot of levels. Groff was playing his own game – but Luke might be able to play it, too.
He might be able to play his cards right.
And buy JJ time.
And buy JJ relief.
Shit, buy that kid everything he needed for the first time in his life.
He couldn’t place all his money on the mercenaries. Dalia had made that much clear.
Crossing them would be a risk.
But he needed as much leverage as he could get.
“Come on,” Groff cajoled, closing in again. “No risk, no reward, right?”
It settled uncomfortably, and he hated the offer as much as he needed it. He was in deep now.
He had to see it through.
He couldn’t trust Dalia.
He couldn’t trust Groff.
But if he had to work both sides to get through – to get JJ through – then, well, maybe.
“Fine,” he said, short and hot. “But you better not screw JJ over.”
Groff beamed, thrilled. “JJ will be fine,” he said. Then, he paused, as if amusing himself even more. “At peace, let’s just say. Totally at peace.”
He drew back, not sure what to make of that. He regarded the man coolly, but let him go into the cabin and close the door.
He’d always said it to JJ. Some would say it was bad advice for a kid, but Luke believed in being honest, at least.
Hell was other people.
But, he thought as he went back to work, Heaven was, too.
You just had to know when to hold your bets.
And when to finally risk it all.
-o-
This wasn’t the way John B had thought today would end.
With less than they started.
When they’d already had nothing.
Chandler Groff was a piece of work, he really was. He’d taken the map. He’d taken the relic from JJ’s mother. And he’d taken JJ apart, too, left his broken bits bobbing on the ocean. They’d pulled him out, but honestly. John B wasn’t sure how to put him back together.
Watching JJ now, drinking from the bottle, they all thought to stop him. He knew it; they all felt it. That this was spiralling too far, that JJ was slipping beyond their grasp.
But none of them knew how to fix it.
As if letting JJ drown himself in the bottle might provide them all a respite. Like he could wake up tomorrow, hungover and back to normal.
That was what JJ did, wasn’t it?
He crashed out.
And came back to.
That was a JJ thing.
This was just another JJ thing.
“Hey,” Sarah said softly, sitting down next to him. They’d all split up, retreating to separate parts of the camp, looking for some solace – as if there was any left to be found. Sarah pressed close, and he could feel the chill on her skin. “You want to get some sleep?”
The idea of sleep didn’t even make sense. “I’m not sure I can.”
Sarah nudged him. “This isn’t over.”
He sighed, watching as JJ took another swig across the fire. Kiara looked away, and Pope and Cleo had given up and gone to sleep a long time ago. “I know.”
They sat for a second, watching the embers crackling. “What are we going to do?” she asked.
He looked at her, shrugging. “I don’t know.”
Sarah hesitated. “Do we really think we can find Groff?” she said. “Do we really think that will fix everything?”
John B wanted to say yes.
After all, he was the impossible dreamer here. It had always been him, his idea. He had started this. He’d told them all from the start that enough gold, the right treasure – could solve all their problems.
He was starting to wonder, though.
His old man was full of a lot of shit.
And maybe – just maybe – so was he.
“I don’t know,” he admitted. “But it’s the only chance we have.”
Sarah inhaled and got quiet again. They both watched JJ take another drink, swaying slightly under the effects of the alcohol. “He’s not okay, John B,” she said. “You know he’s not okay.”
He did.
It just – JJ was never okay. JJ had never been okay.
But they’d made it work.
They’d always made it work.
“I just can’t stop thinking,” she continued. “That maybe it’d be better to have him think this through. If he turned himself in–”
“JJ would rather die than go to jail,” John B said.
Sarah sighed. “And he might, John B. He might.”
He looked down, unable to deny it.
She tucked her arm around his, letting their warmth spread to each other. “But if we can get him into police custody. If we can get him help–”
It was an idea. It made so much sense in some ways.
Shoupe didn’t hate them. Shoupe might buy into their shit, all the extenuating circumstances. They could figure it out. Maybe it would work out.
Or maybe the system would eat JJ up. Maybe they’d throw the book at him and never let him out again. Maybe he’d be convicted for a crime he didn’t commit.
Maybe he’d never survive to trial.
He looked up again, watching JJ hum to himself and close his eyes. His best friends since the third grade. His brother.
“If he knew there were other ways to fight for us,” Sarah said.
John B slumped, tipping his head to rest on hers. “I don’t know.”
“But he’d do anything for us,” Sarah said. “If we convince him–”
“It’ll break him, Sarah,” he said.
She turned toward him, curling up next to him. “I think he might already be broken.”
That was the thing, then.
That was the truth he hadn’t been willing to face.
That all his time keeping JJ together.
And JJ was already gone.
“We’ll talk to him in the morning,” he said. “When he’s sober.”
She nodded.
“I’m sorry,” he told her, turning her head up to look at him. “For all this.”
She smiled, faint but true. “I chose to be a Pogue,” she assured him. “I don’t regret this.”
He loved her. He did. Which just made it harder. “But the baby–”
“Belongs here as much as I do,” she said. And she kissed him. “We’ll talk to him.”
She settled back down, letting her breath even out. John B cradled her against him, letting that settle.
This wasn’t how he thought today would end.
But maybe tomorrow would be better.
-o-
JJ wasn’t as drunk as he wanted to be, to be perfectly honest. He could have drunk himself into a damn grave if he let himself, sip by sip into oblivion. It helped numb the pain in his side. It helped numb the pain – period.
He couldn’t explain it any other way.
He didn’t want to feel it. He didn’t want to think about it.
Being used. Being discarded.
And how pathetic he’d been. Treading in the ocean, begging him to come back.
He deserved to die, just for that.
The idea that he could fix this was fleeting, but he didn’t know what else to do. His friends had saved him, for whatever that was worth, and he couldn’t make heads or tails of any of it. He almost understood their obligation, this stupid P4L bullshit he talked about.
But what were they saving?
JJ wasn’t a Pogue.
And no one wanted him.
He just – shit, he didn’t get it. And every time he thought about it, he took another drink. And another. Because drowning seemed pretty good right now after all.
It wasn’t working, though. There wasn’t enough alcohol. He was like a cockroach, too stubborn to die. Too stupid.
So, when he saw the boat cutting through the trees in the pre-dawn, he knew it was bad news. It wasn’t like he’d expected any good news, so it made sense that the Kildare sheriff’s department had found him. They wanted him at least. Even if it was just to string him up as an example, he’d be worth something.
The idea of turning himself in occurred to him.
The idea of running at them, making as much noise as he could, just to elicit their fire – suicide by cop – well, yeah, that occurred to him, too.
But his friends had dragged him out of the ocean.
His friends were right here.
So JJ put out the fire and raised the alarm.
It was time to run.
-o-
“Hey,” Kiara said, shaking her awake. Sarah blinked, mumbling a little. “Sarah – hey, we got to go.”
She winced, body sore from sleeping outside. She turned toward Kiara, squinting at her groggily. The night had faded and the pre-dawn sun was coming out. “What?”
Kiara’s face was set, long and serious. “Cops are here,” she whispered, but the urgency was palpable. “We have to go.”
Just that fast, Sarah was up, jerking herself upright. The others were cleaning up around camp, putting out the fire and packing up. Her heart fluttered, and she put her hand unconsciously on her stomach just because.
Kiara looked guilty. “Are you okay?”
She nodded down at Sarah’s stomach.
Sarah nodded back, but her face was tight. “How did they find us?”
“This isn’t really a secret hiding spot,” Kiara said.
Sarah swung her feet off the cot where she was sleeping, getting her bearings. “But they haven’t been staking out Poguelandia since the riots,” she said. “What changed?”
Kiara shrugged. “Maybe they’re getting public pressure to bring JJ in,” she suggested. “Or Pope’s escape upped the ante.”
Sarah frowned, getting up and reaching for a bag of her own. She threw in a few scant supplies, as the boys geared up. “I thought shit would calm down.”
Kiara’s face was sallow in the morning sun. “Me, too. My parents said it wasn’t that bad.”
Sarah shouldered her bag, rubbing her arms slightly. “And we’re still all set on not turning anybody in?”
Kiara looked back at the others, almost helpless. “JJ nearly died yesterday,” she said. “I don’t – I can’t–”
“Kie,” Sarah said. “If he’s not okay–”
“Prison would kill him,” Kiara said, shaking her head. “If he’s going to surrender, it has to be on his terms or it’ll never work. He’ll implode or they’ll throw the book at him. With everything he’s been through with Groff–”
“But if we ignore it,” Sarah ventured.
Kiara wet her lips, shaking her head again. “Morocco is our only chance.”
Sarah swallowed, feeling guilty for even saying it. “But we’re risking everything for JJ–”
Kiara’s brows darkened. “This is for all of us,” she said. “Groff just tried to murder him. His own father. If we leave him behind–”
Sarah nodded, drawing herself back in. “He’d never recover,” she agreed. She inhaled and let it out. “I’m just worried. He might not recover anyway.”
Kiara’s eyes were bright as she blinked and looked away. “JJ’s going to be fine,” she said, voice hollow. “He always is.”
Some lies you had to call out. Some lies you had to question.
Some lies you had to let go.
Because Sarah knew how it was. The things you told yourself to survive.
They didn’t have to be true.
They just had to be real.
Real enough to follow. Real enough to hold onto. Real enough to risk everything for.
“Kie, we’re going to get him through this,” she promised. “We’re all going to get through this.”
Kiara nodded, smiling faintly.
Because who the hell cared, in the end? When the line between lie and truth was so thin.
And the bond between family was just so much stronger.
-o-
The water was cold, but truthfully JJ barely felt it. His heart felt sluggish as it thudded behind his ribs, but he barely felt that either. He kept step, in line with his friends.
Like he wasn’t the one leading them, step by step into disaster.
Right, like this wasn’t his fault.
Wading deeper, JJ felt the chill take over him. He was in up to his neck, and it was just getting deeper as they navigated the pillars beneath the pier. It was a risky move; it was their only move.
Because they couldn’t run on land. The Pogue was currently being searched, so that was a no-go.
But that police boat?
Was an easy mark.
And if they didn’t have a half-baked plan, they wouldn’t have any plan at all.
Because of course their plan was to steal a police boat. John B had stolen a police cruiser once, and it had been fine. It had worked out great, if you canceled out the part where he was lost at sea, in prison for a crime he didn’t commit, and nearly murdered behind bars.
The whole idea was half-assed and slipshod, more risk than reward.
But JJ bet it all, every time. All or nothing.
All.
Or nothing.
Even a stuck clock was right twice a day, right? Sooner or later they’d get lucky.
Or sooner later they’d just get dead.
Either way, JJ kept his feet, chin just above the water. He spit out salt as it lapped against his lips, and he put the knife between his teeth while they worked their way out single-file.
“I have an arrest warrant for JJ!” one of them yelled, announcing his presence.
That bit was no surprise.
But the next bit.
Well, shit.
“In connection with the murder of Hollis Robinson!”
And he almost stopped, dead in his tracks.
He wanted to be surprised. Really, he did. He wanted to be shocked.
Because, like, murder. That was a new one.
Like new new.
He forced himself to keep moving, even though he could feel his friends looking at him. He’d screwed this up from the start. Somehow, even now, he’d managed to make it worse.
JJ was good at that.
Making a bad thing terrible.
But if anything, it put everything in perspective. Groff had used him to get the necklace; he’d set him up as the fall guy, and then he’d dragged him out to sea to dispose of his body.
It made sense. It made total sense.
JJ was supposed to be dead, a thousand times over.
As they climbed into the police boat to make their getaway, he was running out of reasons to explain why his heart was still beating at all.
-o-
Pope had no idea how he’d gotten here.
Well, he did. He was a Pogue, and he was friends with people who thought the best way to fix things was finding hidden treasure. They were loyal, funny, and incredible. But not one of them had a lick of common sense.
Pope had been destined for school. He was going to become a medical examiner. He was going to get a full ride, and challenge his mind. He was going to make his parents proud.
At least, that had been the plan.
Then, one treasure hunt had cost him his scholarship. Another had taken his high school diploma. And now here he was. On the verge of becoming a convicted felon.
That wasn’t the sort of thing that made you look good on college scholarships.
That wasn’t the sort of thing that got you into college at all.
So, he had no idea how he’d gotten here.
And he had no idea how to get out. Logically, was stealing a police boat going to help? No. Would it make things worse? Honestly, probably.
But it was the only option.
Until they were ready to concede defeat. Until they were ready to let the Kooks win. Until they were ready to just let them string JJ up.
This was it.
Steal the boat.
Make the getaway.
Find their way to Morocco.
Get the blue crown and fix everything.
Really, at this point, a little more jail time didn’t matter. He couldn’t mince words with felonies. They still let felons take classes, right? Sure, the whole ME thing was probably a bust, but he hadn’t exactly taken his chances when he had them, had he?
No, it was time to aim lower.
Like not being a dead body on the slab by the end of this.
He pulled himself up, the others fumbling over the side with him. John B helped Sarah and Cleo pulled up Kiara. JJ yanked himself over, sliding to the ground with a pained expression. He looked at Pope, eyes hollow. He wasn’t the same, was he? Not after all the alcohol. Not after they pulled him out.
You could save a life.
But that didn’t mean someone was still living.
His impulse to save JJ was still as strong as ever. He just wasn’t sure if this was how. All he knew was he couldn’t let any of them be a body on a slab after this.
Especially JJ.
He spit out water, keeping low and quiet while they fiddled with the controls. It sputtered to life, and they didn’t waste time, taking quickly back to the water while the cops yelled in protest behind them on the dock.
Really, Pope knew exactly how he’d gotten here.
Not the plan he thought he’d had.
But the only one that mattered.
First, he’d save his friends.
If they were all still alive on the other side, he’d worry about the changes.
Then, and only then, would he think about school.
For now, he gripped the edge of the boat, braced as the others looked ahead. Scared, determined, angry, lost. This was dumb. This was really, really dumb.
But it wasn’t like Pope had a better plan now – did he?
-o-
JJ really knew. He did.
Bad things – always got worse.
There was no such thing as rock bottom. There was just more shit on top of more shit on top of more shit. Until you died, plain and simple.
You either struggled.
Or they buried you.
There was no in between.
So, they stole a police boat, and now they were trawling the harbor looking for an even bigger boat to steal. It wasn’t like it made JJ squeamish – what, like these Kooks all needed their superyachts?
And it wasn’t like he wasn’t already facing multiple felonies.
But he knew they were conspicuous, being idiot teenagers in a police boat, and given that two of them were probably plastered on wanted posters all over town. That was cool.
Until it wasn’t.
Until there was yelling and pointing, until the cops were on them and one of them was pulling a gun. And suicide by cop wasn’t a terrible way for him to go–
But his friends?
His family?
Hell, no.
He needed to do something; he needed to act.
So he did the only smart thing he could think to do. He put together the only plan he had. He grappled for the safety gear and found the flare gun. It would buy them time, right? The cops would be scattered by it – the crowds would disperse. When they figured out it was just a flare, they could be safely out of the harbor. No harm, no foul. No one had to get hurt.
His friends were yelling, but he couldn’t hear them. Honestly, JJ could hear anything over the sound of his own heart thudding in his chest. His side was killing him, damn it, and he just had to get off one damn flare–
It shot off with a bang and fizzled. He could hear them yelling – and the sound of dismay from the shore.
And then–
Gunfire.
They screamed, hitting the deck, and someone pushed the throttle forward. The bullets ricocheted off the hull and JJ remembered the critical component he kept forgetting.
All his plans were shit.
And the town was out for blood.
His head spun as they sped away, the sound of gunfire fading behind them. Pressed low, he felt fresh blood from his wound, and spared a look around. They were okay, they were all okay. No one was hit. No one was hurt. He hadn’t killed them.
He closed his eyes, wincing.
It was obvious, right? That shooting a flare would cause problems? That someone could have been hit? That he had just made them even more of a target – all of them. Because now he wasn’t the only fugitive. They all were, for aiding and abetting and shit.
He was doing it again. He was screwing it all up. He was making half-assed plans and not thinking them through. He was putting his friends – his family – in danger.
Again.
JJ winced and flopped back against the deck in defeat.
Just like always.
-o-
Her head was reeling.
Holy shit, everything was reeling. Kiara laid there, pressed low, trying to remember how to breathe. Because what was going on? Was she really just in a firefight with the cops?
Was she literally aiding a fugitive?
Was this really what she was doing?
She’d left her parents, drawn her line in the sand – and for what. To be broke. To be beaten down.
To be a criminal on the run?
She inhaled, holding a breath so she wouldn’t cry. She loved JJ, she loved JJ so damn much, but he was out of control. This whole thing was out of control. Her parents had every right to say I told you so.
Except, they wouldn’t. They’d offered to help, hadn’t they? They’d been supportive.
And her dad had been there, deflecting the bullets.
Her dad had made a choice.
If not for JJ, then for her.
People changed, she knew. She had changed. Her dad had changed.
Sitting up, she was shaky. She reached over and offered Sarah her hand. “Are you okay?”
She was pale and shaky, but she nodded. “I think–”
Kiara looked around. Everyone seemed okay and accounted for.
Then her eyes settled on JJ.
She looked at him.
And he looked back.
People changed, she realized. It wasn’t always a choice. It wasn’t always their fault.
And it wasn’t always for the better.
The boat was leaking, veering as they steered away. She braced herself as she went to him. “You okay?” she asked, looking down to where he was holding the wound on his side.
“I’m sorry,” he blurted. “I – didn’t think.”
She looked up at him. “You think?”
He winced, his entire body almost caving in. “Did I – did I ruin everything?”
There was a vulnerability there, one that he usually didn’t show. There was a rawness there, one that he usually kept in check.
People changed.
Like her dad, back on the harbor.
Like JJ, struggling to hold himself together right here in front of her.
Her dad would fight for her, even when he shouldn’t.
She had to take that lesson.
She had to fight for JJ.
Even when she probably shouldn’t.
He swallowed hard. “I’ll turn myself in,” he said quietly, so no one else could hear. “Kie, take me back. Turn me in. Please.”
It wasn’t like she hadn’t thought it. Hell, it had been the plan at so many points.
But this wasn’t surrender. This wasn’t fixing anything.
This was JJ, crashing out again.
This was JJ, unable to face any of it.
This was JJ, desperate to give himself up.
If she did what he asked, she’d never seen him again. He’d let himself be locked up, and he wouldn’t accept visitors. He would add time to his sentence any way he could. He’d let it turn him hard and bitter. He’d let it break him.
She’d lose him.
She’d lose him entirely.
“No,” she said. “We have to get our shit together. Talk it through.”
They had to remind him they loved him. They had to make sure he was safe.
“Kie–”
“JJ, we’re talking it through,” she said, firmly now. She reached up, pressing her hand to his side. “Okay?”
He wanted to argue. He wanted to break. “I’m sorry,” he said again, even quieter.
She sighed, reaching up to peck his cheek. “It’s okay,” she said.
“Are the others pissed?” he asked.
She looked back. John B was holding Sarah protectively, eying them warily. Cleo and Pope wouldn’t even look at them.
“Well,” she admitted. “It’s not great.”
She squeezed his hand firmly.
“But we’ll figure it out,” she promised. “Just like we always do.”
He usually believed her.
This time, it wasn’t so sure.
That was okay, probably.
Kiara wasn’t so sure she believed herself either anymore.
-o-
Hitting land wasn’t unexpected at this point, but shit.
John B was mad.
They’d run for JJ. They’d stolen the boat for JJ.
Hell, this entire treasure? Was for JJ.
To fix his mistakes.
To save what he lost.
JJ had his reasons, and JJ tried hard. But all of JJ’s good intentions didn’t mean shit anymore. Because they were beached, they were all wanted now, and the cops had just shot at his wife and baby.
So JJ needed to get his shit together.
Now.
Killing the engine, John B got off the boat. He helped Sarah, easing her down, before following after JJ with his heart in his throat. If anything had happened to Sarah–
If anything had happened to the baby–
This couldn’t go on. John B had to stop it – now.
JJ was out of control; JJ needed help.
And John B needed to remember his priorities.
“Shooting at a cop, huh?” he said, the accusation none too subtle as they hit the beach.
JJ ran his hand through his hair, body tensing as he turned. “There we go,” he said, like he’d been expecting it. No doubt, he had. JJ was dumb but he wasn’t stupid. He could see the way he was braced already, as if preparing for the hit. “All right.”
John B didn’t stop, though. He forced himself to JJ.
He wasn’t going to deck JJ.
No, he was going to hit JJ where it hurt.
It was the only way to get him to listen. He knew that from experience. It was the only way to get JJ to do anything.
JJ came round, head up. “I fired a flare over their head, yeah, to slow them down,” he said, as if that explanation made sense. “Which is exactly what it did.”
It was JJ logic. In JJ’s mind, it made total sense. It always did to JJ.
Because JJ had no concept of reality. JJ had no real grasp of consequences. Because JJ’s solutions were crazy and self destructive and shit.
John B should have talked to him about this a long time ago.
“You realize we’re all in danger now?” he asked, because here he was. Here Sarah was. His baby.
He could see it hurt. He could see the way JJ flinched.
The way he closed himself down and pulled up his walls just to fight back.
So John B didn’t stop. He had to get through to him. He had to make him understand. “All of us,” he said, because he knew that was a point JJ cared about. “All of us are screwed.”
From up the beach, Kiara was pacing. “Can this wait? We’re trying to figure out how to get out of here.”
Since enabling JJ was making it better.
Right.
Kiara didn’t want to face the truth.
And the truth was hard. The truth was horrible.
The truth was JJ needed help and the longer they let this go on, the more he was going to take all of them down with him. He needed to save JJ from himself.
Or the rest of them were going to be collateral damage.
“I didn’t ask any of you guys to come help me, all right?” JJ said, like that was the answer. Like he thought they were just going to let himself implode alone. Like they might not care if he just screwed it all up and died alone. “I didn’t want any of you to come follow me!”
He was yelling now, his desperation growing. JJ had never been more scared.
JJ had never been more hurt.
JJ had never been more lost.
“Follow you?” John B asked, not backing down.
“Yeah!” JJ yelled back, stepping up again, face to face.
“You think we had any other choice, JJ?” he said, letting his voice cut hard. He needed JJ to stop. He needed JJ to stop, once and for all. “What about Pope, huh? He just threw away his entire life for you.”
He was hitting low now. He was shooting to kill.
There was no other choice.
And JJ scrambled. He could see it, the way JJ emotionally retreated. “Pope, I don’t know why you did what you did, man, okay?” he said, turning toward the boy, where he was seated on the remnants of the boat. “I didn’t ask you to do that.”
JJ spiralled, and hard, turning back to John B in his desperation.
“I didn’t ask you to involve yourself, John B!” he said, bringing himself to bear. The anger was cutting, but John B could see through it. He knew better. “But, no. It’s always my fault. Always.”
There wasn’t time for this.
He couldn’t indulge it now.
Not for JJ’s sake. Not for any of theirs.
“It is your fault,” John B said, hard as he could. “It is your fault, JJ.”
JJ turned, his breathing quickening. John B was pushing to the breaking point, and he knew it. He just had to get him to see.
“Just like the Enduro was your fault, JJ,” he said, because they were out of time. They were out of options.
He didn’t know what else to do.
With their lives in shambles.
And JJ’s hand still on the lighter.
If he had to wreck JJ to get him to see that.
Then–
JJ turned back to him, eyes bright. “Okay, then, go!” he screamed, voice pitching as the tension broke. “All right, I’ll take the hit. I’ll gladly take the hit, all right?”
And he’d done it.
John B could see it now.
He’d reached the breaking point.
He’d shattered JJ. He’d torn his best friend apart.
To save him, he’d thought.
He knew JJ had always hated himself, he knew that. He just had always trusted the fact that JJ loved them more. That his love for them could get him over the hate he felt for himself.
But what he saw now. What he realized too late.
Was that there might not be anything left of JJ to save. That underneath it all, JJ was already done. That JJ was already gone.
His fighting. His desperate escape attempt. Taking the flare.
It had been JJ’s last stand.
How could JJ think about a future he didn't see? How could JJ think through a situation when all he wanted was to quit? He’d been doing it for them.
And John B had just taken that from him.
John B had just taken everything from him.
“Because my life was already over in the first place,” JJ said.
He’d taken it too far. He’d let this go on too long.
Here John B was, looking to the future.
And here JJ was, convinced he didn’t get to have the same one the rest of them did.
No wonder it didn’t work.
Shit, no wonder it was never going to work. JJ finally hated himself more than anything, even more than his love for them. Luke had beaten JJ down all his life. And Groff had swooped in to finish the job.
John B?
Just laid the truth bare for all for all of them to see.
A boat motor was in the distance, and John B wasn’t surprised. He couldn’t be. He shook his head, running his hand through his hair as the futility overcame him. “And there’s Shoupe.”
Was he relieved? Was he scared?
Was he just ready for this to be done?
He didn’t know how to do it anymore. He didn’t know how to save JJ. He didn’t know how to fix it. John B didn’t know anything.
Except that his best friend was so far past crashing out and that his pregnant wife was scared and the whole town was after them and the only possible fix was across the ocean in Morocco.
It’d been bad before, sure.
But John B didn’t know if they could pull it out this time.
JJ had pulled the flare as a last ditch effort, trying to create a distraction from the real problem. It wasn’t so hard to understand, was it?
Not when John B was here, doing the exact same thing.
Placing the blame on JJ was a misdirect.
Having him take accountability was a way to deflect from the truth.
That Groff had broken JJ.
And John B didn’t know how to put the pieces back together anymore.
The flare fizzled out, and guns were blazing on all sides, and none of them had an escape plan anymore. He watched Shoupe approach, and for the first time, he thought maybe it wasn’t so bad. Maybe it was time.
Maybe surrender was all that was left.
Chapter 12: CHAPTER TWELVE
Notes:
I feel like by this point in the season, JJ is so badly depressed that there's very little to be done about it. In the actual show, the Pogues badly acted like they cared. That has always seemed wildly OOC for me, so we'll definitely see them care more moving forward -- but they'll be held back by the fact that they're young, they're out of their depth, and because JJ has always crashed out and landed on his feet before. I know there's a lot of talk about how badly the writers wrote JJ in S4, but I think the way the Pogues was written was equally bad if not worse. I can't say I fix it entirely, but it's at least something everyone is aware of going forward in the fic.
Thank you again for those who continue to read and comment. It just -- means a lot, you know? This show makes me legitimately sad when I think about it, so I have to forcibly keep myself in fic mode or I just can't do it. And you all help me do that!
Chapter Text
-o-
CHAPTER TWELVE
-o-
JJ had known it would happen. He had always known. Luke had told him so; everyone in town believed it. His teachers, the cops, every Kook he’d ever met.
JJ was a ticking bomb.
He was always going to blow himself up.
He’d never been worth it.
Never.
It had only been a matter of time before the Pogues saw it, too.
And yeah. Yeah.
It was all his fault.
Standing there, on the pathetic strip of beach, his friends were resigned. Pope was a fugitive. Cleo had lost the only home she’d ever known. Kiara was scrambling, and Sarah looked forlorn. John B had been the one to say it. John B had been the one to see it.
This was JJ’s fault. All of it. Every last bit of it was on him.
He’d screwed them over. He’d messed it up.
He should have left them a long time ago.
He should have just disappeared.
He should have let the cops shoot him. He should have driven his bike off every overpass until it took. He should have waltzed into prison and just let them lock him up.
His grave was already there, back on Goat Island. He should be there already.
By the time he recognized Shoupe in the police boat, the instinct to run was too worn, too tired. There was nothing left to run from. There was nothing left to defend.
There was nothing left to fight for.
JJ, simply put, had nothing left.
No matter where he went, no matter what he did, he couldn’t outrun that. No matter what fix he provided, no matter what solutions he could come up with – this was still on him. He would carry that blame. All the way to his grave.
If Shoupe wanted him, then JJ would go. JJ would be done.
JJ was ready to be done.
-o-
At this point, Sarah didn’t even know what to think.
People had babies in prison, right? They got to keep the baby for a little bit, didn’t they?
They’d just led the cops on a chase. The cops had shot at them. There was no way out of it now. This wasn’t just about protecting JJ and Pope.
Now it was all of them.
Including her baby.
The shock of it was too much. All she could do was sit there, and watch as her hopes and dreams for a family seemed to blow out, deflating along with the police boat they’d stolen.
None of them bothered to run as Shoupe got off, and no one made a move to get away as he approached, seething mad.
“You guys finally did it,” he said, splashing through the water. “You beached yourself.”
He was talking about the boat.
Sarah almost wanted to laugh.
He was talking about everything.
“JJ, I got you,” he said, coming right at the blonde. “You’ve been racking up the charges.”
JJ winced, and Sarah could see it – the way he was coming apart at the seams. They’d seen JJ a mess before. But they hadn’t seen JJ like this.
John B had pushed him to take accountability.
She was pretty sure he’d ripped the last pieces of him apart.
“I know,” he said, almost helpless as he tried to grasp why. “I–”
Shoupe didn’t care, though. “And guess what? I’ve got a warrant this time.”
JJ’s eyes were red, his face drawn, but he still didn’t run.
Shoupe looked from JJ to Pope. “And you,” he said sharply. “Ditching your tracking device? No bueno. I thought you were the smart one.”
Pope didn’t have an answer. At this point, none of them did. Too tired. Too defeated. Too lost.
Sarah knew they were done.
And so did everyone else as the futility finally set in completely.
Shoupe wasn’t gloating, though. If anything, he was as tired as they were. “You’ve dug this hole about as deep as it can get,” he said, eyes on JJ before looking at the rest of them again. Sarah felt his gaze and couldn’t bring herself to look away. “So, put down the shovels, and come with me.”
He wasn’t there, guns blazing.
If anything, it was an offer.
Sarah wasn’t stupid. She knew it was probably the last one they’d get.
Kiara, though, couldn’t stand down. Even JJ had been cowed, but her defenses flared. “But you want him for murder,” she said, gesturing helplessly. “He didn’t murder anyone.”
It was a point. John B had been arrested for murder, and he’d nearly been killed for it.
JJ would have even less of a chance.
As if he’d ever had any chance at all.
Sarah knew, didn’t she? She’d grown up a Kook. She knew how people talked about the Maybanks. She knew how they talked about JJ.
Her father had told Rafe once to just ease up. There was no point in risking it for a kid like JJ.
When Sarah had asked him later, he’d gently smiled. “Some people are just given the wrong cards,” he said. “It’s not JJ’s fault, necessarily. That’s he’s – less.”
She’d accepted it, then. It wasn’t until she’d fallen in love with John B that she’d realized there was more to him. But you had to look for it, and he didn’t always make it easy.
These days, he made it really, really hard.
Shoupe seemed to get it, though. “Look, I got a good idea about what he did and didn’t do, okay?” he said, as calm and reasonable as any of them could expect. Sarah shifted, finding herself wanting to believe him – wishing they’d trusted him sooner. He looked back at JJ, almost pleading. “We just got to let the courts sort it out.”
Sarah could see it – the way every bone in JJ’s body resisted. He didn’t believe him.
But he also didn’t have a choice.
He had told John B the truth, and Sarah knew it. He would take this hit.
He’d probably take it all the way to the grave, if they let him.
Shoupe, in all his good intentions, might not be able to stop that.
“All I know is I got a warrant for both of them,” Shoupe said, because it was his bottom line. He was here because he cared, Sarah knew that. But he was still a cop, A cop with a burning town and a stack of murders. “And I’m tired of this goose chase, so it ends here.”
That would be that. Sarah could see that Pope was done fighting. She could see that JJ was ready to fall on every sword. John B was ready to let them. Kie would go down fighting, but Cleo would hold her back. And Sarah–
Sarah just needed space for her baby, okay?
Sarah just needed a little bit of hope right now.
And that hope, to her surprise, came walking right up the beach. Stalking into view, plain as day.
Her brother. Rafe.
“Y’all come with me now,” Shoupe said.
But he’d barely finished when Rafe called out, “Hey!”
Sarah’s heart skipped a beat, and the whole group tensed. She wasn’t sure if she should be afraid – Rafe had tried to kill her – or if the hope was justified. If that glimmer in him was real. She got to her feet, expectant, even as John B looked ready to step between them.
Shoupe turned, mouth open just like the rest of them. “What the hell?”
Rafe didn’t stop, though. “I’m just here to save everyone’s asses,” he announced, as cocky and sure as ever. “Shoupe, I got to talk to you. Look, you’re missing part of this picture.”
Rafe was imposing, but Sarah could tell he wasn’t threatening anyone. He wasn’t armed; he wasn’t looking for a fight.
Shoupe, however, didn’t see that. He threw his hand up defensively. “Hey, hey – stay back,” he warned.
Rafe did as he was told, backing up with his hands in the hair. “Jesus Christ!” he said. “What are you going to do, shoot me?”
John B looked at her, slow and cautious. But Sarah shook her head, disarmingly.
Rafe continued. “You’re looking for Chandler Groff, yeah?”
That hit the nail right on the head. For all of them.
JJ slumped back, his posture visibly defeated. Kiara stepped closer to him, and Cleo moved toward Pope.
Shoupe pursed his lips. “Maybe.”
And Rafe pushed his point. “Groff was scamming with Hollis this whole time, all right?” he said.
JJ looked up at that, as if that made sense. As if it didn’t surprise him.
Given that Groff had tried to murder him, well – it probably didn’t.
“If you ask me, it was probably Groff that killed her, not–” Rafe said, making a face of disdain as he waved dismissively at JJ. “–him.”
It was a revelation, and Sarah found herself struggling to keep up.
Pope was on his feet now, coming close as he listened. Kiara went quiet, face paling with it all, and Cleo stayed tense as John B’s eyes flicked from Rafe to Sarah and back again.
Sarah still shook her head.
Shoupe, though, looked like he’d had this thought all along.
Rafe raised his eyebrows. “Did you already think that?” he asked, and he took his advantage. “Yeah, Groff probably killed Genrette, too.”
That one hit, and she saw JJ process it. It wasn’t that none of them had thought Groff capable–
But that he killed JJ’s grandfather.
That he’d been scamming to get Goat Island, when it was rightfully JJ’s.
It was coming together, to make a horrible kind of sense.
Groff had been a bastard from the start. He’d probably married Larissa for the money and the status, and then killed her to make a place for himself in the will. The fact that JJ was alive was a loose end, one that Groff couldn’t abide by – not if Genrette was onto him.
So Groff used JJ. Groff manipulated JJ. Groff set JJ up for murder and then tried to leave him for dead.
It made Sarah’s chest hurt. For all that her father had done to her, he hadn’t been like this.
No one was like this.
How was JJ supposed to live with that? One festering wound in his side – the other in a place nothing could heal.
“And that body – the body in the dunes,” Rafe continues, unfurling the plot in detail. “Do you have that on Groff?”
It was a lot, bigger than they’d expected. Bigger than they’d possibly know.
“Look, you can bring these lowlives in for some vandalism,” Rafe said, eyes flitting over Sarah with a flicker of regret even as he said it. “Some disturbing the peace bullshit. Or you can get the big fish.”
Rafe wasn’t just here for himself, then.
Sarah knew it now
She could see it.
Rafe could get his own amends any way he wanted. Coming here? That was for her.
Not for the Pogues, she knew that. He still didn’t give a shit about them, especially not JJ.
But for her.
Hope, indeed.
For this situation.
For her family.
“These guys know where Groff is,” Rafe reasoned.
Shoupe looked back at them for confirmation. “Yeah?” he demanded. “Where is he?”
John B stepped forward. “Out of your jurisdiction, Shoupe.”
“Way out,” Kiara agreed.
“Try out of the country,” Pope said dully.
“We were on our way to go get him,” John B explained now. “And then you showed up.”
Shoupe saw the bullshit for what it was. “In that?” he asked, gesturing to the police boat. Even before they’d beached it, it was a pathetic excuse for a boat and they all knew it.
Their plan to steal a boat was suddenly painfully clear.
And wouldn’t go over well with a cop right now.
Rafe, though, interjected once more. “No,” he said, gesturing behind him. “That.”
Sarah was almost smiling now, her body filling lightly. Kiara cupped her eyes to look out across the water with a smile, and Pope gawked. John B didn’t know what to say, and JJ’s face was blank as Cleo started to smirk.
“They know where he is, all right?” Rafe said, making the final sell. Their father would be proud, she thought. He was a better learner than their father had ever thought. A true Cameron. “And I can get them there, all right, but they can’t do shit if they’re locked up.”
There it was. The pitch.
Hard and fast.
Shoupe wasn’t a novice. He resisted the bait. “And just let them go? No, thanks,” he said. “I’ll tell you what we’re going to do. You come with me, tell us where Groff is, and I guarantee you, we’ll go easy on you.”
It wasn’t a bad counter, and Sarah knew it.
But JJ turned away, body trembling again as he faced it. He still wasn’t running, though. He still wasn’t fighting.
“Hell, your charges may just disappear,” Shoupe wagered. “Quid pro quo. Ever heard of that?”
JJ was done fighting, but John B’s face went hard. “Just like you did when I was charged with a murder I didn’t commit?”
Sarah couldn’t begrudge him that shot. No, Shoupe had it coming.
It was going to be a stalemate at this rate.
Rafe, though, had learned from the best. He didn’t back down. You got the best deals with a little opposition. “Think about it. Hollis – dead. Genrette – dead. Downtown’s trashed,” Rafe said, laying it on thick now, eyes right on Shoupe. “You’re on the chopping block. Okay? I hear what people are saying about you, all right?”
Kiara was looking pleased; Cleo was amused. Pope’s color was returning, and JJ looked impressed.
Sarah wasn’t just impressed. She was proud.
That her brother could do this.
That her brother would do this.
The same one that had killed Peterkin. The one that had shot her. The one that had nearly drowned her.
Maybe he had changed.
Maybe he wanted to change.
And maybe – just maybe – he could.
“You’re going to lose your job. It’s game over,” Rafe said definitively. And he made the final offer. “Unless you bring the killer to justice, all by your lonesome.”
Shoupe waffled.
Sarah stepped closer, swallowing in anticipation.
“So what’s it going to be?” Rafe asked. “Some bullshit charges on these low-life Pogues who didn’t do shit.”
Cleo nodded in agreement. “He’s got a point.”
“Or you solve the crime of the century,” Rafe concluded. “And you save your job.”
Shoupe pursed his lips, but he didn’t disagree. He didn’t fight. If anything, his gaze was knowing as he stared back at Rafe. “You know, you’re sounding a lot like your old man,” he said. “And that’s not a compliment.”
It wasn’t.
But it didn’t matter.
Sarah had made her peace with her father – and so had Rafe.
All that was left was making peace with one another.
“Now I’m getting cornered by another friggin’ Cameron here?” he said, frustration evident.
Along with the concession he would soon give.
Rafe knew it. Sarah knew it.
“Okay, then,” Rafe said, making the deal that much sweeter. “When we get back, and you got Groff locked up, I’ll tell you what happened last summer on the runway. When you found me out there on the tarmac.”
All the surprises.
That was the one Sarah didn’t see coming.
Not just that he’d risk his well-being.
But that he’d risk his reputation.
That wasn’t just justice. That was something else. That wasn’t for himself. That was for her.
“The real deal,” Rafe said, no excuses or hesitations. “I know you want to know.”
“You want to know what I want to know?” Shoupe asked. Rafe had raised the stakes, and Shoupe was going to call. “I want to know about another runway incident a little further back. How about that?”
Rafe stepped back, and this time, he wavered as he considered it. He looked at Sarah and smiled. “All I’m saying is that all of this would look really good for an elected official in the hot seat. You know?” he said. “Getting it all wrapped up in one package.”
It wasn’t a denial. It was an opening.
To the truth they’d all known. The dividing line.
Rafe had held out so long. Put up so many walls.
But there it was.
If he took it back that far. If he was willing to undo that much.
Well, shit, Sarah thought.
Then maybe he really was a changed man.
John B stepped forward again. “How about this,” he said, quiet and reasonable now. He looked from Rafe to Shoupe and nodded. “We find Groff and call you.”
There was no argument.
There was nothing else they could give.
John B shrugged. “He’s all yours.”
And finally, Shoupe folded. “I eat shit either way. All right, you’re welcome,” he sputtered, defeated and he knew it. “Go on, before the cavalry gets here.”
JJ and Pope left first, Kie and Cleo right behind them. John B followed, coming alongside her as he glanced back.
“I’m glad to have you out my hair anyway!” Shoupe yelled, his desperation showing. “You better find his ass, or I will hunt you down!”
Sarah could only smile as they retreated.
That was how you did it.
Right or wrong.
Cameron style.
-o-
Pope knew it was the logical course of action.
At least, after painting themselves into this corner, it was the only logical course. If he looked back, he could see 20 different options, but none of them mattered now.
JJ was alive; JJ was safe.
They’d figure out the rest.
If he needed to go jail, he’d go to jail.
If he needed to sail to Morocco, he’d sail to Morocco.
Climbing onto the boat with Rafe, of all people, was the logical solution.
To a problem that had stopped making sense a long, long time ago.
-o-
John B knew, no matter what he said to JJ, this was his fault.
Right?
He’d been the one, all those years ago, to pretend like finding a treasure would fix everything. He was the one who had dragged them alone.
I don’t care who’s trying to kill us.
He’d been an idiot. A big one.
He was also a liar. A hypocrite.
It doesn’t matter whose fault it is, JJ.
Things that were easy to say, harder to live.
Because he knew what this was, right? A JJ thing?
JJ had been digging his own grave all his life.
And John B, back on that beach, started to bury him in it.
He could see it, the defeated slump of JJ’s shoulders. The way his head didn’t lift all the way up. The way he didn’t look them in the eyes. The way he followed Rafe Cameron, step for step, because he didn’t know what else to do.
He would have turned himself in. He would have taken the fall, and he wouldn’t have begged for any pardon or plea deal. He would have taken the sentence, taken it all.
Because it mattered whose fault it was.
John B didn’t know how to change that. You couldn’t unring a bell. The blame peeled across the horizon, even now, paving the way to whatever lay before them in Morocco.
Behind them, as Rafe steered them toward the ocean, they passed Poguelandia. The familiar shores rose and fell, until the dock came into view, and then the store. The flag flapped in the breeze. The sign was still there, boasting JJ Maybank Charters far and wide.
Finally, the house. Painted and refreshed. Welcoming and theirs. He could see his bedroom window, the one he shared with Sarah. He could see the hammocks, where they passed lazy afternoons. The firepit, the cooler still in the yard. The little curtains Sarah had sewn and JJ’s shitty patch job from the latest leak on the roof.
John B felt it, the way the emotion tightened his throat. The engine pressed on, the distance pulling away from them as they moved on. Too fast; too soon.
All he could do was look back.
At what had been.
At what should have been.
At what they were fighting for.
He wasn’t sure if he believed they could get it back.
But he looked at JJ.
He looked at Sarah.
He had to believe there was a chance.
-o-
Cleo didn’t care, really. She knew you had to go where life took you, and she never stressed about it. She’d hopped on boats for less. A lot less.
She had her friends, at least. That was more than she used to have.
All she needed, really.
Who owned the boat – didn’t matter. Who was at the control – didn’t mean shit.
You had to trust the people in the trenches with you.
John B and Sarah. Kiara and JJ. Her Pope.
There was no one Cleo trusted more. They could leave the OBX forever, and Cleo would be fine. As long as she was with them.
Straight on, then. Steady ahead.
Keep going.
Without goodbyes.
-o-
Kiara hated it, if she was honest. How much it hurt.
She always tried to pretend like she didn’t care. That she didn’t need the trappings of normal. Like she was a free spirit, open to whatever life had.
But she’d wanted it, too. The house and the job. The boyfriend and the family.
She thought about the pregnancy test, and those two little lines.
Maybe she wanted that, too. Maybe she wanted to reconcile with her parents, make nice and make amends. Maybe she wanted to be happy and whole again.
Saving the world – that was good, that was important. Kiara wanted that.
But it started with saving them.
She looked across the water, eyes settling on JJ.
It started with saving him.
The boat veered, skirting the coastline and Kiara took a deep breath of the sea air, wishing for a clarity that eluded her.
She didn’t know how to save the turtles. She didn’t know how to save the oceans or the beaches or any of it.
And she sure as hell didn’t know how to save JJ Maybank, even though he was right next to her this whole damn time.
She had a boat ride to figure it out.
If she let herself think about how much that terrified her, she could never do it.
So Kiara braced herself, looking back at the OBX one more time.
Before preparing herself for whatever came next.
-o-
And JJ didn’t think at all.
He stood there, watching it all slip away from him, like it might not have ever been his after all. Maybe it wasn’t. Maybe he really didn’t get good things.
It was his fault, after all.
It was his fault.
All the times he’d run away. All the times he’d crashed out.
This was the first time he didn’t know if he’d be able to come back.
He didn’t know if that scared him.
Or relieved him, in the end.
Part of him – most of him – was scared to find out.
-o-
No one said shit; they were all too scared. Pope and Cleo pressed close together, and Sarah looked wistful. Kiara swallowed hard, tucking her hair behind her ear and John B came up next to him with a sigh, sharing his view back as Poguelandia started to fade.
“It’ll be the last time we see her, I guess,” JJ said.
John B looked at him, a little taken aback. JJ’s face wasn’t colored with hurt; if anything, he seemed calmer than he had been. As if looking in the face of the inevitable had solidified him somehow.
It was unsettling, to say the least.
But could John B say it was surprising?
Was any of this surprising?
He was pissed at JJ – he was. JJ had cost them everything, and he had put them all on the line.
But he’d said it before, back when they were just kids. It didn’t matter whose fault it was. This was a relationship, and JJ was his best friend. JJ was his brother.
JJ was hurting; JJ was reeling.
He was watching JJ unravel in front of him, and anger didn’t get him anywhere. Not when JJ’s troubles came from a place of pain, a place so deep in JJ that he hardly let it show. A place so encompassing for JJ now that he didn’t know how to hide it.
His heart ached, then, as he watched JJ’s face. Staring at the only place he’d ever felt happy.
The only home he’d ever had.
JJ wasn’t bidding goodbye to Poguelandia.
He was bidding goodbye to the very idea of home.
The very idea of family.
“JJ,” he said, and he wet his lips, looking for the words. “We don’t know that.”
When JJ looked at him now, his expression was funny. There was something there, seated deeply in his eyes. Not quite amusement; not quite reassurance. Almost like he wanted to believe John B – but knew he couldn’t.
It was almost pity.
“John B, I’m wanted for murder. I burned down the town. Breaking, entering, looting, arson–”
John B felt his chest start to tighten. “Shoupe said we could make it go away.”
JJ smiled. But tired. Small. Weary. “The things I’ve done can’t just disappear,” he said, and he nodded back at the retreating view of Poguelandia. “I’m the reason we can’t go home. I’m the reason it’s gone. Me.”
Back on the beach, with Shoupe on their tails, he had wanted to hear that. He’d needed JJ to take responsibility and own up to it. For losing their home. For putting them all in danger. For putting Sarah – and the baby in danger.
But that was the problem, in the end. JJ knew his faults. JJ knew them better than the rest of them. He had internalized them all his life. Luke had made sure JJ understood that much: that he was the problem.
So much so that JJ made himself the problem.
During the last 18 months, John B often let himself forget that those memories still haunted JJ.
Standing there with him, looking back at the wreckage of the last week, he reminded himself how willfully naive he’d been. Like 18 months could undo what JJ had spent 18 years learning.
JJ didn’t need to take the blame.
JJ needed to believe – for the first time in his life – that he could do better. That he had a future. Not the one Luke beat into him. Not the one Groff had left him behind for. But the one they were going to build – together.
Blame and fault – that was what went before.
Hope and change – that was what had to get them forward.
JJ had plenty of the former and, John B realized with a growing dread, almost none of the latter.
JJ lips quirked up, his smile wry. It didn’t reach his eyes as he shook his head and looked down again. “I’m the reason we lost it,” he said quietly, and there was no condemnation they could make that matched what JJ already felt for himself. “I’m the reason we lost everything.”
John B swallowed, and when he blinked, his eyes were burning. “It was just a house, JJ. It was land,” he said.
JJ looked up, eyes wide. He made a choked off laugh, pointing to the shoreline behind them. “It was our business, our home – everything.”
It had never been just a house. It had never been just land. John B knew that; that was why it’d been so easy to forgive JJ after he blew so much money buying it. He knew what it meant then, to own it, to take it back for himself.
He knew what it meant now, to lose it.
Denial, though, was the only friend John B had, more long-lasting than JJ. He drew himself up, shaking his head. “Well, we’ll find the Blue Crown. We’ll get another fortune. And we’ll make another one.”
He spoke it with conviction. Did he believe it? Was it something he was sure of?
He had to believe it. They’d done the impossible before – so many times.
All because John B told them they could.
JJ had never doubted him.
But now, standing there on the deck, he could see the change. JJ doubted him now.
John B’s passion had always been enough for the both of them.
JJ had lost too much, though. Passion, hope, belief – not even revenge. John B had the growing fear that none of it would be enough for JJ now. People weren’t inexhaustible. Spirit wasn’t indefatigable. Humanity had limited resources, and everyone ran out when pushed too long and too hard.
Even JJ.
Especially JJ.
“You make it sound easy,” JJ said finally, and his voice was small. There was no anger; there was no vitriol. But the sound was laden with regret.
The life not realized.
JJ had seen it for a second – a fleeting second – the possibility.
Now, he was standing face to face with a bleaker reality. One he could no longer see his way past.
He couldn’t bullshit this. He couldn’t pretend like it wasn’t real, not when they were running from the law, making a last-ditch effort to save everything. “It wasn’t easy last time.”
John B knew his own hubris had started this. It had been his insistence that set them on this path, putting all of them in danger time and time again. JJ had wanted him to stop once.
Now, he wasn’t sure JJ could keep doing this at all.
For all their sakes, he had to.
“B, that’s the point. I don’t know if we can do it again – if we can capture that same magic that got us here,” JJ said with a short, hot exhale. He shook his head, gesturing helplessly to the horizon, where land was growing distant. He looked down, seeming to shrink into himself. “I don’t know if I can do it again.”
JJ had always been able to do that, to make himself smaller somehow. The way he held himself, the way he tried to make himself disappear. As if he could will himself out of existence once and for all.
John B reached out, taking JJ by the shoulder to keep him from retreating further.
He’d thought not talking about it would help. He’d thought placing blame could give JJ perspective. He’d thought guilt tripping him could get him back.
He’d been wrong.
What JJ needed – JJ needed hope.
“We’re going to find that crown,” he promised. “We’re going to fix everything.”
Looking out across the water, JJ seemed to sigh. He knew JJ, better than anyone. He knew JJ had a finite ability to fight. He knew that his defenses only lasted so long before they just fell.
He was pretty sure they were almost there.
Or, as he looked at JJ’s face, looking tiredly across the water, he thought maybe they were already there.
“I want that,” he said softly. His voice was quiet over the sound of the engine almost lost in the churning of the water beneath the hull. He looked at John B. “For you guys. I want that.”
John B felt the twinge in his chest. “For us.”
He said it with force and certainty. It was an effort to convince JJ.
But JJ just looked away again. “I don’t know anymore.”
The admission was small – and huge all at the same time. That twinge deepened, and John B felt the flutter in his chest send a wave of panic down his spine. “JJ, I’m serious,” he said. “This is for us.”
It wasn’t enough to bring JJ’s gaze back to him. If anything, the sadness seemed to settle. It seemed to take hold. “Maybe it shouldn’t be.”
The words were soft.
They hit hard.
There was something about them. Something futile. Something resigned.
Something like giving up.
All the years, he’d known JJ. JJ hadn’t quit. He’d gone through so much shit – too much shit – and always got back up swinging.
Something had changed.
Looking at JJ, he worried everything had changed.
And he didn’t know how to undo it. He didn’t know how to fix it.
John B didn’t know how.
“What?” he asked instead.
JJ shrugged with a quiet sense of loss. “You said it yourself,” he said, giving John B a tired look. “This is my fault. All of this. Is exclusively my fault.”
It was true, was the thing. John B had said it. He’d practically demanded it, pinned JJ down, backed him into the corner until the admission was forced out of him. In the moment – as it all came crashing down – he’d needed JJ to take that accountability. He’d needed JJ to stop and realize what he’d done.
For himself – for all of them. He’d thought facing it was the only way to finally make it get better.
With emotions high – and stakes higher – it had mattered.
Because JJ didn’t think. He never thought.
But then, John B had always known that.
And he knew why.
JJ didn’t know how. JJ had no means for it. He had no emotional grounding for it.
When most people were drowning, they saved themselves. It was a normal human reaction to put yourself in the lifeboat first. It was what they all did. It was what John B did.
It wasn’t what JJ did.
When push came to shove, JJ would jump out of the boat every single time.
JJ would drown so they could float.
And sometimes, it was easy to let him.
“I know,” he said, sighing heavily. “But emotions were high. I didn’t mean–”
JJ looked at him. The look on his face was hard to explain. It was something John B hadn’t seen before. JJ had been beaten down a lot in his life.
But John B had never seen him broken.
Not like this.
“You did,” JJ said. There was no malice; there was no anger. Just acceptance. “And you were right. All of you were right. I ruin everything. Everything falls apart because of me.”
John B felt his gut twist. That had never been his point. “I just wanted you to think about the consequences of your actions–”
“I know,” JJ said. “I’m a moron. I’m just stupid. I mean, come on. Luke wouldn’t have beat a kid who did it right. And Groff – he wouldn’t have tried to kill me if I was worth anything.”
The self loathing now rippled just beneath the surface. JJ’s face was taut with his, his voice heavy. “JJ, shut up,” he said. He inhaled sharply, curbing his emotions as best he could. “That’s bullshit, and you know it.”
But JJ didn’t.
JJ didn’t know it.
JJ didn’t know it at all.
The funny thing about it all was that JJ didn’t need accountability. No one hated JJ – more than JJ himself. Luke had beaten him down. Groff had broken him.
And John B had scattered the pieces all across the OBX in a self-righteous haze.
It wasn’t his fault.
But what was it he’d said? That it wasn’t about blame?
It was just about the way two people who loved each other could hurt each other. It was just about how two people who loved each other owed the other one everything, just for one more chance to make it right.
“JJ, good things are going to happen,” he said, stepping closer and holding his gaze. “I swear, J. This is going to work out. It is.”
In the dying light, JJ looked stripped down. The color washed from his face and the pretenses gone in his eyes. John B had a sudden, horrible thought, that no matter what happened on this trip, no matter what they found, it would never make up for what JJ had lost.
“I don’t think I get good things,” JJ said, and he exhaled, a small breathless smile with no humor. “I don’t think I deserve any good thing, B.”
It wasn’t just the words, the fleeting thoughts.
It was the certainty.
It was the plain certainty written all over JJ’s face, carried like a weight on his shoulders that he would never shrug off.
And John B had wanted to place blame.
Like JJ hadn’t spent his entire life thinking it was his fault.
“JJ,” he said, his own breath catching. He shook his head. “Why would you say that?”
He knew why. John B had known why since the first day JJ showed up at the Chateau, bloody and bruised. The day he insisted, swore up and down that he was fine, that he was okay, that his dad loved him.
The only way to love a world that hated you, after all, was if you took the blame.
And carried it all your life, right down to the grave.
“I don’t deserve them anyway,” JJ said. “I mean, I had a good thing — I had the best thing, everything I ever wanted. I had you guys, I had the charter, I had Kie—”
His voice broke, the weight of his words filling the void between them as John B didn’t trust himself to speak.
“And I threw it away,” JJ continued, voice falling soft into the stillness as he looked back across the water. He looked at John B, swallowing hard. “And worse, I took all of you down with me.”
John B stepped closer, taking JJ by the arm. “Hey, none of that bullshit," he said.
JJ frowned. “But you said—”
John B rolled his eyes. “I was mad. I was stressed. I didn’t mean it.”
JJ’s face contorted. “You should have,” he said and quickly shook his head as he pulled out of John B’s grasp. “You did. You were right.”
“No, because this isn’t just you or me. It’s all of us together,” he said. “P4L, remember?”
JJ physically flinched at the familiar invective.
John B pressed it. “We went down together, okay?” he said. “We’ll get back up together, too.”
And for a moment, JJ held his gaze. For a moment, JJ heard him,
For a moment, JJ believed him.
But the reality crashed back in, and JJ looked away, blinking hard as he breathed heavily. “We’ll see,” he mumbled, wholly unconvinced.
He wanted to reassure him. He wanted to fix this.
Because JJ was his best friend. JJ was his brother. John B had lost too many people. He couldn't lose another one, not JJ
It wasn’t the same, though. It didn’t work the way it used to.
JJ was right here with him, and he’d never been further away. John B had known this from the start. JJ wasn’t reckless for the sake of pissing them off. JJ wasn’t reckless because he was stupid or selfish. JJ was reckless because he was scared.
JJ was reckless because he would rather choose his own pain than endure what others gave him. The race had been a sign that JJ was losing control, and John B hadn’t done anything. Then with Luke, Groff, the land, the riot.
John B had been so wrapped up in himself that he’d lost sight of JJ.
Now, even as he tried to steer them to salvation, he worried he might lose JJ altogether. Death took many forms, he knew this from experience. The worst ones happened while your heart was still beating and air still moved in your lungs.
Because JJ was right here.
But he felt further away than ever.
Chapter 13: CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Notes:
So, the boat ride to Morocco was one of the worst written and edited segments of the entire season. From Kiara and Sarah playing cards while JJ was spiraling, to JJ confessing he wished he was dead while Pope did nothing but blink? Yeah, none of it made any sense. JJ was literally suicidal at this point and the show made no effort to -- care? JJ's headspace at this point is so badly compromised, and he's so clearly not okay, and the others are more worried about Rafe than they are JJ.
So anyway, I spent a lot of time on the boat sequence, giving it more depth and what I think is realism. Because what we saw on screen? Is not at all what my Pogues would do.
Thank you for anyone still reading and reviewing. The ongoing comments are everything to me!
Chapter Text
-o-
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
-o-
There were just a lot of things they should have planned.
Honestly, Pope couldn’t deny it. They should have planned the entire last 18 months a lot better. And the two years before that – yeah, he probably could have used a better plan. To his credit, he tried to make plans.
He just happened to be friends with insane people.
John B was always planning treasure hunts. Sarah was always having an identity crisis – Kook or Pogue? Neither option was sane. Kiara, for all that she was supposed to be rational, was increasingly reckless and crazy, too. And Cleo – as much as he loved her – really did like pointy things and didn’t seem to understand that sometimes having a moderated response to things was the best way to get what you wanted.
And JJ?
Well, he couldn’t even with JJ – now, could he?
JJ was the best friend you could ask for. Loyal and selfless. True to a fault.
He was also completely unhinged with no coping skills and the complete inability to associate his actions with the painfully obvious consequences of his actions.
Pope understood him; Pope loved him. Honestly, Pope didn’t even regret saving JJ’s life – not for a second. He would do it again in a heartbeat.
It just made life complicated, that was all. Now that they were off the Outer Banks, now that he could think – well, now he could plan.
Now, he had to plan.
It wasn’t like anyone else was thinking about the logistics. Rafe, maybe. But they’d locked Rafe up so consulting him on their fuel supply and rations wasn’t exactly going to be a great idea.
They were two days at sea, and that was what he’d been doing. Planning their route; managing their fuel. Taking inventory of their supplies; creating shifts for them to man the critical systems. It wasn’t a holiday, after all. This was a working boat, and they were the only crew. Pope knew enough to know he was in over his head – they all were – but Cleo seemed to think they had this under control.
As she was the only one with experience on ships, he tended to take her word for it.
Also, she was very pretty, and every time she touched him, he still lost most of his rational thinking skills. So.
“You’re overthinking it,” Cleo told him, snapping him from his thoughts.
They were on post together, in the control room. He was at the controls, but he wasn’t exactly paying attention. “I would say that’s not a problem we as a group have ever had. We’re lucky if we think enough to stay alive.”
She smirked, smile lightening her face from her spot on the seat. “That’s why we have you.”
“It doesn’t work that way,” Pope said. “You can’t have one person plan everything.”
“Sure we can,” she replied easily.
“Not when you all promptly ignore me,” he shot back with a glare – there was no malice behind it, though.
She grinned even more. “Ah, well. This is the new you, yeah?”
He snorted, easing his position slightly. She took the edge off of things in a way no one else ever had before. She made him feel safe, even when things weren’t happening the way they should. “Right. The new me. On the run from the law.”
She shrugged, as if it was insignificant. “We do what we have to do,” she said. “There’s no crime in that.”
“No, really, there is,” he said, a little more soberly now. He let out a breath and shook his head, looking out across the open water. “If we don’t do this right – we’re all screwed. Not just me and JJ.”
Cleo wet her lips, considering that for a second. “Well, that’s why you have a plan.”
He nodded, reassured in that. “That’s why I have a plan.”
“I think we’re good on fuel and mechanical supplies,” she said, not for the first time. She’d taken an in depth inventory when they got started, and she’d done the calculations for how much they’d need and what exactly they needed. “Sarah and Kiara have gone over the food supply.”
“Good weather, and we can be there in 10 to 14 days,” he said, biting the inside of his lip. He opened the book with his notes. “But I think we need to plan on 21 days, just to be sure.”
“Agreed,” Cleo said. “We need to keep a close eye on our navigation and weather, too. We need to stay on course as much as possible.”
“John B’s been helping out with that,” he said. He hesitated, biting his lip harder. “JJ tries–”
He didn’t finish.
He couldn’t.
Ultimately, he didn’t have to. Cleo knew; they all knew. They all knew – and none of them were talking about it. Like they were all secretly hoping that JJ would get his shit together and be okay. That he could have his moment and then go back to being the JJ they all loved and counted on.
That was the easier thing.
Pope didn’t like to think about how hard that might be for JJ. When he had literally lost every sense of himself, that maybe there was nothing for him to put back together – even for them.
But he was JJ.
He had to be okay.
JJ was the best and the worst of them. He had the highs and the lows. That was just who JJ was.
A lot had changed, but not that.
At least, that was what Pope told himself.
“JJ has to figure his shit out,” Cleo said. “I think his whole world just turned upside down.”
“Groff trying to kill him is a lot,” Pope admitted, almost reluctant to acknowledge it. He knew how close they’d come. He knew that another 30 minutes, and they might not have found JJ at all. That scared him.
But how much had it scared JJ?
To literally be set adrift by the person in this world you were supposed to count on.
“More than that,” Cleo said, brow furrowing. “To find out everything you thought you knew was a lie. One father abused him all his life. The next tries to kill him. He’s not even a Pogue.”
That last bit hit harder than Pope expected. He hadn’t even thought about it. In the litany of reveals about JJ’s past, it was a connection he’d failed to make.
The sudden thought made him falter, steadying himself against the controls. “Shit. Yeah. Being a Pogue is all JJ has ever had.”
“I’m actually surprised he hasn’t spiralled more,” Cleo remarked.
Pope shook his head, his laugh of bemusement more bitter than amused. “Right, since starting a riot and shooting at the cops isn’t enough.”
She rolled her eyes at him. “For JJ? With this kind of life-changing news? He’s not who he thought he was. If he doesn’t have that – what does he have?”
The question was something to consider, and the plainness of it did make him stop.
But in its wake, he found resolve. “Us.”
Cleo’s expression turned a little sad. “I’m not sure he knows that.”
“Of course he knows it,” Pope retorted without hesitation. He scoffed. “That’s the one constant in JJ’s life. Us. He knows.”
Cleo shrugged, still seemingly unconvinced. “With everyone piling the blame on him?” she asked. She tipped her head to the side. “I’m not so sure.”
Logically, Pope struggled to make that parse. JJ did show his commitment through action, this much was true. He was always the first to skip school for them, break the rules for them, and jump headfirst into danger – for them. He’d let himself get arrested without a second thought just because that was what JJ did.
The quieter moments were harder. He hardly ever let his walls down, and his emotional response was denial. Deny, deny, deny.
Pope had always thought it was performative.
But what if it wasn’t?
What if it was truly all JJ knew?
Which was ridiculous. They loved JJ, even now. They were worried about him.
JJ had to know.
He shook his head, getting his brain back around to the point. “Look, we just have to get to Morocco and fix this. We find the crown, we find Groff. And everything will be okay for all of us – JJ included.”
It was simple. It was to the point.
He could do this.
He had a plan.
He wished the plan went beyond not being a criminal, but he had to start somewhere. Clear up the charges, save Poguelandia – then, and only then, could he repair his relationship with his parents, restore his reputation, and possibly get himself on track to go to school.
“Hey,” she said, her voice pulling him back to the moment. She did that for him; she grounded him. In a way no one else could. “Are you worried?”
She knew him, too. He loved that girl, so damn much. In a way that both satisfied reason and defied it. “Honestly?” he said, shrugging helplessly. “I think I’m terrified, Cleo.”
Her face softened as she got up, crossing over to him and slipping her arms comfortably around his waist. “You shouldn’t be.”
He leaned into the touch, even as he sighed. “How can I not be?” he said, resting his head against hers. “I’m literally a fugitive from the law. My chances of getting into school like this are practically nonexistent. I’ll be lucky if I don’t have a felony on my record.”
She made a noise, nuzzling against him. “School is overrated.”
He breathed her in, but still shook his head. “Not if I want to get into medical school.”
She drew back, looking at him fully. “I know,” she said. “We’ll make it work. We always do.”
That sentiment usually worked. It usually was instilled with a quiet confidence. Pogues for life: it had always been enough.
It felt like less now. He wasn’t sure anymore.
“Right,” he said with a sardonic snort as he pulled away from her gently. “We’re chasing a magic crown, right? One magic wish.”
Now, a smile spread across her face. “We don’t need it to give us a wish,” she said, as if she was chiding him. “Just having it is our ticket back to the island. And if we turn in Groff, too? We’ll clear everything up. You can go to school and tell your stuck-up uncle to shove it up his ass.”
The idea of that, he couldn’t deny, made him smile.
It just seemed so far off.
More than it ever had. “I’d love to do all of that.”
Cleo nodded resolutely. “We’ll make it happen.”
Her confidence, though, only made him falter again. “I just – I don’t know,” he admitted, his shoulders slumping as he shook his head. “I mean, don’t get me wrong. I don’t regret what I did. But I can’t get it out of my head. That I just gave up my entire future in a split second. I didn’t even put a second thought into it – I just gave it all up, no questions asked.”
Her expression sobered. “They were going to shoot JJ,” she said. “You saved his life, Pope. If you hadn’t, you might still be going to college – sure. But we’d also be burying JJ.”
That was the impossible thought, wasn’t it? All of JJ’s risks. All of his close scrapes. He always pulled through. He was JJ.
The idea of losing him – of losing any of them – was sheer impossibility.
It was youthful confidence. Juvenile naivete. Youth’s endless belief in its own invincibility.
Fate would hit them hard someday.
Pope knew the odds weren’t in their favor.
But not today.
“I know,” he said, and it wasn’t quite resignation. It wasn’t quite regret. The emotion was hard to place, even hard to define. Something was off, though. Something had been off since JJ learned the truth about his family and he went and blew up all their lives along with his own. “But maybe we made the wrong call.”
She frowned, looking ready to argue.
He held up a hand. “I’m not saying we let them shoot him,” he amended quickly. “But we never should have helped him escape. We should have had him turn himself in. Shoupe’s more on our side than we think. He would have kept JJ safe, and we could have worked this out. All of it, from Poguelandia to Groff – all of it.”
It was a reasonable idea. It really, really was.
That was probably why Cleo gave him the look she did. “That boy never would have done it,” she said. “You know that now, and you knew it then.”
He gestured helplessly. “But it was probably what he needed,” he said. “I mean, all that JJ’s been through? We could probably make a case for his mental health–”
She wrinkled her nose. “You really think that having him play the insanity card is the right play?”
“I don’t know,” he admitted, turning around and pacing the length of the cabin. Outside, there were open waters in all directions. At this point, there was no turning back, and he knew it. They were in too deep; they were out too far. “I mean, things have only gotten worse. With Groff – with us running from the police. JJ doesn’t want a lot of things, but he might need them.”
Cleo drew a breath as she considered, nodding a little. “But you can’t make a man change,” she said. “You know JJ better than I do, so you know how much baggage he’s carrying. I think all we can do is be here for when he’s ready to make those changes.”
“But what if he’s not,” Pope said, voice breaking a little as he looked back at her. He could still see JJ, shooting at a teddy bear in his backyard, telling him to deny everything like he believed it. “What if he’s never okay.”
“Well, let’s find the crown and get Groff,” she said, ever beautiful and ever pragmatic. She pursed her lips, bobbing her head knowingly. “And then we’ll talk about getting JJ the help he needs.”
The idea was something. “How are we going to do that?”
She shrugged. “I’m not above hog tying him.”
He couldn't help it. He snorted with a laugh.
Cleo crossed over to him, placing her hand on his arm. “We just have to get him through this,” she said. “Then, when we’re on the other side, we’ll take care of things for all of us.”
He wanted to believe her. He wanted to feel the confidence she felt.
It just – was hard.
He’d been in jail, after all. They’d dragged him before the judge and offered him a plea deal that took everything from him.
And that wasn’t even the worst of it.
Finding JJ in the ocean, seeing how close he’d been. Even when they’d pulled him out, it was like part of him was gone. Like Pope had given up his future for someone who was already a shell of who he once was.
Things had been bad before.
Something felt worse now.
Like something was coming apart at the seams that he couldn’t hold together.
Like Pogues for life might not be enough.
Not when JJ himself might be a Kook.
“I guess,” he managed to say softly.
She squeezed his arm. “You guess. You know!” she said, forcing him to meet her gaze. “You have a plan!”
It made him smile.
She made him smile.
“I mean, yeah,” he said, letting the smile tug his lips up a little. “I do, don’t I?”
“You do,” she grinned, and she kissed him – and she kissed him good. She pulled back, kissing him on the nose, too, just for good measure. “Now, buckle up and batten the hatches. We have 14 days to survive on this ocean, and this trip? Is just starting.”
He kissed her back, one more time, looking out across the horizon in front of them.
14 days until Morocco.
14 days until they could find Groff and the crown.
14 days until they could clear their names and start their lives over.
14 days, Pope told himself reasonably. They could survive 14 more days.
-o-
JJ, as a general rule, wasn’t slothful by nature. He knew he played that part. He knew what people thought about him. And sure, sometimes when he was high or drunk – he could be lazy as shit.
But that was just a reaction to the fact that it was hard for him to sit still any other way.
It was his instinct to keep moving. To never sit still. To go.
And on a boat? Well, damn, he knew this was his shit. He did this for a living. It was one of the few things in life he was actually good at.
At least, he used to be.
His time as the captain of the Snapper had been important to him, that much was true. But that was over, wasn’t it? The Snapper was still technically theirs – but he had no place to dock it. He had no way to operate the business. He’d destroyed that for himself – for all of them.
And on the dinghy? His foolproof plan to throw off the cops?
Made them all wanted.
Even now, he could feel the difference. When he started on the rigging, John B came to help him. When he stood at the controls, Pope stood anxiously behind him. Hell, even when he tried to handle fuel or organize supplies, they seemed to watch him carefully.
They second-guessed him now.
No, that wasn’t it.
They doubted him.
They didn’t trust him.
For as much as it hurt, he didn’t blame them. He couldn’t. Not when they were right. The further they pulled into the Atlantic, the more he knew that. The open ocean had always been a refuge – an escape.
Now it just felt like a condemnation.
A reminder of his failure.
He had taken them out here. He’d pushed them beyond their limits into the great unknown. They couldn’t go back because of him. It was all his fault; all of it.
The cramped living conditions. The low food supply. The monotonous journey, fraught with risks and dangers.
No matter what he tried to do, he just made it worse. Everything he touched seemed to wither beneath him to the point where he just stopped trying. He stopped getting up early. He stopped offering to help. He stopped pitching in. He just stopped.
JJ couldn’t make it better, after all. He couldn’t fix this. And every time his friends looked at him, it wasn’t love and trust anymore.
It was uncertainty and pity.
They shouldn’t be here.
But the more paralyzing thought was this: JJ shouldn’t be here either.
Like not just on this boat. Not crossing the ocean.
Here, on this planet. Breathing air. Luke had always said it, he was a waste of space.
Groff had all but buried him already.
JJ didn’t belong here at all.
Sitting there, on the bow of the boat, the thought was almost too much to take. He chased it around his head, trying to swat it away, but it came back. It stayed.
When everything else in JJ’s life crumbled and faded, that stayed.
Because, whatever. It would be easy, right? For himself – for all of them. It would be so, so easy.
To just be done.
Hell, it should have happened a dozen times already. If they’d just left him there, let him bleed out or drown in the ocean. Groff wouldn’t have told anyone; his body would have been lost at sea. John B would have taken it hard – too much like his dad – but he would be at home with Sarah. With Pope and Cleo and Kie. He would have been okay – rebuilding his life right now.
Why not before that? Why not back at the riot? He could have turned himself in, right? Or shit – made a run at the cops. They would have shot him. Maybe Kie would have sued them, gotten a payout to buy back Poguelandia. He wasn’t worth much in life, but maybe in death.
Maybe in death.
The idea, now that he gave it hold, wouldn’t let go. He felt it taking root.
No, he felt the roots that had always been there. The ones he’d tried to deny but could never pull free. He’d thought this for years, but always found ways around it.
There were no more excuses. There were no more justifications.
The sum total of his life was more bad than good. He wasn’t worth the time or space.
He could have just let go.
He should have.
The dive. He could have never surfaced.
The race. He could have been run over on the bike path.
Falling over the edge of the boat, face first in the water.
And all the times before. Why didn’t Luke just end it? Why didn’t he just finish what he started?
Why didn’t Groff just kill him as a baby? Let him die in his mother’s arms?
He could have been buried with her, safe and secure in the mausoleum. It would have spared them all so much trouble, so much grief.
Even now, he stood on the bow and looked out at the water and wondered. What would it be like to jump? So far from land?
It wouldn’t hurt. The water would be cold. It wouldn’t take long to lose feeling. If he wanted, he could fall asleep first and just drift. He wouldn’t know he was drowning. He would just be gone. It would just be done.
It wasn’t the first time he’d had that thought. It wasn’t the first time he’d thought that having it be over would be the easier option.
It was just the first time he wasn’t sure if he could stop himself.
He found himself, fingers gripping the edge. Breathing hard, ears ringing. Vision blurring.
Jump. Just jump.
He was shaking, his stomach fluttering at the possibility.
Do it for them. If you love them, do it for them.
“JJ?”
He startled. Badly.
His entire body jolted, and his knees nearly went weak. He had to blink a few times, breathing heavily.
It was Kie.
Standing next to him, along the bow of the boat. Watching him like she’d been there for a few seconds. How long had he been standing here? How long had he been doing anything at all?
Of course it was Kie.
Kie loved him.
He didn’t know why, but Kie loved him.
“JJ, are you okay?”
She reached out, touching him. God help him, he flinched.
She drew back her hand, startled.
He flushed hot, licking his lips. “I’m okay,” he said, the words in a rush. “I just – you startled me.”
The explanation was pathetic, and they both knew it. She hedged for a second. “JJ, if you want to talk–”
He laughed. The sound was short, and it cut hard in his throat, garbled and wrong. “There’s nothing to say.”
She didn’t reach out to touch him again, but her face was creased with worry. “JJ, I know how hard this is. I mean, knowing the truth about Luke – about Groff. About your mom,” she said, as if he needed to be reminded. “And Groff tried to kill you–”
She meant well, she did. But it swelled up in him, panic he couldn’t control. He couldn’t keep it in check; he couldn’t keep himself in check. “Shit, Kie,” he said, running his hand through his hair and turning away. He paced. “I don’t want to relive it.”
Kiara didn’t yield her ground. “But you should talk about it. That’s a lot for anyone–”
He snorted, turning back on her. “Especially for a screw up like me, right?”
Her face fell. “I didn’t say that.”
She didn’t have to.
JJ inhaled, but it did nothing to calm his nerves. He felt himself, like he was coming undone at the seams. Everything that used to hold him together had fallen apart. He didn’t know who he was or what he was doing. He just knew he was wrong.
Ever since the day he was born, he didn’t belong here.
“I’m sorry,” he said, withdrawing a step. “I didn’t mean that.”
“JJ–”
She stepped, reaching for him again.
He pulled back, body stiffening. “I can’t do this right now.”
“JJ–”
He turned, unable to take her gaze. Her pity. Her love?
He couldn’t.
He couldn’t.
“JJ, please–”
He stormed inside, blind and frantic. He pushed past Pope and Cleo, who yelped in surprise. He didn’t stop until he was in the galley, almost collapsing against the counter as he tried to breathe. He blinked, but his vision didn’t clear. His heart was pounding again, and he felt lightheaded.
There were knives there. Sharp.
Maybe he could bleed it out.
He squeezed his eyes shut.
What was he talking about? What was he thinking?
He couldn’t do this.
Still shaking, he opened his eyes again. And he saw the next best thing.
A bottle of hard liquor.
Right there on the counter.
It wouldn’t get the job done as fast as the knife. It wouldn’t get the job done as completely as the ocean.
But it would do.
He cracked it open, and took a long, hard drink, letting the alcohol burn down his throat.
It would have to do.
-o-
Sarah had grown up with boats, and she had spent ample time on the water. She wasn’t a novice to any type of sailing, and needless to say, she had her sea legs.
At least, she used to.
That was before she was in the middle of the Atlantic, running from the cops. Pregnant.
If it wasn’t the water making her queasy, it was the fact that she was 19, pregnant, and on the run. Oh, she was also homeless and penniless.
So, you know. Things were going great.
She might be able to get her mind around all of that – really, she might – if she weren’t vomiting all the damn time. Seriously, she felt sick when she woke up. She felt sick when she went to bed. She felt sick when she ate. She felt sick when she didn’t eat.
Above deck, below deck. Laying down, standing up.
Her entire body suddenly hated her, and her only hope was that that meant it was putting her baby first. Even so, the thought of nine months of this.
“It’s usually only bad for the first – like – three months,” Kiara said, holding back Sarah’s hair as she hurled again. They had just finished breakfast.
And Sarah’s breakfast was apparently finished with her, too.
“And then, it’s supposed to get way better,” Kiara said.
“Three months?” Sarah said, looking up at her. She felt flushed, but she was shivering all at the same time. “That’s all?”
Kiara looked a little apologetic. “At least we know it ends.”
“Right, that’s super helpful,” Sarah said. “If you have three months of vomiting ahead of you, see how you feel.”
“Well, technically, you’re probably at least a month along, so–”
Sarah glared at her but her stomach flipped and she leaned over the toilet again. A whiff of the contaminated air did her in, and she gagged again, bringing up a hot mouth of bile. She spit it out, feeling it burn in his throat and sinuses, and she raised her hand to give Kiara the finger.
Kiara huffed softly, still stroking her head. “You’re the one who got knocked up, not me,” she chided her gently.
Sarah flopped back, resting against the wall as she closed her eyes and focused on her breathing.
It was only a few days in, Sarah told herself with a grimace. This was going to be interminable. “That’s great,” she said snidely to Kiara. “Thanks.”
“Well, if it makes you feel better, it’s my boyfriend who blew up all our lives and is currently down below trying to drown himself with alcohol,” Kiara said with a note of commiseration. “Between the two of us, I think I’d prefer the morning sickness.”
She opened her eyes, her own weariness pushed aside for a moment. Kiara looked about as spent as Sarah felt. “How bad is it?” she asked softly, their voices low over the sound of the boat on the water, creaking as the waves cut against the hull.
Kiara couldn’t muster a smile anymore. “It’s bad.”
Sarah swallowed. “But he’ll be okay,” she said, and she knew how desperate she sounded. It was a hope she couldn’t back up. “I mean, he’s JJ.”
That was their default. What they said when JJ messed up. What they said when JJ came through. It was just what they said about JJ, and usually it was enough.
The look on Kiara’s face, however, suggested that it might not be the case. “Honestly?” she said, hedging somewhat. She shrugged. “I don’t know this time.”
Kiara’s doubt rallied her, and she sat up off the wall. “Of course he’ll be okay,” she said, almost blindly insisting. “He’ll crash out and get better. Just like JJ always does. One minute, he’s pissing us off. The next, he’s fixing everything. That’s JJ.”
Kiara nodded, but faintly. She wet her lips with uncertainty. “I just don’t know. JJ lost everything this time – and not just the money or Poguelandia,” Kiara said. She exhaled with heavy defeat. “But his entire sense of self. Everything he thought he knew – is suddenly not true. I’m not sure he even knows who he is anymore.”
The nausea hadn’t abated, but Sarah forgot about it momentarily. “Of course he does. He’s a Pogue,” she said, because that was the point. It had always been the point, and Sarah more than any of them knew it. She’d chosen this life; she’d chosen them. “It doesn’t matter who his dad is. I mean, we didn’t care about Luke. We don’t care about Groff. I’ve said it all along: we get to choose.”
Kiara exhaled, her shoulders sagging even more. “But JJ cares,” she said. “And I’m not sure it feels like he has a choice anymore. Like all the choices have been made for him and he’s just – struggling to catch up.”
Sarah bit her lip, considering that. JJ had made a lot of choices, recently. A lot of bad choices. Choices that frustrated her – all of them.
But it was possible, really, that they weren’t real choices.
That JJ was making choices about anything.
To contend with the fact that he had no choice in the things that matter.
What was the saying? Rearranging the deck chairs on the Titanic?
Something like that.
“Kie, we’ll get him through this,” she said, earnestly now.
Kiara shook her head, her doubt almost drowning her as much as nausea was drowning Sarah. As much as this entire trip threatened to drown all of them. “But what if we can’t? What if this time – it’s too much?”
It wasn’t that the doubt was unreasonable. It just – wasn’t what they were used to. The inalienable optimism that had gotten them through everything.
But then, that wasn’t true.
It had usually been JJ’s optimism.
JJ’s plans.
JJ who pushed them to keep going, even when shit got real.
Without that, everything felt off. Without JJ, nothing felt right. “We will,” she said, resolving herself to it for all their sakes. “Of course we will.”
KIara looked away, studying her fingers as she fiddled with her nails. “I just keep thinking, if we wait it out, act like everything is normal, he’ll snap out of it,” she said. She looked up, her eyes hooded and posture guarded. “But after what Groff did to him, I’m not sure.”
Sarah had to consider that. Groff had nearly killed JJ – and there was no way to pretend like that hadn’t been Groff’s intention. To find out you had a long lost father who abandoned you was one thing. To have that man come back into your life and try to kill you – well, Sarah knew having your parent slip into psychopathy was hard.
And JJ had no respite.
Especially since Groff had abandoned him to Luke. Not to mention the fact that he’d probably killed his mother. That revelation had been one of many that JJ shared, a long, tired litany of how bad things were.
“I sort of wish we had gone with him now,” Sarah reflected softly. “To his mother’s grave.”
Kiara let out a hot breath, blinking wet eyes. “We never should have left him alone with Groff in the first place. We knew he was sketchy, and we just let him go. JJ didn’t have a chance.”
The impulse to get married had been strong. She’d wanted it, to make a family for her baby.
But she had to be careful.
Yes, the baby came first, and she knew that. It would change things, including how they interacted with the others.
But the baby didn’t make their friends nonexistent. This was her family. JJ was going to be this baby’s uncle. And she’d left him glibly during what had to be one of his darkest hours.
“Yeah,” she said, the regret coloring her words. “We probably didn’t think that one through.”
“We didn’t think at all,” Kiara said miserably. She ran her fingers through her hair. “I know what Groff did to me. But he spent all day with JJ. JJ didn’t talk about it, what they did – but can you imagine?”
Seeing his mother’s body. Robbing her corpse.
Sarah closed her eyes, stomach turning. “Oh, God–”
She lurched, just barely catching herself on the toilet as she vomited again. Kiara’s arms were quick to support her, holding her up as her stomach turned inside out again. She flopped back after a few dry heaves, forehead sweaty and eyes wet. “Shit,” she muttered, but she shook her head, swallowing hard. “It’s going to work. We’re going to make sure JJ gets back to normal.”
Kiara pressed her hair back, smiling sadly. “And if he doesn’t even know what normal is?”
“We show him,” Sarah said simply. “That’s all.”
Kiara sighed, helping Sarah as she tried to stand. They both rocked with the boat, bracing for a second. Sarah felt the color drain out of her face again, and Kiara raised her eyebrows. “You okay?”
Sarah pressed her lips together. “No,” she said. “But that’s relative, isn’t it?”
Kiara smiled at that, helping her out of the bathroom. “That’s very relative.”
-o-
For Cleo, this whole thing was old hat. She knew how to do this, better than any of them. It was true, JJ and John B were naturals on the water. But this wasn’t a fishing charter. This wasn’t a recreational small craft on the marsh.
This was a trans-Atlantic journey.
And Cleo?
Was the only one who knew what the hell she was doing.
More to the point, she really was about the only one who was doing anything about it.
The others fretted a lot, sure. John B had concerns about the weather. Pope argued with Kiara over the course they were charting. Sarah went over the supplies in some detail.
And who was manning the controls? Who was handling the engines?
That was right. Cleo.
“I’m just saying,” she told the others, as they gathered for dinner one night. “We ought to be a bit more organized. This is a long journey, and we’re only a few days in.”
Pope was listening with a frown. “But we’re doing what we need to do–”
“No, we’re arguing about what we need to do,” she said. “Do any of you know how to run the engine room?”
It was quiet, until John B shrugged. “A little–”
She gave him a hard look. “What about maintenance issues? Who knows the checklists?”
“There are checklists?” Kiara asked.
Cleo rolled her eyes. “I’m going to make a chart and assign you all jobs,” she said. “John B and Pope, you are most equipped for the technical stuff, but Sarah and Kiara – you’ve grown up on boats all your life. I know you can learn.”
Kiara nodded, and Sarah bit her lower lip.
“We already have a rotation to deal with Rafe,” Cleo pointed. And then, she glanced around. “Speaking of which, we should talk about JJ, too.”
JJ was conspicuously absent. He had stopped eating with them after the second day. Now, he was barely around unless one of them dragged him to the controls and told him to bear a heading. Even then, they all had doubts.
Not that he couldn’t get the job done.
But that he would.
That boy they pulled out of the ocean?
Wasn’t the same one who went in.
They all knew it.
But they seemed to lack the guts to say it.
Everyone had gone silent. Pope’s face was pinched, and Kiara’s head was down. Sarah looked queasy, and John B inexplicably looked ready to fight.
Cleo just rolled her eyes. “He’s not doing so hot, if we haven’t noticed.”
They’d noticed, of course. It was rather impossible to ignore, in fact.
“He needs some space,” John B started to say.
She crossed her arms over her chest. “To do what? Drink himself to death?”
Kiara actually winced, but Cleo wasn’t in the mood to apologize.
“This is just a JJ thing,” John B tried to explain.
“Trying to kill himself?” she retorted.
John B reddened. “He’s just crashing out–”
“He just needs to calm down,” Kiara said over him.
“He does this–” Pope said, almost at the same time.
She looked at them each in turn. “A beer or two, maybe,” she said. “But the boy is drowning himself. We’re all he has. I think we’re supposed to care.”
“We do care,” Kiara said, her breathing coming a little heavy. She looked up again, eyes bright. “But what are we supposed to do? Groff’s out there – he’s out to get the crown. JJ’s wanted for murder back home. What are we supposed to do?”
“Dump the alcohol,” she suggested.
“And then what?” John B said, a little forceful now. “He’ll just find some other way to self-destruct. I’m telling you, that’s what JJ does. It’s not pretty and none of us like to say it, but that’s what JJ does. We just have to keep things as normal as possible. We just have to keep him safe.”
He looked around, looking at them each before his gaze settled back on Cleo.
“That’s a JJ thing,” he said softly. “All the years I’ve known him, that’s a JJ thing.”
That was honest, at least. More than they’d told her so far.
It wasn’t that Cleo hadn’t known. It was pretty easy to see, just from knowing JJ, that he didn’t cope with things very well. She’d picked up bits and pieces – his abusive past, his abandonment issues, the weight of poverty. Enough people had curled their lips at the name Maybank, that she thought she understood.
But it was a little more than that.
These were his best friends, his family.
Saying that self destruction was just a JJ thing.
That was either painfully true.
Or horribly sad.
Cleo decided, pragmatically, that it was probably both.
She also decided, even more pragmatically, there was very little she could do about it. “So, we just wait and see?”
“We just wait,” John B clarified.
“And don’t leave him alone,” Kiara suggested tiredly.
Cleo made a face. “Like he is right now?”
They were all quiet for a second, considering that with some guilt.
No one moved, though.
Cleo rolled her eyes, pushing back from the table. “Fine,” she muttered. “I’ll put JJ watching on the list, yeah? And I have first shift.”
She didn’t wait for a conversation about it; none was coming anyway. This entire trip had thrown them, and the last few weeks had beaten them all down. They were a hardy group, and Cleo knew it. But most of them didn’t know this kind of adversity.
The kind that left you with absolutely nothing.
Cleo knew there were worse things than losing a home.
She knew what it took to survive.
Grit, willpower, and the right people around you. They had it, all of it.
If they could just keep their eyes on it. The only thing they couldn’t afford to lose was each other.
Up in the control room, JJ was sitting idly. At a glance, she could tell that nothing was amiss, but he seemed only halfway attentive to the seas outside. He barely looked at her as she entered.
“All good up here?” she asked.
JJ shrugged. “I guess. Seas are clear, anyway. Heading is steady.”
He was right on both counts.
And yet, nothing was right about him.
She drew a breath, pursing her lips at him. “Are you okay?”
“I haven’t killed us all yet, have I?” he quipped, even though the joke wasn’t funny.
“Is that what you’re going for?” she asked, eyebrows up.
He snorted, ceding the controls to her. “I’m not sure I have to try,” he said. “I seem to do it anyway.”
“JJ, we are all in this together,” she said.
“Because of me,” he said, sharper now. There was something tight in his blue eyes. “That’s what we decided, remember? That this was all my fault. All of it. So whatever happens – it’s on me.”
They had said it. In the heat of their escape, blame had been easy to toss out. But blame was funny like that. It was easy to assign, but it never made you feel any better to deflect it.
When you took it on, though?
It was impossible to escape.
She sighed, “JJ–”
He waved a hand at her. “Don’t worry,” he said. “It’s fine. They say admitting that you have a problem is the first step. Well, admitting you are the problem has to be important, too.”
It was hard to listen to. They could call it a crash out, but Cleo knew the difference. She knew when someone was adrift, when all the waypoints were getting lost by the waves one by one. She knew that sooner or later, it was easy to take your hands off the life raft and just let go.
But if the others were sure – then Cleo could be sure, too.
“Whether you believe it or not, we are in this together,” she pointed out.
“Oh, I believe it,” he said snidely. He wrinkled his nose in apparent disgust. “I didn’t really give you a choice, did I?”
“You didn’t take my choices, JJ Maybank,” she said, a little firm now. “And I won’t take yours, yeah?”
He looked at her, blinking in surprise. But his face turned again, and he shook his head. “It doesn’t matter, Cleo,” he said, sitting back down to look out at the water. He picked up the bottle, which was sitting by the side of the controls and took a swig. “It just doesn’t matter.”
Waiting it out, then, she resolved as she sat down in the seat opposite from him.
And she just had to hope there was something of him left on the other side to put back together.
-o-
When she made the choice to date JJ, Kiara hadn’t really thought it through. Falling in love with him, after all, had been easy. He’d fallen off the Coastal Venture, and she’d jumped in after him. She could still remember how that felt, the fear in her chest as she pulled him back up over the water, pulling him close to her. He’d been lifeless, bleeding and pale, and she’d thought for a second that she’d lost him.
It had been the worst moment of her life.
The impossibility of it.
The grief.
It had almost overwhelmed her.
It didn’t seem possible. The Pogues without JJ. The universe without JJ.
Her life without JJ.
He was a necessary piece of the puzzle. He was the complement to her soul. She needed him; she loved him.
That love had blossomed on the island, when she saw him be free for the first time. It had been a struggle, sure, but JJ had never missed a beat. Even with a bad concussion, he’d loved it, every second of it. And his energy had kept them all going.
That spark in his eyes.
That electricity in his touch.
It had kept her alive.
Coming back to the real world had put it in perspective, maybe. Now that they were playing by the rules again, now that they were back to normal conventions. They had to define it. They had to put it into boundaries.
Kiara had been open to that.
JJ had struggled with it.
She’d been so focused on getting him to say yes, that the logistics just hadn’t mattered.
And truthfully, after El Dorado, it had been easy. They had had money. They’d had a home and a job. She didn’t need JJ to take her on dates or say I love you. It didn’t matter if he felt uncomfortable holding hands or if he struggled to trust her when she said she wanted him. Being patient was easy when all they had was time and money and resources.
She hadn’t thought about when things got hard. She hadn’t thought about when he ran out of coping skills. She hadn’t thought about when conventions crashed down on them, whether they liked it or not. Kiara had thought it through, why wedding vows said in good times and in bad.
Because bad times.
Were bad.
This, Kiara knew, was a bad time.
She suspected it might be the worst time.
At the very least, she couldn’t imagine worse.
Because here she was, crossing the Atlantic in a shitty little boat, chasing a murderer for a magic crown that might save them from economic ruin and jail time. With a pregnant best friend, their worst enemy tied up in the bathroom, and her boyfriend drinking himself into oblivion. If Groff didn’t kill JJ, he’d do it himself with the booze.
And it was her turn to watch him.
Yeah, that was how bad things were. They had a schedule to babysit her boyfriend.
Even if she had thought it through, she probably wouldn’t have envisioned this.
But JJ needed her. JJ needed all of them. If she wanted her boyfriend back, she had to make sure he survived whatever this was. A crash out. An identity crisis. An absolute implosion.
She didn’t blame him. It was a lot; with JJ it had always been a lot. But with his mother and Groff – and the corpse and the attempted murder–
Well, yeah, she was all for the all-hands-on-deck approach.
If she could just find him.
She poked through the deck, finding John B and Sarah in the control room. Below deck, Cleo and Pope were tucked into their cabin. Rafe was still secure and mostly safe in his makeshift prison. JJ wasn’t in the bedroom; he wasn’t in the engine room or the supply closet or–
She heard it, then. The crash in the kitchen.
Her stomach dropped a little, and she picked up her pace. She heard another crash, and a curse, and she broke into a jog, navigating the narrow corridors until she came into the galley.
He was there, at least. At the kitchen counter.
Holding a knife.
And bleeding.
“What the hell?” she said, heart pounding as she crossed to him.
He looked at her, eyes wide and hand covered in blood. He blinked, and then staggered. “Kie?” he slurred.
He was drunk, then.
Of course he was drunk.
When hadn’t he been drunk since they hit international waters?
“Damn it, JJ,” she said, snatching the knife from him easily. She put it down on the counter hard. “What the hell are you doing?”
“The vegetables,” he said, and he turned his head slowly back to the counter. There were, indeed, vegetables on there. Flecked with blood – carrots and broccoli. “I was going to – going to – make dinner.”
Her breath caught, almost at a loss. “It’s 3 PM,” she said shortly. “And you’re too drunk to cook.”
“I have to do something,” he said, gesturing now, as if oblivious to the fact that he was bleeding.
“Yeah, well, not this,” she said tersely, and she reached for his hand. Taking it, she tried to get a better look. “How bad is it?”
He looked down, brow deeply furrowed as if he was noticing for the first time that he’d cut himself. She found the slice – on his index finger – and pressed on it to gauge its depth. He yelped, flailing a little, and she glared at him.
“You didn’t even notice it a second ago,” she reminded him.
His blue eyes were baleful. She almost felt sorry for him.
Except for the fact that his drunk ass did this to himself. “It’s not bad,” she said, assessing it and reaching for a cloth. “Some pressure and I think it’ll stop.”
She held it tight, feeling the way his pulse throbbed against her touch. He stood there, still in her grip, and she could feel his eyes on her. “I just wanted to help,” he said.
She let herself look at him, and it was almost too much. It was easier to be mad at him, honestly. It was easier to just get pissed at him.
Then to see him like this.
To see how hurt he was.
Groff had come into his life and taken everything. Luke had already left JJ with so little, and Groff came in and with one fell swoop took the rest of it. JJ’s self confidence was in tatters. His sense of self was nonexistent. He didn’t even know what self worth was.
All he had was his utility.
What he could do for them.
And the blind need to numb the pain.
“JJ,” she said, her anger diffusing just that fast. Her shoulders fell. “You can’t help like this.”
Drunk as he was, his inhibitions were low. He couldn’t hide his vulnerability anymore, and he looked like he was 12 years old.
Drunk and bleeding and too young.
“But I have to,” he said. “I can’t be dead weight. Not unless you cut me loose–”
Her gut constricted, and she felt the hairs on her neck rise. “JJ, shut up.”
“I wouldn’t blame you–”
“JJ,” she said, letting her voice rise. “Shut. Up.”
The sheer force of her voice was enough to still him. He pulled into himself, making himself look small as he looked down at his hand. Kiara checked it, pleased that the bleeding was already slowing.
“Okay,” she said, easing the pressure. “If we find the first aid kit.”
She let him go, and it was a mistake. He pulled back, too drunk to keep coordinated. And he crashed into the hanging pots and pans behind him, making a horrific clatter.
“JJ–” she started, but he flailed again, nearly falling over this time as she rushed to catch him. “JJ, stop–”
His lack of coordination meant it was all flying limbs, and it was all Kiara could do to thrust him into one of the chairs in the galley, panting breathlessly down at him from the struggle. JJ thrashed another moment, even as she held him in place, a pathetic whine escaping him as she held him fast.
“JJ, what the hell?” she asked, her anger spiking again as her anxiety picked up. She had known him to be mean when he was drunk. He could be belligerent. He was prone to picking fights – but not with her.
Never with her.
Whatever was happening now, this was new territory. This was JJ at rock bottom.
She hoped.
“I just want to help,” he whined, head flopping back as his eyelids fluttered.
She drew back a little, her heart still pounding. She was sweating.
Shit, she was exhausted. JJ was wearing her out, plain and simple.
Whether it was his fault or not – it didn’t matter. This wasn’t the blame game.
Except, it kind was.
For JJ, she was sure it felt that way.
She sighed, shaking her head. “But this isn’t helping. You have to see that.”
She was almost begging him to see it.
His eyes weren’t quite focused as they came to bear on her. “Because you won’t let me.”
“Because you’re drunk,” she said, and she reached for the open bottle of alcohol and shook it at him. It made an empty noise. “Remember? You drank the whole bottle?”
He frowned at the bottle, suddenly quite concerned. He shook his head. “No, that’s not–” he started, turning to grapple with the food supplies on the other counter. “There’s – another one–”
At that, she could only roll her eyes. “Right, since we need another one,” she muttered, stilling his hand. He looked back at her, with the wide blue eyes again that made her second-guess everything. This plan they had to wait it out. This idea they had that JJ would be okay.
She wasn’t sure.
She wasn’t sure of anything anymore.
If JJ could survive this.
If any of them could.
“Look, why don’t we try sleep,” she suggested, wetting her lips as she pressed her mouth into some version of a smile. “Sleep would be good for you.”
He furrowed his brow, head rolling loosely on his head as he almost looked at her. “I’m not tired.”
She couldn’t exactly deny it, but it also didn’t matter. “But you are very drunk, so I think the effect is the same, J.”
That was logic, and JJ was well beyond logic. His expression betrayed his confusion, and she sighed, taking him by the arm and pulling him to his feet. This time, at least, he was compliant. With his arm over her shoulder, she wrapped her other hand around his waist, cajoling him forward. One step, then another.
They crossed the threshold of the galley without much trouble. JJ at least had some semblance of coordination left, so that was good.
It would be better if he weren’t drunk.
But a lot of things could be better right now.
If she could just go back, right? Back to letting JJ go with Groff to Goat Island, back to the town council meeting. Back to all of it, right back to the race and the auction and Kitty Hawk, when she should have told him it was okay. He was okay. That he had always saved her as much as he thought she saved him.
Even now, his weight heavy on her, she could feel him shaking. His head tipped forward, bangs in his face, and he made a sound, something soft and whimpering while she led him forward another step.
“I’m sorry,” he mumbled to her.
She looked at him, but his eyes didn’t quite open – and they certainly didn’t focus. It was a short walk to their cabin – but not short enough.
“You don’t have to be sorry,” she said, adjusting her grip.
Even as she said it, it didn’t ring true. They’d blamed him, hadn’t they? They’d laid it all out, back in the OBX. They’d forced JJ to take accountability for all of it, every last thing. And JJ had. JJ had taken the blame.
And it was pretty clear he hadn’t let it go.
It was a fine line, wasn’t it? Needing JJ to recognize his mistakes and shortcomings.
And not letting JJ drown in them.
Because JJ would. JJ was.
For JJ, it was the same story that Luke had beaten into him all his life. The lesson Groff had taught him when he left him for dead in the ocean. It wasn’t JJ’s mistakes. It was that JJ was the mistake. They had every right to be upset with JJ.
But they hadn’t made it clear they still loved him.
They still wanted him.
They hadn’t done anything at all.
Now, Kiara worried, helping him to the door, that it might be too late. If JJ was past the point of listening. If JJ no longer wanted to be saved.
“Yeah, I do,” he said. He shook his head, taking a stuttering breath. “I screw everything up.”
She shimmied them through the door, and JJ staggered. She grunted, pulling him upright the rest of the way. “You don’t,” she said, pushing him onto the bed. He rocked there for a moment before she eased him back, supporting his neck. “You don’t.”
From his prone position, his eyes finally cleared enough to look at her. “I do,” he said. And there was a startling clarity to him now. “You’re lying to me. I know you think it. I know you all think it. How none of this would have happened if not for me. You’d be back at Poguelandia. You’d be happy. You’d still have money. You’d have everything. But instead you’re stuck here. With me.”
Her breath caught as the words formed. With his inhibitions stripped away, JJ had no artifice left. The truth was harsh and raw.
And part of her couldn’t deny it.
She’d thought it. They all had.
In their anger. In their frustration. In their disappointment.
It was hard to reconcile. JJ had made her happier than anyone else on this planet.
And he’d hurt her more than anyone, too.
Luke had taken so much from JJ. Groff seemed keen to take the rest.
What was left.
God, Kiara thought, looking at him. What was left.
She never should have let him go with Groff. She knew JJ; she’d seen him go back to Luke time and time again, even until the end.
What chance did he have with Groff?
And she’d stayed behind to pack.
While serving up her boyfriend to his abuser with nothing more than a smirk and a handshake.
JJ’s truths were uncomfortable.
So were hers.
“Just, it’s fine,” she said, the words weak as she patted him on the arm. “Get some rest.”
Drunk as he was, JJ still knew when she was putting him off. He knew when she meant it, and he knew when she didn’t. He knew.
His expression was absolutely crestfallen, like he would have crumbled to pieces right there on the bed. He turned his head away. “It’s okay,” he mumbled.
She reached up, tipping his face back toward her. “What?”
His eyes were clouded again, chest heaving as he labored for air. “If you want to break up, it’s okay, I get it,” he said, tipping his head away again. He shook his head, eyelashes wet as he blinked. “I think you should.”
It was a punch, straight to her gut. “What the hell, JJ?” she said.
He rolled his head back toward her, eyes focused on her just barely. “You should break up with me.”
At this point, all she could do was gape. “Is that what you want?”
The idea of it made her head turn. She felt like she was reeling. Everything that had happened – the ups and down – the mistakes they all made. The blame they all carried.
She hadn’t thought – had she?
She’d thought it would be easier.
But she hadn’t thought.
She’d just assumed that it was her and JJ.
She’d assumed he knew that.
His face creased, nearly crumbling. “No, never, you’re – perfect. I love you so damn much, Kie, I love you,” he said, words slurred as they came out. His next breath came heavier, more strained. “But I keep hurting you. I’m dragging you down. Your parents were right about me–”
She shook her head, refusing to blink as her own eyes stung. “They weren’t, and they know it,” she said, still remembering the conversations she’d had with them before leaving the OBX. These legal troubles would make it harder – but her dad had been there. Her dad had stopped the cops from shooting. They had changed. “And it doesn’t even matter. What matters is what we want, right?”
He sighed, so tired that she wasn’t sure how he was even still awake. “All I know how to do is hurt people,” he said. “Kiara, no one has wanted me all my life. Everyone figures it out eventually. You might as well figure it out now, before I take you down.”
That was what Luke had taught him.
That was what Groff had shown him.
God, she hated them.
She hated them.
They’d taken this boy and broken him. They’d shattered him.
How the hell was she supposed to put him back together now?
Her silence was too long, and JJ’s soul was already too twisted. His face crumpled, and this time he didn’t recover it. “I’m sorry,” he sobbed, rolling away from her as he curled up on his side. “I’m so sorry.”
It was horrible to watch. She’d seen JJ cry before, but this was different. His walls weren’t just down – they’d been stripped away. And not just the alcohol.
Groff had done this.
Groff had taken JJ apart, bit by bit. He’d stabbed him and left him to drown.
And shit they’d let him do it. They’d practically served JJ up to Groff on a silver platter.
What could she do now? She could pull him from the ocean – but could she pull him from this? Could you save someone who didn’t want to be saved?
Could you save someone who didn’t even think they could be saved?
Chest clenched, she lifted her hand up, she ran her hands through his arm, humming softly to him as the cries shook him. It took a few moments, a few long moments, before the cries started to taper off, and he eased – slipping into an uneasy sleep.
She sat there longer, just watching him breathe, wondering how she could live without this.
Much less how she could live with this.
Sighing, she checked his breathing – just to be sure – and brushed his hair back from his forehead. He was still on his side, and she pulled the sheets up, tucking them around him as best she could.
How had it gotten this bad?
How had she let it get this bad?”
She hadn’t thought this through; she hadn’t thought any of it through.
Falling in love – that shit was easy.
Staying together, though – that was hard.
And keeping JJ alive?
As it turned out, that might just be the hardest task of all. She liked to think she wouldn’t fail. But failure, when she looked at JJ, was starting to be all she could see.
JJ’s failure, yes.
Her own.
Because he shouldn’t have bet the money, and she never should have left him alone with Groff. His failure was action; hers was inaction. The penalty might cost them everything.
Leaning down, she kissed his cheek. He made a noise beneath her, something small and desperate before she shushed him again and he settled back into stillness.
She loved him.
She didn’t have to think that through.
She loved him.
And that, she hoped, had to be enough.
Chapter 14: CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Notes:
I have so many thoughts about JJ on the boat trip to Morocco, so I hope the next few chapters get the point across. The boy was no okay, not even a little, not even close. Be mindful that JJ -- for me -- is pretty close to suicidal at this point. It's far more overt in this fic than it was in the show, which definitely gave us plenty of hints. This precarious mindset so badly informs all the rest of the choices JJ makes, and it is a fundamental part of where this fic goes.
Anyway, if you're reading, just let me know! Feedback is the best and absolutely makes my day. Thank you!
Chapter Text
-o-
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
-o-
It wasn’t that John B had expected things to go well.
It was just that John B hadn’t expected things to be quite this bad.
Just a few days in, and things were already barely holding together. Pope and Cleo were the most with it, organizing things for the ride, making sure they had supplies and knew their route. They were probably the only reason they were still afloat. And if they arrived in Africa at all, he knew it would be thanks to their diligence – and not his own.
Sarah was almost always seasick, spending her time between the bathroom and angsting over Rafe. Kiara did her best to distract her, playing games and making jokes, but it didn’t do much good.
Especially since Kie wasn’t much better off. She wasn’t sick, but the worry was clearly dogging her. The farther and farther they got from the OBX, the more and more Kiara seemed to look back. John B didn’t think she had second thoughts about helping JJ.
He just thought she had second thoughts about how.
Truthfully, he couldn’t blame her. In the few days they’d been at sea, JJ’s mood had gone from bad to absolutely shitty. He had started off depressed.
Then, he got drunk.
Now, a few days in, JJ was drunk and depressed, which yeah – was about as good of a combination as you could ask for in a Maybank. He’d always told JJ he was nothing like Luke, but honestly? Right now?
He could kind of see the resemblance.
It wasn’t something he took lightly. Honestly, it scared the shit out of him. All the bad stuff JJ had survived in his life, and this was the first time John B was faced with the idea that he might lose him. That he might actually lose JJ.
Groff threw him overboard.
And John B wasn’t sure how to get him back anymore.
But, he resolved, it wouldn’t be for a lack of trying. He helped out around the ship, taking turns in the engine room and with navigation. He helped make food so Sarah could eat something, and he helped distract Kie as best he could.
And JJ?
Well, they all seemed to be looking to him when it came to JJ. Like he was the only one who knew what to do with JJ things.
Which was stupid. When it came to JJ things, John B’s policy had always been to wait it out, let JJ burn himself out and come back to his senses.
He just wasn’t sure there’d be anything left of JJ but ash by the end of this.
As it was, he got anxious whenever too much time passed without seeing him. The boat wasn’t that big, but somehow JJ found every nook and cranny to hide in with his bottle of alcohol. About once an hour, John B made the rounds, making sure that JJ was still around.
Drunk, scared, and messed up in the head.
But alive.
Yeah, John B knew he was aiming low, but it’d been a long few weeks, in his defense.
This time, he didn’t find JJ in most of his usual spots. He wasn’t puking on the bow. He wasn’t passed out on the table in the common room. He wasn’t humming to himself in his bunk, and he wasn’t trying to fix an engine part that wasn’t broken with tools that didn’t make sense.
This time, he nearly ran into JJ in the hallway, as the other boy stumbled out of the bathroom. The boat was unsteady as it was in rough seas, and JJ’s sea legs were nonexistent when he was drunk, so when JJ lurched against the wall, he nearly went all the way down. John B scrambled to catch him, dragging him upright again.
JJ hissed, keeling over with a grunt.
“JJ?” he said with a frown. “Are you–”
JJ’s face was creased with pain, which had to be stronger than the alcohol in his system. Given the smell, that was significant.
“Hey,” he said, trying to pick JJ back upright again. “Talk to me–”
JJ whined, his hand clutching his side. “What are you trying to do?” he said, squeezing his eyes shut as he tipped his head back. “Finish what Groff started? You could make it fast, at least. Not prolonging my misery.”
John B didn’t have a good response to that and really – JJ’s dark humor wasn’t the point. The point was that JJ’s shirt was stained with blood. He pulled up the hem, appalled to find that the bandage was filthy. It clearly hadn’t been changed in days.
Had JJ even showered in days?
He gaped at it. “You know you’re supposed to change this, right?” he asked, reaching for the bandage.
JJ swatted his hand away, blue eyes coming open to slits. Bleary, but just pained enough to be coherent. “It’s fine.”
John B rolled his eyes, exasperation so deep that he felt it in his bones. They were literally crossing the Atlantic right now, trying to fix JJ’s mistakes.
Things he’d done for the right reasons. Things that were understandable, even.
But mistakes.
And still JJ’s.
Sarah was pregnant; they were on the run. Pope was a fugitive.
Nothing was fine.
“JJ, shut up,” he said, shaking his head. He sighed, taking him by the arm. “Come on.”
JJ stumbled into him. “Where are we going?”
He hooked JJ’s arm around his shoulder. “To do some first aid, okay?”
JJ made a sound, something nondescript and dismissive. “You don’t have to–” he started to slur as John B hoisted him through the door of the bunk he was sharing with Kiara. “You shouldn’t–”
He put JJ down with somewhat more force than necessary, depositing him so he was flat on his back. JJ looked up wildly, as if to get up, but John B pushed him back with a firm hand to his shoulder. “Stay there,” he ordered shortly. “I’ll be right back.”
It wasn’t clear if JJ was compliant willingly or if he was just too drunk to make an escape for it. But by the time John B returned with the first aid kit, he was still on the bed, staring vacantly at the ceiling. One arm was wrapped just slightly protectively around his injured side. The other had flopped limply off the end of the cot.
He was a mess – and that was putting it lightly. He’d seen JJ drunk – hungover and well past his prime, but this was different. There was something darker about it, something cutting. JJ had always turned to alcohol as an escape, John B was used to that.
This time, it didn’t feel like an escape.
This time, he felt like JJ was just drowning himself in it.
Tired and spent, JJ’s skin lacked its usual color, and his expression was dull. There was no spark; no energy. There was no fight left. It had been days since they pulled him out of the Atlantic, and he looked just as bad now as he had then.
Worse, maybe.
JJ rolled his eyes toward him. “John B?”
“Yeah,” he said, trying to remember how to move.
“I – did you find the alcohol?” he asked, brow furrowed in what appeared to be genuine confusion.
John B sat down on the bed next to JJ, feeling weary. “The last thing you need is more alcohol,” he said. “I have the first aid kit, though.”
JJ scowled at him, as if he found the idea spurious, and then his face lit up. “Oh!” he said, flailing to the side. “That’s it–”
“Hey!” John B said, pressing him back down to keep him from tipping himself over. “Stop!”
JJ struggled against him, though, groping blindly at the bedside table. John B realized belatedly why.
He’d found the bottle.
Open and half drunk.
He plucked it off with a smile of success, lifting his head enough to take a swig without choking.
John B plucked it back and put it back down. “Seriously,” he said. “You need to let me treat your wound.”
JJ looked offended by this. “Why so serious?” he muttered.
John B lifted the hem of JJ’s shirt, pulling it up to expose his abdomen. “Maybe because you’re acting like a dick?”
JJ shook his head. “That is the opposite of what I’m trying to do,” he said, and then his eyes went very wide. He lowered his voice with a comically exaggerated whisper. “Do you want to know a secret?”
“Why not?” he said, opening the kit on his lap.
“It’s okay if you throw me overboard,” he said.
John B stopped cold, heart stuttering. “What?”
JJ nodded earnestly. “I know I fucked it all up. I fucked everything up, John B,” he said. “You can cut anchor, okay? I won’t even feel it, you know? If I drink enough, I won’t feel anything, it’ll be just like going to sleep.”
For a second, John B thought he was imagining it.
Like, he had to be imagining it, right?
JJ wasn’t–
JJ didn’t–
He shook his head, breathing coming fast. “Don’t talk bullshit,” he said, and he felt the color burn in his cheeks.
JJ reached for him. “But it’s my fault,” he said, fingers clutching at his shirt. “You said it yourself, it’s my fault.”
John B huffed, face to face with his best friend. “And you think that means I want you gone?” he said. “Shit, JJ–”
“I won’t keep hurting you if I’m not here,” JJ reasoned. He looked desperate for a moment, eyes bright. “I don’t know how to stop hurting you. Everything I try to do ends up wrong. And I’m scared–”
This time, his voice caught, and he inhaled raggedly.
He flopped back, hand letting go and slipping back uselessly to his chest. “No one would blame you. I won’t blame you,” he said. And he let his gaze slip to the side. “I’d do it myself–”
“Hey,” John B said, grabbing his face to bring his eyes back around. “The alcohol is getting to you, man. Shut up.”
He told himself that was it.
JJ was drunk, that was all. JJ was drunk, he wasn’t–
There was no way–
He wet his lips, looking at JJ again, trying to convince himself of it. That JJ was okay; that JJ was going to be okay.
For a second, he wanted to push it. He wanted to make JJ talk about it – the fears he had, the pain he felt. About what it meant to have a father try to murder you, about how it felt to have your entire identity turned upside down.
And he wanted to tell JJ he was wrong. He shouldn’t have blamed him. He understood.
He knew JJ wanted to do the right thing.
He knew that.
But JJ had never had a chance. Not with Luke, not with the Kooks. And now not with Chandler Groff either. When you had been told your whole life you were worthless, what were you supposed to do?
What the hell was JJ supposed to do?
The words got stuck, though. They’d always agreed, ever since they were kids, that they didn’t talk about it. There were lines they didn’t cross. It was why JJ had always trusted him most: because John B didn’t say the things they both knew.
Like Luke was an abusive asshole.
Like JJ was a self-destructive idiot.
Like JJ was primed to love people who abused him.
Like John B was primed to use people who would let him.
He’d sent JJ off with Groff, that day. He hadn’t thought twice.
But sure.
It was all JJ’s fault.
The guilt paralyzed him, and the years of saying nothing suffocated the truth. Instead, he clenched his jaw and looked back at the kit. “Let me see it,” he said instead, swallowing it all back.
Beneath him, JJ’s look had gone vacant again. He seemed to deflate, turning his head away.
John B let him be, focusing instead on lifting up the shirt yet again. This time, JJ stayed still, and he didn’t even flinch when John B pulled back the soiled bandage. He’d seen the wound, back on the boat, when they’d first pulled him out of the Atlantic. He’d seen the deep break in the skin, jagged and bloody and red.
It was worse now.
It was a lot worse.
The wound had festered. The redness was more pronounced, the inflamed edges raw and curling away. The wound was leaking, the trace amounts of blood washed out with pus.
“Shit,” he said, touching around it gently. JJ flinched at this, the pain strong enough to break through his drunken stupor. That didn’t escape John B’s notice. Neither did the fact that the wound was hot. “This is getting infected.”
JJ hummed, shifting anxiously on the bed. “It’s fine.”
John B pulled out some gauze, wetting it down with antiseptic first. “It’s not fine,” he said. “I have to clean this. It’s going to hurt.”
JJ was too drunk to brace himself, but when John B touched the wound again, he cried out. He tensed, body seizing up. “Holy shit!” he said, lifting his head. “John B, that hurts!”
“I know,” John B snapped back. “Because this is infected!”
JJ blinked at him, eyes wide and young despite everything. There was a fleeting moment of fight in them, but then JJ let that go, too. He slumped back down to the bed, hands limp at his side as he looked up. “Just do it,” he said.
The futility of it was too much. The anger faded just that fast. “JJ–”
JJ hummed again, and this time he closed his eyes. He went quiet; he went still. His chest rose and fell, steadier than before. Deeper.
The words failed him, and he swallowed it back guiltily. He’d been able to place blame; he’d found those words.
Why couldn’t he just apologize? Why couldn’t he just reassure him?
Why couldn’t he fix this?
He looked from JJ’s face to the wound. He could fix that.
Setting his jaw, he took the gauze and pressed it down again. JJ tensed, but he didn’t cry out this time, and he audibly bit back a scream, fingers curled into fists against the mattress as John B worked the wound. He wiped away the seepage before applying more antiseptic, splashing it liberally and mopping up the excess.
That was bad, but working the inside of the wound was worse. He slid the gauze along the opening until JJ’s body nearly broke like an over-taut string. He whimpered but stayed still, not moving away while John B flushed the wound, debrided it, and finally pulled back.
It was physically painful for JJ; that much was clear. Nothing short of agony – and how JJ had kept it in check, while intoxicated, John B didn’t know. All those years of locking it down. All those years of hiding.
It was some kind of training, he supposed.
John B looked back at the wound, biting his lower lip uncertainly. The words still didn’t come – not the words he needed to say. Some wounds you couldn’t clean, could you? Some injuries couldn’t be disinfected. Some things festered.
Some things ate away at you until you died.
“Okay,” he said, getting a fresh bandage. “I think that’s the worst of it.”
JJ didn’t reply, and his body didn’t relax, not as John B placed the bandaged and secured it. He patted it gently, and then sat back with a sigh. JJ laid there, still tense and overwhelmed, until John B finally pulled his shirt back down. “All done.”
JJ didn’t reply; he laid there with his eyes closed, breathing heavily for a long moment before his fist uncurled and his body started to relax. When he blinked again, his gaze was bleary again. “Hm?”
John B snapped the first aid kit shut and put it aside. “You’re done,” he said. “It’s clean.”
JJ lifted his head, still groggy as he looked down. “Huh?”
“But you have to clean it every day,” he said. “If Kie won’t do it, you can ask me. I might not be as gentle, but I can do it.”
JJ just looked confused, looking from the bandage under his shirt up at John B. “Why?”
“Why?” John B retorted. “Uh, so you don’t die, mostly. That thing is gnarly, man.”
JJ shook his head, looking hazily back at the ceiling. “So?”
John B’s chest clenched. He reached down, hand on JJ’s neck, tipping his head back toward him. “You need to take care of yourself, bub.”
It took effort for JJ to look at him, and he looked so genuinely confused that John B didn’t know what to do. “But why?”
The existential question, not the practical one. The one most kids asked when they were two; the one JJ probably never got to ask because Luke Maybank liked fists instead of answers.
“Because,” he said, eyes fluttering with uncertainty. The things he needed to say; the things he should have said. “We need you, J. That’s why.”
He made a sound, eyes lilting back to the ceiling. “What?” he said, slurring caustically. Even beneath the drunken words, there was a cutting edge that sliced between them. “Got some money to lose?”
He sighed. It wasn’t unexpected; it wasn’t even wrong.
But – it just missed the point.
That had never been what John B had tried to say.
Yet, it was what he said. It was exactly what he’d said.
He knew, better than anyone, the things JJ thought about himself. He knew that as much as they could have blamed him, JJ blamed himself most. He knew that.
And he’d said it anyway.
There was no way to take that back.
“JJ–”
JJ shrugged, laughing sloppily. It was a miserable, humorless thing. “I could lose a race,” he said. He brought his gaze back to John B, smirking. “Start a riot? Shoot at the cops?”
The emotion burned up his cheeks again. “J–”
“Nah, whatever,” JJ said, exhaling as he looked up again. His lips twisted, something like a smile. He tipped his head to the side, reaching out and snagging the bottle next to the bed. It was still open, and he took a quick drink. It was messy, splashing down his cheek, but he didn’t seem to notice. “Alcohol sanitizes, right?”
“Not when you ingest it,” John B said.
JJ didn’t seem to care. He took another drink, longer and harder. “You never know,” he said. “It could help.”
John B snatched it, teeth gritted. “It won’t.”
JJ looked at him, and it was the surprise that got him. JJ was still surprised, wasn’t he? After everything. He still thought he could lose it. He still thought he could lose his place with the Pogues.
He still thought Pogues for Life was a one way deal, a sacrifice he gave but never earned.
“You can stop caring,” JJ said. “You don’t have to – you don’t–”
What was he supposed to say? What was he supposed to do?
The years stretched between them, stacked up like an insurmountable truth. JJ had been waiting, ever since the third grade, for John B to blame him. JJ had been waiting for the affirmation that he wasn’t worth it.
He didn’t know how.
He didn’t know.
JJ took the bottle back, curling himself around it as he rolled on his side. “I’m fine,” he murmured. “I’m fine.”
Because sometimes what they said.
Wasn’t what they meant at all.
-o-
Working on a boat, living that life, especially for a long hauler, – it wasn’t easy. It was hard work, exhausting manual labor. The quarters were small; the conditions were shitty. And the amenities were nonexistent.
Hard work, minimal reward, and Luke wasn’t even getting paid.
By all accounts, he should have been miserable.
But the truth was, Luke didn’t mind the work. He’d always been good with physical labor. He liked working with his hands, and he liked simple, measurable tasks. He could follow orders, and he wasn’t afraid to do the dirty shit. When he was sober, he was reliable, true, and focused.
That was the caveat then, wasn’t it?
When he was sober.
It sounded so simple, when you said like that, but for nearly 15 years, Luke had drunk it all away. Sometimes, it seemed like a fleeting memory, nothing more than a fragment of a dream. Back when he was young and his good intentions had been enough.
He’d thought he could make a difference. He’d believed he could do things right.
He’d wanted to help Larissa and the old man. He’d wanted to make her life easier, and make their property pretty again. And he’d thought he could help JJ. That little baby with nothing left. He thought he could give him a home, a family, a place to belong.
That had been the plan. He’d intended to keep JJ safe, to raise him right. Take him to church, teach him to read. He’d gotten a job – one with benefits – and he’d intended to marry a nice woman, one who could help him raise JJ, one who might give JJ brothers and sisters and the whole damn American dream.
There were no other kids, though. And she’d left when money got tight. That job had dried up, and the next job, and Luke shoved JJ off at any neighbor or family member who could watch him. He was too tired for weekend fishing trips, and when he hurt his back on the trawler, it nearly bankrupted him. Those pills had been real nice.
That was when he thought about the pills and the alcohol more than JJ. That was when the idea of being sober became nothing but an ideal for happier people in better places. He’d blamed everyone else – his girlfriend, Larissa, Groff, and the whole damn town. Eventually, he even blamed JJ, beat him until those blue eyes stopped looking at him and reminding him of the man he was supposed to be.
The man Luke hadn’t seen in 15 years.
The man who was looking at him now.
Taking his turn in the latrine, he hardly recognized himself. The addictions had made him look old and weathered; now he just looked tired. But his eyes were alert, and his body felt ready. He splashed some water on his face, brushed his teeth, and was right back at it.
One week in, and he didn’t miss the ground beneath his feet as much as he expected. The OBX was home, but he didn’t need it. He didn’t miss that shitty little house, the one he’d ruined JJ’s life over. He didn’t miss the deals with cops or working a paycheck for Barracuda Mike.
Hard work. Simple living.
Back when he’d taken the job at Goat Island, that had been his plan. He used to work hard for what he had. He used to try.
Funny, how it all came back. Like riding a damn bike, of all things.
Not just the hard work, though.
The rest of Luke’s skills were coming back. His acuity, his focus, his coordination. He was faster, had more stamina, all of it.
He was also more observant.
He could see the way Groff strutted around the place, cool and casual like he owned it. Tensions were rising, day by day, the closer they got to Morocco. Smiles were forced. Laughter was strained. And the muttering under the breath every time Groff came by wasn’t hard to notice.
Putting a little extra effort into it sealed the deal. He didn’t even have to ask. All he had to do was shut up and listen. After a week on this boat, everyone had started to treat him like a fly on the wall. Groff made himself the center of attention; Luke got more done by being as inconspicuous as possible.
“No, he’s a traitor,” one of them said as they pulled a shift together in the engine room. “I mean, you don’t see him down here, do you?”
“He’s never been good at this stuff,” the other replied.
Luke grunted, doing more work than the two of them. He made a show of it, so they barely even paid attention to him being there.
“Too good for it,” the other snorted.
“He walks around now, thinking he can do whatever he wants,” the first said.
The second shook his head. “He already double-crossed us once.”
“But he has the missing piece,” he said.
“We have the journal,” the other countered. “And we’ve seen the map.”
“But he has the key,” the first said. “He won’t even tell Dalia what it is.”
There was a snort, and a dismissive sound while Luke didn’t dare look up. “Dalia will kill him.”
The reply was low, hardly audible over the sound of the machinery. “Unless he kills her first.”
It was all Luke could do not to stop, not to freeze. He couldn’t tip them off. He couldn’t give himself away.
“You think he would?” the other asked.
There was a quiet answer, a rustling of clothing.
“If he thinks we’d follow him–”
“But if he has what we need–”
“It’s not that simple!” the other protested.
“I guess we’ll see,” the first concluded dully. “But you have to know your side, mate.”
“No,” the other said. “You have to watch your back.”
Luke didn’t stop. Luke couldn’t stop.
These Corsairs – Luke didn’t like them much, but they were like brothers. They acted that way; lived that way. If Groff would betray them – then he was capable of anything.
JJ was still in danger. All of his little friends were in danger.
Luke knew, now more than ever, that he was exactly where he needed to be.
No matter how this played out.
He had to be ready.
-o-
Sarah knew John B always had the best intentions.
In all the time they’d known each other, that had been almost exclusively true – nearly without exception. When he’d ignored her after getting back from Poguelandia – it had been in an effort to rebuild a relationship with his father. When he’d failed to comfort her after her father’s death – it had been a long, complicated unfurling from her father’s betrayal of him.
Even when John B hurt her, she could see that he was trying. He was trying to be good. He was trying to do things right. He wasn’t intentionally mean. He didn’t have a cruel bone in his body.
He was, however, prone to single-mindedness. She hadn’t known Big John Routledge well, but she knew him to be obsessive in his pursuits, to the point of exclusion. John B had some of that in him, more than any of them cared to admit.
So when he suggested telling JJ about the baby, she hadn’t been opposed. Really, the baby wasn’t a secret she intended on keeping – not from the Pogues – and not like she could. The timing just hadn’t been right; nothing had been right.
And when he speculated that asking JJ to be the godfather might help, she couldn’t say no. It could help, she’d reasoned. JJ was fiercely protective, and loyal to a fault. In theory, it would work.
But things were different now, weren’t they?
She stared at the ceiling of her cabin as the boat rocked and swayed. They were halfway to Morocco now, somewhere between the OBX and the unknown. They’d left a mess behind them, and this desperate plea was their only chance to salvage anything.
Not just Poguelandia.
But their lives. Their freedom.
Their futures.
She let the boat rock her as her stomach flipped a little. Her fingers settled there, and she thought about it some more. What life would she bring her baby home to?
The idea of raising a baby on Poguelandia, with aunts and uncles galore, was a beautiful thing.
But without that–
Sarah didn’t know.
The stakes had never been this high. Pope was a fugitive. JJ was wanted for murder.
And more than that, JJ was falling apart.
John B kept insisting it would pass, that they could wait it out, that JJ would be okay–
But something was different.
Something was wrong.
The town had taken something from JJ. The Kooks had broken something inside of him. And Chandler Groff had swooped in and taken whatever was left of JJ apart, piece by piece. What was left–
Well, that was the point.
What was left?
How could JJ be a godfather – when he didn’t even know who he was anymore? How could JJ get excited about a future – when he was trying to drown himself right here on this boat.
John B had always kept JJ afloat before.
She knew his intentions were good – so damn good.
He still thought they’d get to Morocco and fix everything, and come back home happy and redeemed. It was such a beautiful idea that Sarah hated to doubt it.
But–
She bit her lip, moving her hand from her stomach to her hair. She let her arm go limp, sighing as she thought about it. There were too many moving parts. They’d taken it all for granted too long. All the things they’d half-assed were coming to a head.
You couldn’t fix problems with bullshit and lies. You couldn’t salvage a reputation with a Hail Mary. And people didn’t get better because you wanted them to.
The door opened, and she looked over, momentarily hopeful.
However, the slump of John B’s shoulders was telling. His head was down, bangs obscuring his eyes. “John B?”
He didn’t answer. She could see him, barely composed, as he came to sit down on the edge of the bed.
Concerned, she sat up, moving herself so she was perched next to him. “That bad, huh?”
John B’s shoulder slumped in defeat. “Worse,” he said. “He lost it entirely. Told me how bad of a dad I was going to be, how I was going to screw up the kid–”
Her eyes widened, her hand going to rest on his back. “Hey, no way–”
“He just kept going on,” John B said, and his voice was wet as his breathing caught. He sniffled loudly, swallowing audibly as he reached up to wipe his nose. “And I don’t know, maybe he’s right–”
Her chest tightened. “John B, he’s not right–”
“He knows me better than anyone,” John B said, voice stretched uncomfortably thin. She could feel it, the way it hurt. The doubt it fed, deep inside him.
For a second, she wanted to go drag JJ in here by the ear. She wanted to dump all his alcohol in the ocean and cuss him out for doing this to John B.
His best friend.
If anyone knew better, it was JJ.
“He’s not right,” she said again, more firmly this time. She reached out with her hand now, cupping his face toward her until he looked at her. His brown eyes were wet, his face torn. “JJ wasn’t right.”
It wasn’t that simple, though. Not for John B, and certainly not for JJ.
JJ had said what John B had been thinking, she realized. He’d been stepping up; he’d been supporting her. But he was scared, too. He had doubts, not about the baby, but about his ability to be a good father – a good husband. He was young, and he was terrified – two things he’d never admit to her.
And two things JJ had been too drunk to keep to himself.
It wasn’t just that, either. JJ wasn’t just drunk. JJ was falling apart inside. As his whole life fell apart, the idea that he could look to the future probably wasn’t realistic. Asking JJ to be the godfather of their baby was the right thing to do, but probably not when he didn’t even know how to get himself out of bed in the morning.
“John B, listen to me,” Sarah said, keeping her voice low and steady. “JJ didn’t mean it, and you know it.”
He inhaled sharply. “But–”
She shook her head, not entertaining the argument for any of their sakes. Hers, John B’s. The baby’s.
And JJ’s, too.
“You know JJ’s not in his right mind right now. He’s not okay,” she said, gentle but firm, keeping his gaze fully fixed on her. “I mean, I know we were trying to cheer him up – but I’m not sure it’s that easy this time.”
John B looked away briefly, eyes going distant as he blinked. “I’ve never seen him this bad. I’ve never seen him this lost, not even with all the shit from Luke.”
Sarah nodded, pulling his chin back toward her lightly again, keeping her hand on his cheek. “All the shit that’s going down – we all know he’s not coping with it.”
John B sighed, pulling back slightly as she let her hand fall. “But P4L has always worked for him before.”
She wet her lips, wincing sympathetically. “But he’s not even sure who he is right now. And that’s something I’m not sure we can fix – not here, anyway. Not like this.”
John B chewed his bottom lip, brow deeply furrowed. “He’s always had daddy issues.”
Sarah inclined her head. “And then we drop more on him.”
John B swore lightly, running his hand through his hair. “I didn’t think it through.”
“Me neither,” Sarah said. “And I guess we both keep hoping JJ’s not as bad off as he is.”
He looked at her, brows drawn together now. “He’s scaring me, Sarah,” he confessed softly. “I know I keep saying we need to wait it out, let JJ do a JJ thing – but he’s drowning right now.”
“We could hide the alcohol–” she suggested.
But he was already shaking his head. “The alcohol is just his way of coping with what’s really wrong. I mean, shit, Sarah. Luke’s not his dad? He’s not a Pogue? And Groff tried to murder him? I mean, when Ward–”
Sarah went stiff, the memory coming back unexpectedly. She shuddered, and John B shut his mouth, reaching out to take her hands.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I shouldn’t have–”
“No,” she said quickly, nodding her way through it. “I mean, it’s a fair comparison. And it messed me up, too. But I was able to make amends, you know? Before he died, we were able to – at least come to an understanding. But it takes time, and Groff’s only been in JJ’s life for a week now. So he finds out his entire life is a lie, and then within a few days, Groff manipulates him, emotionally abuses him, and then tries to kill him.”
John B’s face contorts, his self-anger obvious. “I just want to help him!” he exploded. “Sarah, how do I help him? I’m not sure I know what a JJ thing is anymore.”
She reached out and took his hand into hers. “I don’t know,” she said. “I don’t know how to fix JJ. I don’t know how to stop Groff or get the crown, I don't know.”
He sat there, breathing heavily for a second. She brought her other hand over to clasp his hands fully.
“But we’ll figure it out,” she soothed. “I promise.”
He looked down, stiffening again for a moment. He tried to nod, but didn’t seem to quite make it. “What if he’s not okay?” he asked, his voice even smaller.
“We’re going to take care of JJ,” she said, leaning down to try to catch his eyes from beneath his bangs. He glanced at her, and she smiled. “Just think of it as practice.”
He gave her a mildly incredulous look.
Her lips twitched again as she shrugged. “Well, if we can keep JJ alive, then surely we can keep a baby alive.”
To this point, John B snorted. “Honestly? At this point? I think a baby might be easier.”
“Well, yeah,” she said with a chuckle. “But our baby will be loved – always. They’ll be safe. I mean, JJ–”
Her voice cut off as she realized what she was saying – and the full implications were left unspoken between them.
John B went quiet again. “Yeah,” he said, dejected again. “I’m not sure JJ has ever known it. And now with Groff–”
His voice was heavy with regret.
All his good intentions. She couldn’t take it; she couldn’t let him hurt.
She lifted her hand, caressing his cheek. “So, we show him,” she said, like it was that simple. Like it had to be that simple. “We just have to show him.”
For all that John B was a natural leader – their natural leader – for all that Sarah had followed him around the world and back time and again, something shifted now. Something soft and subtle as he leaned into her. The way he trusted her; the way he needed her.
And he nodded faintly.
“And John B, JJ didn’t mean it,” she said, waiting for him to lift his eyes again. “He’s scared and he’s drunk. That doesn’t make it okay, but I want you to remember it. He didn’t mean what he said, any of it.”
John B swallowed a little, but then he nodded again. “I know.”
A smile widened on her face as she reached up, smoothing one of his curls back. “You’re going to be the best dad.”
Normally, John B liked to be the strong one. Most of the time, he played that role. Not with cliche machismo – no, not that simple. But with an earnest strength, one of the things she’d come to love so much about him.
She needed the strength; now, more than ever.
But Sarah found that she had her own strength. She had something he didn’t.
And sometimes he took care of her, yes.
But she could also take care of him.
“How can you be sure?” he asked, his voice small as he looked at her.
She smiled with confidence. “Well, you’re an awesome best friend, for starters.”
John B rolled his eyes. “Yeah, since JJ’s doing awesome right now. Drinking himself to death.”
That point was valid – but also not entirely fair. “He’s still here, isn’t he? We’ve got him safe and secure,” she said. “He’s not in jail. He’s not stuck with Groff. We pulled him out of the ocean.”
“But he’s not okay,” John B said, almost emphatic with it as his brow pulled together. “Sarah, I know he’s not okay.”
She nodded, her smile tightening a little. “Which is why we’re doing this,” she said. “We’re going to Morocco. We’re going to find the crown. We’re going to stop Groff. For JJ.”
Because John B needed to remember that it would have been easier to let the cops take JJ. It would have been so easy to turn him over to the Kooks to exact whatever revenge they wanted on him. They wouldn’t have been wrong to cut him loose for all the shit he’d done and mistakes he’d made
But they loved him. They knew him and all his reasons, that no matter what stupid decisions he made, he made them for the right reasons.
She kept her voice steady and her gaze locked on him. “And we’ll show him that it’s okay. That we love him,” she assured him. “That he’s worth it.”
John B’s face tightened for a moment, but he nodded. Once – and then again, before leaning forward and kissing her. “I don’t deserve you,” he said, and he put his hand on her stomach. “Either of you.”
She kissed him back. “That’s funny,” she murmured against his lips. “Because I was thinking the same thing.”
-o-
This boat confirmed what Cleo had long known. Criminals could be impeccable stewards of their own goods. For all that this boat belonged to a drug dealer, it was in good repair. Clearly, someone had been keeping up with maintenance and repairs – and they were lucky for that.
You didn’t want to be halfway across the Atlantic when you realized someone had been cutting corners on the incident reports. The maintenance logs were good, and, more importantly, the equipment operated well. There were supplies, safety equipment – all the things you needed.
That was the good news.
The bad news was that they had a skeleton crew with mixed sailing experience, and not one of these Pogues had any long hauler skills. JJ was the closest, and he was a quick study, but he was also drunk nearly 24/7 and that made him, to say the least, unreliable.
She knew all the reasons. Hell, she would probably be drunk too, if she were in his shoes. It was one thing to lose your family – Cleo had been there, done that – but to lose all your stability, your identity. To find out that they hadn’t just left – they’d made a willful choice to hurt you and abandon you.
The boy was entitled to crash out.
It would just be convenient if they weren’t in the middle of an Atlantic in a desperate bid to find an ancient treasure and stop a murderous madman.
Beggars couldn’t be choosers.
But that didn’t mean she had to shut up about it.
So when she found JJ in the engine room, supposedly on shift, she was immediately skeptical. She could smell the alcohol over the scent of the engine oil, and the open bottle was in his hand as he sat slumped against the wall.
She stood there for a moment, waiting for him to acknowledge her.
When that failed, she made a sound of condescension, raising her eyebrows and assessing him coolly. “And what do you think you’re doing?”
He looked at her lazily. After a long second, he lifted up the wrench lying next to him. “Maintenance, right?”
She looked at the tool – looked at him – and then looked at the engine. “I see you’re making amazing progress there, rude boy.”
“Yeah, sorry about that,” he slurred, putting the tool down again with a noisy clank. “I got distracted.”
He took a long, messy drink to prove his point.
As if Cleo had missed it, sometime in the last week, that JJ Maybank was set on drowning himself on his voyage. She wasn’t even sure he was thinking about Groff or the crown. He didn’t seem to be thinking at all.
“You know, if you don’t do it right, we will go down,” she pointed out. And then, she tilted her head. “All of us.”
Because she still knew his buttons.
Drunk as he was, he cared about them. If the boy was truly set on killing himself, he probably would have done it by now. That wasn’t exactly a solace, she reminded herself, but he was hanging on for them. If that was the only leverage she had right now, then so be it.
To her surprise, however, he looked at her and blinked. “I know.”
For a second, she wasn’t sure what to say. It was a level of disregard she hadn’t seen from him yet – not just for his own safety. For theirs. The alcohol was numbing him, no doubt, deadening his understanding of the situation.
Either that, or Groff had finally done what the entire island of Kildare hadn’t been able to do: he’d broken JJ. Shattered him; left nothing of him but bits and bobs on the surface of the ocean.
Cleo didn’t know what the hell they were doing.
A crown wasn’t going to fix it. Putting Groff in jail and clearing JJ’s name – Pope’s name – wasn’t going to fix this. At this point, she wasn’t even sure getting Poguelandia back would fix it.
It was a sudden and chilling revelation.
Cleo could fix engines, this was true.
Could she fix JJ?
That was a much harder question.
But she was a practical sort. You had to try, didn’t you?
“So,” she said, slow and purposeful. “That’s what we’re trying not to do, all things considered.”
There was a flicker of dissent in his expression, but he seemed to give it up as quickly as it came. She didn’t know if some part of him agreed, or if he was just too tired to argue.
Either way, he took another drink, letting his head tip back as he sighed.
“Right, but you’re losing sight of it, you know?” she said, inclining her head at him as she stared him down, hard enough to make eye contact through the haze of the alcohol. “You can’t get what you want the way you’re doing it.”
He blinked at her, lifting his head just enough, his wide blue eyes sluggish to register her words. But when they did, his expression turned quizzical, as if he genuinely didn’t understand. “What do I even want?”
Cleo stared back, suddenly just as quizzical. She and JJ – they had always understood each other. They had always been of a like mind.
But he was looking at her like she was speaking a foreign language.
“Revenge,” she said finally, laying it out plainly between them.
Even saying it, plain as day, no shame and no remorse, JJ just stared at her. “Why would I care about revenge?”
His nonchalance put her on edge in a way she couldn’t fully realize. Everyone worried about JJ, fretted over him. But none of it had surprised her. The crashouts. The bad bets. Cleo got it.
This? This indifference?
This wasn’t JJ.
This wasn’t JJ at all. “Groff stole from you, tried to kill you,” she reminded him. Because something had to matter more than the pain and alcohol. “He hurt Kiara.”
Again, there was a flash of something, but it was brief – even briefer than before. Like she could see the fight dying out of him, bit by bit.
JJ just shook his head. “He’s a piece of shit, I know that,” JJ said. “But, come on, Cleo. I can’t fight that. Me, of all people. I can’t do shit.”
JJ needed to think a little more, even Cleo could concede that. But this wasn’t restraint. This was giving up. “You can’t talk like that,” she said, wishing she could find a way. Not just through the alcohol, she knew that. The alcohol was just his way of hiding the real problem.
JJ had come face to face with his worst fears, his doubts, all of it.
And he’d lost.
He’d lost badly.
Groff had attempted murder, that was true. They all knew that.
She feared he may have succeeded in all the ways that mattered. With what Groff had done to JJ, he didn’t need to twist the knife. At this rate, JJ would finish the job for him.
JJ didn’t fight her. Instead, he shrugged. “It doesn’t matter,” he said. He put the tool down with a clatter. “None of it matters. If you all weren’t here, I’d—”
He caught himself, but only just.
He’d what? Jump off the edge? Let the boat sink? Slip beneath the surface and never kick his way back up again?
“I need it over,” he said, staring at the tool he’d abandoned. “I just want this all to be over.”
There were no flippant replies to that. There was no snarky comeback.
“JJ, revenge is just an idea. It doesn’t mean shit,” she said. “It’s just want we say to keep going, yeah?”
He stared at the ground, shoulders stiff and stubborn.
She sighed, sitting down next to him. “Moving in, making amends, we can call it anything we want,” she said. She knew what John B said, about JJ doing JJ things. But she couldn’t just ignore it, could she? Not when he was sitting right in front of her. “But it’s just about taking back any control we can. Any hint of it. To build our own futures.”
“Moving on is shit,” JJ mumbled, pausing to take a drink from the bottle that seemed to be permanently affixed to his hand. She wasn’t sure how come this boat had this much alcohol, and how JJ found all of it. “There are some things you can’t let go.”
“I’m not talking about letting go,” Cleo said. “I’m talking about accepting it and saying screw it. It doesn’t get to define you.”
“Doesn’t it?” JJ asked. He sat back, swaying drunkenly. “I mean, I’m always going to be the asshole who blew all the money. I’m always going to be the dumb shit who lost it all in the race – by betting on myself. Which, I mean, come on. Everyone knows that’s the worst bet ever.”
He laughed, so deeply vitriolic that Cleo felt her gut churn.
So maybe JJ things were a bit harder than she thought.
Maybe John B had a point.
“I mean, Luke knew it, right? Groff knew it,” JJ said with a wide gesture. He looked at her, long and hard for a moment, before his eyes diverted to the ground and his voice got quiet. “You all know it. My fault; all of it.”
Cleo couldn’t take that back – just like JJ couldn’t back his mistakes. She knew John B hadn’t meant it like this, but she also knew there was no other way for JJ to take it.
When the world was collapsing in on him.
They’d thrown on more dirt.
And then wondered why JJ flailed like he was buried alive.
She drew a breath and let it out. “Well, that’s behind you. That’s behind us,” she said. “That’s what revenge is about. It’s about ending the bad stuff, no matter what.”
He scoffs, flicking a stray piece of trash across the floor. “I’d be down for an ending.”
“That’s not what I’m talking about,” she said, sharper now. Sharp enough for him to look at her through the matted fringe of his hair. “JJ, endings are just beginnings. That’s why you end things; so you can start something new. Do endings suck? Yeah, sometimes. But they’re inevitable. Good things, bad things – they all end. You can’t control that. But you can control what comes next.”
To that, he had no response.
Nothing except a long, slow sigh.
And a deep, deep drink.
He swallowed, gulping as much as he could, coming back up as if he was gasping for air. Eye red; face drawn. “Is that so?”
She nodded, resolute. “That’s so.”
He shook his head, staggering to his feet. He had to catch himself with one hand, balancing precariously for a moment before he finally got his legs beneath him. Even then, it was a near thing, as he clutched the bottle closer still. “I don’t really get to argue now, do I?”
Her shoulders fell a little. “JJ–”
He offered her a half hearted salute, the liquid in the bottle sloshing hard. “Aye, aye, Captain Cleo.”
She watched him leave, weaving unsteadily out of the engine room and banging into one of the walls on his way out. She had half a mind to follow, but for what – she didn’t know.
JJ things, as it turned out, were a lot harder than she thought they’d be.
Chapter 15: CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Notes:
It's hard with this one because there's so much I would have done different -- were I in control of what happened on screen. I never would have written the Pogues doing as little as they do, so I feel like a lot of this fic is just getting in their heads and showing why they choose complete inaction when it comes to JJ's complete deconstruction. It's still frustrating, but hopefully it at least feels in character and makes sense.
That said, JJ is doing poorly here. He's still in a deeply suicidal mindset, so be wary.
For anyone looking forward to Best of a Bad Deal Book Three -- it's coming. I believe I should start posting on Thursday with weekly updates. It's 36 chapters long, so it's a long haul, and hopefully it doesn't disappoint.
I offer continuous thanks to anyone reading or commenting, and a special thanks to all my JJ girls on Tumblr. When we talk about JJ, it helps keep him alive, and that's the world to me. You are all the best!
Chapter Text
-o-
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
-o-
The trip was over halfway done, and Kiara was pretty sure things were worse now than when they left the OBX. They hadn’t solved anything. They hadn’t accomplished anything.
And JJ’s mental state was even worse now than before.
A lot worse.
A lot.
It was hard to explain, exactly. The way he seemed to be unraveling. He was constantly drunk, and mean about it. He was trying to push them away, all over again, like he was 17 and she was telling him things weren’t bad weird.
This time, though, things were bad weird.
The weirdest bad.
And she didn’t know how to fix it.
Cleo thought they were all crazy; Sarah was worried. Pope rationalized everything, and John B just kept saying to wait. Wait it out.
Let JJ crash out.
Sure, like that was going well so far.
Wait.
So Kiara did her best. To keep him from falling overboard. To keep him in clean clothes and with food in his stomach. She played games with Sarah and plotted course with Cleo. She went over the plan with Pope and looked at John B’s notes about the treasure. She did everything she could.
Without actually doing anything at all.
Since fixing a problem really went well when you refused to acknowledge it.
She needed to do something, didn’t she? For herself? For JJ? For all of them?
For her, it reached a breaking point after dinner. JJ had finished one bottle and was rummaging through the cupboards, looking for another. Cleo clucked her tongue at him in disapproval, and he steadfastly ignored her, nearly knocking half their food supplies on the ground while he groped through the cabinets looking for anything to get him drunk again.
Cleo, trying to do the dishes, looked ready to tie him down, so Kiara quickly intervened. “Jayj, maybe we try something else,” she suggested.
He huffed, not looking at her. “Do we have weed? I’d take weed.”
“No,” she said, ignoring the way Cleo rolled her eyes in frustration. She took JJ by the hand and led him out of the kitchen to let Cleo finish cleaning up. Sarah was wiping off the table and gave them a look, too. They were all giving JJ a wide berth, not sure what else to do.
Wait it out, it seemed, was hard on all of them.
“But we don’t need weed,” she said, drawing him the rest of the way out of the galley and past the bathroom where they were holding Rafe. Pope and John B were up on deck now, minding the helm.
JJ stumbled as she led him back to their bunk. “Then alcohol,” he said, sounding actually pained at the thought. “Because I don’t want pills, Kie. I don’t think I’d survive pills.”
Yeah, she wasn’t going to think about that.
JJ was still hungover. Still not okay.
She wasn’t going to hold him accountable for things he said under the influence.
She just – couldn’t.
For his sake, and her own.
Instead, she sat him down on the bed, positioning herself in front of him. She struck a familiar pose, easy and sultry. Something she knew he liked as she leaned in and kissed him. She found his lips and then trailed kisses along his chin toward his ear, nipping at the lobe.
He squirmed with a muffled sound. “What are you doing?” he said.
She mounted him, sitting on his lap as he leaned back stiffly. “What do you think?”
She kissed him again, this time feeling his body respond. He sank back, and she took the invitation, drawing her hands up under his shirt–
And touched the bandage.
He hissed, yelping in pain as his body went rigid.
“Sorry, sorry!” she said, sitting back immediately. She reached down to lift his shirt. “I forgot–”
He pushed his shirt down anyway, face contorting. “It’s fine.”
She got off him, still trying to lift the hem of his shirt. “JJ, you’re not fine–”
He rolled away, struggling to sit up. Poorly coordinated, it took an attempt or two, but he huffed loudly when he made it, hand clutching his side. “Don’t worry.”
“Of course I'm going to worry–” she started to say.
And his eyes looked up.
There was something hollow in them, like there was something missing.
Like part of him was missing, still back in the OBX. Back in the water where Groff had left him to drown. “Why?” he asked, and it almost made him laugh. “Why?”
She swallowed, the question shaking her.
Because she’d been asking that question, too.
As JJ’s antics drove them deeper. As his mistakes got worse. As the stakes went up and up.
She’d asked herself that more than once.
To her shame and to her guilt.
“I love you,” she said finally, mustering up her courage. She reached for him. “JJ–”
He pulled away, unwilling to let her touch him. In a rush, he got to his feet, bracing himself against the wall. “Just – don’t,” he said, face flushing red as he struggled to take a breath.
“JJ, please–” she said, getting up on her feet to go to him.
He pulled away again, though, shaking his head. “I can’t–” he started, but his voice cut off. He blinked hard, gasping. He sat down again – hard. “And you shouldn’t.”
The confession said more than the words. There was a truth there she couldn’t ignore, but she didn’t know how to face it either. John B had told them to wait it out, to let JJ crash out.
But she didn’t know if there would be anything left of him on the other side.
If he survived it at all.
Groff may have tried to kill JJ.
Given enough time, JJ might just finish the job himself.
But what could she do? What could she say? How could she help him when he didn’t want to be helped? She was losing him, and she knew it. He was right in front of her and slipping away – and she didn’t know how to stop it.
She didn’t know how to fix this. She didn’t know how to undo what had been done. She didn’t know how to show JJ that he was loved, that he mattered.
If she told him she needed him, that would just make it worse.
If she told him that she loved him, he’d just push her away further.
He was breaking her heart.
Because his own was already shattered.
“JJ–” she said, imploring now.
He sniffled hard, still clutching his side. He laid down, turning away from her. “I’m tired anyway,” he murmured, his voice low and rough. “And I – I can’t–”
She couldn’t take what he didn’t have to give.
It was supposed to be JJ and Kie, against the universe.
They were supposed to win.
It didn’t feel like winning anymore.
She wasn’t sure it felt like anything.
“JJ, I want to help you,” she said finally. “Please.”
He curled in on himself, squeezing his eyes shut.
She waited another beat. “I love you, JJ. I love you.”
He breathed heavily through his nose. “You shouldn't," he said softly. But clearly. “You really shouldn’t.”
And it was too much.
The emotion, the realization. The understanding that JJ was broken in a way she couldn’t fix. The overwhelming reality that she may have lost him already. Even if they got the crown, even if they caught Groff – some things couldn’t be fixed. This wasn’t about clearing the charges. This wasn’t about buying Poguelandia.
Without JJ, what was the point?
She stood there, watching as he pulled in tighter, as if he could make himself small enough to disappear. As if he was vanishing right in front of her eyes, like he had never been hers at all.
It threatened to choke her. She felt the tears a split second before they overtook her, and it was all she could do to get out of the room and close the door behind her before she sobbed.
For a second, all she could do was stand there, blindly braced against the wall as the tears came. She choked the sobs down as best she could, but the tears streamed down her face – hot and unrelenting. She hiccuped, unable to keep it down, and she groped her way down the hall until she got to the galley. There, she let herself sob in earnest, crashing down to one of the bench seats and dropping her face in her hands.
She was losing him, wasn’t she? She was right here on a boat with him, sharing a bunk with him – and she was losing him anyway. She didn’t know how to stop it. She didn’t know how to do anything. The more she ignored it, the worse it got. She could play cards like nothing was wrong. She could proposition him for sex, just like things were okay.
But none of it worked.
Nothing worked.
That despair sapped her, and when the tears were spent, the grief was still the same. She sat there, numb and miserable as the ship rocked back and forth. She wasn’t sure how long she sat there; she was pretty sure it didn’t matter. When John B finally came in, he looked like he’d been waiting. Like he wasn’t sure this was a good time.
Honestly, Kiara wasn’t sure what a good time would be anymore. This whole trip – all of it – was going from bad to worse, and it was harder and harder to pretend like they could fix it. Like they could find the crown and bring Groff in – and the ending would be happy.
She was starting to worry that JJ was right.
That some people didn’t get happy endings.
And that they were some of them.
“Hey,” John B said, approaching slowly. He hesitated for a second, nose wrinkled. “You okay?”
She looked up at him, aware of the tears that still streaked her face. “No,” she said because there was nothing to be gained from lying about it.
With a sigh, John B sat down. “Yeah,” he said grimly. “I know how that is.”
She looked at him wearily. “Do you?” she asked.
He didn’t take the barb. Instead, he shrugged, almost in meager submission. “I think we all feel that way after talking to JJ.”
She sighed hard, wiping her cheeks absently and shaking her head. “And you still think we need to wait it out? He needs an intervention, John B.”
He bit his lower lip. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “I’ve never seen him this bad before.”
“He’s completely falling apart,” she snapped back. She lifted a hand with a helpless gesture. “He’s not in any mind to go treasure hunting – much less face Groff again.”
“But I know JJ,” John B said. “If we confront him, he’ll fold. He’ll shut down, even worse than he is now.”
“What if there’s no alternative?” she demanded. “John B, I can’t just watch him kill himself.”
“I know,” he said, and there was a flash of something, something hard, something raw. He drew in a breath and held it before letting it out slowly. “I mean, I tried, okay? I tried to get him to talk about how he was feeling. Shit, I even told him about the baby–”
At this, her eyes widened in surprise. “He knows about the baby?”
John B physically seemed to crumble. “Yeah,” he said, and he made a short, bitter noise in the back of his throat. “Needless to say, it didn’t help. I’m pretty sure it made things worse.”
She frowned. “What did he do?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” John B said, trying to sound nonchalant, even as his emotions threatened to overwhelm him again. “He told me I was going to be a shit dad, just like my old man. I asked him to be the godfather and he laughed in my face.”
Her heart dropped to her stomach. “John B,” she said, shaking her head. “He didn’t mean it. You know he didn’t mean it.”
“Kind of sounded like he did,” John B said, eyes diverted down as he fiddled with his fingers.
Kiara winced sympathetically. “All the shit he has going on – with both his dads,” she said. “This isn’t about you right now.”
He took a breath, nodding once and then twice. When he looked up at her again, his face was composed again. “I know,” John B said with more regret than resignation. “He just – usually responds to that, you know?”
“Right, because that’s what JJ does,” she said, scoffing lightly. “We take it for granted. The way he just puts us first. We just think it’s easy for him.”
It wasn’t her accusation to John B as much as it was an indictment of herself. Of all of them.
She couldn’t believe how she’d let this get out of control. She was his girlfriend. And what had she been doing? Cleaning the house while he faced all his worst fears? Feeling sorry for herself while he fell apart?
JJ was making mistake after mistake, but so were they. They all were, but because JJ’s mistakes blew up, they were so much easier to blame.
All John B could do was sigh, couched in the futility of it all. “I’ve never seen him this bad,” he admitted softly. He fiddled with his fingers, biting his lower lip. “He’s so lost.”
To say it was one thing.
To do something about it–
Her frustration came to a boiling point. “So why don’t we help him?” she asked. “This isn’t like before. It’s not like with Luke or any of the rest. It’s worse.”
He looked up, brows drawn tight. “That’s my point, Kie,” he said, more emphatic now. “I tried to talk to him. I tried to ask him about it. And it just made things worse. JJ doesn’t know how to handle confrontation. In his life, healthy confrontation has never existed. He either fights or shuts down, there’s nothing in between.”
There was a point there, and Kiara knew it. John B had been dealing with JJ longer than any of them, and his intimacy with him was deeper than even Kiara’s own. John B had never said exactly when JJ told him the truth about Luke, but it had been years before Kiara or Pope found out. They’d always been close, like brothers.
When JJ crashed out, John B was the one who knew what to do. When JJ needed to be calmed down, John B was the one who could figure it out. He understood JJ things, even better than she did. After 18 months with JJ, she still found herself seeking out John B’s advice on the nonsensical bullshit JJ sometimes pulled.
“So, we just wait?” she said, feeling the futility of it all. “And hope he’ll snap out of it.”
Now, John B hesitated. The pause was pronounced, and his answer was less confident than before. “I mean, probably,” he said, lacking the conviction he’d once had. “This crashout will end one way or another. We’re going to get to Morocco in a few days, and he’ll have to face it then.”
“Great,” Kiara said. “I can’t wait to have him lose his shit on another continent."
Her voice sounded bitter – maybe. But the exhaustion was getting to her.
She could be worried about JJ. She could hurt for JJ.
And still be so, so tired of his bullshit.
John B sat forward, a little intent now. “We just have to be there for him. We have to stay close, stay ready,” he said. He flitted his hand through the air. “And when he snaps out of it, we’ll pick up the pieces.”
It was an answer. It wasn’t even a bad answer. It was the answer they’d fallen back on time and time again. Kiara had seen it, hadn’t she? After they’d gotten back from the island, JJ had crashed out. He’d stolen the money clip, he’d wrecked his bike. All just to avoid the truth of it all.
But he’d gotten it together. She knew he had. He’d pulled his shit together to rescue her from Kitty Hawk. He’d gotten it all in check and swooped in like a knight in shining armor. Kiara wasn’t one to play damsel in distress, but it wasn’t lost on her. She was no princess; JJ was no gallant hero. But they’d both done what needed to be done.
JJ had chosen the right thing in the end.
JJ had picked the happy ending.
JJ had picked them.
“It’ll work, it always does,” John B said.
She closed her eyes and tried to remember. Not the fear of seeing JJ go off the overpass. But the thrill of excitement when he broke into Kitty Hawk. The way he’d confessed everything. The way he’d said he was sorry. The way he’d said he loved her.
Their first kiss.
She looked up at John B again, nodding to herself. “And everything will be okay?”
John B nodded, as certain as he could be. “That’s how JJ works.”
She nodded back, fainter. “A JJ thing.”
“JJ knows we love him,” John B said. “He knows we’re his family, and we’re here for him, no matter what, even when he messes up.”
His conviction was telling.
But she’d seen JJ. She’d seen him. “Are we sure he knows that?”
John B blinked, almost like the thought didn’t compute. “Yeah,” he said. “I mean, he has to, right?”
The doubt was pervasive, but the fear was moreso. Kiara had to pick. Between the plague of standing still. Or the hope of moving forward. P4L had always been enough before.
She was banking – and banking hard – that it would be again.
“Anyway,” he said, sighing as he got up. “Do you need anything else?”
“No,” she said. “But if I crash here–”
John B held up his hand. “No judgment here,” he said. He jerked his head toward the side of the room. “You could try the couch.”
She nodded, smiling weakly. “Thanks, John B.”
He got all the way up, patting her on the shoulder. “We’re going to get him through this,” he said. “I promise.”
She nodded back gratefully, even as he exited the room. “I may hold you to that.”
-o-
There was grim satisfaction to being right. JJ knew how that worked; when the only victories in life were losses. He could be right about all the wrong things.
He was going down, but hey. At least he was right!
He heard Kie leave; he felt it, really. The way the door shut.
Like it might never open again.
He wasn’t sure which way he wanted it to go. The idea of never seeing her again – hurt. Like, a lot. It killed him.
Rolling on his back, he felt half dead already. In her absence, everything felt hollow.
But the idea of hurting her. He couldn’t do that.
And seeing her just made that worse. The more he saw her, the more likely it was that he was going to ruin her, just like he ruined everything. Look what he’d done to Pope?
Kiara was better off without him. Her parents were right. He never should have dated her. It had been a mistake from the start. If it hadn’t been for him, her parents never would have sent her to Kitty Hawk. It was him; it was always him.
And John B was having a baby? JJ as a godfather?
It was a mistake. It was all a mistake.
Kie just felt obligated to stay with him. She’d risked too much on him. And John B – well, shit. He was tied down to JJ. Shackled to him at this point.
The best thing he could do for this kid was not be here.
It could be his first and last great act as godfather.
Take himself out of the equation.
He squeezed his eyes shut. He couldn’t think like that. He wasn’t supposed to think like that.
He just – didn’t know how to stop. He didn’t know how to talk himself out of it anymore.
It was just hard. Everything hurt.
He looked down. The blood had stained his shirt again. He lifted the hem, wincing at it.
Groff had done a number on him.
He pushed the shirt down again, curling on his side once more.
He thought about his mother’s body in the crypt. He thought about his hands against her skin. He wondered what that was like. What it felt like to die. Did she know? Was she scared?
Was she at peace now?
Would he be at peace? If–
He closed his eyes, exhaling hard. No. No, no, no.
He needed to stop.
Why couldn’t he stop?
All of it needed to stop.
When sleep didn’t come, JJ rolled back over and grappled for the bottle instead.
He couldn’t do anything else.
But he could take a drink. He could take another drink.
Maybe that would stop the pain. All the pain.
One way or another.
-o-
For all that Luke found life on the ship to be easy and simple, there were still difficult things.
There were mercenaries, after all. He wasn’t skittish about criminals. Even killers, he wasn’t too picky about. Everyone had to make a paycheck one way or another, he supposed, and, well – he didn’t have much room to judge anyone about anything, all things considered.
Even mercenaries probably loved their kids better than Luke had loved JJ.
It wasn’t so much that they were guns for hire who had probably killed people.
They were cliquey. Like, really.
They weren’t friendly. They treated Luke like shit. They didn’t try to include him, and he was generally kept on the outskirts of every conversation. He didn’t get to play cards. No one shared magazines with him. No one asked how it was going or what he liked to do.
Sure, maybe they didn’t trust him – there was that.
But they were nicer to Groff.
Groff.
The son of a bitch who betrayed them and everyone he’d ever met. Groff got to play cards. They asked Groff how shit was going. When Groff was taking a piss, they didn’t pound on the door restlessly until he came out, only half relieved.
And yeah, sure, Luke made the best of it. He didn’t need nobody, and he wasn’t here to make friends. The whole point of this trip wasn’t a social call; he wasn’t even earning cash for this bullshit. Because they ignored him, he could be a fly on the wall. He learned their names and their habits; he learned their hierarchy and all that bullshit.
Lightner was the second in command, that was sure. But he was not a well liked guy, and he was a hardliner. Given enough time, the guy would probably go after Dalia’s position, and the group was keen to take sides. Best Luke could tell, Dalia still had the advantage, but Lightner was a force to be reckoned with.
What did unite them, though, wasn’t brotherhood like Dalia said. Their loyalty and code – those things might be legit. But these assholes? Were just like every poor slob on the Cut. They wanted to get paid.
With Groff, that could happen again. So enough of them were willing to let bygones be bygones, as long as the paycheck was right.
Also, they were all scared shitless of Finch.
It was all Finch this, and Finch that. Like Finch had a stick up their asses, and was jerking them around by a chain around their neck. These men looked powerful, carrying guns like they owned everything, but they were just as much grunt workers as every low-life scum in the Cut. They were all scraping by, working for a bigger and bigger fish, just vying for their cut of anything.
He didn’t fit in, plain and simple. He was used to that, to some degree. He was poor; he was a nobody. He knew what it was to be the odd one out.
It didn’t mean he liked it.
And it also didn’t leave him with a lot of options.
If he wasn’t going to drink, then he would do what he needed to do to get across this damn ocean. Even talking to Chandler Groff.
He didn’t try to; he really didn’t.
But he was the only one who sat next to him. When everyone else ignored him, Groff smiled at him and asked him to join in a hand. He offered him a beer, which Luke didn’t take, but shit. It was kind of nice.
Manipulative, sure. Groff was a sociopath, Luke was pretty sure.
But, crossing the Atlantic wasn’t much fun.
So.
When they ended up on a shift together, it wasn’t the worst. Sure, Groff didn’t like getting his hands dirty, and he was a son of a bitch, but he was a pretty decent conversationalist.
Besides, the whole point was keeping him close. Keeping an eye on him. He still hadn’t figured out Groff’s endgame – and how JJ played into it – but he had to clear JJ’s name. He had to keep the kid safe. It killed two birds with one stone, and Luke was a pragmatic guy. The life he lived, the choices he made, didn’t leave much room for sentiment.
That was how he justified it, this strange peace between him and Groff. That forged alliance, that double-cross where they were both playing each other and playing no one at all.
Until, one day, while cleaning the deck, Groff put his mop down and looked at him. Well and truly looked at him.
“I can’t help it, you know?” Groff said without preface.
Luke didn’t stop working, swabbing his portion of the deck with continued vigor. He glanced at the man, who was looking thoughtful as he leaned against his unused mop.
“About JJ,” Groff continued.
And Luke felt his stomach bottom out.
This asshole had no right to talk about JJ. Luke felt his defenses flare, hackles raised. He knew his DNA didn’t make that boy, and he knew he’d done more wrong than right when raising him. Even still.
He knew this shit with Groff wasn’t right. It hadn’t been, not from the first day he saw him with Larissa.
He didn’t dare speak. This whole ruse, this fake truce, it required some pretense.
And Luke wasn’t that good of an actor.
So he’d let Groff talk. He was good at that bullshit.
“I mean, I wasn’t there,” Groff said, and it was funny. How the bastard almost sounded regretful. “I didn’t get to see any of it when he grew up.”
It was true, of course.
But the context was lacking.
Like Groff hadn’t been the one to abandon him. Who literally threw money at Luke to make him shut up and keep the kid.
Luke stared at the mop instead, pushing the soapy water with a blind intensity to keep his mouth shut.
“What was he like?” Groff asked.
Luke finally looked up. It felt like a ploy; it felt like the same dishonest bullshit that Groff always threw around. But he was looking at Luke, really looking at him.
There had always been flickers, right?
Even that night, when he dropped JJ off that first time. There had been hesitation. He could still see him, standing by the carrier, watching JJ kick and squirm, like he might change his mind.
Luke knew better than anyone that the choices you made were all that mattered in the end.
But the doubts you had along the way.
Well, shit.
You never did let that go.
He didn’t think he was anything like Chandler Groff, but maybe he was – just a little.
Just enough to damn them both.
“He was–” he started, not sure what he wanted to say. Not sure how to capture it. How did you sum up a life? How did you capture the essence of your own kid? “–everything.”
It was too simple and too complex, really. When Luke looked back, he could still see the boy. Blonde hair and blue eyes, taking in the world. He looked at everything and absorbed it. He looked at Luke like he was the center of the damn universe.
“I mean, it took him a while to do a few of the things, you know – he wasn’t the first to crawl or walk. Wasn’t the first to speak,” he said, even as he remembered the way the doctors had been concerned at JJ’s well-baby appointments. The way his growth didn’t hit the marks and his developmental milestones were delayed. They talked to him about proper nutrition and stimulation, reading to the kid and all that. The things Luke hadn’t had time for.
He’d gotten JJ a mama for that.
She’d gotten drunk and high before she left them both.
He cleared his throat; this wasn’t about that. It was about JJ.
And Groff was still watching him with a twisted kind of curiosity.
“But once he started, kid didn’t stop,” he said. “He was always running out, getting lost in the marsh. Boy never did shut up; got himself kicked out of school more than once.”
It made Groff chuckle. “He knew better,” he mused. “Places to go, things to do.”
Luke snorted in agreement. “And all his ideas were bad ideas, I swear,” he said. “Climbing trees he couldn’t get down from. Swimming farther than he could swim back.”
Groff nodded. “He didn’t think, I bet,” he said softly.
Luke looked at him, eyes narrowing.
Groff shrugged, almost apologetic. “Family trait.”
And just like that, his expression darkened. He cut the memories off, just that fast.
This asshole wanted to talk about family.
He didn’t have the right. Not to that; not to JJ; not to anything.
Luke wasn’t his friend then. He wasn’t his friend now. Groff had used him at the start, and fine. Luke would return the favor now.
“Maybe,” he said, guarded again. He started swabbing the deck again. “Though I do think about that.”
“Oh?” Groff asked.
Luke gave him a passing look. “That boy of mine didn’t get treasure hunting in his blood on account of me.”
At this, Groff’s face lit up. “That is remarkable, isn’t it?” he said, sounding genuinely pleased. “All that debate, nature or nurture, and here we are. My boy. Hunting treasure. Just like me.”
The pride of it all felt wrong. Twisted.
Groff hunted treasure because he was selfish. Luke was sure of it.
JJ had turned to it in desperation.
They both wanted whatever they could take, it was true. But Groff had thrown away what he had to get it. JJ had clung to it because he had nothing else.
But Luke kept his mouth shut. It wouldn’t help him do shit to say it, and he wasn’t exactly passing on the best family legacy either.
“What is this one?” he asked. “I know you’re on about one.”
Groff smiled knowingly. “How much do you know?”
Luke played coy, shrugging a little. “It ain’t my game,” he said, with just a touch of honesty. “Is JJ working it with you?”
Something flickered across his expression. Something – knowing, and yet still uncertain. Something satisfied – and something sad.
Groff clamped it down, though, smiling again. “He is!” he said, with so much confidence that Luke felt his stomach turn.
He knew a hard sell.
The kind you sold when you had nothing to work with.
He knew Groff was lying. He just didn’t know what he was lying about.
And he didn’t know why.
He couldn’t exactly feign indifference, not about this, not all things considered. “What is it?” he asked.
Groff raised his eyebrows.
Luke shrugged, trying to deflect. “If we’re in this together–”
That seemed to be the right play. Groff smiled, nodding in mild approval. “You really want to know?”
Luke was too sober for treasure, that was for sure, but he was also in too deep. If JJ was involved, he was involved. Plain and simple.
“If you’re telling,” he said.
Groff looked pleased, lighting up as he pushed himself upright. “You know?” he said, snapping his fingers at Luke. “Why tell you about it? When I can show you.”
Luke glanced around, at the work he still had to do. The work Groff was studiously not doing. “Well–”
Groff beckoned him. “Oh, don’t worry,” he said, completely dismissive. “We’ll come right back up. And it’s not like anyone will notice.”
He doubted that bit, but he wasn’t here to join a crew of mercenaries.
He was here to figure out Groff’s next play to protect JJ.
Plain and simple.
“Okay, then,” he said, putting the mop back in the bucket. “Show me what you got, then.”
Groff looked absolutely delighted, pushing himself up and leading them back to the cabin. The crew on deck gave them a passing look of general discontent, but no one said anything as they slipped inside and down the stairs.
Groff moved quick, clearly excited at the prospect. When they got to his quarters, he unlocked the door – which, shit, why did Groff get a key? – and he let Luke in.
Not only did Groff get a key, but he got a nicer bunk than he did. Groff wasn’t a newbie, that was clear. He had enough clout to shit around and still get VIP treatment. Part of Luke wanted to be indignant, but he knew he had to keep that impulse in check.
The problem with Groff wasn’t the size of his quarters.
But the size of his ego.
“So?” Luke said. “I mean, you don’t have it in here, or what would you be on the ship for?”
Groff laughed at that, like it was a good, quality joke. “Good on you, Maybank,” he said. “What we’re looking for isn’t here, that’s true. But I happen to have the critical clues in my possession.”
No doubt, it was why the mercenaries were so willing to play hardball. He knew Groff had leverage. Now he could find out what.
“See, we’re all looking for a crown,” Groff explained, rummaging through his things. He pulled out a briefcase, something secure, as he laid it on the bed.
“A crown?” Luke repeated, not sure if he was supposed to be impressed.
Groff chuckled, fiddling with the lock. It had a combination on it, and he caught the first number – six. “Not beautiful in looks,” he said, turning back with a brilliant smile. “But old. Ancient. Powerful.”
He tapped his head, as if this was some kind of key.
Then, he turned back, shifting his body so Luke couldn’t see the next number. “The Blue Crown. Worn by the likes of Alexander the Great.”
Luke shrugged, finding that an unimpressive qualification.
Groff looked, clearly disappointed by the lack of enthusiasm. “It’s been worn by many of history’s best,” he said. “The historical value alone–”
He was losing him. Entirely.
“People say it grants wishes,” Groff continued, almost sounding hopeful. “Anyone who wears it, one wish.”
“That sounds like bullshit,” Luke finally said.
Groff chuckles, shrugging his shoulders. “It sounds like bullshit, true,” he said. “But it pays more than pure gold.”
That was a point that even Luke could consider.
Groff looked pleased now, turning back to his briefcase. He locked in the final number and it clicked open.
“Here it is,” Groff said, extricating a long tube. He turned, holding it with almost a look of awe. “What Dalia and her men are so keen to find.”
Luke eyed it skeptically. “What is it?”
Groff unpopped the top, letting a document spill out. “A map,” he said, rolling it out on the bed and holding it open with his hands. “Exactly where we need to go.”
Luke stepped forward, looking down with vague interest. He studied it, struggling to make out any geographical markers. “Africa?”
Groff nodded, looking clearly pleased. “Morocco.”
He squinted at it. He’d seen the navigational charts; he’d looked at the maps. “Doesn’t look like shit,” he said, wrinkling his nose. He gestured at it. “And nothing’s marked right.”
By now, Groff looked absolutely delighted. “That is the problem, isn’t it?”
Luke gave him a wary look.
Groff beamed. “This is why I succeeded when all my colleagues couldn’t get the job done,” he monologued, growing more pleased with himself. “Mercenaries, they’re instant gratification types. They don’t want to put in the work. They don’t know how to play the long game.”
Luke tried not to look as put off as he felt, not when Groff was on a roll here.
Groff grinned. “You go to the source,” he said. “You need to find the legacy that buried the damn thing.”
“Blackbeard?” he asked.
Groff looked unduly disappointed. “No, the ones who took it from him. The ones who wanted to be sure he’d never find it,” he said, voice inflected with passion now. He gestured at Luke emphatically. “The Genrettes. It’s always been the Genrettes.”
Larissa, Luke realized. Wes.
And JJ.
That was why Groff had targeted Larissa. Not because she was young and beautiful. Not because she was sweet and good-hearted.
Because she had the right family legacy.
He’d used her, Luke realized with a sick clarity. No doubt, he’d sweet-talked her into a romance – a marriage.
A son.
“It wasn’t an accident,” he realized out loud before he could stop himself. Common sense would dictate to shut the hell up, but the cascading understanding was too much for him to quell. “You and Larissa.”
Groff blinked, his smile faltering for a second before he readjusted it, brilliantly. “What?”
It was piss poor deflection, and Luke couldn’t reel his emotions back in fast enough. “You didn’t love her, did you?”
It made sense, all of it. The strange way he acted around her. The sense of distance he’d always sensed. The way Larissa had seemed so alone even when her husband had been right there the whole damn time.
He’d used her. From the start. He’d probably pursued her, charmed her, and used her.
For treasure.
Groff’s mouth fell open, and he actually laughed. “She was my wife,” he said, like that justified something — and didn’t just make it worse. Then, his eyes narrowed knowingly, pinning Luke with terrifying clarity. “The mother of my son.”
Luke went cold, his whole body vibrating for a second.
Groff’s smile widened. “My beautiful boy.”
Marrying Larissa hadn’t been an accident, but Luke wondered if JJ was.
Larissa was dead.
Wes was dead.
He swallowed hard.
“I feel compelled to honor their legacy,” Groff said with some hint of grandeur. “For Larissa. For JJ.”
It was a carefully composed pitch, and Luke was sober enough now. He knew when he was being played.
He clamped it down, though, getting his shit in check. Groff was playing the long game, 20 years in the making. Luke couldn’t wash out yet, less than a week in.
He knew why he was here.
And he was getting a clearer picture why Groff was here.
It was progress, even if Luke hated every damn second of it. “So what did you get from the Genrettes?”
Groff’s face lit up, eyes positively dancing with a fresh spark of energy. “A family relic, passed down to generations. It’s JJ’s legacy,” Groff said eagerly. He paused, opening up a second satchel and removing something. He held it up — a necklace. Something old, by the style. And expensive, given the size of that stone.
“What’s that for?” he asked.
It was a dumb question, but Groff seemed to like it like that. Groff was all about power plays. As long as he thought he had this over Luke, this would go well.
Assuming, of course, Luke could keep himself up.
And eventually get ahead of him.
“This,” he said, holding it over the map. “Is the only way to read the map.”
Luke hesitated, but took the invitation. He leaned over, just enough to see. The stone refracted the light, twisting the letters underneath.
Into something sensible.
If Luke were better at geography, that might mean something.
If Luke cared about this treasure, that would mean more.
“Okay,” he said slowly, getting back up.
Groff gawked at him. “Okay?” he repeated, sounding in disbelief. “This is it, this is everything,” he said. “I have everything I need.”
He considered that, giving Groff a careful look. “Then, why come back to the mercenaries?”
Groff sobered slightly, before giving a small shrug. “They have the journal,” he said. “They also have the resources and the network. This is just – easier.”
Groff was a liar, Luke knew that. But his ego was big enough. This much all rang true.
Luke worked his jaw and nodded again. “Okay.”
“Okay?” Groff repeated, face brightening again. “Luke, we’re so close. But the closer we get – the more – wary my colleagues get.”
Wary was an understatement, but Luke didn’t need to say that.
Groff shrugged, picking up the stone and putting it away again. “I’m playing along, but I’m looking for my moment,” he explained, and then he started to stow the map. “Which is why – I’m hoping I can still count on you.”
Luke watched as he put the map away,
He thought about Larissa, marrying a man who never loved her.
He thought about Wes, welcoming this asshole like a son.
He thought of JJ, who just deserved a father.
And Groff?
Well, he deserved to be cut out, left behind, and abandoned.
A watery grave, even.
This wasn’t revenge, though. Luke didn’t have the stamina for that shit.
This was just protecting JJ. This was just setting things right for his boy.
So he smiled. Not as flashy, not as brilliant.
But just as sure.
Just as effective. “Sure can,” he said, giving Groff a steady nod. “I intend to see this through.”
Groff beamed, clapping him on the shoulder. “I always knew it, when I picked you all those years ago,” he said. “I knew I could count on you.”
Luke didn’t know if that was a good thing or a bad thing.
Or just the only thing.
As this whole mess played out.
-o-
The further they got from the Outer Banks, the more Pope realized he was screwed.
Yes, he’d made his choices. He’d made them with full knowledge and understanding. He didn’t regret them.
Necessarily.
He hadn’t been willing to watch JJ get himself killed. And he hadn’t been able to sign away his future to the military, just to make his parents happy.
That said, he didn’t really want to be here. He didn’t want to tie his future prospects to treasure again. He didn’t want to keep taking risks. He was tired of these lofty, ambitious plans that almost never came to fruition.
Sometimes, he wondered what would have happened if he just stuck to the plan. Get the scholarship, go to school. Become an ME.
Those were all very normal things. Very good things.
Why had he put it off? Why had he thought it was an either/or? Why did being a Pogue dictate every part of his life?
He didn’t want to be crossing the Atlantic. He didn’t care about the Blue Crown. He didn’t even care about Groff.
He just wanted to clear his name – to clear JJ’s name – and get them all back home. He could apply to college. He could do it right.
The idea of it, though, just made him weary. The farther and farther they got from home, the more Pope had to contend with the reality that it might not work.
Just like basically everything else hadn’t worked.
They were idiots, right? Who found a fortune.
And blew it.
To say it was discouraging was an understatement. He tried – he did – but his spirits were flagging. More so today as he trudged up to the control room to take a shift at the wheel.
To his surprise, he found JJ there.
Not to his surprise, JJ was drunk.
He clamped his mouth shut; it wasn’t worth commenting. JJ would drink with or without his blessing. All Pope could do was hope to keep him from falling overboard and correct whatever inputs he made wrong at the controls.
It was probably not a wise choice to give JJ shifts up here.
But they weren’t exactly known for their wise decision making. Pogues liked their bad ideas.
They just did.
Pope of all people should know.
And yet, here he was. Still finding new ways to screw up.
JJ glanced at him but didn’t say anything. Pope was too tired for small talk. He settled in, checking their course in relation to the map, doing the quick calculations to see if JJ had gotten them off course.
Even drunk, JJ was a good navigator, at least.
So there was that.
Next to him, he could feel JJ’s eyes on him. He pressed a few more controls for a few long moments before JJ finally broke the silence. “So, why’d you do it?”
Well, sure. Pope didn’t have the patience for small talk, so surely he hadn’t patience for this.
Not really. Not at all.
“Why did I do what?” he retorted humorlessly.
Because he knew what JJ was asking.
And he knew why JJ was asking it.
But logic hadn’t mattered then, had it?
All he’d known was that JJ was going to end up dead. The cops were going to shoot him, and JJ was out of control enough to let them.
When the logical conclusion was that your best friend was about to die.
Well, then, anything was a better outcome than that.
He didn’t regret it.
That didn’t mean he loved it. Being a fugitive. Having pending charges. Running away from his life, his future. Throwing it all away.
For this. A desperate trip to Morocco. With a best friend who couldn’t be bothered to get sober.
He loved JJ, he did.
But sometimes he hated JJ, too.
He didn’t spare JJ a look as he quipped, “Save your ass?”
Next to him, JJ had the audacity to laugh as he fiddled with the controls for a long moment. Then, he took a breath, shaking his head. “I don’t know why you did it, Pope.”
He wasn’t sure what JJ wanted him to say. He wasn’t sure what he was even supposed to do. He shook his head, refusing to make eye contact. “You know me,” he said, voice clipped. “I don’t need an excuse to crash out.”
JJ shifted a few controls, and shook his head – matter of fact. “Well, congratulations, Pope,” he said, voice thick with bitterness. “Because now you’re going to end up just like me.”
That was how it was, wasn’t it? It was why JJ had taken the fall for him at 16.
JJ had never seen a future for himself.
He had always assumed he didn’t get one.
So throwing his life away meant nothing to JJ.
It was why sacrifice was easy for JJ – to make.
But to accept?
Well, it just wasn’t something that computed in JJ’s mind.
Sometimes, Pope got it. He knew JJ’s history. He knew the demons he struggled with. He could be sympathetic to it; he could.
But they were on this boat because of JJ. They were on this hunt for JJ. This was all about JJ.
And it was a lot.
It was too much.
In exasperation, he turned to JJ fully. “And what was I supposed to do?”
Because logically, there hadn’t been options. There just hadn’t.
JJ had painted them all into a corner.
There were no good options left.
None.
But JJ frowned, looking down. His eyebrows lifted. “Maybe just let them shoot me,” he suggested, easy and nonchalant, like it was an equally viable option.
No, like it was the morally superior option.
Like it was the only option that made any damn sense.
Pope felt his stomach drop.
His body froze.
JJ adjusted the controls one more time, and picked up the bottle with a snort. “Would have been doing me a favor.”
What was he supposed to say to that?
What was he supposed to do?
It was like watching the cops line up and take up.
And seeing JJ paint a target on his chest, just because.
He had known it was bad. He had known JJ was struggling.
But no.
“You take the helm,” JJ muttered, turning to stagger away. “I need some fresh air.”
He couldn’t let that go, could he?
He wasn’t about to let the cops take the shot.
He couldn’t let JJ take the shot either.
It wasn’t about protecting JJ from the cops or the Kooks or even his father. It was about protecting JJ from himself.
Pope could be mad. Pope could be pissed.
But JJ was his best friend.
Breath catching, he finally came back to himself. He took two steps after him, catching him by the arm. “Are you serious?”
JJ swayed, unsteady on his feet as he turned back around. “What?”
“You’re just going to come in here and say that,” he said with a scoff. He was goggling his eyes a little. “Like it’s nothing?”
JJ blinked, as if he really had no idea what he was talking about. “Say what?”
Pope sighed. JJ was probably that drunk. JJ was also probably that willfully obtuse. “That I should have let them kill you,” he said, jabbing his finger at JJ. He felt incredulous repeating it, almost surreal. “That it would do you a favor!”
He hoped, in some way, that saying it back to JJ would make him realize it. The weight of it. How wrong it was.
But JJ stared at him for a moment before shrugging, the epitome of indifference. “Whatever, man,” he said blithely. “I’m just saying, this could have been avoided for all of us.”
Pope closed his mouth, his jaw locking. “Yeah, because we’d be burying you in the ground, asshole,” he snapped.
But anger didn’t work. JJ was too drunk; JJ was too depressed.
JJ was too gone.
Groff had taken more from JJ than any of them wanted to talk about. The damage done was more than an infected wound on his side.
It was this. A loss of JJ’s tentative self-esteem. The undoing of 18 months of progress. Complete recklessness, utter indifference. Flippant acceptance, of the lowest common denominator. JJ had fought like hell before, for every moment of every day.
He was done now. He’d quit.
You could talk sense into JJ eventually. When he cared, you could push his buttons and find the right logic to move the needle for him. He would do anything for his friends; he loved them that much.
But JJ hated himself more than he loved them, now. That was the key difference. That was the obstacles he couldn’t circumvent. That was the impossible truth he could no longer obfuscate. That was the thing that would take the ship down, and it was just a question of how many people would go down with it in the end.
Because JJ was ready to give up on himself.
He didn’t seem to realize they weren’t ready to give up on him.
“Nah, man,” JJ said with an errant swipe of his hand. The sun had fallen now, almost below the horizon, casting the ocean in dark shadows now, creeping up on them faster and more insistently.
Pope didn’t relent, though. The emotion choked up his throat, and he shook his head adamantly. “Yes.”
JJ just grinned, lazy and nonchalant – the asshole. “Nah,” he said again, patting Pope on the arm. “You don’t need to worry about it, dude. We’re broke. There’s no money for a funeral. Just don’t claim the body, and the state will handle it, easy peasy.”
Then, he pulled back with a snicker, dark and bitter.
“And who knows? Luke’s still legally my dad,” he said. “He might pay for it. You know, to make up for – everything.”
Pope didn’t know what to say. He didn’t know what to do. It felt like someone was clawing away at his insides, taking him apart. It was like being 16 and seeing JJ stand up in the hot tub, realizing for the first time he’d gotten it wrong.
He’d gotten it very, very wrong.
JJ continued with an easy shrug. “Either way, don’t pay for a headstone,” he advised, lifting his finger as if this were sage advice. “I don’t expect you to visit anyway.”
Pope felt sick. Actually, physically sick. “JJ,” he said, almost pleading now. “You can’t mean that. You can’t.”
For a horrible moment, JJ still looked confused. But through the depression – through the alcohol – he seemed to understand something. “I know,” he said softly . “I – wouldn’t. I wouldn’t do that to you guys.”
But he’d said it. He’d said it. Pope had almost taken a bullet for him.
This was the least he could do now.
He took JJ by the shoulders and squared him, until the muddy blue eyes looked at him. “Saving your life wasn’t a waste, JJ,” he said, slow and clear. “I’m pissed, okay? I’m stressed. But I don’t regret it. Not for a second.”
It meant something. It meant everything.
But the look on JJ’s face. Just looked more pained than ever.
He smiled faintly, reaching up and tapping Pope’s cheek. “Maybe you do love me,” he quipped.
Pope’s shoulders fell, hands dropping away. “JJ–”
“It’s okay,” JJ assured him. “I wouldn’t say it either.”
He pulled away, stumbling again as he caught himself on the door of the cabin. “JJ–”
“I’ll pay it back,” he slurred at him as he turned back and saluted at him one more time. “I’ll pay it back or die trying.”
Pope stood, mouth hanging open in shock.
JJ giggled, as if he’d said something hilarious. “But that defeats the point, doesn’t it?”
He couldn’t find the words. He couldn’t find his voice.
He watched JJ stagger away. “Maybe I don’t need air,” he said, turning toward the cabin door instead. The night was settling now, too fast and too real. “I don’t think it’d help anyway.”
With that, he opened the door, leaving Pope standing there – shell-shocked.
He stared after him a moment before looking back to the controls.
It didn’t mean anything; he didn’t know what it meant anymore.
To do all this. To sacrifice so much.
Just for JJ to give up.
Part of his logic for this trip had been, it was okay, things couldn’t possibly get worse.
But here they were. With things getting so much worse.
He couldn’t pretend like he hadn’t heard it. He couldn’t look away when he knew JJ meant it.
Sighing, he went back to the control, digging his phone out of his pocket. He pulled up the group chat – minus JJ – and typed out his message.
911 group meeting; control room – now.
And then, biting his lower lip.
We need to talk about JJ.
-o-
It was late when she got the text, but she wasn’t really sleeping. Sure, Sarah was in bed with the lights off, but when her phone lit up, she was up in a second.
Next to her, John B hadn’t even been pretending. He got his phone first. She was just checking the message when he sighed. “What now?”
Sarah exhaled, just as heavy as she slipped off the bunk. They hadn’t really packed before they left; they mostly slept in their clothes. They had done what they could to keep things from going rancid, but at a certain point – there was no point.
“I’m just wondering what else we could possibly say about JJ?” she said, shaking her head as she put her phone back down. “He’s depressed.”
John B was still sitting, staring at the message as if there might be a hidden clue in it. “He’s going to be okay, Sarah.”
Her own doubts were notwithstanding. Handling JJ was hard enough. How was she supposed to handle John B? JJ was actively trying to drink himself to death, and John B wanted to pretend like it wasn’t happening.
And all Sarah really wanted was a prenatal appointment and a chocolate milkshake. Really.
“Well, I guess we’ll find out,” she said, and she stopped in front of him, offering him her hand.
He hesitated, looking at it for a second. Then he looked at her. “You could stay here,” he offered. “For the baby–”
She rolled her eyes, grabbing him by the arm and hefting him up. “I’m already mid-way across the Atlantic,” she told him. “It’s hardly time to think about the baby.”
His brow furrowed with some apparent distress. He opened his mouth, as if to protest.
Bobbing up on her toes, she kissed him. “The baby and I will be better when JJ’s better,” she said, because that much was true. That much was easy.
That was the place to start anyway.
John B seemed to relent. To her logic, maybe. To her sentiment, possibly.
To her, mostly. Just to her.
He kissed her back. “I’m going to take care of all of you,” he promised. “I swear.”
She smiled up at him, feeling her chest get warm. “I know.”
Because sometimes hope was the point.
At least, she hoped.
-o-
John B just had to keep it going.
That was all. When his father had disappeared, he just had to keep it going. When Uncle Teddy cut and run, he just kept going. With DCS, paying bills, treasure hunts: keep going.
Would things be better tomorrow? He had no idea. He wasn’t little orphan Annie. But he knew that tomorrow wasn’t today, and that you couldn’t do anything without tomorrow.
So, John B kept at it. He got up each day; he faced the bullshit. He took care of Sarah. He tried to manage the hunt.
And he tried to keep JJ from killing himself.
That had always been his job, to some degree. JJ had always been prone to the worst ideas and he had some of the worst inclinations. John B was responsible for keeping him out of fights, keeping him from racing his bike too fast, keeping him from getting himself arrested.
He was used to it.
That was what he told himself as he took Sarah by the hand up to the control room that night. This was same old, same old. They were going to talk about JJ. He would assure them it was okay. And then he’d wait until JJ burned himself out and they’d go about their business.
John B just had to keep going.
That was his resolve.
Until he saw Pope.
In the control room, it was after midnight. They all looked like shit, it was true, but Pope looked like he might have seen a ghost. He waited until they were all there, leaning against the panels or sitting on the surfaces before he took a deep breath and let it out.
“JJ really isn’t okay,” he announced.
He said it like some kind of revelation, like they all hadn’t watched JJ unravel over the last few weeks. It had been bad – even for JJ. Rioting and shooting flares. Full on alcoholism.
“I assume something happened,” Cleo said tiredly, fiddling with her knife and apparently tired of the bullshit.
Pope nodded seriously. “I think he may be suicidal.”
Well, shit. It wasn’t like they all didn’t know that. John B had sensed it for days now, ever since they got on this stupid boat. The way JJ looked at the ocean, like he might want to jump. The way he didn’t care–
He shook his head, though. “He’s just crashing out–”
“No,” Pope said. He sighed with a short, bitter laugh. “He literally said it.”
John B gaped for a second, trying to process that. Kiara’s frown had deepened, and it was Sarah who finally said, “What did he say?”
“He asked me why I risked my life for his,” Pope said, with a simple shrug. “And I asked him what else I was supposed to do.”
That was the obvious answer. Really, the same one they would all give. Why else were they all here? Why else would they all still be here after everything?
It would have been easier to cut JJ loose days ago – weeks ago. Years ago.
They loved him, though. And even when he made the wrong choices – even when they were pissed off – that didn’t change the fact that they loved him.
P4L. JJ was the one who said it most often. Hell, he’d burned it into his skin.
JJ knew that.
Pope pursed his lips, though. “And do you know what he said?”
He looked at them, each of them, before his gaze lingered pointedly on John B.
“He said I should have let the cops shoot him,” Pope told him, voice hard and flat.
John B’s jaw tightened, and his ears buzzed for a moment as his vision threatened to tunnel. Next to him, Sarah inhaled sharply. Kiara flinched, and Cleo winced.
That was normal. Typical JJ deflection. That was all.
Pope’s gaze narrowed in on John B’s with purpose. “That I’d be doing him a favor.”
The point was made.
The denial swelled up in his gut, but there was no reason for it. He couldn’t pretend. He just couldn’t. He’d seen JJ with that bottle, an extension of his hand. JJ had reamed him out about the baby, in a way JJ would never do, not if he were sober.
Not if he were in his right mind.
JJ never hated the right things. He would never blame Luke. He wouldn’t even blame Groff now. For some reason, he always blamed himself. He was always his own worst enemy.
“He’s not okay,” Pope said next, firm and definitive. “I’m worried about him. I think he needs help. Like real help.”
For John B, the denial gave way to something even more raw. There was a panic, something he couldn’t totally explain. Something he certainly couldn’t justify.
It was like he was still 16, trying to convince Peterkin everything was fine. The impulse to deny, to deflect–
It didn’t work anymore.
It couldn’t.
Not with the stakes this high. Their entire future was at risk. The future of his baby.
“So what do we do?” Cleo asked.
“We have to do something,” Sarah said.
Kiara, though, was shaking her head. “He won’t listen.”
“So we make him listen,” Cleo argued.
“The more we push, the more he’ll fight,” Kiara said, getting to her feet and starting to pace. She shook her head, helpless. “I mean, Pope’s right. I’ve never seen him this bad.”
“We can’t just pretend like suicidal ideation is normal or safe,” Pope said.
Sarah made a little noise. “He’s been through so much, with both his dads and his mom,” he said. “We never should have let it get this far out of control.”
All the what-ifs. The should-haves.
John B shook his head, and got to his feet too. “A lot of this is on Groff,” he said. “I’ve been watching JJ crash out with Luke for years.”
“Groff isn’t Luke,” Kiara said. “John B, it’s not the same.”
“And JJ’s not just robbing drug dealers, okay?” Pope pointed out. “He rioted. He shot at the cops.”
John B’s heart pounded, the heat flushing his face. “I know, okay?” he said. His breath caught, and he pursed his lips. “I was the one who called him out on it, remember? I’m the one who laid him out back in the OBX. Me.”
He’d flayed him. In his anger and frustration, in his fear and worry, he’d ripped JJ apart. He’d laid him open. He’d watched JJ dig his own grave for days and then piled on the first bit of dirt.
For all that he said fault and blame didn’t matter, sometimes they did.
Maybe they did.
He worked his jaw, keeping his emotions just barely in check.
“He makes it so easy to be pissed at him,” John B said, wishing he could explain it. Wishing he could take it back, something. “Pushing everyone away. Saying bullshit. Fighting with me.”
Because as much as it hurt, he had to remember.
He knew JJ; he understood JJ things.
He sighed. “This is JJ at rock bottom, okay?” he said. “Sooner or later, he’s going to look around and want out. We just have to make sure we’re there when he does.”
They were quiet. Sarah looked down, biting her lip. Cleo fiddled with her knife again, not fully convinced. Kiara wet her lips, the exhaustion plain. And Pope stared him down.
“What if it’s not, though?” he said. He shrugged. “What if this isn’t JJ at rock bottom?”
What if there was further for him to fall?
What if there was more for him to lose?
John B couldn’t imagine, could he?
When JJ had lost so much. When JJ had hurt so much. When JJ had messed up so much.
What was more than alcohol – drugs?
What was worse than pushing John B away – breaking up with Kie?
What was more worrisome than suicidal ideation – jumping off the boat?
His next breath was shaky. Less certain in some ways.
More certain in others.
“Okay,” he said, relenting in some way. He gestured toward them, a little helpless in his delineation. “So we need to be more proactive."
“But how?” Sarah asked, looking up at him again.
“It’s not like we haven’t already been babysitting him,” Cleo remarked.
“Well, we do more,” John B said. “If we’re worried about JJ – if we think there’s even a chance he might–”
He didn’t say it, the words not quite able to form. As if giving voice to the idea might make it real.
He swallowed hard instead. “–then we don’t leave him alone,” he said with some conviction. “We just don’t leave him alone.”
“So, the answer really is babysitting?” Cleo asked.
“No, but we have to be there for him,” Kiara said, nodding in agreement with John B. “He feels so alone right now.”
“He feels like no one wants him,” Sarah added gently. “I mean, maybe it’s easier to push us away than to face the idea that we might not want him, too.”
Pope’s lips twitched, but he seemed to be coming around to it. “That sounds like a JJ thing.”
“That is a JJ thing,” John B said. “And I’ve never known how to fix it.”
The admission wasn’t easy, but it was real.
He felt it as the others turned to him, still trusting him to get this right. For the treasure hunt. For JJ. For the Pogues.
He was still their leader, whether he deserved it or not.
“But for JJ, it comes back to friendship,” he said. “We’re the only family he’s got. The only family that’s ever mattered to him.”
The certainty drew them together. Even across the unsteady seas and the endless horizon. It guided them, just as much as the controls and the maps and the GPS.
“All the rest of his family abandoned him,” he said with a nod. “So we don’t. We don’t leave him behind. Not a little, not ever.”
That was the resolution; that was the surety.
That was the only way they knew to save JJ, in the end.
Chapter 16: CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Notes:
I'm glad so many of you agree with my take on JJ's headspace, because there's a lot more of that to come, and it serves as a critical building block for the rest of this fic -- and the verse I'm working with here in general. The psychological toll of S4 is a huge thing for me, and this fic builds that up -- and the next one will play it out.
We're getting to the crash scene, which took me forever to write and I had to watch that sequence and absurd number of times to pay attention to the pacing and movement of the characters. I tried way too hard to be accurate, so hopefully it paid off!
I'll also point out that the show tries hard t convince us that JJ is "okay" after saving Sarah. I have a decidedly different interpretation. I don't think JJ's ever okay in S4, and that's going to haunt everyone in this fic.
Thank you! You all are the best and make it possible to stay in a fandom where canon betrayed me!
Chapter Text
-o-
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
-o-
As Pogues, they had a lot of half-assed plans. Honestly, Kiara knew most of their plans were like that. Thrown together and slipshod. Bullshit that never should work.
Bullshit that usually didn’t.
She knew that their successes were fewer than their losses.
Yet, each time – every time – they thought it would be different. Double or nothing. All or nothing.
Because logically, when she thought about it, she knew it wasn’t likely. That they could catch Groff, stop the mercenaries, bring back the crown. Save Poguelandia – and fix JJ. These were all tall orders by themselves. To do them collectively?
Well, this was a new level of delusion, even for them
It was harder to buy into without JJ, as well. He was usually the eternal optimist when it came to the impossible. He always believed that their bets would pay off, and that belief helped ground them. He didn’t have the best plans; he didn’t have a lot of common sense. But shit he believed. And he never quit. Never.
Until now.
JJ had all but given up. He’d surrendered entirely. He’d lost the will to fight. He’d finally looked at the odds and accepted defeat.
Worse, he looked like it had been a foregone conclusion from the start.
It was just – hard to watch.
Harder still to know what to do.
But it was JJ. They didn’t need a repeat of the town council meeting – sure. But he always got his shit together. He just did. JJ faced every bad thing, and survived. He always prevailed.
Yeah, this was bad. He was drinking too much. He was acting off.
Yet, it wasn’t like JJ would actually hurt himself.
He – wouldn’t.
Kiara was sure.
Kiara was pretty sure.
So if they had to babysit JJ until he normalized?
Well, okay. They’d babysit JJ until he normalized.
It wasn’t weird. They weren’t infantilizing him. They were just – looking out for him. Giving him the space he needed without abandoning him. That was a good thing, she told herself.
It was just a hard sell for all of them. She could see it, the way the journey was pulling them all down. They tried to keep things light, playing cards and talking bullshit. They tried to make it seem normal, so JJ wouldn’t realize they were staring at him constantly, waiting for any sign that he was getting back to normal.
They stuck to the plan.
The only plan they had.
Cell coverage was increasingly spotty out on the ocean, so they agreed to two-hour shifts. Long enough to make it seem normal, but short enough to keep anyone from getting burned out. JJ wasn’t much company, after all.
JJ wasn’t much anything right now.
The farther away from Kildare they got, the less and less Kiara recognized him. This boy she loved, her other half.
She took more shifts than the rest of them because every time she tried to stay away, it just felt wrong. The more she tried to make it seem like normal, the less normal it felt.
By the time nighttime rolled around, she cajoled JJ to bed. He was still half drunk – he always was – so it wasn’t exactly hard.
“I’m exhausted,” she said.
“Then you should rest,” he said plaintively, making no move toward the bed himself.
She rolled her eyes, grabbing him by the hand as she forced him to sit. “So should you.”
He shrugged, almost indifferent to the idea.
When he made no effort to do anything, she got down and started untying his shoes. He didn’t stop her, but he made a face as she pulled one boot free. “I think I need a drink–”
She huffed at that, throwing the other boot to the side as she got back up and sat next to him. “Save some for the rest of us, okay?” she quipped.
The joke was lost on him. “Kie–”
“You need to rest,” she said. “I know things have been rough – I do – but you’re never going to feel better until you let your body rest. Getting drunk isn’t the same thing as resting.”
He stared at her for a second, his brows drawing slightly together. “And sleep is?” he asked. He laughed, short and funny. “Kie, when I sleep–”
He didn’t finish. The words hung there, and Kiara felt something go very, very cold in her stomach. It numbed her through, spreading through her chest and tingling down to her fingers.
“You didn’t tell me the nightmares were back,” she said finally.
He swallowed a little, almost like he regretted saying it. “Not the same,” he muttered, ducking his head down.
Because there had been nightmares. Early on, when they got back from South America. JJ had been reluctant to spend the night with her, and the dreams had told her why. He woke up – startled and terrified. Caught in a nightmare that left him blank and desperate.
Luke, no doubt. Years of abuse and neglect.
It was why JJ slept in the oddest places. Passed out in the hammock; curled up on the swing. Kiara found her spot next to him, letting him feel safe and whole.
It had worked, too. The dreams had tapered off. Fewer in number; lesser in intensity.
She reached her hand up, threading her fingers gently through his hair. “JJ–”
He shuddered. Almost visibly flinching as he pulled away from her. “I’m fine,” he said, the words rushed and strained. He looked at her, blue eyes wet even as he tried desperately to blink them clear. “I mean, with enough alcohol–”
It wasn’t fair, when she thought about it. That Groff haunted JJ’s every movement, every decision. That he had to think about this man who gave him up, left him behind. This man who swooped back in to use and abuse him.
And leave him for dead.
All the bullshit Luke had done, he’d never done that.
It was hard enough for anyone to overcome one parent who treated you wrong.
But two? For it to happen again?
There was no way to fight that. There was no way to soften it.
When Kiara thought about it, she wanted to drink herself into oblivion, too.
“JJ, that’s not the answer,” she said softly.
He looked at her, lips quirking into something almost like a smile. “I don’t know if there is an answer.”
It was hard, okay? Hard to hear him say it. To give up.
To concede like the fight was already lost.
JJ crashed out – sure. He did that all the time.
But this? This felt different.
She was starting to think this was very, very different.
“Hey,” she said, taking him by the hand again. “Why don’t you lay down, okay?”
He protested meagerly, making a small sound as she levered him down. “Kie–”
She lifted his legs until they were on the bed, too.
He shook his head. “Kie, I can’t–”
She shushed him easily, shifting herself over his body and curling herself up next to him. She draped an arm over his chest, nuzzling his cheek. Almost despite himself, he leaned into the touch, squeezing his eyes shut.
“See?” she cooed. “It’s going to be okay.”
He looked at her. “What if it’s not?”
A simple question – that just took her breath away. He wasn’t trying to hurt her. If anything, she could see it in his eyes. The way he wanted to protect her.
From himself.
As if there was some unlovable part of him, and he was worried he was going to infect her. Like that part of him that was still drowning in the ocean would take her down, too.
She’d jumped in after him to save his life – once and twice and all the times that mattered.
As long as it took.
Until he realized the truth.
They either swam together.
Or they sank together.
There was no in between; none.
She kissed him again, refusing to let go. “Go to sleep, Jayj,” she murmured against his cheek. “Just go to sleep.”
She waited until his eyes closed, almost in surrender, and she let herself follow, dropping off hard and deep into sleep.
-o-
It was hard to explain, how he could feel this exhausted – and not sleepy at all.
But then, for JJ, a lot of things were hard to explain.
His very existence, for example. Defied all logic. The number of times he should have died. The number of people who had thrown him away. He didn’t belong here. Groff had never loved his mother, had he? How the hell was he even born at all?
He let himself go still for Kiara’s sake, the warmth of her body draped over him. It made him ache, honestly. He wasn’t drunk enough for this, this intimacy.
The idea that she wanted him. That idea that she was still trying.
He should cut her loose. He was a dead weight, an anchor dragging her down. She’d drown with him, if he let her.
The idea of it was too much.
He was far, far too sober.
Shifting carefully, he slid himself out from under her. She shuffled slightly in her sleep, murmuring empty nonsense against the pillow before she sighed heavily and lapsed back into a deep sleep. He’d worn her out. With this treasure hunt, with his antics. Just by being him.
He needed to let her rest; he needed to let her go.
He needed to do a lot of things.
Easing himself out of the cabin, he left his shoes behind and closed the door gently. In the hall, he padded as silently as possible and made his way up the stairs and out onto the deck. The night was quiet – clear. The seas were calmer than normal, rocking the boat just slightly as he caught his balance in the cool, night air.
It was weird, sometimes. What it felt like to be alive.
How he could feel his heart, his lungs. The hair on his arms standing on end. Autonomic bodily responses that hadn’t caught up with the reality.
Had it really only been a few weeks ago? When he had been happy? When everything had seemed good and right?
Before Groff. Before the town council. Before the Enduro.
Before JJ did a JJ thing.
And blew up his whole damn life.
He stumbled a little, the whole idea of it just too much. He caught himself, glancing at the cabin. John B was on duty, but he seemed asleep. Blinking drowsily, that half-awake state. He hadn’t seen JJ.
No one else was there. He stayed away from the bow, away from John B’s line of vision. He made his way to the back instead, where he could see the ocean slipping behind him. There was no land in sight. The waves were quiet.
He hadn’t come out here to–
But maybe he had.
Maybe all his life had been building to this. Maybe he’d been fighting against it so long that he didn’t know what it looked like.
He knew now, though.
He couldn’t pretend.
He was too tired; he was too far gone. He was just done.
He just – he wasn’t sure how to do it, right?
Like, the act was simple.
He jumped and that was it. He wouldn’t fight; he’d just let go. He’d let the water take him out, take him under. In the dark, no one would see him.
No one would miss him.
His breathing caught and he braced himself on the railing. That wasn’t true, the denial burned up his throat. It stung in his eyes, and he swallowed and blinked but it didn’t help. It wasn’t true, none of it was true.
They would miss him.
They’d look for him. They’d turn the boat around, hoping to find him. They’d scour the ocean and refuse to believe it. It would crush them.
He closed his eyes, choking back the sob.
That made it worse, didn’t it?
That was all the more damning.
He’d screwed up so bad. He’d taken their love and turned it into this. Now, they were trailing after him, trying to clean up his mistakes. Trying to rectify his wrongs. They all had put their lives on the line for him.
They probably knew they were better off without him.
They were just too scared to admit it.
It would hurt. It would hurt so much.
But they’d get over it.
They’d move on.
They’d be okay.
Everything would be okay.
He opened his eyes, feeling the way the air felt cold on his skin. The hairs stood up, and his breathing was shaky. His head felt light, but his body felt heavy.
All he had to do was jump.
Just jump
Be done with it.
Put himself out of his misery.
Put all of them out of their misery.
It was the last thing he could give them. It was the only way to make it right.
His whole life came to this. Nothing.
All his chances, squandered.
All his victories, lost.
All his friendships, shattered.
Call him a Maybank. Call him a Groff. Call him a Genrette.
He was still the same idiot kid who had hurt everyone who ever loved him.
They would cry, they would grieve. But none of them would be surprised.
His next breath was easier. He felt the calmness come over him. He blinked and it all settled, it all crystalized. He saw it, the way the water called to him. His life had amounted to nothing; he’d taken more than he’d given. He’d cost too much.
You had to cut your losses.
You had to.
He took a deep breath and eased his hands off the edge. It was time, right?
This was it?
But JJ was a coward, in the end. JJ was a needy son of a bitch. A parasite, sucking the life from his friends.
In shame, he dropped his head.
He couldn’t do it.
He couldn’t let go.
He couldn’t set them free.
Turning away, he grit his teeth. He stormed back off the deck, stalking by the control room. John B startled and called after him, but JJ didn’t stop. He didn’t stop at the bunk he was supposed to share with Kie, but he went into the kitchen.
Frantic, he pounded through the cabinets, looking for something – for anything.
His hands were shaking again, his vision blurring.
And there–
A bottle of whisky.
Desperate, he pulled it down. His fingers were shaking so bad he could barely open it, and the liquid sloshed out when he did. He tipped up to his lips, chugging down the first few sips with greedy anticipation.
He let it burn. He let it take him.
He drank until it felt numb, and he put the bottle down, panting.
Until he couldn’t doubt. Until he couldn’t hear the voices. Until he couldn’t feel the tension in his body. Until he couldn’t feel anything at all.
Until he stopped thinking.
He drank again, praying, keening, and needy.
Until everything finally, mercifully would stop.
-o-
The sense of anticipation was palpable, there was no other way to say it. The men sat on deck more and more, straining for the first hint of land on the horizon.
Luke looked too, but he wasn’t sure if he was filled with anticipation or dread. Yeah, he wanted to get off this piece of shit boat. He hated being cooped up; he hated these people he was with.
But once they hit land, there was no more time to spin his wheels. The hunt would be on – and Luke had to figure out what Groff was up to, once and for all. If he was going to protect JJ from this asshole – then the jig had to be up.
He wasn’t the only one who knew that. The mood of the entire crew was shifting, and by the time they docked at the wharf, the anticipation was palpable. The men were more excited than anxious, and Luke had no idea if that was good or bad. On the one hand, happy mercenaries were probably less problematic than angry ones.
But then, he wasn’t sure if they could be trusted to be happy for any of the right reasons.
That wasn’t really his problem. They secured the deck and anchored down, getting their shit ready for what was to come. They had their jobs to do, and that was fine. Nothing to Luke.
Because Luke had his job, too.
Namely, Groff.
His mood shifted, too. There was a renewed focus. He’d been chatty with Luke the entire trip over; now, there was a reservation about him. He was getting ready, too, just not like the others. His emotions were turned off; his attention was acute.
As he unloaded, Luke saw no hint of the scroll.
When Dalia asked him if he was ready, Groff was all smiles. “This is a treasure 20 years in the making for me,” he assured her. “I’m more than ready.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Don’t cross me, Groff,” she warned.
He held up his hands. “You have the power, remember?” he said coyly.
She huffed, shaking her head. “I’d love to put a bullet in your head.”
“Aw,” he said, shrugging. “Not as much as you’d love to find that crown.”
The power play – well, it took balls, Luke had to concede that. Even more when Groff turned to him and openly grinned. And winked.
This man was worse than a Kook. He didn’t just deserve to be taken down a peg. He deserved to be drowned in the damn ocean, just like Larissa.
It was upsetting, to say the least.
But at least it solidified to Luke why he was here.
As long as Groff was playing this angle, JJ wasn’t safe. The Outer Banks wouldn’t be safe until this whole crown business was settled, and the Genrette curse was resolved once and for all.
There wasn’t much time to dwell on that, not while the crew was focused on the next step. He was playing this game from both sides, so he knew he had to pull his weight with the crew. He secured the deck, and he helped the men pack up below deck.
“Oy!” one of them yelled. “We’re coming back, right?”
“I think this is a short pitstop,” the other said. “Groff supposedly has what we need to find the crown this time.”
“I still don’t know why we’re trusting that asshole,” the second muttered, locking up his belongings as Luke battened down the rest of the galley
“Because he’s got to be as wary of Finch as the rest of us,” the other said. “If any of us show up empty-handed—”
The implication was clear. Luke did his best not to look, but he caught a glimpse of the first man, face twisted in contemplation. “This is our last shot with Finch.”
“Which makes it our last shot period,” the second said, moving out and slapping the man on the shoulder. “So, we best not screw it up!”
When he exited, the first guy hurried his pace, shoving the last of his shit in the locker and slamming it so hard, the walls rattled. He looked at Luke with a small nod. “You good down here?” he asked.
“Yeah, sure,” Luke replied. “I’ll secure the galley and be on deck.”
“Five minutes,” he said, as if he had some kind of authority.
“Five minutes,” Luke agreed.
The guy left without any further ado, and Luke threw the last of the food into the cupboards, securing them. He looked around, just to be sure, and then made his way toward the door, hesitating by the locker.
The idiot.
He’d slammed it shut.
And it had popped right back open.
Clearly, mercenaries were technically professionals, but at what? Luke wasn’t sure. After this boat ride, it seemed like their specialty was mostly just being professional assholes.
He undid the lock – it hadn’t even latched – and started to shove the shit back in – more orderly. He was the last one out; stowing the gear was his responsibility. The last thing he needed was for Dalia to call him for this.
The man had crumpled clothes, a well-worn backpack. And papers.
One of them fluttered to the ground. Muttering a curse, he leaned over and picked it up.
And stopped when he saw it.
It was a scrawled note. Like not a note to someone, but like – someone taking notes. At first, it was hard to make sense of it, but Finch’s name at the top was certainly something to consider.
Anton Finch, he read, and he skimmed the rest.
Numbers – an address? Something in Lisbon.
That was what – Spain?
No, Portugal. That was it. Lisbon was in Portugal.
There was a date, too. A time.
Well, shit, Luke realized. This was the time, date, and location of the meet with Finch.
Was it important?
For the mercenaries, sure. If all went well, Luke could bail on them by then.
But–
If it didn’t go well.
If Groff screwed everyone over.
Well, Luke would be better off with more information – not less. He had to have options.
For his own sake.
For JJ’s.
He glanced around, folding the paper and shoving it into his pocket. He shoved the rest of the shit into the locker and slammed it closed.
Then, he glanced around, giving the galley one more look, before he went to the deck to follow the others.
-o-
Cleo was the first to notice.
This wasn’t anything more than the fact that she was the one paying attention. John B and his ideals. Pope and his logic. They were useless, the two of them.
Kiara was a mess, and Sarah seemed to be seasick the entire time. And JJ–
Well, JJ wasn’t remotely sober. At all.
All the same, the second she came on deck, she could feel it. The weight in the air; the smell of the moisture. The heat was settling, pressing down on her with an oppressive sensation. She could feel it, up in her sinuses and deep in her lungs.
The weather was shifting.
Looking out, she could feel the breeze. Small – but changing direction.
Squinting out, she took in the water, sweeping her eyes over the horizon in all directions. She could see clear skies for the most part, but a gathering of clouds – white and billowing – somewhere to their northeast.
It looked like nothing, maybe.
But it felt like something.
Frowning, she went into the control room, where Pope was at the controls.
“Storm’s coming,” she announced.
He blinked, immediately looking down at his controls. “What? No way, I don’t see anything.”
She rolled her eyes as he belatedly looked out to the horizon. That was just like Pope. To look at the numbers and facts before using his senses. He might never change.
“No, you can feel it,” she said, shaking her head and wrinkling her nose. “The air is all wrong.”
“But the radar—” Pope said, tapping at the screen.
“The radar don’t mean shit,” Cleo said, a little sharper than she intended.
She wasn’t mad; she didn’t hold a grudge.
She just – knew he was wrong.
She just knew the radar was wrong.
She was sure all of this was wrong.
Groff, the crown, JJ. This whole damn trip.
Pope watched her, his face barely composed. “I don’t see anything,” he said, looking from her out to the horizon. “I mean – it looks fine.”
She moved forward, hand on his arm as she took a deep breath. She could smell the moisture, vibrating on the air as the stillness settled, deep and unnatural. “Don’t look,” she coached. “Feel it.”
He stilled beneath her touch, his face darkening.
“Too much thinking,” she told him softly. She turned herself back to face him.
He looked at her back. “Well, when I don’t think, I end up in prison,” he quipped.
She smirked at that; he had a point. “Pick your moments better,” she advised.
He was watching her, his eyes on her for a moment, before he glanced back out to the horizon. “And this moment?”
She looked back out, inhaling the moist air in as she nodded. “We best brace ourselves and warn the others,” she advised him. “We’ll need to be ready.”
“How bad could it be?” he asked. “If it’s not even on radar–”
She looked at him, eyebrows up. “You’re asking me that?” she shot back. “And you’re the smart one?”
He reddened a little. “You sure about it?”
“I know the ocean,” she reminded him. And then, she tipped her head to the side. “And I know you Pogues. The only kind of luck you all have is bad luck.”
-o-
Tensions were high; the risks had never been greater.
But shit.
Sarah needed the distractions.
Because if she wasn’t busy, she was sick. If she wasn’t sick, she was worried. She cried too easily, and she lost her temper quickly.
Apparently, hormones were a real thing.
This baby was tiny and already it was having a dramatic impact on her life.
And thinking about that just made everything worse.
So distractions.
She recruited anyone to play games with her. She sparked conversations with everyone. Sometimes, she even talked to Rafe, just because.
Anything to keep her busy. Anything to keep her mind off the fact that she was going to be a mother in less than nine months.
For all that she’d been scared about living in bubblewrap and having her life planned out for her, this was a bit of a twist. She wasn’t upset.
She just–
Didn’t always know.
Distractions.
“I don’t know,” Sarah said as she looked out at the horizon where Cleo was fretting. “It might not be so bad.”
Cleo scoffed, utterly incredulous at her assertion. “It’s going to be worse than bad,” she predicted.
Sarah shook her head. “You don’t know that.”
Cleo pointed out at the horizon. “Look at it,” she said. “It’s growing by the minute.”
She was right about that. In the time Sarah had been on deck, the sky had gone from crystal blue to mottled and deep. The lightning was already visible from the coalescing clouds on the horizon. It was foreboding, honestly.
Distractions.
She shook her head again, almost insistent. “We’ve made it this far. We’re close now.”
Cleo raised her eyebrows at her. “You think that matters?”
Sarah shrugged, the expression weakened by Cleo’s pointed response. “I don’t know. Maybe?”
Cleo snorted at her with a long breath. “You and John B are optimists.”
“Oh, we’re not that bad,” Sarah said.
Cleo gave her a wry look. “I didn’t say it was bad.”
Sarah reddened.
“But it’s not always real,” Cleo added, looking back out again. “When I see disaster, I prefer to be ready.”
Sarah bit her lip, following her gaze.
More lightning decorated the horizon as the clouds continued to form. They headed on, moving toward it at an undeterred pace.
“Maybe we should stop?” Sarah asked quietly. “Try another direction.”
Cleo pursed her lips. “No way around it.”
Which – that was apt.
The story of being a Pogue, it seemed.
You saw disaster coming.
And you headed straight toward it anyway.
Her thoughts were interrupted as another figure came on deck. She glanced back to see Pope, stepping toward them with his eyes fixed on the horizon with worry.
Cleo got up, Sarah behind her.
“See?” Cleo said to her boyfriend as she nodded out at the sky. “I told you so.”
Pope’s face barely retained its composure, but she could see that he was scared. Just like Cleo was worried. Cleo had the instincts. Pope had the logic.
And Sarah could run from the inevitable conclusion.
Impending disaster.
No route of escape.
And Sarah was pregnant.
Her stomach turned, more violently than she expected. She swallowed, trying to quell the nausea, but it didn’t work.
There were no distractions.
Not one big enough for this.
“Oh, shit,” she muttered, lifting her hand to her mouth. “I need to–”
She didn’t finish. She couldn’t finish.
Not as she ran below deck, as fast as she could, for the bathroom.
-o-
Pope couldn’t make his mind stop.
Every time he looked back out, the odds in his head got worse.
Their boat wasn’t big enough; they didn’t have enough supplies. They were low on gas; they had absolutely no backup plan at all.
“Hey,” Cleo said, nudging him. “Enough of that.”
“Enough of what?” he asked with a dull snort.
“Less thinking,” she said, tugging her head back to the controls. “More action.”
That, he decided as he went back inside, was probably good advice.
He took up his spot at the controls again, going over the readouts and the radar.
With the blind hope that there was still something they could do to change the outcome.
-o-
John B wasn’t due for a shift at the helm for a bit, but – well–
Crossing the Atlantic was treacherous and worrisome.
And really kind of boring.
It might have been fun were JJ not completely crashing out, but he was. And John B hadn’t had fun since before the Enduro, it seemed.
He probably wouldn’t have fun until they got back to the OBX.
So, he’d take every shift he could. He’d do anything at all.
Just to make that happen.
The second he hit the deck, he knew things weren’t good. The sky was darkening, and he could already hear the rumble of thunder. When he got into the control room, he could see the storm system on the horizon.
Lit up bright and red on the edges of the radar.
“Oh, shit,” he said.
At the controls, Pope sighed tiredly. “Yeah.”
Cleo smirked. “You think?”
He looked out over the water again, stomach doing a little flip as he took in the gathering storm clouds. He’d been up on deck an hour ago, and it had been clear skies all the way.
Now, they looked like they were about to hit the storm of the century.
Out of nowhere.
“Is this going to be bad?” he asked.
Cleo shrugged. “It’s not going to be good.”
John B bit his lip, looking at the control, scanning the weather readout. Then, he looked out again. “We should get ready.”
“We can warn the others,” Pope said.
“I’ll get the engines cleared,” Cleo said.
“I’ll stay here,” John B said, stomach twisting with renewed worry as they made their way out. “Do we think this is going to be bad bad?”
Pope blinked, clearly at a loss.
Cleo shrugged. “And when was it ever not?”
-o-
Sarah wasn’t what most people expected when they thought of Kooks. Even before leaving her comfortable life at Tannyhill, she’d been more resilient than people gave her credit for.
Rafe had been an entitled bastard, but she knew how to work hard. Her dad had liked her as a sailing partner more than her siblings. Rafe conveniently managed to do nothing; Wheezie never stopped asking questions.
But Sarah did the work, and she did it well.
So, pregnant or not, she was pulling her weight. She was an equal partner in all of this. She took her shifts; she did her duties.
It would be nice if her body cooperated, but that was fine. She spit again and got shakily to her feet before she flushed. At the sink, she took a small swig of water and sloshed it around. The boat lurched, but she didn’t let it bother her. She looked in the mirror with a sigh and nodded at herself
She had to get back to work.
With as much renewed confidence as she could muster, she made her way back up – climbing up the stairs. The moment she stepped on deck, she could see things were getting worse – and fast. The sky had been dark before. But now it was almost black as lightning continued to flash across it. With a wince, she went inside.
John B was there now, which was reassuring. He was a competent captain.
The look on his face, however, was less so.
“Hey,” she said, catching herself on the door frame as she let herself inside. “Are we doing something about this?”
John B was at the controls. He looked pale, fingers gripped just a little too tight at the wheel.
“It’s too big,” he said. “We can’t go around it.”
She gave him an incredulous little look, raising her eyebrows. “You do know how small this boat is,” she pointed out.
He pursed his lips. “There’s nothing we can do,” he said. “Just – get things ready and we’ll do the best we can.”
That was how you got through a bad day at work or a tough test at school.
She wasn’t sure it applied to massive tropical storms while crossing the Atlantic is a pretty small boat.
“Seriously,” John B said. “Get below deck. Stow what you can. If you go down now, you’ll beat the rain and lightning.”
Her eyes narrowed. She knew when she was being put off. She’d dated Topper, after all. He’d hid chauvinism under a guise of gentlemanly bullshit.
“I want to help,” she said, and she lifted her chin. “I’m just as good on a boat as you are.”
She wasn’t wrong, and he knew it.
But that also wasn’t the point. “And you can help,” he said. And then, emphatically. “Below deck.”
She crossed her arms over her chest, even as another roll of thunder shook them. “That sounds like you’re putting me out of the way.”
He let out a breath, short and airy. “And?” he said. “I want you to be safe, Sarah.”
She was ready to protest, but he continued.
“I want the baby to be safe,” he said.
And shit. He was going to play that card.
Part of her resented it.
But then, part of her understood it.
Part of her agreed. This wasn’t about her pride. This wasn’t about equality or justice or anything. Sarah wasn’t just living for herself. All her choices – every last one of them – affected the life she was growing inside of her.
She knew all about women’s rights. She knew her autonomy wasn’t sacrificed at the altar of her fetus.
But it was her baby. It was John B’s baby.
If something happened to it–
She would never forgive herself.
“Please,” John B implored. Because he wouldn’t forgive himself either. “Sarah?”
“Fine,” she said, letting her arms fall to her side. The wind picked up, blowing harder as the boat rocked. “But I’m checking on you soon.”
He nodded. “Just be safe.”
It was a funny thing, really. If they wanted to be safe, they never should have left the OBX. Even JJ could have been safe in jail.
She felt a little guilty for thinking it, but it was hard not to. To wonder how this could have been.
Shoupe wanted to help; he didn’t want JJ in jail any more than they did. It might have worked out.
But JJ probably still would have done time. They still would have lost Poguelandia.
This was their double or nothing.
Making her way back below deck, she just hoped it wouldn’t end up with nothing.
Sighing, she braced herself on the wall as the wind tossed them again, and she made her way past the galley – to the bathroom at the end of the hall. She knocked once – twice.
“Rafe?”
He didn’t answer, so she let herself in.
He was sitting there, still tied and bound, glaring up at her. “We’re hitting a storm, aren’t we?”
The thunder outside proved the point for him, and he inclined his head.
“Are you really just going to leave me down here?” he asked pointedly. “I can help.”
“We don’t need help,” she said. She shook her head, trying not to think about the veracity of that statement. “But I just wanted you to be ready in case.”
He raised his eyebrows. “In case?”
“I don’t know,” she said. “LIke you said. We’re hitting a storm.”
“Right,” Rafe said. “So we have to get the navigation in order, look at the radar. You and the girls should be battening down the hatches, stowing what we can. We have to get the engines ready–”
She shook her head. “Rafe, I know how to do this,” she said. “We all know how to do this.”
He closed his mouth, jaw working. “Do you? Because I’m not sure you’d have gotten this far without me?”
She closed her mouth, if only because she didn’t want to admit he was right.
“Just – sit tight,” she said, shaking her head. “I’ll come get you if we need anything.”
Rafe grunted, holding up his bound hands. “Not like I have a choice!”
-o-
It was an act of desperation, keeping busy. Doing dishes, playing cards. Anything to not think about the fact that JJ was sleeping off his perpetual hangover. Sometimes, she thought about asking Pope how much a grown man could drink before he was at risk for alcohol poisoning.
But at this point, she was pretty sure she didn’t want to know.
If the end was coming, she just wanted to be blindsided.
The anticipation alone would kill her anyway.
JJ was sleeping in their bunk, at least. From here, she’d see him if he got up. She just couldn’t take it, sitting there. It wasn’t just the uncomfortable idea of babysitting her own boyfriend. She could do that, if it helped.
It didn’t, though.
All it did was give her a front row seat while he came apart at the seams. The only thing worse than seeing him suffer was knowing how much he was doing it to himself.
It was interminable. This whole damn boat ride was interminable.
The schedule be damned. She needed a break.
She spared a look down the hall – JJ’s door was still closed – and then climbed the stairs, opening them up–
And quickly realized there was no reprieve.
The oppressive weight of her responsibility to JJ.
Might be outclassed by the oppressive humidity. She winced, looking out across the darkening sky. It seemed apt; the storm was on them. And she hadn’t had a clue.
That was a metaphor she didn’t need explained, thank you very much.
She knew without looking – it was going to be bad.
She took a breath, letting the hot air fill her lungs as she suppressed the urge to shudder.
Why would it not be bad?
-o-
John B, in truth, was not a control freak. Was he a natural-born leader? That was debatable. He was the de facto one around here, though, and he knew it. For years, the Pogues had been his crew. The treasure hunts had started as his idea.
They looked to him for that shit. They just did.
And that had been fine, when they were 16 with nothing to lose.
They were older now. They had a lot to lose.
And John B had no idea how to do any of it. He didn’t know how to build a house. He didn’t know how to run a business. Shit, he didn’t have a clue about successful marriages or raising kids. Childbirth? Changing diapers?
He was in over his head, and he knew it.
Yet, here he was.
At the controls.
Directing the ship.
With a goal toward restoration.
And a path right through the heart of disaster.
His pregnant wife was seasick. One friend had literally broken out of police custody. And his best friend? His brother? Was depressed and probably suicidal.
But sure. John B was at the controls.
It was going great.
There was a sound at the door, and he looked back. It was a relief to see Kiara.
Mostly because it meant he didn’t have to do this alone.
John B really didn’t want to do this alone.
“Hey,” she said, crossing over to him. She frowned at the radar. “The weather’s turning?”
John B nodded for the lack of something better to do. “Looks like.”
There was another sound, restless knocking at the door. Pope popped his head back in. “Kie! Hey!” he said. “I was looking for you.”
“You know me,” Kiara quipped dryly. “Stealthy.”
Pope came in further. “I just wanted to let you know about the storm.”
She inclined her head out to the water. “Sort of hard not to.”
“Cleo’s down in the engine room,” Pope reported to John B. “I guess to see where we’re at.”
John B nodded. “Sarah already knows,” he said. “What about JJ?”
They all exchanged looks, before their eyes settled on Kiara.
She reddened. “What? So he’s all my responsibility now?”
“Well, you are dating him,” Pope posited.
“You’re the one who heard him confess suicidal ideations,” Kiara retorted.
“But you’re closest to him,” John B argued.
She looked at him, a flicker of fury in her expression. “And you’re the one telling us to wait him out,” she snapped.
She was right on that one. John B clamped his mouth shut, focusing back on the controls.
Pope mercifully intervened. “The swells are getting worse,” he reminded them. Because JJ’s crashout was a problem. But it wouldn’t matter if they all drowned out here. “And we’re making a beeline for it.”
John B was aware.
As he was the one piloting the course.
Pope shook his head. “So much for smooth sailing.”
That had been a fantasy, though. And they all knew it.
Kiara fell in line alongside John B’s other side. “Okay, so why can’t we just go south?”
It wasn’t a bad idea – in theory. That was really what they’d been doing all this trip: going around trouble instead of facing it head on. It was so much easier to fix things than own up to them. But it wasn’t a long-term idea.
John B was unable to pretend otherwise.
“The current’s going to be against us,” he said with a sense of futility. The current had been against them a long, long time. Sooner or later, it was going to catch up with them.
From the other side, Pope shrugged. “We could try north,” he suggested, which might have been logical until he added. “We could try to get lucky.”
Right, since luck was usually on their side. “Pope, we can’t go right into the face of it, all right?” he said. Because that was how they always survived. Sailing into the storm – but never hitting the eye. It was risky business, but it was all they had. “We’ve got to turn toward the coast.”
It was a simple truth. Impossible to deny.
He’d gone over this. He’d sat here at the controls. He’d looked at the storm. He’d stared at the horizon. They had nowhere else to go. Nothing else to do.
Kiara sighed, leaning back a little. “Doesn’t sound like we have any options.”
That was how it was, in the end. They played all their chances. They expended all their odds. And at the end, when their backs were to the wall, they acted like they had no other options.
Maybe the Kooks were right about them, sometimes.
Maybe the Pogues had been wrong about this.
The money, the bet. JJ’s crashout, all of it.
Pope shook his head. “We’re running on fumes as it is.”
Literally.
And metaphorically.
John B didn’t know how much longer he could do this.
Pope seemed to get it now, even with resignation. “We have to blast through it,” he concluded. Because this was the Pope who had gotten arrested for JJ. The Pope who had broken out from the cops. This was that Pope. The one who was just as Pogue as the rest of them. “We’re not that far from Essaouira.”
That was the simple, practical thinking they needed.
The plaintive kind. That didn’t look too far back. That didn’t look too far ahead.
John B looked back at the controls, nodding. “Give me some juice, then.”
The harder he pushed, the less it worked. John B could hear it, the way the engine sputtered slightly – an unnerving sound, audible even over the din of the storm.
“Okay, something’s wrong with the engine” Pope said, his anxiety becoming more and more evident. “I need to go check on it. Can you handle this?”
As if.
John B would laugh, if he had the energy. If he had the time.
If he had anything.
“Yeah,” he said instead. “Go. Go.”
Pope left, presumably to help Cleo with the engines, and Kiara turned to John B – restless and scared. “I’m going to go help Sarah,” she said. She didn’t talk about JJ. That seemed to be the easier way to do it. They could only weather one storm at a time. “In the galley. Batten it down.”
She left as well, leaving John B alone at the controls.
Still the leader.
Still the one directing them, calling the shots.
“I got it,” he said, feeling the anxiety rise up the back of his throat like bile. “I got it.”
Because he started this.
He had no choice now but to finish it, too.
Chapter 17: CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Notes:
Happy Monday, y'all. Assuming Mondays can be happy, which is debatable.
JJ is still heavily suicidal here, and this section touches on some of JJ's religious believes/background. I mostly borrow this from the idea that JJ went to Sunday School and clearly leads the Pogues in prayer around the dinner table. Which is to say, I think it holds some sway over him, and he uses it here to punish himself. JJ's destructive thinking is a long-term problem from him. When I call this fic a fix-it, that is part of it for sure.
Thank you! If you're reading along, go ahead and comment. It makes me happy. This fic is at probably the halfway point. I am still writing the next fic after this one, so hopefully I continue to make good progress. There's a lot of fic to write!!!
Chapter Text
-o-
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
-o-
It wasn’t a big ship; if anything, it had felt claustrophobic the last week.
But it had never seemed to take so long.
The trip from the control room to the engine room Pope made at a run. Catching himself on the walls as the swells tipped them this way and that. He couldn’t stop; he wouldn’t stop.
The logic was still good in his head. They’d worked with all the available evidence. Turning toward the coast, pressing on – it was the only viable option.
He just wasn’t sure it was going to be enough.
Logic didn’t dictate success.
A lack of options didn’t necessitate victory.
Sometimes, it just sealed your fate.
He got to the engine room, finding Cleo in the thick of it. “Hey!” he said, skidding to a stop next to her as they both lurched with the next wave. “John B needs more power upstairs.”
Cleo glared, giving the engine what was surely not an approved bang with her tool. “Well, they’re going as much as they can,” she said. Thunder rolled outside, louder and more insistent. “I’m not sure we’re getting much more from them.”
“What?” Pope asked, scrunching his nose up as he looked from Cleo back to the engine. “That can’t be right.”
She gave him that look. Exasperated.
The one she gave when his logic ran into a brick wall.
Her eyebrows arched. “Would you like me to lie to you, then?”
He huffed, not amused in the slightest. “Has the storm already damaged them?” he asked.
“They weren’t great to begin with,” Cleo said, matter of fact.
Which. Shit.
Pope gaped for a second. “We’ve been on this boat for a week,” he said, incredulity setting in. “And you’re telling me this now?”
“There was no reason to tell you before,” she protested, putting her tools away. “It didn’t change anything.”
He scoffed, unable to keep it in. “It might have changed something–”
She shook her head, pushing him out of the door. “We do what we have to do,” she reminded him. “And that means we make do with what we have.”
“But shitty engines on a Transatlantic trip–” he protested as she shoved him again.
“Aren’t going to be the reason we go down,” she reminded him, even as the thunder rattled the walls around them.
Pope frowned, concern spiking again with a fresh roll of thunder outside. “Who said anything about going down?”
She swatted him lightly. “Ah, Pope,” she said, smiling with affection despite it all. “I hope you never change.”
-o-
Below deck, there was no sign of Sarah. She checked the galley, catching herself on the door frame as she called Sarah’s name – before heading down the hall. She wasn’t in her room. She hesitated outside of the bunk she shared with JJ.
With another roll of the boat, she opened the door and peeked inside.
He was still there, at least.
Sprawled on his back, sleeping with his mouth open.
Passed out drunk, it looked.
She hated that, but that was honestly the best case scenario most of the time. Seeing him spiral was hard. And he could be a mean drunk when he was depressed.
Sometimes, there were flashes of Luke in him.
Not – like that.
But what she expected it might have been. What might have driven Luke to drink and drugs. If he’d been well-intentioned once, too. If the world had been unkind to him. If it had broken him–
Like it was breaking JJ.
She couldn’t follow that thought through, not to its conclusion. Not about its implications or even the reality that Luke wasn’t JJ’s biological father.
That Luke might have been the better option.
That had to be a thing, didn’t it? The choice between an abusive addict and a murderous psychopath?
No wonder JJ was drinking so much.
She had no comfort for that. She had no quick fix.
John B was right. They had to get the crown. They had to find Groff. Once they cleared the charges – once they got Poguelandia back – then they could deal with JJ.
The storm outside rocked her again, but JJ didn’t flinch at the next roll of thunder. She clenched her teeth, closing the door behind her and taking a short, solidifying breath.
To do all that, they had to get through this storm first.
Plain and simple.
She used the wall to steady herself as the ship rocked, hurrying back down toward the galley. She could already hear the loose content rolling around, and though she knew she should find Sarah – to make sure she was okay – she just couldn’t.
All of a sudden, she couldn’t do anything.
She couldn’t find Sarah. She couldn’t fix JJ. She couldn’t outrun this damn storm.
She wasn’t even sure she could find the crown or stop Groff or do anything.
Maybe her parents were right. Maybe they’d been right.
Because shit, here Kiara was.
Crossing the ocean.
And she had no clue if her ship would hold or not.
It was too much. All of it.
She wanted to join JJ in that bunk. She wanted to drink the alcohol with him. She wanted to shut down – now.
Suddenly, from behind her, there was a noise.
“Hey, have you made sure Sarah’s okay?” Pope asked as he approached, this time with Cleo in tow.
She swallowed, trying to get a grip on herself. “Uh, no,” she said. “But she was on deck earlier; she knows.”
Cleo nodded. “If things get worse, we’ll want to make sure we’re all accounted for.”
Right. Since things were going so well now, Kiara thought bitterly.
Pope’s brow furrowed, however. “What about JJ?” he said. He tilted his head, as if remembering. “It’s your turn, isn’t it?”
Of course he asked. He had quickly adapted to the whole idea of it, sending out text reminders of their JJ handoffs with unsettling precision.
Whatever JJ had said to Pope had freaked him out.
Pope’s only coping mechanism was to micromanage it. As if they could schedule JJ into recovery.
Between Pope’s plans and John B’s wait-it-out mentality, she was about to start joining JJ at the bottom of the bottle.
“He’s passed out,” she said, nodding down the hall. “He’s not exactly good at sneaking around.”
Cleo snorted. “He’s not great company either.”
Pope frowned, looking flustered. “But we agreed—”
“I’m keeping an eye on the door,” she said. Too tired. Too spent. “He’s okay.”
Okay was a relative description, and they all knew it. Pope didn’t have to like it; none of them liked any of this.
“It’s not the point,” Cleo said, clearly stopping any argument Pope might be ready to make. She nodded at Kiara plaintively. “Start battening things down.”
Kiara made a face. She couldn’t fathom what else could possibly go wrong. “Why?”
That was her mistake.
Hubris.
“You’ve seen the storm?” Cleo asked.
Kiara snorted. “How could I miss it?”
This whole trip, all of it. Felt like a brewing storm.
“Do you think John B’s plan will work?” she asked.
Pope looked to Cleo, and Cleo shrugged. “He’s right; we don’t have much choice.”
She hated that. How nothing was a choice anymore. She thought of holding JJ’s hand in the hyperbaric chamber, back when they thought they could win.
Back before the universe pounded them down, just because it could.
Winning didn’t seem possible anymore.
She was just hoping to survive by now.
Pope sighed, his resignation impossible to mask. “I still think we need to keep working on the engines, give them some extra juice, something–”
Cleoo rolled her eyes. “Of course you do,” she said, nudging him in the ribs. She looked back at Kiara. “You got this?”
The answer was, of course, an unequivocal no but it didn’t matter.
None of it mattered.
What she wanted, what she needed.
“Sure,” she said. “I’ll get the preparation started.”
There was no need to delineate it; there was no need to draw it out.
There was no time for it anyway, not as the ship shimmied, tilting to one side as the wind battered the exterior. Cleo jerked her head out, and Pope followed, as they disappeared into the hall.
Preparations.
They hadn’t prepared for any of it, not once. They didn’t prepare for gold or treasure. They didn’t prepare for adulthood. And they certainly didn’t prepare for JJ’s identity crisis or their spur of the moment Transatlantic trip.
Preparations.
She scoffed.
What a novel idea.
-o-
Everything lurched.
JJ opened his eyes and tried to think.
If that was the boat – the ocean.
Or just – you know. Him and his dumb-ass everything.
His sense of equilibrium was shit when he was drunk, and since he hadn’t been sober in—
How long?
The fact that he was even contemplating that meant he was far too close to sober.
He rolled over, dropping for the bottle he knew had to be by the bed. He found it gone, and when he finally sat up – bleary eyed and confused – he found it on the floor.
Tipped over, contents spilled.
He blinked at it dumbly for a few moments.
Apparently it was the ship lurching.
Either way, if he needed more alcohol – then he needed more alcohol. It wasn’t even a question anymore. Just the inevitability. He couldn’t trust himself sober; he couldn’t.
Levering himself up, his head swam precariously and his stomach roiled. The nausea settled into a dull ache and the throbbing between his ears was a little much. He winced, breathing his way through it, before he got up to his feet with some effort.
It didn’t do much good.
The boat lurched again, and he could hear the hull groaning as the waves pounded it. There was a distant roll of thunder and a flash of lightning.
Storm, he thought dully.
There was a storm coming.
This probably was of some concern, but he couldn’t quite muster it. He reached for the bottle instead, snagging it off the floor and giving it a look before letting himself crash back to the bed. There was just enough for one last swig, and he let it pull him under, just for a moment, just for–
The ship rocked again, so bad that he nearly rolled out of the bed. He opened his eyes with a glare, as mother nature gave a shit that he was trying to sleep.
The waves had picked up, he realized. And now the wind was thrashing, thick raindrops against the porthole. There was more thunder, more lightning–
Everything rolled, and JJ wondered who was at the helm. They’d need to be on their game for this one, or they’d all go over.
At least it wouldn’t be his fault.
But they were here because of him.
So, it was kind of his fault.
Totally his fault.
It was always his fault.
He tried the bottle again, getting mere drops. He sighed, flopping back and throwing his arm over his face. He didn’t want to do this.
Why did he still have to do this?
How many times did he have to give up?
How many times did he have to lose?
How many times until he was done?
Until everything was done?
But that was classic JJ. Selfish, through and through.
This wasn’t about him.
This was about them.
He owed them more. Shit, no, he owed them everything. Everything he had, everything he was. Everything, all of it.
Because, there was this story, right?
It came to mind, flashing through his brain in a drunken haze.
The alcohol; the waves.
And all he could think about was Sunday school.
Miss Sally had tried so hard to teach them, diligently going through the stories, using flannel graphs to map it out. Moses and the 10 commandments. Jesus walking on the water. The darkness of the cross, when he looked out and said, you shall be with me today in paradise.
The boat rocked again, and JJ remembered another one.
Jonah and the whale.
Like, he knew it was all this and yeah. There was debate about it, whether it was a whale or a big fish, and like bullshit if it was possible or not. Whatever; it didn’t matter.
JJ remembered the story, see. Even now, half drunk and lost at sea, he remembered it with a clarity he couldn’t shake.
Because Jonah? Was a selfish guy, after all. The worst. He had one task to do, one job to do. One invective to follow.
And he didn’t do it. He ran as far and as fast as he could.
He hopped on a boat to cross the sea, anything to escape the responsibility.
It sounded familiar, right?
JJ didn’t appreciate the irony, but he couldn’t ignore it either.
Because it wasn’t Jonah’s boat. But that storm came for him. He stirred the waves and whipped up the winds. And as the whole boat was about to go over, everyone was going to die. For Jonah.
The dude had the balls to own it. He stood up for it, better late than never.
It took a storm. It took the whole damn sea crashing down on him.
JJ would never be the hero.
He might just be like Jonah, in the end.
The moral of the story.
Written down, canonized.
The age-old story of what not to do.
He grappled blindly, finding the bottle and taking a swig. He tucked it close to himself, curling up and closing his eyes.
What would Miss Sally say, if she saw him now?
He snorted, letting himself drift back to sleep.
It wasn’t like she’d be surprised.
-o-
It was times like this that Cleo missed Terrance.
Not so much because he was a good seaman. The man was good – but he wasn’t anything special. He could keep a boat afloat with nothing more than good luck and vibes. He seemed to operate under the assumption that he could get fuel from blood, sweat, and tears, and he ran his crew that way.
Tough.
But sure and steady.
That was what Cleo missed.
He always had an angle to get back to shore. Always.
Until he met up with the wrong side of a gun.
Yeah, Cleo missed Terrance.
That said, she wasn’t ready to join him just yet. She wasn’t ready for any of them to join him. Kiara was warned, and she could handle JJ. John B would take care of Sarah – and she really didn’t give a shit about Rafe.
Besides, the whole point was not to go over. Her goal was not to abandon ship.
Which meant she needed to make preparations in the engine room.
Pope followed, looking determined, but she could feel the question he wasn’t asking.
“I’m not overreacting,” she told him, sparing him a long glance back.
He had the audacity to look surprised.
He was cute, her boy.
Cute and smart, about some things.
Cute and dumb as a bag of bricks about others.
“What?” he asked as she led them into the bowels of the ship.
She drew to a pause, turning back to face him. “Life doesn’t happen without action, Pope,” she said. “When you see a problem coming, you can’t plan your way out of it.”
His brow furrowed. “Well, actually–”
She lifted a finger and pressed it to his lips. “I’m not saying we never plan,” she amended. “I’m saying we pick our moments.”
Outside, the next crash of thunder was loud, and she could feel the spark of the lightning.
She tilted her head knowingly.
He sighed, letting his frustration out. “But — is this really what we should be doing?”
Her hand dropped, eyebrows going up. “And you think we can stop now?” she asked him. “We’re halfway across the Atlantic. The storm is here.”
He stood there, precious as he was, and hesitated.
She rolled her eyes. “We finish what we started because quitting now? Is a death sentence for you, me, and everyone on this boat.”
His expression twisted, the uncertainty clear. “I don’t know–”
“Of course you don’t,” she said with a shake of her head. The boat jerked them to the side hard enough that she had to brace herself against the wall. “You’ve grown up comfortable and loved. It’s why you don’t understand JJ, and it’s why you don’t understand me.”
He caught himself on the wall, too, looking hurt now. “That’s not fair.”
“Oh, please,” she chided him, adjusting her stance as the waves picked up their intensity outside. “I know it’s not for a lack of trying. And it’s not some failing or a moral deficit.”
His expression didn’t lighten.
She leaned forward intently. “It’s a good thing, Pope. You’ve been loved. You’ve never had to worry.”
He drew a breath then, licking his lips as he lowered his voice over the sound of the rain as it started to fall – small drops first – then faster, heavier.
“I’m just not sure we should be here,” he admitted.
She reached out, taking him by the hand. “The choice is made. We’re here,” she said. “So – now we just have to roll with it.”
He worked his jaw, lips pursing. “It’s that easy?”
She smirked, dragging him into the engine room as the boat lurched again, the metal groaning under the strain. “No,” she said, turning to the engine with determination. “It’s not easy at all.”
He tripped after her as the boat tipped precariously again.
“But that’s why we do it,” she told him with confidence. “That’s why we have to do it.”
-o-
Sarah did what she needed to do. After checking in with Rafe, she’d made sure everything was in order. The galley was as secure as possible – the bathroom and storage areas too. They hadn’t really packed anything, but she secured the bunk rooms, too, just to prevent a mess.
She hesitated, glancing where she’d left Rafe. If things got worse, she wouldn’t leave him there – she wouldn’t. He’d come on this trip to help them. And he was her brother. Those two facts counted for something, maybe more than she was ready to admit.
But not yet. The boat swayed and she moved back down the hall – glancing into the kitchen. Kie was still getting things down; it was as good as it was going to get.
“Hey, how’s it going in here?” she asked.
Kiara looked up – her eyes a little wild. “Sarah, where have you been–”
“Checking on Rafe,” she said, shaking her head. She did not want to talk about it. “Is everything good in here?”
Kiara looked around, face pinched as they rocked to the side. “I don’t know.”
“There’s only so much we can do,” Sarah said back, stumbling slightly as the next roll jerked them back the other way. “How’s JJ?”
Kiara made a noise, something frustrated and tired. “I don’t know,” she said, shaking her head. “I’ve got to finish this–”
The whole of the task seemed impossible. As if they could properly stow everything in time – or like it would even matter if things got bad. But Kiara was working under an impossible weight. Sarah wasn’t naive; she knew how bad things were for JJ. Which meant she knew how bad things were for Kiara.
Playing cards kept her own mind occupied, sure.
It also kept Kie’s mind occupied.
“Hey,” she said, gentler now. Her voice was low, even as the wind outside howled, rattling the windows. “I can help.”
Kiara looked at her, eyes wet – and wild. “I just – I got this,” she said, making a vague, useless gesture around her. She took a breath and shook her head. “But can you check on JJ? He probably doesn’t even know there’s a storm–”
In truth, it was probably just as well. It wasn’t like he’d been helpful at – well, anything.
John B had determined to wait JJ out.
Sarah had her doubts, but she wasn’t going to undermine John B. And really, it wasn’t like she had better ideas. JJ was a mess.
But she loved JJ.
And she loved Kie.
“Of course,” she said. “Of course I’ll check on JJ.”
The boat threw her to the side as she exited, and she just barely caught herself before she tripped over a crate. Almost immediately, she rocked back the other way, so she braced herself on both walls as she made her way down the narrow hall. The stress of it, everything.
The boat pitched again, and she was either going to laugh or cry. To be pregnant and homeless and on the run – in addition to nearly being lost at sea.
Again.
This was the sort of shit you couldn’t make up. She was a long, long way from that bubblewrap now.
At the bunk door, she didn’t bother knocking. She flung it open, catching her balance as she went through. The entire thing was in disarray – from the storm. From just a general lack of care.
From JJ.
He was there, of course.
Passed out in the bunk.
For a moment, she was jealous.
And, then, she was just pissed.
Because yeah, she’d like to check out now, too. She knew he was struggling – she knew – but they were all struggling, frankly. A lot right now.
Taking a breath, she went to the bed.
“JJ,” she called, hand on his back. He was turned away from her, mouth slack and open with drool on the pillow. He was clutching a bottle of some heavy liquor. “JJ!”
He made no response, not even as the thunder roared with a loud clap, loud enough to shake her chest.
“JJ,” she tried again, shaking him now. “JJ, there’s a storm.”
He burrowed deeper, almost snuggling the damn bottle. He made a sound, but nothing she could make out, even as the boat rocked her and she had to brace herself on the bed.
“Oh, come on,” she muttered, shaking him again – harder this time. “JJ, there’s a storm. You know? All hands on deck?”
When this didn’t elicit a reaction, she rolled him on his back. His slack face turned toward her, and before she could yell at him again, it struck her how bad this had gotten.
Because he looked terrible.
Even in sleep, he looked spent. His face was drawn, and his hair was disheveled. He looked like he hadn’t taken care of himself at all – it looked like he hadn’t even eaten. She could make out the blonde stubble on his chin, and the dark circles were etched under his eyes like they might never go away.
He looked old.
He looked exhausted.
He looked broken, like some shell of himself. Like Groff had taken whatever Luke had left behind, and they hadn’t bothered to look for the missing parts of him when they pulled him out of the ocean.
Her stomach clenched. Not because of the baby or the hormones. But guilt.
This was what John B was talking about.
This was what Kiara was talking about.
JJ was–
Well, he was wasting away.
Right here, in front of them.
He was erasing himself, and if they didn’t stop him, he was going to succeed.
“JJ,” she said again, softer now. “You with me?”
This time, his eyes cracked open, face scrunching up. It seemed to require an intense amount of focus for him to look at her, eyes squint to slits of blue. “Sarah?”
“Yeah,” she said with a sigh. She looked him over again. “Are you okay?”
“Better than you,” he slurred. “John B knocked you up.”
Her face reddened. She wasn’t embarrassed about it – not really.
But the way he said it.
Like that.
“JJ–” she started.
He didn’t listen. “Is this – like – a screw you to your dad?” he said, looking at her.
She stilled, her whole body going cold. The mention of her dad was unexpected.
It was unwelcome.
JJ had been there, after all. When her dad had tried to kill her. When her dad had saved her life. When she had buried him.
He knew better.
He was supposed to know better.
All the same, he chuckled, as if it was some kind of joke.
“Or is it a power play with Rafe?” he murmured, smirking like an asshole. He found the bottle and tipped it back. “Because I don’t think he’s going to give you part of that inheritance with this.”
The shock gave way – hard and fast. Hurt.
To anger.
JJ was drunk, she knew that. JJ was depressed, she knew that, too.
But Sarah was stuck on this boat for him. She was giving up her life for him. She was risking her baby’s life – for him.
She didn’t begrudge him that – she didn’t.
But that didn’t mean he got to be an asshole.
He didn’t get to rip John B apart. He didn’t get to rip her apart.
He would be a hell of a godfather – someday.
Today, though? He was just an asshole.
“Shut up,” she said tersely, grabbing him by the arm. He made a sound of protest, which she promptly ignored as she yanked him off the bunk – and hard.
He fumbled, hitting the ground with a complete lack of coordination. It sounded painful, and she stood back, lips pursed, as she watched with satisfaction as he yelped.
“What the hell?” he said, flailing pathetically as he tried to get to his hands and knees. He craned his neck to look up at her. “The hell?”
She stared him down hard. “There’s a storm, JJ,” she said, voice flat as she crossed her arms over her chest. “And since apparently we’re trying to keep you from dying, you need to get up.”
He gawked at her stupidly for a second.
She rolled her eyes, grabbing his arm and yanking him to his feet. “Now.”
He hissed, somehow still holding the bottle as she forcibly removed him from the bunk. She shuffled him into the hall, pushing him in front of her and herding him forward. She considered taking him to the kitchen, but Kiara didn’t need that right now. She took him by the hand to the office instead. “What–” he said, the word just barely coherent. “Why–”
“Because if you want to drown yourself — fine,” she snapped. “But the rest of us want to live. So get up and help.”
She didn’t mean the first part — she didn’t.
But maybe pregnancy hormones made her mean. Maybe this storm had her more scared than she wanted to admit. Maybe JJ just had always been the easiest scapegoat. Their willing sacrificial lamb.
Maybe she needed to apologize. Maybe she needed to hug him.
Mostly, though, she needed him sober enough to get to shore.
“Come on,” she muttered, dragging him out into the hall. “We’ve got work to do.”
-o-
No matter how many times Pope tried to spin it in his head, the odds just kept getting worse.
The wind was increasing its speed – he could hear it outside, howling relentlessly. He tried to gauge it based on the speeds of hurricane winds back home, but the conflating issue of the waves—
Well, the swells were out of control. He could feel the pitch of the boat, and he wondered how far it could go before it passed the point of no return. Once the boat was overextended, capsizing was inevitable, and the hull would fill with water and they would be done.
It would all be done.
And that assumed they made it that long. The force of the water – combined with the directionality of the wind – might be enough to compromise the integrity of the hull. It was a free ship; Rafe had procured it – somehow. They hadn’t given it a proper inspection. They had no idea of it was actually seaworthy or a floating death trap and–
“Hey!” Cleo said, nudging him. “No sleeping on the job.”
He startled, back to the task at hand as he flushed the engine. “I’m not sleeping,” he muttered. His jaw twitched as he looked around. “The only person who could sleep through this is JJ, and he’s not been sober in a week.”
It was a joke.
Not a funny joke, but Pope wasn’t a funny guy.
“But seriously–” Cleo started to say.
But Pope shook his head. “I don’t think the ship can last much longer.”
At that, her brows knitted together. “What?” she said, and her laugh was short. “I’m not sure the ship has much choice.”
He wasn’t exasperated – exactly.
He just – didn’t have the time for this.
They didn’t have the time for this.
“Cleo, that’s not how this works–”
She drew herself up, mouth flattening. “I know,” she said. “But I don’t know what we’re supposed to do about it–”
“I mean, we could try not denying it–”
Cleo’s eyebrows immediately went up. “Since when has that been our approach to anything on this trip?”
He felt his cheeks burn. “John B–”
“I’m not pointing fingers,” she said, cutting him off.
He shook his head, even as the ship groaned again. A sure sign of obvious metal fatigue. The seams would be at risk. The portholes. And once they took on water–
“Okay, okay,” she relented, yielding to the arguments he hadn’t had to verbalize. “I’ll give the ship a once over, okay? See where we’re standing and if we’re taking water.”
He blinked at her.
She poked a finger at him. “But you have to keep clearing this motor, yeah?” she said with a decisive nod. “Can you do that?”
The situation was too dire to be insulted.
Mostly.
“Of course I can,” he said.
She glanced around again, eyeing the metal hull warily. “I’ll be back.”
“I mean, it’s not like I’m going anywhere,” he quipped.
Her wary expression only deepened as she took off, catching herself on the wall as the ship dipped to the side once more. He made a note, as if he might forget. She was a special person. The right kind of smart.
The right kind of confident.
The right kind of everything.
The ship shimmied this time, and he swallowed reflexively as he flushed the engine, trying not to do the calculations on the values of metal strain.
If she believed it, then maybe it was possible.
The waves tipped them again and he forced himself to breath.
He stopped doing the calculations. Just for a moment.
And let himself believe.
-o-
JJ barely felt coherent, but really, that was fine. An improvement, really.
What good was coherency anyway?
To him?
To anybody?
Sarah yanked him down the hall and it was only as he stumbled after her that he got a niggling idea that something might be wrong. He couldn’t place it – not quite–
But the boat rocked – hard.
There was thunder.
“Wait,” he said with a frown as she half threw him into the office. “Is there a storm?”
Her incredulous look suggested that maybe he had already been told this.
And that possibly a little coherency was preferable.
“Just – shut up,” she said, shaking her head. “And start battening things down.”
Half-drunk like he was, he couldn’t put up much fight. Not that he had the willpower for it anyway. There was no point.
And what right did he have anyway?
To anything?
To even be here? With them?
He was a piece of shit, and they all knew it. If they chose to drag his pathetic ass to Morocco then — whatever.
His resolve was fleeting. He didn’t fight Sarah as she dragged him to the office, but as soon as they got there, he knew he couldn’t. She set to work immediately, locking the cabinets and loaded loose gear into crates. JJ watched, blinking numbly, like he’d forgotten how to exist.
Like he wasn’t sure he was here at all.
Maybe he was still in bed.
Maybe he had jumped off the deck the other night.
Maybe the cops had shot him. Maybe Luke had finished him off. Maybe his body was in the crypt, rotting alongside his mother’s.
The thought unsettled him. He blinked a few times as Sarah adjusted their supplies to another crate with undue force. Outside, the waves rocked them, and JJ took a drink just to feel his throat burn.
He was alive, he reminded himself.
This was real.
He saw Sarah bend over – picking up a few more things – and he reminded himself that she was pregnant.
At least, he was pretty sure he hadn’t imagined that.
Or, like, hallucinated it. Suffered from alcohol poisoning. Died and gone to limbo.
Whatever.
Guiltily, he bent over, picking up a few things himself. His coordination was off, though. And with the boat tipping – he dropped them again. Alcohol splashed on the ground.
“Shit, JJ–” Sarah said, quickly nabbing the things he’d lost control of. “What the hell?”
His cheeks burned and he slunk back, sitting on the couch.
It was fine.
He wasn’t helping.
He didn’t need to help.
Sarah had it well in hand anyway. She didn’t need him.
At this point, no one did.
When Cleo bustled in, looking all business, he took a long, hard drink. Cleo certainly didn’t need him. She never had. She was instantly superior than him in every way. If he had just drowned when he fell off the Coastal Venture, she could have taken his spot. The Pogues could have remained their little five-person clique. Seamless.
Better than seamless.
They wouldn’t be here.
Pope would be in school. They would still have money. They probably would have rebuilt the Chateau and just – done – whatever.
Anything.
They could have done anything without JJ.
“Is everything okay?” Sarah asked, watching as Cleo went to the walls. She pressed against it, running her hands along the sill.
“No leaks?” Cleo asked.
Sarah gave the room a glance, almost like she expected the walls to burst.
JJ wouldn’t have been surprised.
“No,” Sarah said. “Are we worried about that?”
The look on Cleo’s face suggested they were very worried about that.
She pinched her expression, though, picking up a few supplies for Sarah and crating them.
“Well, I think we’re worried about everything,” she said, and her eyes passed around the room and settled on JJ.
He took a drink.
“Have you seen Kiara?” Cleo asked – notably to Sarah. Not to JJ.
Sarah wet her lips, still working frantically. “Galley still,” she said. “We’re trying to salvage what we can.”
He could go help her, JJ thought dimly. He could still help them.
He could do something. Anything.
Nothing.
He couldn’t do anything.
That was his mistake. That was the fundamental flaw. He’d let himself believe he could be of some worth. He’d let himself think he could be a benefit to them.
If he’d just listened to Luke.
If he’d just learned the lesson from Groff.
If he’d just heeded the advice of every teacher, every cop, every adult. Heyward, Mike, Shoupe.
He would have figured it out.
To quit while he was behind.
To quit before he ever started.
Just to quit.
The waves were too high. The wind was too strong. JJ’s mistakes were too pressing, too severe. They couldn’t be undone.
Jonah?
Was a prophet of God. Chosen.
He didn’t have to do it right. He didn’t have to be good. He was already worthy – by default.
JJ?
Was nothing.
He was worse than nothing. He was a problem. He was a hindrance. He was an anchor around their necks, an albatross circling their lives.
Giving up, he slumped back down. His bottle of whisky was sadly empty, but there was a can of beer just sitting there. He cracked it without thinking, ignoring the glare Sarah gave him.
She could be annoyed.
She just wasn’t going to be surprised.
There was no sense in giving anyone false hope – about himself.
He took a drink as Sarah shook her head and kept working. “Where are the–”
Cleo already had them – the ties she handed to Sarah. “Batten down anything that moves.”
Sarah didn’t need to be told twice, and Cleo was frowning at the trickle of water starting to come in by the window. JJ took another drink, picking up the metal star. Why this was on the boat? He didn’t know. Drug dealers, though. Had fun toys.
He flicked it like a fidget spinner, a fatalistic way to pass the time.
“Can you please do something, JJ?” Sarah asked. “Please.”
The please was a nice touch.
It almost sounded like she thought he might be able to contribute. Like his very existence wasn’t the reason they were going down.
He didn’t see the point. He couldn’t play-act anymore. The bets he’d made on himself were short-sighted and stupid, and the only person surprised by that was him.
JJ didn’t need an abusive father. JJ didn’t need one that tried to kill him.
No, he could ruin things all by himself.
He picked up the beer and took a drink.
Because whatever.
Then Sarah plucked it from his hands. “Give me that,” she huffed. “Just–”
She grunted, putting the crate she was working on in front of him, like he could do something useful. Like he could be productive.
She didn’t wait for a response, at least. But he heard her, under her breath to Cleo, across the room. “I don’t know what else to do.”
About the ship sinking? About the storm?
About the pathetic piece of shit that was known as JJ Maybank?
Cleo eyed him, and he felt her gaze coolly. “Hey, rude boy,” she called. “Group activity.”
He frowned at her, not sure why Cleo of all people would play a game of bullshit.
Not for him. For Sarah, he supposed.
He picked up a can – for Sarah.
And another – for Sarah.
The ship threw him forward, almost face first into another bottle. He picked it up with a smirk.
He got up, lurching with the ship as he cracked it open. Sarah gaped at him, and Cleo frowned.
He just waved the bottle at them. “I’ll make sure this one is stowed, okay?”
He didn’t wait for a reply as he staggered out of the room.
They didn’t call after him this time.
That was just as well, JJ figured as he made his way back to the bunk. They could see what Luke had seen. They could see what Groff had known all along.
JJ – despite all his attempts and pleas – had never been worth it.
-o-
The ship’s structural integrity was suspect, Cleo concluded with a brief examination.
And so was the Pogue’s.
It would be a guessing game to see which one gave first: the hull or them.
She nodded after JJ soberly. “Should we go after him?”
Sarah sighed, looking completely defeated. She shrugged, shaking her head. “I mean – he’s not going to help–”
“But is he safe?” Cleo asked, more to the point.
The obvious answer was no. JJ was not safe. Not to himself, not to them. JJ was a ticking time bomb at this point, and they’d let the timer count down to nothing while wiling away the journey.
“I mean, right now?” Sarah countered, almost in resignation. “None of us are safe.”
That was a fair point, Cleo mentally conceded. “I guess we just don’t leave him behind.”
“Never,” Sarah said, like it was a given. “I mean, we’d never leave him behind.”
It was the line they couldn’t cross; the unforgivable point of no return.
It would violate the core of P4L, everything JJ stood for.
A week ago, it would have seemed impossible.
Now, Cleo wasn’t so sure. When shit got real, when life and death was on the line – people changed. They made choices they shouldn’t make. They compromise the things they thought mattered most.
“Well, let’s hope it doesn’t come to that,” Cleo said, pursing her lips a little. She drew a breath in through her nose, looking around with concern as the ship continued its almost nonstop motion. Even from here, over the sound of the storm and the waves, she could hear the engine struggling. “I need to get back.”
Sarah’s eyes widened a little.
“We can’t leave Pope with the engines,” she said with a little shrug. “The man is great with the human body. Not as good with the mechanical. If JJ were sober–”
Sarah made a face. “Yeah, you go.”
The ship lurched, a particularly strong motion, as she made her way back out, catching herself on the wall and ignoring the sound of groaning metal. The thunder outside hadn’t abated, and she made quick work of the rest of the journey.
Just to find things worse than when she left.
Pope was standing there, flushing the engines with a kind of desperation that suggested panic.
Bordering on near incompetence.
“What are you doing, man?” Cleo asked, pushing him out of the way.
“They’re getting sluggish!” Pope retorted, voice strained over the growing distortion from the mechanical components.
“Yeah, because you have to baby them,” Cleo muttered, running the process again – but with a little easy touch this time. Everything shuddered, and she felt the engine churn – almost painfully slow.
“I think they need more than babying,” Pope countered.
“They just need a magic touch,” Cleo said, starting the process again.
But as her fingers touched the controls–
There was a crack.
A spark.
Cleo jolted.
And everything went black.
-o-
So, logically speaking, being in the water? During an electrical storm?
Was a bad idea.
However, they were on a boat. In the middle of the Atlantic.
They didn’t have much choice in the matter. They were here; it was storming. The simple, practical tasks to avoid not sinking the boat were 100% in order.
Pope was quickly discovering, however, that logic had its limits.
You would think he knew that by now. He’d been a Pogue long enough. He’d endured countless years of John B and JJ and their poor life choices. He knew, okay? When John B said, let’s hunt for treasure. When JJ threw away nearly all of their money on a piece of shit property in the Cut.
It was just – logic was so compelling. It was a comforting thought process. It was his default.
And in a hierarchy of needs, maybe it was sensible to not worry about the lightning.
Not when the wind and waves were trying to do them in first.
But at the crack – the bang–
Everything sparked.
He felt it, like a shock in his system, Tingling down his spine and vibrating in his fingers. A split second, a moment of clarity. Clear illumination to just how much they’d screwed up.
It was all there, after all. The plain truth, of just how many mistakes they’d made. JJ was an easy scapegoat – a willing one, too – but they’d all made their choices. They’d all chosen this path. They’d all played their part. It had always been a group effort. Always.
The moment lingered, caught in the flash-bang, before everything went horribly, painfully silent.
He blinked, letting the sound of his own heart remind him he was alive.
In front of him, Cleo was standing at the engines – dumbfounded.
It took a beat.
Then another.
He realized two things, in quick succession.
First, Cleo was okay. She was safe and she was okay. She was okay.
Second, the power was out. The latest round of lightning had been a direct hit. The surge must have fried their electrical systems. Which meant no lights. No engine.
The third point came belatedly with a dull, certain logic he couldn’t circumvent.
Without power, they were dead in the water. In calm waters, this wasn’t necessarily a death sentence. In rough seas? With the swells still rising?
It meant they had no control. They had no ability to navigate.
It meant they were screwed, plain and simple.
They were screwed
He blinked.
She blinked.
And as he was still mentally processing the total depths of the disaster, she reached back toward the electrical panel with renewed frustration. “You piece of shit, bailing on me now!”
“Hey!” he said, grabbing her arm. “You just nearly got killed!”
She jerked back. “And we’re all going to go down without engines!”
“Exactly!” he yelled, shaking his head. “Cleo, it’s done!”
She glared at him, brows furrowed. “We have to try–”
He yanked her harder. “Cleo,” he said again, firmer now as the idea took hold. As the irrefutable logic became impossible to forfeit. “It’s. Done.”
Her eyes widened – the protest written on her face – before her gaze settled.
And the realization dawned.
Settling heavily with the same understanding.
For a second, she seemed to falter. Her shoulders falling as the resignation took hold.
Just for a second. She looked broken. She looked young. She looked second.
But it hardened. She lifted her chin and shook her head. Because Cleo? Was the strongest, most bad-ass woman he had ever met. Too smart, too capable, too everything. He loved her; he did.
“We have to buy as much time as we can,” she said, reaching for the engine again. “We have to try something–”
Too stubborn.
Reckless and unbridled. Sometimes, Pope felt like he was dating JJ with the way she solved problems with a blind tenacity that ran counter to common sense and obvious reality.
JJ was too far gone, maybe. Pope didn’t know how to drag him back.
But Cleo?
“Yeah, like getting life vests and looking for a good place to jump,” he said.
She huffed, barely looking at him. “I’ll stay. You go.”
Right, since he was going to let her go down with the ship.
He hadn’t let the cops shoot JJ.
He wasn’t going to let Cleo go down either.
“Cleo,” he said tersely as the ship careened hard, the force of gravity throwing them off-balance together. “That’s stupid!”
She caught herself quickly. “That’s loyal!” she retorted, fighting with the controls even as the boat lurched further, listing badly on its side.
He rolled his eyes. He loved Cleo, but sometimes she was impossible. “I appreciate the effort – we all do – but the ship is expendable,” he said, taking her by the arm and pulling – insistently now. He took her by both arms and looked at her – really looked at her. “You’re not.”
Because he’d made that stand for JJ.
He was crossing the damn Atlantic.
All the things he’d done.
The ship could go down. The treasure could crash and burn.
But Cleo? The Pogues?
“You never will be,” he said.
This time, she stilled. Even as the ship rocked. Even as the thunder rolled and the lightning crashed. Even as the waves lapped the boat and everything tilted.
Even then.
She looked at him.
And he looked at her.
The no-love club. The no-goodbyes club.
Pope and Cleo.
Cleo and Pope.
Logic and instinct. Reason and passion.
Everything.
She nodded, then. “We better go, then,” she said, eyes still locked on his. “Because we’re running out of time.
-o-
There was something kind of ironic about it all.
John B being at the controls.
Of a ship that was dead in the water.
The storm hadn’t abated; if anything, it was getting worse. The waves, the wind. The rain and thunder. All illuminated by another flash of lightning.
It was his call, all of it.
And there wasn’t a damn thing he could do.
He was steering a dead ship.
The metaphor was apt.
The metaphor was damning.
As the boat pitched and John B felt it all slip away.
Chapter 18: CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Notes:
I have very specific thoughts about what the storm represents for these characters and how it's not the turning point the show tries to tell us that it is. The show wants us to believe this is rock bottom. I think the Pogues -- and JJ especially -- have a long way to fall. My endgame is to fix everything -- it is. But with things THIS messed up, it's not easy.
I really, really appreciate everyone who reads and reviews. I've been continuing to work on the second part of this fic and it's coming along but a bit slow. So hearing from others about what's working and fun really does help keep me going. Thanks you!
Chapter Text
-o-
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
-o-
Cleo hadn’t been a Pogue as long as most of them. For her, it was a choice.
She liked it; she liked it a lot.
But she wasn't stupid about it. She wasn’t blind to it all. The Pogues were messy and inconsistent; they weren’t always the most sensible bunch. They were more talk than action, more often than not, and sometimes they were adorably – frustratingly – naive.
Yet, it was times like this when Cleo got it. It was moments like this when Cleo knew she’d made the right choice to throw her lot in with the likes of them. It was how she knew this was where she belonged, her family.
Because when it counted? When it really mattered?
They always came together.
Always.
She let Pope grab her by the arm, pulling her out of the engine room. She followed him, step by step back to the lower deck. Water was pouring in now; the lights were gone.
They had to move; they had to move now. Pope had grabbed the safety gear, and she pulled on the life jacket as they continued to trudge upward. The ship felt dead as it lulled, and the precarious unease was enhanced by the silence – the empty hull, the lifeless shell, as the storm battered.
They hadn’t had a chance, had they?
They finally made it up, where Sarah and Kiara were trying to find refuge as well. “The galley’s a mess!” Kiara yelled over the groaning metal.
“The office!” Sarah said, pushing them inside.
“Where’s JJ?” Pope asked over a peel of thunder.
“Sleeping,” Kiara answered, voice taut.
“Should we get him?” Cleo asked as they tried to get situated.
“Not until we have to,” Kiara said, her jaw set.
Until they were going down, it seemed.
That was either fatalism.
Or optimism.
At this point, they looked kind of the same.
“And John B?” she asked, trying to find a steady position as the ship listed heavily and the water soaked through her shoes.
“On deck, I hope!” Sarah said. Her brow was furrowed. “But what are we going to do?”
“We might be able to ride it out,” Pope said. He swallowed, even as a fresh leak spewed water in. “If the storm can pass.”
And to think, Cleo thought, Pope was the logical one.
“Well,” Cleo said. “We’ll have to make it work, one way or another.”
Because Cleo knew. This was all family was, in the end.
Not blood. Not sacrifice.
Just the people you chose.
The ones you chose to live with.
The ones you chose to go down with.
The ones who would stay by you, even until the very end.
-o-
It wasn’t like things hadn’t been bad before.
They had; things had been very bad.
Kiara had been kidnapped. She’d nearly been drugged at a wilderness camp. She’d hitched a ride to South America with a drug dealer. She’d spent time lost at sea before being kidnapped by a kingpin. She’d been cut off from her parents and she’d watched her boyfriend emotionally implode.
So she was no stranger to bad.
But this?
This was bad.
All this time, she’d felt like she was drowning metaphorically.
Now the storm raged outside and she wasn’t sure it was entirely a metaphor anymore.
Cleo had given up on the engines. Pope had pretty much resigned the fate of the ship. Sarah was sitting there, in obvious shock.
She knew they’d agreed to wait. She knew they’d decided that the path of least resistance was the best option for JJ.
But JJ was her boyfriend. The love of her life.
She needed him safe.
She needed him here, with her.
She needed him.
But before she had the chance to explain that choice, there was a different sound. Beyond the wind and rain – beyond the waves and thunder–
“Help! I’m down here!”
Rafe, she remembered.
He was easy to forget about. She had other, bigger concerns.
Next to her, Sarah’s eyes widened.
Pope, though, shook his head. “Don’t let him out–”
Cleo made a face. “But if we’re going down–”
“We can’t let him drown,” Sarah interjected, voice laden with emotion.
Kiara got him, bracing herself carefully. “It’s fine,” she said. “What’s he going to do now anyway?”
“I mean, I can think of a few things,” Pope ventured.
“Well, you can punch him later,” Kiara said, trudging to her feet against the force of gravity as the boat tipped again. “Once we’re all not drowning."
If there was an argument to be made, it was lost in the ship – which was currently being ripped apart around them. It was surreally precarious, and she tried not to think about it. The force of the wind, the depth of the ocean – coming in, crashing down on all sides.
Like they’d ever had a chance.
Jaw tight, she staggered to the bathroom, fumbling to open the door through the changes in gravity and onslaught of water. She braced herself on the frame, and Rafe was sitting there – soaked and frantic.
And pissed as hell.
“Cut me loose!” he demanded, holding up his bound hands. “Come on!”
The amount of water pouring in through this porthole was more than a little disconcerting. No wonder Rafe sounded stressed.
“Okay,” she said, trying to get her shit together. Her fingers tightened on the scissors, crossing over to him as she waded through the deluge.
“Come on!” he said, more insistent now as he shook his hands at her.
It was just cutting enough that she hesitated, looking at him.
Rafe wasn’t a good person, she reminded herself. Every good thing he’d done was for selfish gain. He’d nearly killed JJ in the Enduro. He’d beaten up Pope. He’d tormented all of them, and she wouldn’t forget the way he treated her during her Kook year.
Not to mention he tried to kill Sarah twice.
He murdered Peterkin and set John B up to take the fall, no regrets. No apologies. Nothing.
She looked at him, eye to eye. Just so it was clear.
Just so they both understood.
“Don’t make me regret this,” she warned.
As if she didn’t regret everything.
Rafe was in no position to argue. His silence was acquiescence, and there was no time to bicker about it anyway. He would drown if they stayed here. They all would.
She used the scissors, trying to keep herself steady as she worked at the ropes. The ship tilted, the metal letting out a horrible, keening sound.
“You good?” she asked.
It was a dumb question.
And she didn’t care about the answer.
More water was flowing in, and she wondered if her dad would put I told you so on her headstone.
If he’d bother to bury her.
If there was anything left to bury.
She looked at Rafe, the fear settling to something certain in the pit of her stomach as she got to her feet and handed him the scissors. “You can do the rest.”
He watched her go, incredulous. “Where are you going?”
“I need to get on deck,” she said.
Because if she was going down – if they were going down – then she wanted to see it coming.
She couldn’t control her own destiny, perhaps.
But maybe – just maybe – she could face it on her terms.
-o-
There was nothing he could do.
John B looked at the controls, trying to contrive something. He thought about going down to the engine room. He thought about tripping the electrical breakers. He thought about pulling out the wiring and just doing something, anything, everything.
But there was nothing.
He couldn’t do enough. And he sure as hell couldn’t do it fast enough.
The idea of it was horrifying, but John B couldn’t process it. Standing there, looking at the storm as it consumed them, he just felt numb. Like this was how it had been all along.
Maybe JJ was right.
Maybe this story had always been a tragedy.
Maybe the ending had been written from the start.
The wind picked up, a fresh blast of water. So strong, so sudden – and the window broke. Glass shattered, and the sheer force of it sent him falling back. He hit – hard – and he thought to himself dimly.
There were worse ways to die.
But shit.
He couldn’t think of them right now.
-o-
JJ was trying to sleep, for the lack of something better to do. He knew the others thought he was an asshole. They were right. He was an asshole.
So there was no point in pretending otherwise.
He’s always been an asshole.
The fact that they saw it now was oddly liberating.
He was ready to check out – to be done.
Fate, on the other hand, didn’t seem done with him yet. The wind was bad. The sound of the waves was bad. The rocking and the shifting and the–
Shit.
The ship listed so hard that it threw him. Drunk as he was – and half asleep – he couldn’t catch himself. He hit the ground – hard. And the suddenness of it was the quickest path to sobriety he’d ever had.
He blinked, trying to get his bearings. He was still holding the bottle and he lifted it to his mouth on impulse, rote repetition.
And stopped.
He was tired of this shit. The alcohol couldn’t numb it. The ocean couldn’t wash it away. Everything was still here. All of JJ’s mistakes – they were still real.
There was a moral in there – somewhere. There was surely a lesson to be learned.
But all he could think about was Jonah.
Like, right? That story wasn’t simple. Jonah didn’t make it simple. He ran away. He went in the opposite direction. And he still got the chance to make it right.
Chance after chance.
Jonah?
He did it right.
He still saved the life of everyone on board with him.
Because he could screw it all up, beyond repair. But he could still do that.
JJ could do that.
“Enough of this shit,” he muttered, throwing the bottle down as he got to his feet.
JJ could do this.
He stumbled as the boat tossed him. He wasn’t quite sober, but it was close enough. He caught himself, tripping his way forward as the waves tipped them again. He pulled himself down the hall to the stairs, catching himself as he made his way up.
The ship lurched more violently now, and he staggered to the door, throwing it open.
He could face the waves.
He could face the storm.
And if he needed to be swallowed by a whale?
Well, he thought as he pulled himself to the stairs, dragging himself up step by step to the deck. Rain lashed his face as the ship veered dangerously in the next swell. Lightning lit up the sky, and the wind made him catch himself on the door frame before he pushed himself through.
It wasn’t suicide if it saved someone else.
It wasn’t suicide if all you wanted was for someone else to live.
It wasn’t suicide – even if part of him — too much of him — wanted to die.
God saved Jonah.
But Jonah was a righteous man. Chosen.
Not like JJ.
Not like him.
So maybe, just maybe, there was no whale waiting for JJ. Maybe the storm was just the storm, waiting to wash him away.
He could hope anyway as the rain lashed his face and he staggered into the wind as the thunder roared and lightning seared the sky.
It was time to throw himself down, helpless to the mercy of an all-powerful God.
To save him from the storm.
Or let him drown forever.
-o-
Sitting there, holding onto the side of the wall, Sarah was struck by a sudden, impossible thought.
This was her life.
This whole trip, ever since she’d seen those two lines on the pregnancy test – she’d acted like it was something happening to her.
But that wasn’t it.
She was an active participant here.
This was her life.
She’d slept with John B. She chose to keep this baby.
This trip was her choice, too. She wanted to be here. She wanted to help her family. She needed to.
She couldn’t control the storm bearing down on them – that much was true.
But she didn’t have to sit here and take it.
She wouldn’t.
The decision was made before she’d even realized it, and even when the others tried to call her back, she ignored them. She’d chosen this.
She’d chosen John B.
No matter what happened, they would face it together.
They would face it as a family.
She wouldn’t leave him on deck.
Not when she had a choice.
The boat rocked violently as she exited, catching herself on the door. Outside, the thunder clapped louder than before, and even below deck, the sizzle of the lightning was palpable.
The others called after her again, but Sarah didn’t listen.
Wouldn’t listen.
Instead, she made her way back to the stairs, using the walls to balance herself as the ship swayed with ferocious uncertainty. She tripped – stumbling from the force of the ocean against the boat – using both hands to brace herself with the railing as she dragged herself up.
Up and up—
She pushed the door open, and the barrage was immediate. The rain was cold – heavy, icy drops – and the wind was so strong that the door was nearly ripped from her hands. She staggered, half blinded by the onslaught, and it was all she could do to shut the door behind her.
Standing there, the weight of it was something she couldn’t fully comprehend. An hour ago, it had been clear skies. Now, the blackness had descended. The swells were raging, the sound of the thunder so loud she could feel it in her chest, reverberating deeply.
This was bad, she thought as she looked out at the sea.
This was very, very bad.
Because she got to make the choice, sure.
But nothing in this universe precluded her from making the wrong one.
-o-
The simple fact was: John B was losing control.
He could fight it. He could whine and posture. He could talk big, have grand ideas. He could deny, deny, deny – even better than JJ himself.
But the storm was too big.
The ship was too small.
He had no power, no direction, no hope.
John B was losing control.
Correction: John B had lost control.
Long before this storm ever started. Before they set sail. Before they lost the land.
In so many ways, John B was still sixteen, begging his friends to find treasure, no matter what the cost. How could he blame JJ for thinking they had nothing to lose?
When he was the one who insisted on it.
When he was the one who guilted him into it.
When he was the one who said it, believed it, lived it.
John B didn’t have control; he never had.
And this? The wind and the waves? The thunder and the lightning? The relentless rock of the boat as they tipped precariously close to the ocean?
Was a long overdue reckoning.
And just when he thought it could get any worse, there she was.
Sarah.
His wife, the mother of his child.
Standing in white on the deck of the boat.
She looked at him.
Their eyes locked.
And John B could only watch as the next wave swept over them, washing her out to sea.
-o-
She hit the water.
Hard.
It was so fast, so sudden, she could barely make sense of it. One second, she was weightless.
The next, the waves had covered her. She blinked, eyes burning from the salt, as she gagged and inhaled–
Her head popped above water, and she was so shocked that she barely remembered to breathe. She coughed instead, water clogged in her sinuses, as she finally remembered to tread. It didn’t help much – not with the intensity of the waves – but she was able to get her bearings enough to see the ship.
It was tossed, mast bending under the force of the wind, tipping precariously from side to side.
The next swell took her under, and she flailed in the whitewash. Kicking hard, she made for the surface. The boat looked farther away.
She screamed. “John B! Help!”
The only reply was the peel of thunder as lightning flashed hot against the sky.
“Please!” she begged, kicking with all she had, even if it wouldn’t be enough. “John B!”
It wasn’t enough.
The storm raged and the next wave pulled her back. She bobbed, desperate to stay afloat, even as the inevitability washed over her.
Because suddenly, it wasn’t her choice any more.
-o-
It was crazy timing. A hell of a coincidence.
He had just closed the door to the lower deck when the wave hit, smashing him hard and fast. His feet went out as he slammed against the cabin, and it was all he could do to hold onto the door handle and keep himself from being swept away. The shock of it was sobering at least.
Divine intervention, maybe.
He got his footing, just barely, in time to hear John B yell. “Sarah!”
And he saw a flash of her white dress as she slipped overboard.
Just like that.
She was gone.
Washed out to sea.
For JJ’s sins.
The weight of it was too much suddenly. This was why Jonah gave himself up. This was why Jonah owned to it. Because having people die? For the things you’ve done? Letting other people suffer? For your mistakes?
John B stood, numb and shell-shocked.
He was too far away.
He was too slow.
It didn’t matter anyway. The sea didn’t want him. God wouldn’t be appeased with that.
It had to be JJ.
He’d stayed alive this long. He’d stayed alive for this.
It had to be JJ.
In the end, Jonah wasn’t a righteous man.
Jonah was a son of a bitch, until the very end.
God used him anyway.
JJ had to hope – he just had to believe – that would work for him, too.
He ran out, reaching for the life preserver. “Sarah!” he called, throwing it out toward her with as much strength as he could. He looked back, to where John B was standing – utterly bereft.
It made the decision easy, in the end.
It wasn’t even a contest.
His life? For Sarah’s? For the baby’s?
Two for one.
Less than one.
He was dumb as rocks, a high school dropout, but even he could figure that one out.
“JJ!” John B screamed, face falling. “JJ, no–”
But JJ knew what he had to do.
He knew what his life was worth.
So he ran, headlong toward the edge of the boat, and then dove head first into the storm.
-o-
It wasn’t possible.
It wasn’t.
The denial that swelled up in his gut was fast and sudden, and he was 15 years old again, sitting in the police station. Peterkin was telling him they were sorry, they were so, so sorry, but his dad wasn’t coming home. All he had to do was sign the papers.
That was what it felt like now.
Not some deep-seated belief. Not some long-standing passion.
A sudden, impossible rejection.
The simple realization that there was a truth he could not – would not accept.
Sarah hadn’t been swept out to sea. She hadn’t.
And JJ hadn’t jumped in after her. There was no way.
Because that wouldn’t work. If he lost Sarah–
If he lost JJ–
If he lost the baby–
His breathing caught, his entire body going numb.
There was nothing he could do.
He knew that, on some level.
There was nothing he could do.
The facts were what they were. This ship wasn’t big enough; these waves were too daunting. They had no power; they were done.
That was it.
Plain and obvious.
But John B?
Wasn’t big on facts.
He didn’t do well with obvious conclusions.
Kiara stumbled out, grabbing the rail next to him as she looked out into the storm. “John B?” she asked, her breath short. “Where’s Sarah?”
The words didn’t come. How could he say it?
How could he tell her that Sarah was gone?
How could he tell her that JJ was gone?
How could he tell her that they had just lost everything.
He reached out, pulling her to his chest instead, wrapping his arms around her.
Because whatever came next.
They had to face together.
-o-
Kiara hit the deck in the aftermath of a wave, watching as the whitewash swept back out to sea. She was soaked immediately, drenched and shivering. She took a breath, keeping her feet, as she pushed forward to where John B was at the railing.
It was weird, she thought. That he was standing there.
Just standing there.
Alone, facing the storm.
She looked out, coming up next to him. A lot of the gear had been swept overboard. The control room was dark and they listed badly in the onslaught. There was something missing, though.
“Where’s Sarah?” she demanded. “John B–”
It took him a moment – a long moment – before he was able to look at her. He looked strange – too pale. Numb. “She’s–” he started and stopped. “She went overboard–”
The words came out numb, and it took Kiara a moment to process them. Her chest tightened as her stomach dropped. “What?” she said, looking out again. “We have to go get her–”
But John B kept a tight grip on her wrist, and he shook his head. “No,” he said, choking out the words. Even through the rain, she could see that he was crying. “JJ–”
She made a face, confusion settling over her. “JJ?”
“JJ jumped in after her,” he said breathlessly. “JJ jumped in.”
This time, the words took longer to process, and longer still to parse. She stared at him, blank for a moment, before she looked out to the sea. “JJ?”
Her boy. Her loyal, pure-hearted boy. Her reckless, stupid boy.
He would risk their future in a bet to save them.
He would throw his lot in with Groff just to give them a chance.
He would burn the town down to get justice for what they’d lost.
He’d do it stupid, he’d do it wrong, he’d do it in all the worst ways.
But he’d do it for them.
He’d been looking for a reason to go under this whole trip.
And this storm – this God-forsaken storm – had just given it to him.
-o-
By this point, Rafe was used to bullshit.
Really, he just was.
In all honesty, he wasn’t sure what he expected when he decided to reconcile with his sister. Had he expected this? To be locked in his own boat? To be held captive on his rescue mission?
To be literally lost at sea with the people he hated most?
To be stuck surviving with the biggest idiots in the OBX – the whole world at this point?
It had been short-sighted, then. Rafe’s entire plan. His grand gesture to make things right with Sarah and get his money back. He hadn’t thought it through enough. He hadn’t made enough allowances for Pogues being Pogues.
But, the good news was, Rafe?
Was really used to bullshit.
Kiara had bolted as soon as he was free. He supposed he was grateful that she’d bothered with that much. It hadn’t been a sure thing, and he knew it. Ever since JJ had knocked him out, he’d been questioning his decision. He still was; he probably owed JJ for that.
But he could knock Maybank out later.
He looked around at the ship as it careened to the side.
First things first, he had to make sure these assholes didn’t sink his boat.
The next wave threw him to the side and he staggered into the wall, pushing himself through the threshold. Kiara was long gone, but as he crashed down the hallway, it became pretty clear, pretty quick.
These assholes had knocked him out and stolen his boat.
And driven them straight into the storm.
Any hope he had of getting out of this in one piece – was slim to none now. The water was sloshing through the lower deck, and the sound of the hull wasn’t good. The lights were long gone. He couldn’t pretend.
They were going down.
And they were going down fast.
At the end of the hall, he caught himself on another door frame. Peeking inside, he was surprised to see Heyward and Cleo.
Pope didn’t look thrilled to see him.
Whatever. He was probably still holding a grudge.
“You should still be tied up,” Pope growled at him.
“You’re still mad because I beat you up?” Rafe said, voice snide. “You sunk Topper’s boat after that. All’s fair, man.”
Pope made a face, nose wrinkling. “No, I’m mad because you murdered Peterkin and let John B take the fall for murder,” he said. “And you burned the cross.”
Right. Rafe had forgotten about that.
The kid could have a point.
Still, it didn’t matter now.
He shook his head. “Look, hold your grudges later,” he said. “This boat is going down, so I recommend getting to the main deck.”
“I don’t need your expertise, thanks,” Pope said, even as the boat’s hull screeched. Fresh water started pouring in from the window.
Cleo yelped, getting to her feet and pulling Pope up with her.
“Fine,” Rafe said, pushing his way through the water back toward the door. “I tried anyway.”
Cleo hissed, sloshing after him. “I think he’s right–”
“But we can’t–” Pope started to argue.
“Pretty sure we don’t have a choice,” Cleo said.
Rafe smirked at her. “And here I thought you were the smart one, Heyward,” he said. “But I guess your girl has you beat.”
Pope glared at him as they caught up, all moving toward the stairs together. “She is smart,” he muttered. The water pouring down on them made it hard to climb, and the metal railing was slippery to grasp. “And you’re still an asshole.”
“I didn’t crash this boat, though,” Rafe said, getting them to the door. “No, you brilliant Pogues did that all on your own.”
“Oh, shut up, both of you,” Cleo snapped. “Save the pissing contest for when we’re on dry ground, yeah?”
Rafe had to concede. The girl had a point.
“Sure thing,” he muttered, pushing the door open. “Assuming we get there.”
And that, he decided as he stepped out onto the deck and saw the storm for what it was, was not a sure thing.
The wind nearly toppled him, the onslaught of rain blinding him as he squinted. The lightning hit the water not far away as the thunder crashed loud enough to rattle his ribcage.
Yeah – that was not a sure thing at all.
-o-
Denial was tried and true for John B. He’d thought it an inexhaustible resource.
He was forced to reckon with the reality, though.
It wasn’t.
Not when you saw it with your own two eyes.
He’d never signed his father’s death papers because there was no body.
But he’d seen Sarah disappear. He’d watched JJ jump after her.
There was no sign of them in the waves.
They were just gone.
And so was his fight. His willpower. Everything.
He could live without Poguelandia. He could.
But he couldn’t live without this. He couldn’t.
If not for Kiara, still tucked in his arms, he might let the next wave wash him out to sea, too. Hell, he still might–
The idea couldn’t formulate, though. Not as fresh voices interrupted him. In the squall, he hadn’t heard them – in his shock, he hadn’t noticed them. Not until Pope was there, shaking him by the arm, and Cleo was pulling Kiara away gently.
“John B!” Pope said, voice loud enough to be heard. “The lower decks are flooded.”
“She’s lost,” Cleo said.
Rafe slid into view, and John B didn’t have it in him to be surprised anymore. “Where’s Sarah?”
“And JJ?” Pope asked, looking around frantically.
Kiara didn’t move, didn’t speak. Like she was hardly still there, and John B’s fingers flexed around her, just to remind himself that he hadn’t lost her, too.
“They’re gone,” he said, because he had to. Because he’d seen it happen. Because he saw everything. “JJ and Sarah are gone.”
Pope stared at him, clearly unable to process it. Kiara buried her face in John B’s shirt.
“You lost them?” Rafe asked, face contorting. He looked out to the water.
The raging sea spun them, the boat tipping nearly uncontrollably as they all grappled to keep their footing.
“What the hell are you doing?” Rafe raged, lunging at him.
John B didn’t fight. He didn’t pull away. Rafe could hit him, beat him into the ground. He could throw him overboard and let him drown, too. It didn’t matter. None of it mattered.
Rafe’s hands fisted into his shirt, knocking Kiara to the side. “You lost my sister? You kept me locked up and lost her?” he demanded. “I could have saved her–”
“There was nothing–” John B started, but the defense never came. “I didn’t–”
Rafe’s eyes were wild, consumed by rage, and John B couldn’t blame him.
Could he?
Rafe was a murderous son of a bitch, but John B was a killer, too. He’d killed Sarah. He’d killed JJ. He had.
The logistics, the hows and whys – none of it mattered.
Nothing mattered.
“Hey,” Cleo said, stepping between them. “We’ll hash that out later.”
Pope nodded in agreement. “They could still be out there. JJ’s a strong swimmer.”
The idea of hope was impossible to grasp. He couldn’t fathom it.
“This boat is going over,” Cleo said, nodding gravely around them. “And we need to be off it when she does.”
“But–” John B started.
“She’s right,” Pope said. “We have no power. We’re taking on water. We don’t have any options left.”
Those spent chances.
Those lost choices.
He closed his eyes. Because he didn’t get an easy out. After all this, he didn’t get an out at all. It wasn’t denial anymore; it was determination.
Maybe it was absolution. What he owed Sarah. What he owed JJ.
What he owed all of them for starting this when they were 16 and never seeing it through to its obvious conclusion. “We might be close enough to shore,” he said finally. He opened his eyes and looked at his friends again with a helpless shrug. “We might make it.”
Pope’s mouth set itself in a thin line, and Kiara just stared at them blankly. Rafe scoffed, barely holding his rage in check, and Cleo took a breath. “Get the safety gear,” she said, dragging them to the storage area. “And let’s do this.”
-o-
There were times in life you just had to make the jump.
Cleo had lived enough of them. The moments that changed everything, the course of your entire existence. The first day she’d committed to Terrance’s crew – that had put her on a whole new life. And then the day she chose the Pogues – no turning back.
Sink or swim.
Both of those instances had been metaphorical, of course.
This, with the raging ocean and the pouring rain, was a bit on the literal side.
Also, it wasn’t much of a choice. If they didn’t jump, they were going down with this ship. Their odds in the water? In this storm?
She knew they weren’t great.
But the odds on this boat?
Were nonexistent. They had to jump. If they wanted a chance in hell of accomplishing any of their objectives, they had to jump. Sometimes, quitting was the only way to win.
“Here,” she said, handing out the last of the safety gear Pope had salvaged. “This is everything we got.”
Life vests. A few life preservers.
They couldn’t bring food. They couldn’t bring supplies.
But if they didn’t drown, that would be a lovely place to start.
“We have to swim due east,” Pope said, making a gesture off into the storm. The lightning flashed, and Cleo thought she could see just the hint of the horizon, some dark silhouette of land, just close enough to pretend they could reach. “The key is to get as far away from the boat as we can so we don’t get stuck in her wake.”
“But don’t push too hard after that,” Cleo advised. She looked at Kiara, who blinked back dumbly. John B she wasn’t sure heard her at all.
“Too long of a swim,” Rafe said, snatching the last preserver from her. “Got it.”
“We’ll regroup on shore,” Pope said. “Remember: due east. We can do this. Really, we can.”
As if the physical reality was the problem. And not the fact that they were two Pogues short. The whole idea that they could survive this jump inferred a simple truth – JJ and Sarah could have survived it, too.
They could all swim due east.
They could all reunite.
They could all go home together.
The storm rocked them, nearly pushing them off the edge. “Okay!” Cleo said, forcing herself to focus. “Who’s first?”
Rafe made no hesitations, at least. He was the most pragmatic of the bunch, which could be useful. The fact that he didn’t care about most of them was generally a problem. It made him a liability that Cleo didn’t have much patience for. But she would use it now.
Because he jumped first, no turning back. She saw him hit the water and start swimming, using the life jacket to keep himself afloat as he tried to navigate the waves.
“Okay!” Cleo yelled, turning back. “You’re up, John B!”
He shook his head, the rain still streaking down his face. The flash of lightning illuminated him, and his grief was plain. “But Sarah – JJ–”
The protests were the same. Shock and trauma and all that. Cleo could appreciate it.
But she couldn’t indulge it; not right now. “They ain’t on this boat either,” she reminded him.
“We have to go, man,” Pope agreed, manhandling him to the edge as they struggled to keep their balance in the tumult. “We’ll be right in behind you. We’ll find them.”
John B looked ready to protest again, but Cleo gave him a grim smile – and pushed him. He caught himself in time to make the fall more graceful, and he hit the water hard, bobbing back up with his life jacket and gasping for air.
He was shocked; he was traumatized.
But the boy knew better than to let himself drown, at least. His survival instincts kicked in as he swam after Rafe. Less sure, less purposeful. Forward progress, nonetheless.
“Okay, girl,” Cleo said, pulling Kie to the edge. “You’re up.”
Another wave rocked them, spilling more water over the deck. It was all they could do to keep their footing.
Which. Cleo could appreciate the irony. Keeping their footing.
When all they needed to do was jump.
“Go on!” she said.
Kiara looked at her, the whites of her eyes huge. “But–”
“Go!” Cleo said, because there was no more time to explain it. There was no more time to justify or cajole.
Sink or swim.
Shit or get off the pot.
Go.
She all but pushed Kiara – who went over with a yelp of protest into the foaming sea beneath them. Kiara flailed – badly – as she surfaced, but her senses were enough that she started kicking.
That was something.
For now, it would be enough.
She looked to Pope. “Now you.”
He took her by the waist, even as the next wave washed over their ankles and they started to slip. “Now us.”
All her sinking.
All her swimming.
She had never had someone to make the jump with her before.
Despite it all – the boat, the storm, their missing friends – it still made her smile. The no-love club. The no-goodbyes club.
She’d be in any club with Pope, for the rest of her damn life.
“We do it together,” he said, giving her a nod. And a kiss.
She kissed him back. “Always.”
And they both jumped off the edge.
-o-
For the past week, Rafe had been locked up in a small, small space.
It had been frustrating to say the least.
Granted, being dumped overboard in a raging storm wasn’t a great alternative, but it was an alternative. Rafe would take it.
It put control back in his hands. It gave him back his agency.
Sink or swim, it was his call.
And Rafe? Had no intention of drowning.
Not for revenge.
Not for absolution.
Especially not for these Pogues.
He swam – hard. Adrenaline was a hell of a thing, and he had questions about his decision to save the Pogues – he did. But he didn’t have any hesitations about saving himself. For 15 strokes or so, he swam hard, unyielding and head down. The waves buffeted against him, but he had enough momentum, enough motivation. He cleared the boat within a minute, and he turned back, treading water in the deluge to take stock.
Of where he was going – sure. He’d been locked under deck for a week. His sense of direction would need a second, especially without sun and in the dark.
Of where he’d been – okay. The boat was a lost cause; he knew that at first glance. He knew Barry had made out well in their trade but damn. This trip was costing him more than he could possibly gain monetarily.
As for the rest–
He scanned the water and the bobbing figures he could see. John B looked okay. He hadn’t made it as far, but he was clear. Turning himself around, looking frantic. Every time he tried to yell, the sound was choked off by the water. He was a lost cause, too, Rafe reflected dimly.
A little further to the side, he could make out Pope and Cleo. They were bobbing together, side by side. They were kind of a cute couple, honestly. In a Pogue kind of way. But then, he’d always thought Pope was too smart for this bullshit – so maybe not.
He kept kicking, scanning the scene once more. The boat – still going down. The rain – not abating. The storm – a damn mess. He looked for some sign of Sarah, but he couldn’t see her. If she wasn’t with John B–
He spit out saltwater as a wave rocked him.
Well, then maybe she really was gone.
There was no sign of Maybank either, for what it was worth, but he could just make out Kiara. She was drifting, barely afloat on the waves. She was being pulled away from them.
He looked toward John B, thinking to yell.
But the idiot wasn’t listening.
And Pope and Cleo were too far away.
He looked back at Kiara, watching her go under – and struggle to come back up. When she bobbed again, her effort to stay afloat seemed even less impressive. Drowning didn’t have to be frantic; usually it wasn’t. Most of the time, it was quiet. You just slipped under – and were gone.
By the looks of things, Kiara Carrera?
Was probably going to drown.
John B was too lost. Pope and Cleo were focused on each other. These assholes had already lost Sarah and Maybank.
It technically wasn’t his problem. It wasn’t.
But Kiara had cut him loose. He was here because of her.
So fine. He’d be the hero, then.
Someone had to be, it seemed.
And it wasn’t going to be them.
He set out, strong strokes across the choppy sea. He ignored the wind, the rain. He didn’t pay attention to the seawater in his face or the lightning across the sky.
Rafe Cameron was making amends, damn it.
Even if he had to subdue the whole damn ocean to do it.
-o-
Kiara felt like she was drowning.
Funny enough, it had nothing to do with the waves. It had nothing to do with the saltwater in her face, burning down her throat and searing up her sinuses. It had nothing to do with the swells over her head, or the way the life vest made her bob in the whitewash.
No, Kiara was drowning.
Without JJ.
It wasn’t even shock anymore. It was the weight of it. The way it all crashed down, like a cresting wave. Washing them away, churning them through. Until they couldn’t come up for air. Until they never washed back up to shore at all.
When she went under again, she stopped trying to come back up. She stopped kicking; she stopped fighting. If JJ could quit–
If JJ had quit–
Then she was done, too.
She was done.
But then, strong arms wrapped around her. Gripping around her waist and yanking her up. She broke the surface before she could process it, her body gasping for air as she sputtered. She coughed, the salt burning in her sinuses, blinking away the sea and the rain. In a flash of lightning, she saw her rescuer.
Strong arms pulled her up, pulled her back. She gasped, spluttering, looking up to see–
Rafe.
His face was set and hard, and he barely glanced at her. “You going to try swimming now?” he asked, voice cutting as the water swept them forward again.
“I have to find JJ–” she said, voice faltering as she took in a mouthful of saltwater and looked back over the waves.
Rafe tugged at her. “He’s not here–”
It sparked inside of her, a flicker of denial. “No–”
As her body tensed, Rafe’s grip tightened. “You’ll never find him–”
She struggled, flailing against his hold. “But – if I leave him–”
“It’s better to drown with him?” Rafe asked.
For a second, all she could do was stare.
The surging waves. The thunder overhead. The flash of lightning, illuminating the scene around her. Her friends in the water, the boat going down. Rafe Cameron holding her up.
And JJ, nowhere to be seen.
All this time he’d been trying to go under.
Something hard, like an anchor, formed in the pit of her stomach as she thought he’d finally gotten what he wanted. He’d finally done it; he finally had it.
Leaving her with nothing.
Nothing.
Rafe sighed, hoisting her a little more as he kicked them away from the crash. “Come on,” he said, simple and matter of fact. “Help me out and swim.”
It was pointless to try.
But it was equally pointless to resist.
As they pulled through the waves, away from the wreck, the shore came into view. Bobbing distantly in front of them, too far and close enough. She swam, keeping stroke for stroke with Rafe, unable to feel her arms, unable to feel her legs.
Unable to feel anything at all.
-o-
The water was rough, each swell more punishing than the last. He took in mouthfuls of seawater, the salt like fire in his sinuses as he struggled to keep his head above the water.
It felt like a losing battle as the rain continued to fall and the wind lashed against him. He could see Rafe keeping Kiara up, and Pope and Cleo locked together as they were rocked in the melee.
The boat was nearly done for now, listing on its side as water battered it and the waves pushed it to its breaking point. Another wave washed over him, pulling away from the others, but he didn’t care.
He didn’t know how to care.
He’d lost Sarah. He’d lost JJ.
What else mattered?
The sense of inevitability, more than anything, drowned him in the next wave as the boat churned, groaning as it lilted beyond the point of no return.
It capsized with a crash, but the noise was nearly lost in a rumble of thunder and the hull surrendered to the elements at last.
Kiara screamed, thrashing in Rafe’s arms. Pope and Cleo pulled away harder, and there was nothing John B could do anymore.
The boat was gone.
JJ was gone.
Sarah was gone. His baby was gone.
The future he was fighting for, the life he was trying to salvage, it was all gone.
The life vest kept him buoyed up, but it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered.
The storm raged on, and John B acknowledged for the first time how helpless he was against it all.
Chapter 19: CHAPTER NINETEEN
Notes:
Shall we see the Pogues make it to shore? This was another part of the show that felt very rushed, and like we could have had a lot more character depth. So, I've spent some time with it, and we'll see where everyone is at. For me in particular, although JJ has a bit of a turnaround here, it's not the turnaround I think the show was trying to make us think it was. JJ's learning some lessons, but they have all the wrong implications, and just because he gets more functional, doesn't mean his mental health is actually any less destructive. He's really not okay.
Thank you for everyone who read and comments! That's the best part of this, you know? There's no other reasons to stay in fandom at this point :)
Chapter Text
-o-
CHAPTER NINETEEN
-o-
Well, Pope thought as he kept the water moving beneath him. That was the end of that.
Cleo was keeping pace next to him, having drawn John B close – just for safekeeping. Rafe had Kiara, holding her up, and all they could do was watch.
As the ship went down.
Above them, the sky was clearing. The waves had started to die down as the rain trickled to a stop. The horizon was in sight again, and when he turned around, he could make out the shore. That was their way forward; that was their next step.
He could see it, their way out.
Pope could see everything.
Everything but JJ.
Everything but Sarah.
Everything but the things that mattered most.
-o-
JJ knew the odds, okay?
He was just one kid. One idiot kid. A moron who had made more mistakes than he’d done things right. He’d ruined everything – all of it. And here he was.
Bobbing in an angry ocean.
With nothing but a life preserver.
And the keen, painful understanding that he still had something to lose.
Sarah’s face was dunked beneath the water again before she spluttered back to the surface. Her face etched in panic. The baby in her belly–
John B’s baby.
JJ had everything to lose.
He was hungover, to say the least. Probably still a little drunk, if he were being honest.
But he wasn’t being honest. He hadn’t been honest, not really. He hadn’t been honest about any of it, not since he stole the last of the gold and bet it on himself.
They kept asking if he was okay. And he kept saying he was fine.
Like he hadn’t been thinking of drowning long before he jumped off the boat.
It didn’t matter. His lies didn’t matter; his truth didn’t matter.
All that mattered was them.
All that mattered was her.
Swimming hard, he harnessed his adrenaline. He held his breath as much as he could, ignoring the facefuls of saltwater as he cut across the sea toward her. He snagged the life preserver on his way, dragging it with him as he crossed the rest of the distance.
“Here!” he yelled, holding it out to her. She reached for it, but struggled – going under again.
He was quick to react, snagging her by the arm and dragging her up again.
“Hold onto it,” he said, helping her get her arms through it. “You have to hold onto it!”
Her only reply was a cough, something wet and gargled, and he saw her consciousness slip.
“Sarah!” he all but screamed now. He came around, trying to hold her to it, wrapped around her to keep them both afloat as she sputtered. Another wave washed over him, and she gagged, and he felt his chest twist.
She wouldn’t be here, if not for him.
She wasn’t supposed to be here.
“Sarah,” he said, and it was hard to say why his eyes were burning now. Why everything burned. “Please. You have to hold on.”
She was too weak, though. Her grip was failing, her eyes drifting shut. The next time she went under, she wouldn’t have the strength to bring herself back up. She would drown.
He knew it. He knew it.
Because JJ knew a thing or two about drowning.
As long as you kept your head above water, you would be okay. He had to keep his head above water. For Sarah’s sake.
For John B’s. For the baby’s.
The next wave threw them back, and Sarah cried out as he was pulled beneath. He flailed, trying to right himself in the whitewash, gasping as he surfaced again.
“JJ!” she said, voice cut off with a mouth full of water instead.
The rain pelted him. The waves had blinded him.
But he could still see her.
He had to see her.
“Sarah,” he said, trying to push himself forward.
Because he had thought about drowning. He had wanted to drown.
Drowning would be easier.
He was pulled under again, deeper. Hard.
He swallowed saltwater, choking on it as he surfaced.
There was no whale down there.
There was nothing to save him.
He kicked his way back, stroke by stroke to where Sarah was faltering, struggling to stay afloat. “Hey!” he yelled. “You have to hold on. Hold on, Sarah!”
She gagged. “JJ–” she spluttered. “JJ, please–”
The only whale – the thing that had swallowed him whole – was his own selfish desperation.
And if it were just him, he’d go down.
This time he would.
But it wasn’t.
Sarah lost her grip in the next wave, the life preserver slipping away from her. It was out of reach within seconds as the sea tossed her – and hard.
JJ fought against the swells. He fought against the storm.
He fought against himself.
And fate itself.
Until he found her. He pulled her into his arms, held her up. He propped her up against him, resting her head on his shoulder, kicking his feet for both of them.
For all three of them.
“I got you,” he promised. Despite himself, it was all he could promise. “I got you, Sarah.”
And despite the rain. Despite the waves. Despite all the mistakes JJ had made.
Sarah still believed him.
-o-
It was funny, Sarah thought dimly. She’d been here before.
Yes, she’d been lost at sea. Swept overboard in a violent storm.
You would think, given her previous experience, this would be old hat.
But this storm was strong; they were farther from home. Sarah was older, but not wiser, and she knew she had everything to lose.
She had a husband.
She had a baby.
And she couldn’t.
Between the constant movement of the waves and the steady fall of the rain, exhaustion had overtaken her. She no longer had the energy to keep fighting. She no longer had the strength to keep her head up.
It didn’t matter. She didn’t go under again.
JJ kept her up, her head above the waves. Her legs had long since given out, but he didn’t stop kicking. He held her, wrapped tight to his chest as he swam, using his free hand to pull them both through the water.
He swam until the rain stopped. He swam until the sky started to clear. He swam until the waves grew gentle. He swam until there was sand beneath them. Coarse and gritty and real.
She fumbled, her feet beneath her before her legs gave out. She flopped, face first into the waves, and the force of the water pulling back was almost too much for her tired body.
She didn’t hit the ground, though. JJ caught her, pulling her up before she could take in any more water. He dragged her up, and when she flopped, he shifted her weight, hoisting her up into his arms. The bridal carry was appropriate, given her ruined dress. He was the wrong guy, maybe, but he was so secure, so safe, so certain–
There was nothing she could do but let her body go limp, head cradled against his shoulder as he trudged up the beach, pulling both of them to dry ground.
Then, and only then, did he go down. Settling her gently on her back, he held her by the shoulders until she looked up at him. With the eye contact, he seemed to deflate, and he crashed heavily to the sand next to her, almost collapsing entirely for a long, weary moment.
For that moment, there was nothing to say. There was nothing to do.
Above them, the sky was already clearing – the first stars twinkling overhead. The water had grown quiet, the waves easy as they lulled in the background – a far cry from the tumult they’d just barely survived.
Her breathing was still strained – the force of moving air in and out of her lungs a little foreign – and she tipped her head back to the sky, trying to even it out. JJ sat up, looking at her with renewed concern.
“Sarah?” he asked, fumbling his way back to his knees. “Are you okay?”
She was going to speak – to assure him that she was – but she coughed, bringing up seawater instead. When she managed a wet breath, he was looking at her intently.
“Shit,” he said, brow deeply furrowed. “How much water did you take on? Can you breathe? Sarah?”
She nodded, weaker than she intended, but mustering up a smile anyway. “No more than you,” she said.
This didn’t seem to be the answer he wanted. He reached up, brushing her hair back. “Are you hurt anywhere else? Did you hit your head–”
“JJ–” she said, pushing his hand back and sitting herself up a little more steadily.
“Is the baby okay?” he pressed, as if he hadn’t heard her. “Sarah–”
“I’m fine, I’m okay,” she said, stilling his hands. “Just – exhausted–”
“But the cold,” JJ started, his frown deepening. “And if you have water in your lungs. Shit, Sarah–”
He seemed ready to go off, but she couldn’t quite keep up. In fact, she was ready to lay down and just sleep until she got a better look at him.
Not the paleness of his skin or the bags under his eyes.
The stain on his shirt.
Fresh with blood.
“JJ,” she said, breath still tight. Her limbs felt too heavy to lift yet, but she nodded at him. “You’re bleeding.”
He looked genuinely confused, almost like he couldn’t parse her words at all. “What?”
“Your wound,” she said, this time mustering up the strength to reach for his wet t-shirt, plastered to his side. “It’s bleeding.”
Finally, he blinked, looking down. It seemed to take him a moment, looking at the red stain with his eyes blank. He picked at the shirt, plucking the wet fabric away from the wound. He wasn’t quite able to hide the wince that colored whitewashed features.
Sarah reached up, taking him by the hand, and pulled him down. He didn’t resist her now, almost collapsing back to the sand with such suddenness that it seemed impossible that he’d been standing at all. As it was, he was too stunned to stop her as she eased him back until he was just barely propped up on his elbows, peeling up the hem of his shirt to see the wound underneath.
No doubt, the last hour had nearly wiped her out. She was exhausted, physically and mentally. Her body ached, and she felt fuzzy around the edges from the sheer exertion of it all. The ocean had been relentless, and if not for JJ, she knew she wouldn’t be here at all.
He had been unwavering, strong and sure.
Laying here on the beach, he was anything but. She had no idea how he’d done it; how he’d kept her alive.
Or maybe she did.
Because he was spent.
He kept her alive by holding nothing back for himself.
Even now, in the wan moonlight, his skin looked waxy and his eyes were dim. He was almost fading away – just like he had been ever since they left the OBX. That was it, wasn’t it?
It wasn’t a shipwreck. It wasn’t being lost at sea.
JJ had been treading water a lot longer than that. He’d been struggling to keep his head above water ever since Groff came back into his life, ever since Poguelandia was lost.
Who was she kidding, though? She didn’t know JJ as well as some of the others, but she knew this. Everyone on the OBX knew this. JJ Maybank had been treading water his entire life
Ever since his mother drowned and Chandler Groff handed him over to Luke Maybank.
It was like another wave, crashing over her. She stood, numb to it, as she forced herself to swallow. Blinking a few times, she looked back at the wound and focused.
She couldn’t fix everything. None of them had even started, had they? This whole trip they’d been waiting for JJ to snap out of it, and JJ was just trying not to drown. They hadn’t asked him about his dad. They hadn’t asked him about his mom – or Luke or his grandfather or Goat Island. They hadn’t asked anything.
But they’d been quick to tell him to shape up. To help out. To buck up.
It occurred to her only now that they’d been assholes.
Waiting for someone to swim – when they were already going under.
“This doesn’t look good, JJ,” she said, studying the wound as best she could in the dim light.
He didn’t bother to look up. Instead, he made a face, reaching his hand up weakly to push his shirt back down.
She shooed it away. “I’m serious,” she said, looking closer now as her fingers ghosted over the ruined skin. “Have you even been taking care of this?”
It had been – what? A few days?
She had seen a glimpse of the wound early on, when Kiara and Pope were cleaning it and wrapping it. Jagged and deep, the puncture had cut into the fleshy part of his side. She’d seen the blood and felt queasy. She’d trusted the others to handle that part.
But now it was just her – and JJ. JJ had saved her life already tonight. The least she could do was attempt to return the favor.
“It looks infected,” she said with a frown, getting closer to try to see. Even in the night, it wasn’t hard to see that the skin was badly discolored. The opening was still raw, and when she touched it, it felt slightly warm
He hissed, lifting his head just for a moment. “It’s fine.”
“No, it’s not fine,” she said, frowning as a fresh trail of blood seeped from it, along with a thick substance that looked suspiciously like pus. “Shit, JJ, we need to clean this out and bandage it.”
“No,” he said, trying to push himself up. “It’s fine – I’m fine. We have to take care of you – the baby–”
He made an attempt now to get all the way up, to lever himself upright. She wasn’t sure what he was actually thinking he might accomplish.
It didn’t matter.
The moment he shifted, what was left of the color in his complexion drained away. His eyes had already been a bit clouded, but they seemed to gloss over entirely now, and she barely had time to react as his eyes rolled back in his head and he slumped limply to the sand.
She yelped, trying to catch him, but she was too slow. He hit with a dull thud, splayed lifelessly beneath her. “JJ?” she said, turning her attention to his face now. She tapped his cheek, feeling her panic rise. “JJ!”
As his head lolled to the side, she saw his breathing catch. With a gasp, his eyelids fluttered again, and he groaned weakly. It took a moment for them to open, and as he looked at her, his eyes were still half-lidded. “I’m fine–”
She couldn’t help it. This time, she actually rolled her eyes. “Yeah, you sure look fine,” she told him sardonically. “The whole infected wound and passing out thing – totally selling it.”
His brow furrowed for a second as he failed to parse her words. She sighed, taking a little pity on him.
“We need to take care of your wound,” she said, gentle and clear now. “Then we’ll see if we can get you back to fine.”
He was just out of it not to disagree, but she had to admit – it felt like a tall order. For starters, they were literally washed up on shore with nothing. She had no supplies – not even a bandage. Taking care of the wound was going to be easier said than done.
But more than that, JJ hadn’t been fine for a while. The entire boat ride had been an unmitigated disaster, and JJ was probably still just hungover or drunk.
Which was stupid, right?
JJ was stupid.
For the drinking. For shooting at the cops. For riots and races he couldn’t win. For all of it.
That was an easy bottom line, but that didn’t mean it was right.
Because motivations mattered.
She knew that better than any of them. Her own father had looked the part all her life – but his motivations were shit. He’d done all the right things for the wrong reasons, and it had nearly destroyed everything.
JJ wanted to do good. He wanted to do the right thing.
He just – well, shit. He didn’t know how.
How could he? With Luke Maybank as a father, what chance did he have? What experience would tell him anything about how to do things right?
They all needed JJ’s crazy plans until they didn’t. They needed JJ to be their comic relief until the laughing stopped. They needed JJ to be everything they wanted on demand.
Heaven forbid he couldn’t keep it up.
That wasn’t what unconditional love was. Sarah had to know that now, more than ever. For her own baby–
The thought of her baby made her stomach twinge. She had to hope the baby was safe after everything. She didn’t feel any different–
She couldn’t think about that.
She had to take care of JJ first.
“I’m going to clean it out now,” she said, waiting until he looked at her again. “The salt water should work. But, it’ll sting.”
His brow furrowed.
She bit her lip. “It’s going to be easier if we move closer to the water.”
She didn’t need to ask. He was pushing himself up again, but when she offered to help, he leaned into her. She tried not to show how heavy he was, bracing his weight as they limped back to the shoreline into the shallows. He was panting heavily, clutching his side with his head tipped forward weakly.
“Okay,” she said, licking her lips as she steady them both. “And down–”
She eased them down, onto their knees. JJ hit first with a cry, his whole body shuddering. She held onto him for a long moment, waiting until he seemed to steady, before she reached down into the waves lapping their legs and cleaned her fingers.
Then, she unwound her arm from around him and lifted up his shirt. He shuddered again, but didn’t flinch away. “Sorry,” she said. “But we have to–”
She took the water in her palm, pressing it to the wound. JJ yelped, his entire body going rigid, and she hated herself for it – but she didn’t stop. She pressed her fingers to the wound, feeling along the break in the skin with enough force that she felt her own stomach turn. Gritting her teeth, she got as close as she dared, making sure the worst of the blood and pus were clean away until there was nothing but clear water weeping down with a fresh handful of salt water.
When she was done, she peered up at JJ’s face. On his knees, he had gone almost entirely rigid, face just barely composed. He looked ready to break, and for a split second, she had no idea how he was doing it. How he was holding himself together, keeping the disparate pieces from scattering. As if he was just another piece of debris, washed up on a foreign shore.
“Hey,” she said, reaching up to brush his bangs back. She cupped his face gently for a moment. “You with me?”
He inhaled sharply, and she could see the ways his eyes burned. “I’m sorry.”
“For what?” she said. “This isn’t–”
He looked at her, though, lifting his head. His eyes were clearer again, and the pain on his face was vivid. It wasn’t just physical either – she wished it was. That she could treat.
This–
What was really eating away at JJ–
She had no idea.
None of them did.
“I was an asshole. On the boat,” he said. He swallowed hard, his countenance nearly breaking as he took a ragged breath. “I’ve been such an asshole.”
She could hear the tears he wasn’t letting himself cry, and her own guilt churned. The drinking wasn’t about screwing them over.
The drinking was about numbing his own pain.
It just wasn’t working.
“JJ–”
His face broke for a second, and he just barely caught the sob. “I never should have done this,” he said. “I never should have gotten you involved. Not any of you, but especially not the baby–”
“JJ–” she started.
But he wouldn’t stop now.
“I ruined everything, I’m sorry,” he said, the words in a rush now as he gasped for air. “I should have just gone through with it. Run at the cops, and let them take me out. I shouldn't be here–”
He said it so fast that it took her a second to catch up. She froze, going still. Pope had told them JJ was suicidal, but she hadn’t thought–
She’d thought it was an exaggeration.
She hadn’t actually thought–
But he looked at her, utterly crushed as his face crumpled again. “I saw my grave, Sarah,” he said. “I should be buried with my mother on Goat Island and none of this would be happening. None of this–”
The revelation wasn’t probably shocking, but she was still ill prepared. She had known JJ was going to the family crypt on Goat Island. She knew he’d seen his mother’s grave.
But his own.
That there had been one for him.
While she and John B were running off to get married.
JJ was facing that.
Alone with Groff.
No wonder he crashed out.
Shit, she had no idea how he was even keeping it together.
“I’m sorry,” he said again, dissolving into tears now. His head fell forward, his entire body racked with the sobs. “I’m sorry–”
She reached out, wrapping her arms around him. She pulled him close, pressing his head down to her shoulder. “Stop–”
He stiffened, caught in her hug. “But–”
“Stop,” she said again, more forceful now as she held him tight. She could feel him, just on the verge of resistance, as his heart thudded painfully against her.
She didn’t let go. She didn’t ease up.
He could only last so long, after all.
Before his posture eased and he relaxed into her, burying his face in her shoulder he sobbed in earnest. She didn’t say anything as he cried – horrible, racking sobs – and she held him until they tapered off, her fingers threading through his wet hair until she felt the tension ebb from his body and his heart return to its normal rhythm.
When she was sure he was done, she held him longer still. He made no effort to move, tucked against her, and she eased back reluctantly. “Hey,” she said.
He didn’t make a reply. He didn’t look at her.
“Hey,” she said again, soft but firm as she lifted a hand to cup his chin. He allowed it, not resisting as she raised his face to hers, ducking herself down to make eye contact through the wet mess of his overgrown bangs. “Look, we all messed up.”
He caught his breath, trembling. He shook his head, ready to protest.
She drew a breath, though, and beat him to it. “With the land, the business, the money,” she said. And then, even gentler. “Groff, too. I’m sorry we didn’t stay with you. You begged us to stay together, and we didn’t — I didn’t listen.”
His eyes widened, and he shook his head. “No—”
She pressed her finger to his lips. “We all knew he was sketchy, and we made you go alone,” she said. She exhaled, her guilt hard to parse. “To your mother’s grave. God, JJ. That must have been awful.”
His gaze skittered away again, as he trembled. “I mean. It was — I’m fine.”
The denial was so weak that it hurt to hear. She dropped her hand, squeezing his fingers. “No, you’re not,” she said. “How could you be? Your mother. Luke. And Groff. JJ, he tried to murder you.”
They all knew it, but none of them seemed to say it. As if not saying it made it less real.
But it was real.
And JJ had to live with it, even if they didn’t. It wasn’t fair to expect that of him.
“No one could be okay,” she continued, willing him to look at her again.
He lifted his head, just barely making eye contact.
“I mean, my last mental crisis, I went off and slept with Topper,” she reminded him. “And John B lied to all of us about everything.”
JJ’s brow creases. “But his dad had just come back. And you came back to nothing. And—”
“And that’s the point,” she said. “We weren’t okay. And right now you’re not okay. And that? That’s okay.”
The answer seemed to vex him. He was good at making excuses for the rest of them.
And terrible at cutting himself any slack.
The problem was, the rest of them were the reverse. They made excuses for themselves, but held JJ accountable for everything. Because JJ made bigger mistakes. Because JJ made stupider mistakes. Because JJ didn’t know how to do anything in half measures, including failure.
If he was going down, he’d do it with a flaming mess every time.
And they would let him, arms crossed with righteous indignation, because who could be that stupid? Who could be that selfish?
Someone who was that broken.
JJ couldn’t even be selfish. He didn’t know how. You had to give yourself some value to be selfish. JJ didn’t. JJ still thought he was worthless. It wasn’t selfishness.
It was just weird how extreme selflessness without limits or common sense could look exactly the same.
Exactly like this.
Broken and bruised, JJ had pulled her from the waves.
Sarah owed him the same in return.
“And what’s broken, can be fixed,” she promised. “Maybe not exactly like it was, but we’ll fix it. As long as we’re together. We can fix it.”
He looked at her, like he didn’t dare to hope. He couldn’t bring himself to argue at this point, but the tenacity of hope was still too much for him. “I don’t know if I can,” he admitted. “I don’t know why you want me to. I mean, maybe you’re better off—”
She frowned, face darkening. “Hey,” she said, harsher now. “We’re not better off. Not without you.”
His expression turned pained, and not from the festering wound. “But the baby—”
His voice was weak, twisted and barely audible.
She shook her head, unflinching now. “Needs an uncle,” she said. “A godfather.”
The need in him was so strong. He almost pulsated with it, desperate to find his place with them again. But he seemed to stop himself, to catch himself. “But how—”
“How?” she asked, scoffing now. “Taking care of people is second nature to you.”
He looked uncertain.
She bobbed her head at him keenly. “Come on,” she said. “Did you see what you did just now?”
He didn’t answer.
She jerked her head out to the ocean. “You literally jumped off the boat and saved my sorry ass from drowning. Then, you dragged me all the way to shore.”
“It was nothing,” he said.
“I couldn’t do it,” she said flatly. “I’d be dead without you. My baby would be dead.”
That much made him hesitate, and he looked down from her face to her stomach. She let him, pulling her hands back and letting him see. There wasn’t any bump, of course. But he reached out his hand anyway. Slow and tentative, but she nodded. He still looked afraid, she took his hand and pressed it to her belly.
“John B’s baby,” she told him, her hand smoothing over the top of his as she held it there. “The one that will call you Uncle JJ.”
He looked shaky, but it seemed to steady him. Just a little.
Just enough.
“You fixed this,” she said simply, because it was true. “So you can fix the rest of it, too.”
When the doubt crept in, she didn’t let go.
“We can fix it,” she said. An invocation, maybe.
A promise.
He nodded finally. Small. But true.
“Good,” she said, giving his fingers one more squeeze. “Now let’s take care of that wound, okay? We have to find our way back to the others.”
-o-
John B hated it, somehow. The sand beneath his feet. The weight of his own shoes, finding purchase on solid ground.
He hated it.
Because when he turned back, he could see the ship as it went down. He could see Kiara, falling to her hands and knees, retching up seawater. He could see Pope and Cleo, propping each other up. He could see Rafe, staggering up onto the beach.
Sarah wasn’t there; JJ wasn’t there.
And John B hated it more than he had ever hated anything before.
They were gone.
He’d lost them.
It was just – ironic, right? He’d set out on this journey to save them. To save everything.
Just to end up with even less.
They all reamed JJ out after the Enduro, for making a reckless bet when they had everything to lose.
But that was John B’s play. It had been since they were sixteen. He’d been the one to start this. He couldn’t pretend like this wasn’t his idea on some level.
That this wasn’t the precedent he himself had set.
He could remember it, JJ asking if he was out of his mind.
I don’t care who’s trying to kill us.
And now JJ could be dead.
Sarah could be dead.
His baby–
He crashed to his knees, unable to keep going. Unable to keep moving.
He’d told JJ they had everything to lose, but why hadn’t he lived like it? Why had he let himself forget? Why had he not taken JJ by the arms and asked him if he was out of his mind?
It wasn’t about blame – shit. It wasn’t about blame.
But that was all he’d done. Blame and blame and blame. He’d buried JJ with it.
As if it was any surprise that he had gone under and not come back up.
To save Sarah.
He closed his eyes. He couldn’t look at the sinking boat. He didn’t care about the last of the dark clouds, dissipating on the horizon. He didn’t care.
“Hey,” Pope said, voice wet and ragged. “We need to move up the beach. Get someplace dry.”
The words were plain and simple – and John B couldn’t process them at all. Not even a little.
But he didn’t have a choice.
The weight of inevitability was like the force of the ocean on the shore, grinding and pulling, breaking everything down until it was nothing. You could only fight it so long before it won.
He opened his eyes, sighing long and hard. The ship’s downward descent was painfully, mockingly slow as it gave itself up to the depths. Half consumed by the waves, the fading storm made a violent portrait, and he looked to his friends again. Cleo propping Pope up; Rafe helping Kiara to her feet.
But Sarah wasn’t there. JJ wasn’t there.
He looked down the beach and turned north – but nothing.
Nothing.
“Hey,” Pope said again, taking him by the arm and giving him a little shake. “We should move up the beach.”
Next to him, Cleo wiped the water from her face, still dripping from her hair. “The sooner we dry off, the better,” she said.
“And we can make sure Kiara’s okay,” Pope said, jerking his head forward. “Come on.”
He let Pope drag him a step forward, but his chest tightened. “But Sarah–” he said, looking back toward the ship. The water was calm again, and deceptively so. Like it hadn’t just swallowed his wife. And his best friend. “And JJ–”
Pope’s face was grim, and he seemed to blanch.
Cleo prodded them both. “Wherever they are, it’s not here,” she said, as reasonably as she could. “We’re not going to be able to find them if we don’t get ourselves safe and dry.”
He could still see Sarah, waving for help, her face pale with terror.
And JJ with that fleeting look, that knowing resignation, before he jumped in after her.
Nothing to lose.
Or everything to give up.
It didn’t matter.
“She’s right,” Pope said, softer still. “We have to focus on one problem at a time.”
John B laughed. Like straight up, laughed. “The only problem that matters is that we’re down two friends.”
“I know,” Pope said. “But it’s a simple logical progression. We can’t find them until we figure out where to look. We can’t figure out where to look until we take stock. We can’t take stock until we’re safe and dry. So let’s go.”
Pope could keep his logic. Cleo could keep her common sense.
“I can’t leave them,” he said, but even as he mustered his determination, his voice cracked.
All the things he’d thought he’d known.
And he was standing there, realizing he knew nothing at all.
What was best for Sarah. What was best for JJ.
Or had it always been what was best for him?
John B had a selfish streak.
He did.
“We’re not leaving anyone,” Cleo said. “We’ll stay in sight of the coast. Maybe get to high ground? We’ll have better visibility, yeah?”
He followed her gaze, up to the banks above the ocean. She was right; she had a point. He wet his lips and swallowed. “We’ll find them?”
Cleo nodded. Pope braced his arm.
“We’ll find them,” he said.
She smiled – something small and delicate. “Pogues for life, yeah?”
The easy catchphrase. A simple saying.
And John B had never thought about it, what it meant.
Pogues, sure. For life, okay.
Pogues, he thought numbly as he started after them up the beach toward Kiara and Rafe. In death.
-o-
“I have to go back,” Kiara said, even as Rafe dragged her a few more steps up the shore. She turned her head back, looking out over the waves – to the boat, sinking on the horizon. To wherever JJ had to be.
Rafe’s grip tightened. “I just pulled you out of there,” he grunted, heaving her up the sand and half throwing her down. “So you’re not going back.”
No one told her what to do.
Not her parents, not her teachers.
Certainly not Rafe Cameron.
“No,” she said, voice cracking as she yanked her arm free. “JJ’s out there–”
“Yeah,” Rafe said, grabbing her arm again and pulling her – hard. “And Sarah, too!”
Kiara stumbled, hitting the sand on her hands and knees. She was panting, hair dripping and eyes burning. And Sarah, too.
To lose her boyfriend.
To lose her best friend.
She squeezed her eyes shut, shaking her head. She coughed, choking up a mouthful of water, throat still burning. “They can’t be gone,” she said.
The sound of the surf half drowned her voice, but Rafe lingered close.
“We have to go back,” she said again, but without the vigor this time. Just broken as she craned her neck to look up at him.
He looked back, hesitating. Something mean darkened on his face – but he seemed to let it go. She watched as he pursed his lips, exhaling after a long moment. “Either they made it or they didn’t,” he said, shrugging.
It wasn’t indifferent – but it carried a note of resignation.
Maybe regret.
“We’re not going back out,” Rafe said, his voice firm – even as his expression seemed to soften.
The defiance swelled, gurgling in her gut. She wanted to scream; she wanted to cry. Finally, she flopped over, landing hard on her ass as she shook with a sob she refused to acknowledge.
JJ and Sarah.
Sarah and JJ.
Sarah.
JJ.
Out in the ocean, the ship was going down. Sinking along with all her hopes and dreams. She’d come here to save everything.
Now, sitting on these shores, it felt like she’d lost it all.
“Look,” Rafe said, adjusting his stance as he postured. “We should go get with the others.”
She looked from the water down the shore. She could see John B, Pope, and Cleo in the distance – moving toward them.
“Why?” she said, as the next wave came up far enough to soak the bottom of her shorts again.
“I don’t know,” he said, shrugging. “What else are we supposed to do? You’re in so deep–”
She shivered, the chill on the wind finally getting to her. She closed her eyes, breathing heavily through her nose for a long second before she looked at him again. “No turning back?”
“Either we go home with nothing,” he said. “Or we try to salvage something from this shit show.”
A last resort.
The bottom line.
Double or nothing.
Anything.
“Come on,” Rafe said again, and this time he offered his hand.
She hesitated, eyes flicking out to the fading outline of the ship and the stilling sea. Her skin was covered in goosebump, and she shuddered now, gritting her teeth.
Sarah. And JJ.
She looked at Rafe’s hand again and took it, letting him pull her up.
Because what the hell else was she going to do?
-o-
For all that they’d endured over the last week, Pope thought getting to high ground really shouldn’t have been that hard. It was literally a short walk. After running from the law, losing everything, crossing the Atlantic, and being shipwrecked – it was nothing.
Except John B was in shock. Kiara kept crying. Cleo was quiet and Rafe was – well, Rafe.
And really, getting to high ground was just solving one problem. It was a chance to get dry and collect their thoughts.
As in, what the hell were they going to do next?
What the hell?
The boat was a loss; there was no way to tell how far they were from Essouira. By his rough calculations, they were in Morocco, so that was something. But that was the extent of what he knew.
He didn’t know where they were precisely. He didn’t know where Groff was. He didn’t know where the crown was. He didn’t even know if Sarah and JJ were alive.
The math wasn’t good. The facts were bleak.
Sooner or later, they’d have to face that.
But–
Pope looked out at the ocean and bit his lip.
He wasn’t sure he was ready for that.
And John B? Kiara?
They certainly weren’t.
“We should get back on the water,” John B was saying, pacing back and forth.
“They could be alive, right?” Kiara asked, looking at Pope.
When Pope looked away, he heard her half cry.
“Right?” she said again, even more desperate than before.
“We have to go back,” John B repeated, even more insistent. “This is bullshit–”
John B’s denial was going to be a problem. Pope knew John B. He knew how good he was with denial, how it had grounded him for years during his father’s disappearance.
It was a problem.
But before he could intervene, Rafe decided to make it a bigger one.
“Oh, now you’re going to call bullshit?” Rafe asked. He scoffed from where he was sitting, half lounged against the sand. “I mean, that’s rich.”
Pope’s mouth went dry. Shit
John B stopped pacing, looking at him in full. “What the hell are you talking about?”
Rafe sat up a little, his shrug deeply callous. Very, very Rafe. “Just you, acting all worried about it now.”
John B’s eyes glinted, and Pope steeled himself for what was coming. “I am worried about it now–”
“Then why the hell did you drag them out here?” Rafe demanded. “You dragged my sister across the ocean? For what? So Maybank can get out of jail?”
Pope didn’t dare speak, eyes flitting to John B.
Kiara was watching, blank.
Cleo was braced.
And John B looked pale. Stricken. “Shut up.”
Rafe didn’t shut up. He got to his feet, stepping closer to John B. If Pope could remember how to move, he would have intercepted.
But he wasn’t a man of action, in the end. He was a thinker, a planner.
In the heat of the moment, he locked up. He froze.
He never could pull the trigger. That was JJ’s job.
But JJ wasn’t here.
“Funny, Maybank’s dead, too,” he said, sneering at John B as he loomed large. “You killed him along with my sister.”
John B tensed, and before he could lunge at Rafe, Cleo was quick to drag him back a step. “Hey, hey,” she said. “It’s not worth it.”
Rafe still looked ready to push it, even as John B retreated – more hurt than angry.
Pope finally stepped between them. “For you either,” he said. “And besides, we don’t know they’re dead.”
Rafe turned away, rolling his eyes up to the sky. “You, too?” he said, throwing his arms out and pointing to the ocean. The boat was gone now; sunk beneath the waves. The storm was nothing but a smear of dark clouds, lost deep on the horizon. “You’re the smart one.”
“We got to shore,” Pope argued. “They might have to.”
Plain, simple logic.
Facts.
Rafe shook his head. “Then, where are they?” he asked, and he gestured down the long, empty stretch of beach. It had been quiet – all but abandoned.
Not a single sign of life since they washed up.
“We can see for miles,” Rafe said. He turned and shook his head at them. “They’re dead. You all and your stupid plans killed them.”
John B surged forward a step, and Cleo just barely caught him. Kiara stood up, too, now, shaking her head. “We can’t give up on them,” she said.
“We don’t have a choice,” Rafe said.
“You don’t know that,” Pope told him flatly, stepping in front of him again.
Rafe’s eyes burned, though, his posture stiff. “I know enough,” he said. “I know you are all selfish and stupid and blind and–”
John B was shaking now. In grief. In anger.
Pope didn’t know.
He just knew it wouldn’t hold.
None of them would hold at this point. “Shut up,” John B seethed at Rafe.
Rafe stepped closer, his chest bumping into Pope to budge him out of the way. “Who’s going to make me?”
“Shut up,” John B snarled
And there were no more calculations.
There was no further need to analyze.
As John B tore out of Cleo’s grip and threw a punch, right at Rafe’s jaw.
-o-
Cleo had been in tight scrapes before. Most of her life, honestly. She didn’t know how to avoid them. She was, however, good at surviving them.
You kept your cool. You kept it under control.
You did exactly what they were not doing right now.
Fighting each other wasn’t a question of right or wrong. It wasn’t about whether or not it was justified. She agreed with John B – she did. She wanted to punch Rafe, too.
But it wasn’t going to help.
Not them.
Not Sarah and JJ.
“Hey!” she yelled, trying to wedge her way between them.
It wasn’t exactly a success.
Both men were still exhausted from the swim – not to mention emotionally spent. Punches went wide, and they were still wet enough that their attempts to tackle each other weren’t really going anywhere.
“Hey!” she yelled again, grabbing the first limb she could find and yanking. It was John B – and she wrenched him by the arm. Pope had thought to grab Rafe, and they each dragged them back. Rafe turned toward Pope and shoved him – hard. And John B made a half-flailing swing at her before he saw her.
And his whole face just crumpled.
Just that fast, the anger turned to something broken, something raw.
She didn’t want to call it grief.
Because she didn’t want to call this a loss.
Not yet.
He collapsed, though, burying himself in Cleo’s arms, and it was all she could do to catch him and hold him while sobs shook him.
From across the way, Rafe was standing – chest heaving and face fuming for a long, hard second. But as he watched, he seemed to understand. The tension drained from his shoulders and his hands fell limp as Pope let go.
On the side, Kiara made no movements at all, but her eyes were red, too. And the wet streaks on her face may or may not have been from the ocean and the rain.
When John B finally settled, he stepped back, turning stiffly back to the group. He looked at Rafe; Rafe looked at him. Neither made a movement, and Cleo eased her way between them once more. “Look, whether we like it or not, we’re stuck together,” she said, looking between them with slow, careful movement.
Rafe’s jaw was locked; John B’s eyes were still bright. Their eyes locked for a precarious, uncertain second.
“We aren’t helping anyone this way,” she said, letting her own breath finally unfurl from her chest. “I’m just saying, I think we have better things to do.”
She looked from Rafe, letting her gaze settle purposefully on John B.
“We can’t help them this way,” she said, softer now. Her eyes flicked to Kiara. “Can we?”
The last of the fight evaporated from John B, and she saw Kiara swallow hard as she took a breath she barely kept in check.
“That’s the thing, though, right?” Rafe said, shaking his head as he took a step back and shook his head bitterly. “There’s no one to help. Not since you assholes decided to crash and kill my sister–”
The emotion spiked, but John B was past anger. Kiara turned away. And Cleo felt her breathing catch in her chest.
Not in denial.
She knew better.
She thought it, too.
God help her, she thought it, too.
Pope took a ragged breath, though. “Look, we don’t know that,” he said. “I’m not saying the odds are great, but we’re here. That storm was survivable. They were both alive the last time we saw them.”
It wasn’t bad logic; Cleo knew that.
It was just hopeful logic.
And hope?
Wasn’t one of Cleo’s fallback plans. It had let her down too many times.
“JJ’s the strongest swimmer of us all,” John B added, his voice hoarse.
Kiara took a shaky breath, too, lifting her head. “He wouldn’t let her drown. He wouldn’t.”
Cleo clenched her teeth together, biting back her own doubts. She saw Rafe inhale through his nose, pressing his lips down for a long, hard moment. “So, what, then?”
“We wait,” Pope said. “We stay here. The vantage point is good so we’ll keep a watch up and down the beach.”
“And just hope they show up?” Rafe asked, voice dripping with obvious skepticism.
“JJ will come for us,” Kiara said, her voice sounding more certain now.
“He’d bring Sarah back,” John B added.
It wasn’t that they were wrong, and Cleo knew that. She knew Sarah; she knew JJ.
But she also knew that people weren’t invincible. She knew that fate wasn’t kind. She knew some things were just too much.
And JJ had been drowning long before he jumped in the water.
But Cleo wasn’t spoiling for a fight.
Survival was about keeping your head in stressful situations. Keeping your cool. In the fact of conflict. Even in the fact of hope.
“So, let’s set up a camp,” she said. “See what we have to work with. Start a fire; catch some fish.”
“And some of us can walk the coast,” Pope suggested. “If we follow the ridge, we’ll have more visibility.”
“It’s something,” Cleo said, and she looked at John B. She looked at Kiara.
She looked at Rafe.
Each of them, one by one, nodded.
It was a truce, then.
Uneasy and uncertain.
But better than nothing.
“Come on, then,” she said, nudging John B and taking Kiara by the hand. “Let’s do this.”
-o-
Logistically, JJ knew he’d been in worse situations. He just had; it was a simple fact of life. JJ’s entire life was a logistical nightmare, and the truth of his parentage only confirmed it. JJ was never in the right place at the right time, and his presence tended to make things worse for everyone.
The sense of fatalism that came with that revelation was daunting. Truly, it was.
But he’d jumped off the boat and the whale hadn’t swallowed him. He wasn’t dead.
So, he had to make do with what he had.
For Sarah. For her baby.
For all his friends.
The debt he owed was one he’d never fully repay. But he had to do something.
Getting Sarah out of the water – that was just the first step.
Now, he just had to figure out what all the next steps were.
To get her back to John B, and to get them all back – safe and sound – to the Outer Banks.
“Are you sure this is the right way?” Sarah asked, after hiking for several minutes. Behind them, the empty beach stretched, long and dark. The waves were constant, washing away their footprints. Ahead of them, was nothing but sand.
JJ shrugged, looking around to get a sense of things. He tried to keep on – he tried to keep steady – the ache in his side, notwithstanding. It was better since Sarah bandaged it, but it still felt like shit. “I mean, this is north, right?”
She bit her lip, looking unconvinced. “How do we know we’re supposed to be going north?”
Well, that was a question. One he was just sober enough to answer now.
“We were headed north,” he said. “The last heading inputs I saw. To the northeast.”
She nodded as they continued on. They’d given up their shoes, carrying them instead. The sand was cold beneath their toes, growing numb in the surf. But the wet shoes would only make their feet chafe. “Should we head inland?”
She was doubting now. Herself. JJ.
Everything.
And not without reason.
JJ would doubt him, too.
But there was a simple reality here. “They’re going to have to make it to shore one way or another,” he reasons. “And if they’re looking for us, this is where they’ll start. Sticking to the shoreline is the only thing that makes sense.”
She nodded again, somehow less confident than before.
He wanted to reassure her, but he didn’t know how. Honestly, what was he supposed to say? That it was going to be all right?
They had been washed out to sea. They were stranded.
More than that, they were broke. Homeless. On the run.
He’d been stabbed. He let his fingers ghost over his side, even as he suppressed the urge to shudder.
Sarah was pregnant. His gaze went to her belly – still flat. But he knew it was different.
He looked at her again, frowning with concern now. “Are you okay?”
She blinked a few times before she looked at him. “What?”
He didn’t like how pale she looked. The darkness – the moonlight – it seemed to wash out her complexion. And the wet strands of her hair hardly helped.
Her skin – too pale.
Her lips – a little dark.
He reached out, wrapping his arm around her. “You’re cold.”
She shuddered, as if she was just realizing it for herself. “The night’s cold,” she said, voice low.
“And we just took the worst kind of swim,” he muttered. “Shit, Sarah, you need to rest–”
“I need John B,” she said, a little stubborn in return.
He shook his head. “We should rest.”
Her brows turned together. “You just said we needed to find the others.”
“We do,” he said. “But you’re cold. You probably swallowed water. That’s bad for your lungs.”
“My lungs feel fine,” she argued.
He pulled her to stop. “But the baby–”
He stopped.
She stopped.
He wasn’t sure what to say. He wasn’t sure what he had a right to say.
He wasn’t sure of anything.
Except that he hadn’t died, by some miracle. And if he had breath in his lungs, then he needed to use it the right way.
For Sarah – and her baby.
“Look,” he said. “You took care of me. You washed me up, bandaged me.”
“But you passed out,” she reminded him.
He rolled his eyes. “So let me return the favor.”
“Uh, the part where you jumped off the ship and kept me from drowning?” she said.
He didn’t know what to say to that.
Now, she rolled her eyes. “You do realize that you saved me first?”
His cheeks flushed hot, even as the cool air continued to come in off the water. “I’m the reason we’re in this mess, remember?”
“P4L is kind of like a marriage vow,” she told him. “For better or worse.”
“Oh, well, I’ve got the worse going on,” he quipped. He reached out, rubbing his hands up her shoulders and the puckered skin of her arms. “We’ll stay close to shore, just far enough to get out of the water. We’ll dry off – rest. And get back to walking soon.”
He could see her considering it.
It was all he needed.
“Come on,” he cajoled, tugging her hand. “I’m still just this side of sober. A little sleep would do me good.”
That one made her laugh. Short and real, as a smile graced her face. “I don’t know how you don’t have alcohol poisoning.”
He took her by the hand, leading her up the dunes to a dryer stretch of sand. “I would tell you it’s my Maybank constitution,” he said. “But apparently not.”
She gave him a look. “That’s not funny.”
“I’m not sure what it is,” he admitted, waiting until the sand felt dry. He moved them along, finding a little lip in the dunes, something protected from the wind. “This looks good, though.”
Sarah looked around, as if considering it.
Then, considering him.
“You’re better than the Maybanks,” she said softly. “And way better than the Groffs.”
He nodded, because he wasn’t sure what else to do. “And the Genrettes?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know,” she admitted. “But I don’t think of you as any of that.”
He sat down, guiding her down with him. “Yeah? Then what am I?”
She hummed, settling back on the sand with her discarded shoes not far away. “You’ve always been a Pogue,” she said, letting him help her lay down, creating a cushion for her head in the sand. “The truest Pogue I’ve ever met.”
He left his own boots next to her. “Too bad I’m a Kook.”
She smiled faintly, eyes already starting to droop. “You get to pick,” she reminded him. “Unless you think I’m a Kook, too?”
That was a point. Sarah had been a Kook princess, through and through. Tannyhill, Ward Cameron.
But she’d chosen them.
“I think that’s different,” he said, settling down next to her, and putting his arm around her.
She snuggled down, letting his arm drape over her securely. “It’s not.”
“You deserved it,” he said, rubbing his hand up her arm, trying to make the goosebump go away. “No one wants me.”
She rolled toward him, her brown eyes huge in the moonlight. “We want you,” she said softly. “I want you.”
She meant it, was the thing.
It was what he wanted, and that was the problem. He was weak enough to want it. Not strong enough to reject it. All he wanted was to belong. All he wanted was to be loved. All he wanted was for someone to want him.
Even when he knew he wasn’t worth it.
He pressed her head down, smoothing her hair. “You should rest.”
“JJ–” she started.
And he shook his head, wrapping her tighter. “For the baby,” he said. “I don’t think newborns like swimming.”
Sarah yawned, almost despite herself. “The baby’s not born yet.”
“So what is it?” he asked.
“It’s a baby,” she said, letting her eyes close. “Just a baby.”
He thought about it. Sarah’s baby.
John B’s baby.
That kid would be so pretty. That kid would be so smart.
That kid would be so lucky.
That kid would be so loved.
“Just a baby,” he agreed, wishing he had told John B he was sorry. Wishing that he had told John B that just because JJ was a screw up didn’t mean that John B was.
He just wanted to tell John B everything.
Anything.
He had to keep Sarah safe. He had to keep the baby safe.
Beneath his touch, Sarah shifted again, resting more deeply in the sand. Her body started to lose its tension, her breath evening out.
The air was cool, brisk off the water and without the light. They were still damp, clothing soaked through, and it was impossible not to feel it, the way the chill seemed set into their bones. The swim in had exhausted them, and the respite was what Sarah needed.
He would stay with her. He would keep watch. He would keep her warm and safe.
He would do anything, whatever it took.
Jonah prophesied the word of God for his absolution.
JJ? Would start with this.
Chapter 20: CHAPTER TWENTY
Notes:
Look, I love that I'm not the only one who struggles with whatever this season gave us. Having you all read and comment -- it's just the best. It's why I'm still here.
And now we're getting to the entire Morocco sequence of the fic which, ugh. Rewatching all of this to write the fic nearly destroyed me, but I hope I did it all justice. Starting with the reunions. I have very specific feelings about the reunion sequence. First, it was vastly underplayed. Why did Kiara not go run to meet JJ? Like, John B is desperate and scared and Kiara's like -- eh, there he is. It's massively underwhelming and reinforced this weird sense that she didn't care about Jj at all.
Then, the JB and JJ hug/conversation. I know the show was playing this as sweet and restorative. I know this is the moment JJ makes his comeback in the show.
But I hate it. Completely cannot stand it.
JJ learns all the wrong lessons here and yeah -- he's able to stop drinking. But the fundamental fact is that this moment tells JJ that he has to earn it back. That he has to risk his life to save the others or he doesn't belong with them. That brothers for life? Is based on what he does for them, how much he can give them. John B doesn't hug JJ because he's happy to see JJ. John B hugs JJ because he saved Sarah, and JJ knows it. The last time they were on a beach, John B told him it was all his fault. All JJ knows now is that he nearly died to save Sarah and THAT is why he still has a place.
In other words, this scene cements some very problematic ideas about himself and his place with the Pogues in JJ's head. In the show, that's what he dies with. In this fic, it will still take him to rock bottom -- and we're not there yet.
Anyway! I'm rambling! But this is a critical turning point, just not the one the show told us it was. Thank you for putting up with me and my long-winded nonsense!
Chapter Text
-o-
CHAPTER TWENTY
-o-
Kiara wasn’t sure who made the fire; she didn’t care. She wasn’t sure where they’d gotten the water, or who had scrounged up crabs to cook. She barely remembered to eat until someone cracked the shell for her.
She couldn’t taste it.
She couldn’t think.
All she could do was stare out across the water – and wonder.
If he was still out there.
If he was coming back to her.
If he was still there.
For a week, they’d been cramped on the same boat and she’d let him drift away. Now that the current had taken him for real, she just didn’t–
She just couldn’t–
She wouldn’t.
Across the fire, John B kept saying the same thing, over and over again. “They could have washed up further up the beach.”
She had never understood it before, his denial. His ability to believe anything.
She got it now.
It wasn’t belief.
It was desperation.
It wasn’t hope.
It was survival.
She nodded. “We’ll look at first light.”
Because she wasn’t leaving him here. She had worked too hard to find JJ, to have him, to be part of his life. She’d given up too much to claim him as her own.
She wouldn’t leave him, not on some foreign shore. Not so far from the home he loved and the place he belonged. She wouldn’t.
She didn’t know who made the fire.
But she knew they’d all bring JJ – and Sarah, and the baby – home.
-o-
They were close, at least. That was what the men all said.
They were anxious to arrive. These were the type that liked the sea – Luke got that, he did, too – but no one liked it that much. No one wanted to spend their whole lives out there, tossed on the waves. Most people looked across the ocean and saw freedom.
Luke knew better. The waves were too strong; the winds were too volatile. And you were nothing but a small person on a tin can, when you got right down to it.
The sea was a means to an end, plain and simple. He had learned that at a young age.
These men knew it, too.
The sea could be their escape. But it was never their refuge.
There was nothing much to commiserate about, though. They didn’t trust him, and he didn’t trust them. His only job here – as far as Dalia was concerned – was to milk Groff for information.
So, no one thought it was weird when they became fast friends. Groff was on the outs. Luke had never made it in. They ate meals together; they played cards on the deck when everyone else was preoccupied. Luke had never been one for friends, but he imagined this was what it was like.
If you were friends with a sadistic, untrustworthy asshole.
It was still a tossup, who was worse. Groff, for abandoning his son.
Or Luke, for beating the shit out of him.
Groff played the part better than Luke did; he had flair and finesse.
Which only made Luke doubt more.
By the time they were close to Morocco, he doubted things a lot.
The more Groff talked about JJ, the less normal it seemed. He would ask questions – sometimes. But with a strange detachment. An idle curiosity. The look in his eye – that wasn’t love.
It was something calculating.
Like he was assessing whether or not he made the right choice.
Luke wasn’t sure what the right choice for a man like this might be anymore. And he was an addict, felon, and a child abuser. So – he didn’t have much room to judge.
But he was getting closer and closer to it.
“I do wonder about it sometimes,” Groff said, after asking Luke about JJ’s efforts in school.
To which, Luke had felt defensive.
The fact that JJ was a high school dropout who had barely passed any classes was none of this man’s damn business. He knew the boy was bright. It was as much Luke’s fault as anything that JJ hadn’t done well.
“It’s not so easy,” Luke said, a bit guarded. “Making the right choices.”
At this, Groff chuckles – as if he could commiserate. “That’s why I go back to that day when I dropped him off at your place. Trying to figure out if I did the right thing.”
He was thoughtful; he was wistful.
And then, he shrugged. “For JJ, I mean.”
For JJ, he meant.
As a damn afterthought.
He bristled, but did his best not to show it. “It’s easier with someone else,” he said, thinking of his girlfriend, the one that had been there for JJ’s infancy and toddler years. A pretty young thing; a little too fond of the pills and alcohol. She’d loved a steady income and a warm bed more than she loved the kid, in the end. He should have seen it coming, when she left.
Instead, he’d been reeling.
And JJ had been caught in the crossfire.
They never recovered from that.
Not even a little.
Groff, though, was thinking about something else.
A funny little turn twisted in his expression as he tilted his head to the side.
He was thinking about someone else. “Larissa – struggled as a parent,” he said, almost like he found it funny to remember.
And honestly, it sounded funny to hear him say it.
To hear him say her name.
The unspoken bond between them. Groff had married Larissa; Luke thought he might have loved her more.
Groff had fathered her child; Luke had raised him.
They had all done her wrong in so many horrible, horrible ways.
So to hear him say it.
To hear him say her name.
Something went ice cold in his gut. Something recoiled inside of him, the dread filling the pit of his stomach with such ferocity. It was a feeling he remembered, all those years ago. When he heard the news, about Larissa drowning.
The day after Groff dropped JJ off with him.
You could say it was incredibly lucky. JJ would have died if he were with her.
But now, it didn’t seem lucky.
Sitting here with Groff, nothing felt lucky.
“How do you figure?” he pressed carefully.
“She was so young,” he said. And he laughed a little. “I told her when she found out she was pregnant, she wasn’t ready. Not emotionally. Not mentally. But she didn’t listen. She insisted, she said she’d do better.”
It wasn’t like Luke hadn’t seen her struggle. He’d been there. He’d seen her tears, her frustration. She’d seen how simple tasks overwhelmed her and the emotions seemed too much.
He’d assumed it was the pressures of new motherhood.
Maybe a rich-girl problem.
That postpartum bullshit people talked about, the hormones that made you crazy.
But–
That was convenient, wasn’t it?
For a man after the Genrette legacy.
That was really very convenient.
Had Groff fallen in love with Larissa before he found out about the treasure?
Or had he courted her because he knew about the treasure?
“Seems like she could have gotten help,” Luke said, still watching Groff carefully.
He made a face, shrugging with an air of indifference. “I mean, some things you can’t help,” he said. “That family – a whole history of mental illness – and usually I could talk her into anything, but not the baby. Not when it came to Jackson.”
It was something.
To hear him talk about his wife that way.
To hear him talk about his baby that way.
He knew she was struggling, the bastard.
And he’d let her suffer.
He’d let her die.
He’d taken her baby from her and given him to Luke.
A last ditch effort to help her?
A final attempt to make it stop? To make her stop?
Groff leaned forward, quite seriously now. “Some people just aren’t meant to be mothers. She loved that baby, but–”
He sat back again, shrugging.
Luke could only stare, despite his best efforts. To be cool. To be collected.
He wasn’t sure he could anymore.
“Not everyone is meant to be a mother,” he said, and the regret in his voice sounded so fake. It felt fake.
It was.
Because sure, maybe some people weren’t meant to be mothers.
But looking at Groff – looking at this man who gave JJ life – he knew some people weren’t meant to be fathers either.
“And what about the kid?” he prompted, almost despite himself.
Groff’s expression shifted suddenly. He looked at Luke, long and hard, and then his lips twitched. A smile, almost. But then – funny, that look of his. The one that suggested he knew something.
Maybe that he knew everything.
A little too prideful. Almost giddy with anticipation.
It lit up his damn face, the idea that he had something over on Luke.
The fact that he probably did just made it worse.
That asshole, he had been playing Luke from the start.
And there was nothing he could do about it now, except try to beat him at his own damn game.
“Well, then,” Groff said, easy and conversational. Like they might be best friends. “That is the question.”
He sauntered back around with a smirk, so brazenly confident that Luke felt sick.
Groff pinned him, blue eyes piercing like JJ’s – but not. Cold and calculating. Wrong. “What about the kid?”
It set his teeth on edge, the anxiety fluttering hard and deep in his gut. They weren’t friends.
They could never be friends.
Luke had played a lot of games in his life. He’d lost most of them.
But he couldn’t lose this one.
“Something you want to say, Groff?” he asked starkly.
Groff patted him on the shoulder. “No, no, no,” he said easily. “We both want what’s best for JJ, right?”
Luke nodded, slow and uncertain as he eyed the man. Whatever play this was, he wasn’t sure.
He just hoped JJ wouldn’t pay the price.
Groff wrinkled his nose as he smiled even more broadly, giving his shoulder a squeeze – a little too hard, a little too long. “It’s all about JJ.”
-o-
It was still dark when Sarah roused, shifting slightly in the sand. The air was cool, but the weight around her was warm, and for a second, she let herself drift – hazy between one world and the next as she let her body relax.
She felt safe, was the thing.
She just did.
Because she wasn’t alone. She had her baby.
And–
She blinked sleepily, turning toward the figure next to her. It wasn’t John B.
It was JJ.
The fog of sleep was still heavy on her, but it wasn’t like she could forget. The fact that she’d nearly drowned.
The fact that JJ had saved her life.
He’d pulled her back to shore, all by himself. He’d kept her from drowning.
He was the reason she was alive.
He was the reason she still had her baby.
She rolled toward him, looking at him. He was pressed close to her, his body heavy with sleep. Whatever they’d been through had taken a toll on him as well – he was pale and drawn. Fully bedraggled.
Of course, he hadn’t been doing well before this happened.
He wasn’t doing well at all.
She paused, biting her lip as she looked at him. She resisted the urge to move – reluctant to wake him. The exhaustion in his expression was evident, even in sleep. His brows were still drawn together, like he was still fretting. Like the weight of the world hadn’t left him.
The alcohol hadn’t made it go away.
And JJ had tried; they all knew that.
Even the exertion, bringing them both to shore, couldn’t erase it. JJ carried it with him, like a weight around his neck.
How had he managed to stay afloat for both of them? How had he managed to swim? How had he fought against the current – and his own demons – as they pulled him down?
They all worried about the trouble he had caused them. They all wanted him to be accountable for his mistakes.
But how could they expect that of him? When he’d been swimming against the current all his life? When he’d been shipwrecked since the day he was born?
She couldn’t imagine it, could she? What it was to constantly wonder if you were loved?
Her father’s betrayal had stung her – hard. It had left her reeling and irrevocably changed.
But she’d had a whole lifetime of love and support.
What did JJ have? Except endless stormy seas and the weight of the world pulling him down? While the Kooks huffed in amusement, like they’d seen it coming and never bothered throwing him a life preserver.
Not to mention his friends, shaking their heads at him, like it was his own damn fault he couldn’t get back to the surface.
JJ had seen her drowning and hadn’t hesitated, not for a split second, to come in after her.
For a week – for longer – JJ had been going under.
And they had done nothing.
Not a single damn thing to help him.
There was no way he could do this. There was no way anyone could do this.
He had saved her. He had saved everything that mattered to her.
She didn’t know how to return the favor.
But, as she watched him sleep, she swore to herself that she’d try.
-o-
When JJ woke up, he was struck with the horrible realization that he had, in fact, fallen asleep.
Guilt washed over him, as hard as any of the waves last night. And just as damning.
Worse, Sarah was already awake.
He scrambled, sitting himself up as his face flushed. “Sarah, I’m sorry–”
“Don’t be,” she said, sitting herself up gingerly.
He got to his feet. “I was just going to rest my eyes,” he tried to explain. “And–”
He never got the words out. The explanation was lost as his equilibrium faltered. His ears went hollow as he slipped away, and it was only when Sarah caught him, propping him upright, that he managed to get himself together at all.
“I just needed a second,” he continued, the words weaker and slurring a little despite his best efforts. “I – I’m sorry.”
She was still steadying him, her fingers tight on his bicep. “Are you really apologizing right now?”
He looked at her like that might be a trick question.
Or like he really was that stupid.
She sighed, rolling her eyes. “You needed the rest, JJ,” she told him. “And so did I.”
That last bit, he knew, was a concession.
One he wasn’t too proud to accept. He swallowed and nodded, letting the world stop spinning before he attempted to pull away. “I’m okay now,” he said, meeting her gaze. And then, he added, softer, “Really.”
She pursed her lips, regarding him carefully as she let her hand drop. “Should we check your bandage?”
He let his fingers ghost over his stomach, the dull ache making itself known again. He shook his head. “It’ll be okay,” he said, and he nodded out at the sky. “We should keep moving. Make our way up the coast.”
She didn’t look like she completely believed him – about the wound.
But she wanted to believe him about the coast. After a moment, she bit her lower lip and nodded. “You sure you’re okay?”
For her, he smiled. “Better than I have been in a week,” he quipped.
She made a face. “You’re not hungover?”
“I mean, it’s kind of hard to tell,” he admitted. “Between the alcohol and the near-drowning, I feel generally like shit.”
“And the attempted murder,” she added.
He chuckled. Because what else was he going to do about it?
“Yeah,” he agreed. He sighed, bobbing his head toward the shoreline again. “You ready?”
She followed his gaze and, after a long moment, nodded. “I’m ready to find our friends.”
He nudged her gently. “Then, let’s go,” he said. “Let’s find our family.”
-o-
Cleo wasn’t up early as much as she’d never bothered to sleep in the first place. She had a knack for sleeping in the worst conditions; that was the way of things, in her life.
But she also didn’t need sleep.
When things were tough.
When the stakes were high.
She could pull the all-nighters. She could go days with nothing more than a few minutes of shut-eye. She had learned early, needs must.
And they were in serious need right now.
Shipwrecked in a foreign country, down two of their own.
Well, Cleo had a lot of musts.
Starting with getting up. Looking at first light.
Just like they said.
“Hey,” she murmured, poking Pope. “It’s daylight.”
His brows scrunched together, nose wrinkling as he turned toward the dying fire, sand clinging to his head. “What?”
“If we’re going to look, then we need to look,” she said, as simple as she could. “We shouldn’t be wasting daylight.”
Pope sighed as he sat up – tired, but clearly in agreement. Across the fire, John B was already stirring, and Cleo made her way to where Kiara was sleeping – curled tight on her side, giving her a gentle shake. “Hey–”
Kiara opened her eyes – hard and fast. Sitting up with a rush. “JJ?” she asked, almost demanded. “Is JJ–”
Cleo squatted in front of her, taking her by both shoulders. “Not yet,” she said. “But it’s morning. So–”
She nodded off to the coastline.
Kiara took a few rapid breaths, nodding once and then twice. She licked her lips and swallowed, getting shakily to her feet. “The fire?”
On the far side, Rafe was sitting up, glaring at them. “Uh, let’s keep it,” he said with an incredulous snort. “Unless you assholes would like to starve out here.”
“Shut up, Rafe,” John B muttered, getting to his feet and shaking the sand out of his hair.
Rafe held up his hands. “Fine,” he said. “I’ll do the actual work. You guys keep chasing your blind ideals and see how much more you can lose, okay?”
Cleo rolled her eyes, but didn’t actually disagree with some of it. They did need to eat; they did need water. Otherwise, they’d lose more than JJ and Sarah on this trip.
They roused, bit by bit, rising with the sun. She saw it first, a flicker of movement on the horizon, enough to draw her attention, enough to make her stop.
Enough to get to her feet with a frown.
There was something out there.
Someone.
Kiara stood up abruptly next to her, her breath catching.
Two someones.
It could be–
It might be–
Pope was on his feet next, John B, too. Rafe was out along the ridge, trying to collect some food and supplies and–
It looked like them.
But the odds of that–
The probability–
What was the price of hope? What was the weight of belief? What was the possibility of failure?
For a second, no one spoke.
No one even breathed, the emotion taut in the morning light.
“I’ll go,” John B said with a short, stunted breath. Like he was afraid to hope too much.
Like he was afraid to hope too strong.
He turned back and nodded at them before taking off. At a jog first – and then a run. Down the side of the dune where he hesitated. Cleo felt her own breath catch, her heart stuttering in her chest as Pope took her head.
Kiara stepped forward, her whole body shaking. “It’s them,” she murmured. “It has to be them.”
Cleo huffed, blinking the tears she didn’t let herself cry. “Then, go,” she said, giving her a small shove. “Go.”
And Kiara took off at a stumbling jog, behind John B.
“Do you think?” Pope asked, turning to her.
She smiled, almost despite herself. “You Pogues,” she said with a nod. “So full of miracles.”
-o-
It was like a mirage, just like the stories.
Seeing the impossible on the horizon. Manifesting your desires in the sunlight.
Your own eyes – so desperate – they played tricks on you.
He stopped, not trusting himself to breathe. Not trusting himself to think.
The two figures moved closer, and he saw as the one paused, taking the other by the arm and pointing.
And the other looked up.
Her white dress in the wind off the water. Her hair loose around her head.
It was her.
It was Sarah.
It was his wife.
He started to run.
Just as she started to run toward him.
It was a rush. The sound of the ocean, the cool morning breeze. The frantic beat of his heart, dulling all his other senses as Sarah threw her shoes down and crossed the last distance at a sprint. When she jumped into his arms, he caught her, pulling her against him.
She was there. She was real.
She was alive.
The disbelief caught him as he laughed, picking her up and spinning her. She fell into him, and as he put her back down, her lips met his. Warm and real.
He closed his eyes, letting himself go. Letting it be real.
Letting it be everything.
When she found her feet, her hands took him by the face.
And all he could say, breathless and shocked, was: “How?”
She gasped, hesitating for a second as she composed herself. “I was drowning,” she said, just barely controlling her tears. “And JJ saved my life.”
She nodded. To herself. To him.
To all the doubts they’d had in the past week about having JJ Maybank in their lives.
He looked away now – to where JJ was trailing up the beach behind her. He looked cowed, his head down with his boots slung over his shoulder as he moved slower and slower with each pace.
Like he wasn’t sure he deserved to be here.
Like he wasn’t sure they would welcome him back.
Like he wasn’t sure of anything.
JJ had jumped off the boat, thinking they didn’t want him. JJ had jumped off that boat, thinking his life meant less than the rest of theirs. JJ had jumped off that boat, thinking it wouldn’t be so bad if he never made it to shore.
JJ had jumped off the boat, after a week of stopping himself.
For Sarah.
For John B.
For all of them.
There was no way to say it, was there? There was no way to put it into words.
JJ had saved Sarah’s life.
JJ had saved his baby’s life.
And in all that, JJ had saved John B’s life.
After the worst week of his life, JJ had jumped in after them. After trying to drown himself for days, JJ had come to the surface for them.
JJ had been an asshole; he’d been stupid and blind and drunk. His whole world had caved in. He’d lost everything – everything he’d earned, everything he’d worked for, everything he’d thought he was.
And he hadn’t cared.
He’d saved Sarah anyway. When he had nothing left to give for himself, he’d summoned something for them.
Because that was who JJ was.
Loyal in the most impossible way. Selfless on a level that didn’t even make sense. JJ hated himself – loathed himself – but he loved them. He’d given up his own fight.
But he’d found it for them.
JJ wasn’t just the best damn friend you could have.
JJ was his brother.
He always had been.
He always would be.
He ducked his head as he approached, face pinched. “Look, man,” he said, as if to apologize. For the last week. For his drunken tirade. For all the things that didn’t mean shit. “I was just the closest one–”
John B didn’t need to hear the excuses. He didn’t need to hear the attempts to downplay it.
“All right?” JJ drawled, shrugging – and unable to meet his gaze. “That’s it–”
This was why he’d asked JJ to be the godfather. This was why it was always, always going to be him.
He went to him. He didn’t stop. He didn’t let the protests continue.
Instead, he wrapped his arms around JJ and pulled him closer. It was what he should have done a week ago. It was what he should have done all along.
JJ didn’t know, after all. JJ never seemed to know.
How much they loved him.
How much he mattered to them.
Because JJ could be stupid. JJ could be reckless.
But he loved them so much, more than anything, more than he loved himself.
And he still didn’t know, did he?
That they loved him just as much.
“Brothers for life,” he said, even as he felt JJ tense up under the touch. He resisted for a second, but when John B didn’t let him – he felt JJ give in.
Leaning into the touch a little.
Before lifting his hand up.
And when he still didn’t let go, JJ sighed into him, tipping his head into John B’s shoulder as he held him back.
A full week, John B hadn’t known how to help JJ.
The answer had always been this simple.
JJ just needed to know he was loved. JJ just needed to know he mattered.
JJ just needed to know he was still theirs. They still wanted him.
They would always want him.
So John B held him, tears streaming down his face as he felt JJ’s heart against his own. All the years they’d spent together, fighting to survive side by side. It had started with them; it would end with them. JJ’s birth father – a mess. His birth mother – an enigma. Luke – a son of a bitch.
But that wasn’t JJ’s family.
Not really.
The only family that mattered – the only family he needed – was right here. Whatever identity he couldn’t figure out. Whatever questions he had about who he was and who wanted him.
It was right here.
It had always been right here.
He squeezed him, a little tighter still, so JJ would know.
JJ just needed to know.
-o-
It was hard to understand. John B hugging him like that.
Just taking him in his arms, like the last week hadn’t happened. Like the last month hadn’t happened. Like he wasn’t JJ.
He didn’t deserve it.
The warm welcome. The complete acceptance.
He didn’t deserve any welcome at all.
He deserved rejection and rebuke. He deserved derision.
He deserved Luke’s fists. He deserved Groff’s abandonment.
He deserved to be at the bottom of that ocean.
But here he was. He was alive. Sarah had forgiven him. And John B, too.
Everything he’d done. Everything he’d cost them.
And brothers for life.
No family had wanted JJ, not one.
And John B – the Pogues – still chose him.
He didn’t know why. He couldn’t explain it. He’d never be able to justify it. He couldn’t live up to it. He would always – always – fall short.
If he had any guts at all, he would push John B away. If he had any integrity, he wouldn’t accept it, not at all.
But JJ was weak. He’d always been weak. He needed this. The touch, the acceptance, the love. Everything he wanted but would never deserve. Everything he needed but could never be worthy of.
If he had an ounce of integrity, he wouldn’t have come back. If he’d been strong at all, he would have cut himself out of their lives. If he was anything resembling a man – anything like a good person – he would have been done with this.
But he needed them. God help him, with everything still left in him – he needed them.
He wanted.
If he didn’t deserve them.
He’d earn his way back.
He’d do everything right. He’d fight for them. He’d push on for them. He’d do it all for them.
He’d give up everything he had. He’d sacrifice every part of himself. There was nothing he wouldn’t give, nothing he couldn’t do.
For them.
For this.
A place with them. A place he could never deserve. A place he’d spend the rest of his trying to earn his way back to.
Brothers for life, he thought as he let John B hold him.
Be it long.
Be it short.
Be it happy.
Be it absolutely nothing at all.
-o-
John B had a head start, but Kiara couldn’t wait. The closer the figures came, the more she knew. She just knew.
It was like seeing JJ in the hot tub, realizing that he’d done more for them then they could ever understand. It was like seeing him face down in the water off the Coastal Venture, realizing he was the only one she’d ever want. It was like him standing in the dorm at Kitty Hawk, telling her he was sorry, the purest, truest love confession she’d ever heard in her life.
She knew him. She knew him like she knew herself, better than he knew himself. She knew everything good, everything bad. She knew every flaw, every virtue. She knew every inch of him, the way he walked, the way his shoulders bowed. The way he could lift his head but never look you in the eye. The way he closed down when he was hurt.
The way he opened up, just for her.
How long had it been since she’d seen that side of him?
How long had it been since she’d held him?
How long?
All she knew was too long.
She ran harder, and she didn’t stop.
Too long.
It was him. It was JJ. Trailing behind Sarah, with his head down. Shaking his head as John B pulled him into a hug. Standing there, sheepish and sober and alive, as Kiara crossed the final distance to him once and for all.
“JJ,” she said – she breathed. Her eyes were blinded by tears, and she didn’t care. She didn’t even slow down as she came to him, throwing herself at him with blind force.
He staggered back a step, their balance wavering. She heard him grunt, but it didn’t stop her. It couldn’t stop her. Not with her heart pounding and the blood rushing beneath her skin.
Because his heart was pounding, too. His blood was rushing. She could feel his breath, hot against her hair, the soft exhalation. “Kie.”
Her arms tight around him as she sobbed. The sheer weight of it, not so much happiness as relief. Total and complete relief.
He was alive; he was real.
His skin was warm, and his heart was beating – pounding against his ribcage with reassuring force. He was here; he was still here.
She still had a chance. They still had a chance.
"You're alive,” she said, to herself as much as him. “Oh, thank God, you’re alive.”
His arms came up, hugging her back now as he got his footing. “I’m alive,” he whispered back. His fingers found themselves in her curls as he laughed. “Not for a lack of trying.”
She didn’t laugh; she couldn’t. Pulling back, she looked at him.
Bedraggled and weary. Dark circles under his eyes and paler than he should have been.
But alive.
And there was something in his eyes, something clear. Not quite the spark she remembered, but a hint of it. He was sober, at least.
And alive.
She couldn’t think it enough. She wouldn’t take it for granted.
“JJ,” she murmured, running her hands through his hair. The intensity of it still felt like desperation, so overwhelming that she almost couldn’t speak at all as her eyes burned and her throat constricted. “I thought I’d lost you.”
His face fell for a moment, stricken with something so like grief that it made her stomach flip. “I – I’m sorry,” he said, shaking his head. “For all of it. For everything.”
It was his way of saying I love you, as much as anything. Because JJ Maybank crashed out when he cared. He blew up his life when things got real.
It was only when he came back. It was only when he apologized.
That he was willing to face what was real.
He’d said it in Kitty Hawk.
He was saying it now.
“I love you,” she said.
Somehow, he looked surprised. He blinked, breath catching like he almost couldn’t believe it.
After all this time, he still didn’t think he was worthy of her.
“JJ,” she said, shaking her head to make him understand.
She needed him to understand.
She hadn’t been waiting for him to prove himself. She wasn’t looking for him to be worthy.
She just wanted him to trust her with it. She just wanted him to trust that even while he didn’t know himself, she knew exactly who he was. The same perfect, selfless boy she’d fallen in love with. The same reckless, broken man she’d committed herself to all those months ago.
If the last 12 hours had taught her anything, it was this: there were worse things.
Worse than losing your home.
Worse than being on the run from the law.
Worse than losing your identity.
You could lose the person you loved. You could lose your other half.
If she went home without him, then what the hell was the point?
“I love you,” she said again, with vigor this time. Because he might not know.
After everything, he might not know.
He blinked, inhaling shakily before he nodded back. “I love you, too.”
It broke her, the emotions overwhelming her as she hugged him again. He was quicker to catch her this time, holding them both up, until she stepped back again.
“Please, don’t do it to me again,” she said, wiping at her eyes with shaky fingers. “Don’t leave me.”
“I didn’t–”
She shook her head, because it wasn’t about his reasons. She knew the reasons.
Some of them had to do with saving Sarah.
Some of them had to do with everything else.
“I mean it, JJ,” she said. “If I lose you, I won’t survive. I won’t.”
He hesitated, something small, something imperceptible.
Something he tried to hide; something he reeled back in, just as quick as he could. The smile faltered before he plastered a smile back on. “I think you would,” he said softly. “I mean, you’d be better off without me–”
She flinched. She couldn’t help it.
She’d watched him crash out too much. She’d watched him spiral into depression, drink himself into a hole. She’d watched him nearly throw himself away, self-destruct, all of it.
She’d nearly lost him.
She’d nearly lost him.
“No,” she said, and the words felt hot now as fresh tears burned behind her eyes. “I won’t.”
His shoulders fell a little. “Kie–”
“Shut up,” she said, and she didn’t care who heard. John B and Sarah were still there, the others approaching now. She didn’t care. “Shut up and promise me. If you love me–”
Maybe it wasn’t fair. She knew it wasn’t fair.
But she also didn’t know any other way.
JJ would never do it for himself. He didn’t know how.
But for them. For her?
His face froze, his body going very, very still. “Kie, I love you more than anything.”
It was what she needed to hear. It was what she wanted to hear. “So don't do it again,” she said, licking her lips. “JJ, never do it again.”
He swallowed, his face wavering. “I have to look out for the others,” he said softly. “I have to look out for you.”
She reached up, cupping his face and shaking her head. “And who looks after you?”
He didn’t answer, not as Pope and Cleo finally arrived. Not as the hugs started going round and the cheers erupted. They were laughing, they were crying, they were whole.
Together again.
Ready to face what came next in Morocco.
Kiara told herself that was enough. Her fingers tight around JJ’s as she watched him smile.
That had to be enough.
-o-
Practically speaking, it was great to have Sarah and JJ back. It was.
But it wasn’t the end of things.
Really, it was only the beginning.
Now that they were reunited, they had to get their shit together
“I don’t mean to be a downer,” Pope said.
They all groaned. “Which is a clear sign you intend to be one!” John B said, his arm still around Sarah. Almost affixed, like he might never let her go.
“Read the room,” Kiara added, her fingers laced with JJ’s.
Remarkably, it was JJ who intervened. “Let the man speak!”
And they all turned to him.
Almost expectant.
Like he had a plan now.
After a week of not knowing what to do, what did he think he had figured out?
It wasn’t so much a deduction as it was an inevitability. It wasn’t so much a plan as it was a necessity. “But we’re short on supplies – and time,” he said. “We don’t have anything we need to survive for long out here, and every second we’re here on this beach is another second that Groff could be getting the crown.”
That was the bottom line. It was why they’d uprooted everything. This desperate play wasn’t just for shits and giggles. They hadn’t risked everything – and almost lost everything – to stop now.
“He’s right,” Sarah said, looking at them all, eyes flicking over to where Rafe was still sitting by their makeshift camp. “I know I already put all of you behind.”
“Hey,” John B said, kissing her hair. “You got washed overboard during a storm. We all ended up in that water.”
“But if I hadn’t got swept away–” she started.
“Pretty sure I’m the reason we were on that boat,” JJ pointed out. “So if we want to play the blame game–”
“That’s not what we’re doing,” Kiara insisted.
“And it’s not the point,” Cleo added. “We’ve all got skin in this game. It’s all or nothing, always has been.”
And they looked at him again. “I don’t know for sure where we are or how far it is to Agapenta,” he admitted. “But we know Agapenta is a coastal city. We know we should be due south of it.”
“So we hike,” John B said, nodding in agreement.
“I’m all for getting off this beach,” Sarah agreed.
“It’s not just the smartest choice,” Pope said. “It’s the only choice.”
“Yeah, we didn’t come to Morocco to shack up on a beach,” Kiara said. She looked at JJ and grinned. “We came here to clear our names and get our land back.”
At that, JJ grinned back. Then, he looked at Pope with a gesture forward.
“Then, lead on, Pope,” he said with mock grandeur. “We’re ready to follow.”
Because it wasn’t just about the places they’d been – difficult places, dark places, the worst places.
It was about the places they’d go.
It wouldn’t be easy, Pope knew, looking out at the desert in front of them.
But they would do it together.
-o-
There was no time for rest.
Growing up, Sarah’s life had been defined quite often by leisure. She knew her father talked a lot about hard work, but they all took weekend trips and spent days out on the boat. They had homes in other countries just because.
Rest had been the earned reward for hard work as a Kook.
As a Pogue, it was a luxury – and one they rarely got. Ever since she met John B, it had been go, go, go. Even after finding the gold, even when they’d all been happy, it had been a lot of work. Getting up, doing the job.
Bad things happened, you kept going.
You got knocked down, you got back up.
You just kept at it.
No matter what.
So what if they’d been shipwrecked?
There was still a crown to find.
So they had to move. It wasn’t like they had a timeline, except maybe they did. Depending on how long Groff was here. Depending on how long it took someone else to find the crown.
Also, in nine months, she was going to have a baby.
So – they had to get moving.
A few weeks ago, nothing would have held her back. Today, she had to admit, it wasn’t quite as easy as it used to be. Because she was so far from home. Because the stakes were so high. Because – what the hell – she was pregnant.
“Hey,” John B said, interrupting her thoughts as they made their way down the beach. “You good?”
She turned toward him, smiling instinctively. “Yeah, of course,” she said. Ahead of them, Pope and Cleo were getting a good start. Behind them, Kiara and JJ were taking their time. She could see Rafe, waiting for them up on one of the dunes. “We’re together again, right?”
She was trying to be convincing, but the more she tried, the more worried John B seemed. “Just – if you need to rest, it’s okay,” he said. “I’ll make sure it’s okay?”
“What?” she asked, frowning at him. “We have to keep moving. We’ve already lost so much time.”
“We were just shipwrecked,” John B reminded her. He inclined his head toward her gently. “There are other things that matter.”
She shook her head, refusing the implication. “No, we have to keep going. I’m fine.”
“Are you sure?” John B asked, voice low as he looked at the others. In front of them, Pope and Cleo seemed oblivious. Behind them, JJ and Kie were equally preoccupied. Rafe glanced at them, but looked away just as quickly.
John B lingered, nodding at her stomach.
She reddened. Kiara knew. JJ knew.
She wasn’t sure why she was keeping it a secret.
Except, she did.
Once she admitted it; once everyone knew.
Then it all changed. Then it was real.
Then she wasn’t just some dumb-shit teenager, chasing gold.
No, then, she was a mother. Then, she had responsibility. Then, she had to think things through.
She just – wasn’t sure.
Biting her lower lip, she shook her head. “I’m sure.”
“I just got you back,” John B ventured.
She took his hand and squeezed it. “Which means we can’t waste another second,” she noted. “JJ saved my life out there. He literally kept me from drowning. So, I don’t know. Maybe we should find the crown, find Groff – and return the favor.”
John B considered that, nodding slowly. “It would save all of us, really.”
“Get us Poguelandia,” she said, and now she lowered her voice, too, looking at him with a small smile. “We need a place to raise our baby.”
This made him smile. Such a small, boyish smile.
Over something that made him 100% a man.
“If you want Poguelandia, then I’ll get you Poguelandia,” he said, beaming a little at her now.
“You seem awfully confident all of a sudden,” she pointed out coyly.
“For the mother of my child?” he said, winking at her. “Anything.”
Because hard work? Paid off.
Putting in effort? Had dividends.
This, Sarah decided as they hiked, was absolutely no time for rest.
-o-
There was part of Rafe that wanted to go meet her.
Really, he was the only one who had any right to it. Sarah was his sister. He was the only blood relative. All these Pogues talked about family, but those were just words. There was nothing real to back it up.
Even John B. Her husband.
The asshole hadn’t bought her a real ring, much less given her an actual wedding. Sure, it was romantic or whatever.
But there was no legal claim here.
But Rafe could be right, and still be wrong. He couldn’t win Sarah back with legalities. He couldn’t pretend he had some moral high ground. Admittedly, he probably ceded that the first time he tried to kill her.
And the second time – well. Rafe was clean now. It was different.
He was working on himself.
He was making amends.
He was.
So he waited. He stood back and watched as they had their little reunion. The hugging and the kissing and – shit. It was so annoying. And sentimental and stupid–
And something ached inside him, something he didn’t admit to or even acknowledge. He missed Sofia, he thought dimly. He missed a lot of things.
It took an absurdly long time for them to venture back, trekking slowly back through the dunes. He was waiting there, poised at the top, and while most of them gave him a wide berth – it was mutual, assholes – Sarah came up to him.
She smiled.
“You’re not dead,” he said, because that was the easier thing to say.
The more appropriate thing to say.
Like, shit. He wasn’t going to sit here and get emotional. He wasn’t going to wring his hands and cry, like some damn Pogue.
Having Sarah alive validated what he was doing. It meant that his hopes for absolution were still real. He could still restore his father’s tattered legacy.
“Yeah,” she said, nodding a few times. “I’m not dead.”
“Well,” he said, shrugging. Like he didn’t care. Like he did. Like whatever. “That’s good.”
She rolled her eyes at him, shaking her head. “Don’t try too hard, Rafe,” she said, walking past him. “I would hate to think after all this time you were human.”
He grunted, starting after her. “You’re the one who’s gone Pogue, Sarah.”
She walked on, giving him the finger.
Somehow, it made him smile.
Because she wasn’t dead.
By some miracle, she was still alive.
And so were the hopes for the Cameron family.
Chapter 21: CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Notes:
They're in Morocco! The action continues to follow the show, while offering alternative insights that hopefully provide more context and depth for the characters and their arcs. At this point, the show wants us to believe that JJ is okay! I really firmly reject that notion, and that's a major part of what this fic develops. JJ goes back to being what they need him to be -- it's true. But he's a far cry from okay. If anything, his need to put them first is reaching dangerous, self-destructive levels -- and that's something that we see in the show and in this fic.
Thank you to all who are reading and commenting! I really, really love the feedback, and I love being able to stay in a fandom where I hate the source material and live in total denial. You all make it possible!
Chapter Text
-o-
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
-o-
Practically speaking, Pope knew the hike was going to be long, there was no way around that. How long? He didn’t know. But there was no sign of civilization on the horizon. Based on their navigation charts, they’d still had half a day by sea.
Which meant–
More by land.
Assuming they weren’t further south than intended.
Assuming a lot of things.
He couldn’t control all of the variables – at this point, he couldn’t control almost any of them – but staying in one spot was not an option. It advanced nothing.
That was a point they didn’t have to debate, at least. They were too far in; they were all committed to finishing this. Step by step, all the way to the crown. All the way to Groff.
Hopefully, Pope thought, back to the OBX and Poguelandia.
It was just long. It was just hard.
It was just a lot, plain and simple. Every step, Pope knew it. And he didn’t know how to mitigate it. He didn’t know how to do anything at all.
That helplessness frustrated him. It was hard to be powerless, to have the facts but not the foregone conclusion. To have the logic but not the consequences.
All they could do was stick together. Keep walking.
And hope.
They kept a slow, steady pace. They shifted, taking turns at the lead and bringing up the rear. Only Rafe stayed constant – wide at their flank. Close enough to track them, but never quite in step. He spent most of his time with Cleo, but when she drifted back to talk to the girls, JJ found his spot next to him instead.
For a week, JJ hadn’t been JJ at all.
They’d lost him – seen him jump into the sea – and somehow here he was. Found and ready to go. The turnaround was remarkable, in some ways.
Pope suspected it couldn’t last.
He suspected this was just the same old, same old for JJ. Deny, deny, deny.
It was just he was good at it.
He was really, really good at it.
Between JJ’s confessing a deathwish and this? This manic restoration?
Well, Pope would pick this.
For now, he told himself. Just for now.
They’d get back to the OBX. He’d plan his future, and JJ would talk his shit out. They’d figure it out; they would.
That was what Pope told himself, anyway.
And JJ gave him no cause to disregard it.
If anything, it seemed to be what JJ wanted as he grinned and settled in, his pace easy, step by step next to him.
“You know where we’re going?” JJ asked.
Pope nodded ahead, for whatever that was worth. “By my calculations, we were turning north toward Agapenta before the ship went down,” he said. And he shrugged. “So my best guess is to go north.”
JJ nodded, following a long a few more paces. “That simple, huh?”
He looked at JJ, raising his eyebrows. “How has any of this been simple?”
He didn’t mean it; not like that.
Or maybe he did.
At this point, he wasn’t sure.
But JJ looked down, clamping his mouth shut. Pope’s gut twisted guiltily. He’d just gotten JJ back; he knew JJ was struggling.
He wasn’t supposed to–
He hadn’t meant to–
He sighed, looking ahead again. The emotions were just hard, was all. They were a lot.
And it wasn’t that Pope didn’t like emotion.
It was just that he didn’t always know what to do with them.
He liked things to be orderly and rational. He liked having control.
Emotions defied that. Some of his worst mistakes were made on an emotional basis.
But then, so were some of his best ones.
Really, it didn’t matter. He couldn’t stop feeling. He could explain things away. He could deduce things with logical conclusions, but this felt good.
They made it to Morocco. Groff and the crown were within reach. The possibility of clearing the charges, of saving their land – it was all still there. The probabilities didn’t matter. Pogues defied the odds. Always had, and always would
But most of all, they were together.
They had survived the trip.
They were whole.
P4L. It still meant something. It still meant everything.
It was something you couldn’t prove in court. It didn’t mean shit on a college application. Even his parents – try as they might – didn’t get it. They’d never get it. It was why he’d come all this way. It was why he’d risked everything.
Because Pope didn’t like emotions.
But he sure had a lot of them.
And every step he took – toward Agapenta and away from the OBX – the less sure he was. The closer the plan came to fruition, the more he wondered if they’d started out with the right idea at all. You couldn’t get the right answer.
When you were using the wrong equation.
If you didn’t plug in the right variables, the whole thing was shit.
“I know,” JJ said finally, breaking the quiet as they kept on. “And I’m sorry, man. I know all of this is my fault. All of it. I’m sorry.”
He looked up, just like that. The apology clear and simple. No caveats.
Except the ones Pope felt inside of him. The emotions were a lot. They were too much.
Because blame was easy to place, but it was hard to make it make sense. Guilt wasn’t an equation you could solve. Blame wasn’t a variable you could control for. You couldn’t reduce it to mere logic.
JJ’s mistakes were so substantial.
But his suffering was, too.
If Pope had had to face half of what JJ faced.
Well, that wasn’t even something he could fathom, was it? A father who beat him. Another who abandoned him. Attempted murder, framed for a crime he didn’t commit.
Pope didn’t know who he was and he had two loving parents and the best support system in the world.
JJ had none of that. How the hell did they expect him to figure it out?
He could still see the dead look in JJ’s eyes when he suggested Pope let the cops kill him. It hadn’t been a joke. It hadn’t been a fleeting thing.
That had been real.
That was still real.
JJ would hide it; JJ would deny it.
But Pope was too smart not to know it.
With a breath, he finally shook his head. “Are you okay, man?”
The question wasn’t what JJ was expecting. He blinked, faltering for a moment. “Why wouldn’t I be okay?” he said, voice falsely light. “I mean, I’m back, right?”
Pope didn’t know how to reply. To contradict him felt wrong. To accept it felt worse.
They walked a few more paces before JJ sighed. He shook his head, looking down at his feet.
“I’m sorry, man,” he said.
Pope frowned at him. “For what?”
JJ shrugged, looking back at him. “For getting you in this mess,” he said. “You threw away your life to protect me, and I didn’t – I don’t–”
The emotion was back now, stronger than ever. Pope felt it choking him, lodged in the back of his throat. It was hard to breathe; it was hard to think.
JJ’s brow furrowed, and he looked down again. “I never think, you know?” he said, nodding almost to himself. “I never think about you guys when I crash out or whatever. I just get stupid, and I become an asshole, and–”
Pope blinked, almost surprised by the words that came out of his mouth. “Did you mean it?”
JJ looked at him, eyebrows up.
Pope licked his lips. “Back on the boat. About the cops,” he said, and when JJ’s face barely registered it, he said it for both of them. “That you wished they’d shot you.”
He saw it – the denial flash in JJ’s eyes.
But he couldn’t hold it. After all this time, JJ didn’t have the energy left to try.
Instead, he smiled weakly, chuckling softly as he looked at his feet again. “I did,” he said softly, so softly that Pope didn’t trust himself to speak. But JJ nodded. Once and twice, and he squinted out at the sand in front of them. “But I don’t anymore.”
It was too easy; it was too simple.
Pope stared at him, and JJ raised his eyes back. “I got too much to live for, you know?” he said. “I have to make it up to all of you.”
He meant it. JJ had been adrift all week, but he was on solid ground now. Some part of him – even if the wrong part of him – was grounded again.
JJ paused, reaching out and punching Pope lightly on the shoulder. “You more than anyone, right?”
It was too easy. The resolution was too fast.
Like JJ could jump off a boat.
And come up a new man.
Pope knew it wasn’t real. Pope knew none of this was real.
This was JJ at sixteen, shooting teddy bears in the backyard. This was deny, deny, deny. This was JJ taking the fall for a crime he didn’t commit. This was a penance JJ could never pay and a beating he knew was coming.
This was what they did.
JJ screwed up.
JJ took the fall.
“JJ–” he started.
But JJ shook his head. “It’s okay,” he said, like a promise now. “The good news is that I love you guys more than I hate myself, so it’ll all work out.”
He slapped Pope’s back a few more times, like he hadn’t just confessed that.
He grinned, keeping his pace steady.
Pope kept his steps in line, every step a tacit agreement. An implicit blessing.
He was supposed to say it, he realized. He was supposed to tell JJ he loved him.
But those emotions were back. Stronger than ever. Choking him. Closing his throat off and making his eyes burn. He blinked hard, turning his eyes ahead, letting the sunlight blind him.
“It’ll work out,” JJ said with one more nod as they kept going. “I’ll make sure it works out.”
Because there were some promises none of them could keep.
There were other promises they would die trying to keep.
And some were just the things that held them together, even when everything else seemed to be falling apart.
Emotion was a son of a bitch, in the end.
This hike was going to be long.
Pope decided, for better or for worse, that he would have to save some of himself to get through it after all.
-o-
Cleo had fallen in love with Pope, yes. He was her boy.
But that wasn’t why she was with the Pogues. She’d joined them for family, first and foremost. Falling in love – that had been icing on the cake.
And she loved the boys. She loved John B’s heart. She loved Pope’s mind. She loved JJ’s totally chaotic approach.
But her girls?
Cleo loved her girls. Sarah was tough as nails. And Kiara gave JJ a run for his money when it came to chaos. She liked that; she respected it.
But it also worried her. Because that much chaos?
Needed a little order sometimes.
JJ wasn’t about to provide that. She wasn’t sure if Kiara had it in her or not.
So, Cleo figured, it couldn’t hurt to ask.
“How are you holding up?” she asked, falling in step next to her sometime after the midday.
For most of the morning, Kiara had been joined at the hip with JJ. Which made sense, naturally. She’d almost lost him.
But sooner or later, they’d have to talk about it.
It might as well be now, she decided.
Kiara sighed, shaking her head even as she smiled. “I don’t know,” she said, because Cleo didn’t have to clarify. She didn’t need to explain the question, not when it was the one on all their minds. “He’s back, right? That’s got to count for something.”
Cleo didn’t outright contradict her, even if she didn’t heartily voice her agreement.
She didn’t need to. Kiara took a long, slow breath. “I just worry, you know?”
Cleo nodded. “We all worry,” she said. “Two days ago, the boy was drowning himself. And nothing in his life has changed.”
“I know,” Kiara said, looking at her. “His whole life is a mess, and he doesn’t even know who he is. We keep – not talking about it. Because we’re too busy or it’s too inconvenient or because – whatever, we think JJ doesn’t want to.”
“He needs to,” Cleo points out, nodding up again at him.
“And I keep telling myself, we will, we have time,” she said, even as her shoulders fell. “And he’s so much happier now. So maybe–”
She let it linger. She let it hold.
Cleo walked on several paces, pressing her lips together. “Makes you wonder, though,” she said. “How long it can last.”
Kiara nodded, a small, resigned movement. “JJ’s always been – I don’t know – on the edge?” she said, like she wasn’t sure how to explain it. “Like he’s always just been barely held together. Because of Luke, you know? But not Groff – I just. I don’t know if he has a chance.”
“He does,” Cleo said, frowning a little, her voice forceful enough for Kiara to look at her. “He’s got more than a chance. He’s got us. Once this mess is over, we’ll help him figure it out. We make him talk about it. About both his asshole fathers and the messes they made. He is the heart and soul of P4L. We’ll help him remember.”
Kiara smiled at her, grateful now. “Thanks, Cleo,” she said. “It’s just been – so hard.”
Cleo snorted as they kept pace across the sand. “The best things in life are,” she said with a little nod.
They continued on a few paces. And then Kiara dipped her head toward her. “What about Pope?”
Cleo arched her eyebrows, giving her a look. “What about him?”
“Well, JJ is completely unpredictable; he’s chaos,” she said. “But Pope – he’s not like that.”
She looked ahead, watching the back of her boy as he led on. Sure and confident. Thoughtful and careful. Logical.
“He is predictable,” she mused, letting a smile tug at her lips.
Kiara was grinning. “You’re a good match for each other.”
“Oh, what?” Cleo protested. “My chaos and his order?”
She chuckled. “I’m just saying you complement each other. You keep each other sane.”
She huffed, but she didn’t disagree. She didn’t want to disagree.
Because it was true. It was one of the things she loved about Pope so damn much. That, in all that changed in her life, he could be a constant. In all the unpredictability, he was an anchor. He was solid and true. Reliable and good.
“He is pretty good,” she said. “Isn’t he?”
Kiara reached out, giving her a quick hug around the shoulders. “The best,” she said. “You both are.”
“Ah,” Cleo said, tipping her head back toward Kiara as they connected for a moment longer. “You and JJ aren’t bad either.”
“Oh, not bad, huh?” she quipped.
“But John B and Sarah?” Cleo said, letting out a long whisper. “Hard to say.”
Kiara laughed outright now. “Definitely hard to say.”
Because they had time, as best Cleo could figure.
They still had time.
-o-
They hiked through the day – long and hard. Pope was still working with nothing, and they passed by one group of people. In broken French, Sarah had deduced they were still a day’s walk away before they pressed on.
When they found fresh water – a small stream trickling out to the ocean – they all agreed it was a suitable camp. They found wood and started a fire – cooking up anything they could find to at least get something in their systems.
They could make do. Really, that was all life was. All it ever had been.
JJ had been making do all along.
Since he was a baby apparently, and Groff dropped him off with Luke. Just to get back. Survive another day.
Sure, he was a long way from home. Yes, he was wanted by the law.
But it wasn’t bad.
Setting up camp, being with his friends.
It just wasn't bad.
And that was a strange thing, right?
After everything. After all he’d done. After all his mistakes.
Here he was.
Kiara tucked against him, warm and steady. His friends around the fire, laughing and smiling.
These things he didn’t deserve. These things he’d tried to throw away. These things he would never earn.
But were his.
This was still his.
He owed them his life.
So he would give it to them.
With all he had. With everything he was. He would give it to them.
It made him smile. To finally figure it out. To finally know.
He looked at Kie. He looked at Pope and Cleo.
And his eyes settled on Sarah.
And finally John B.
John B said they were brothers for life. John B had asked him to be the godfather of his baby.
JJ had thrown it back in his face.
He had screwed everything up.
He took a breath, and decided to make it right.
“Hey, uh, you know what makes a good name for a baby?” he said, letting his voice carry over the crackling of the fire.
They looked at him, so he didn’t stop.
“JJ,” he said simply. “It goes both ways, actually. If it’s a girl or a boy.”
He flitted his hand through the air, because there was no way to say sorry for the things he’d said.
But he could make sure John B knew none of it mattered. JJ would be there. JJ would always be there, from here on out. JJ would be there until his last breath.
That was a promise.
Sarah grinned at him, and John B nodded; they both knew.
Across the fire, Pope and Cleo laughed – but looked confused. Finally, brow furrowed, Pope asked, “What baby?”
John B flushed, but he was smiling.
Sarah was beaming, just like she should. “That’s right,” she said, reaching for John B’s hand. “You guys don’t know.”
Pope’s eyes widened, his shock almost comical.
Cleo gaped while a smile spread across her face. “No way.”
Sarah nodded. “Mmhmm.”
And John B looked like a fox in the henhouse. As proud and happy as he could be.
As he should be.
JJ should have given him this from the start. It wasn’t that hard, was it?
Even when it was, this had never been about him.
Pope scoffed while Cleo grinned. “A Poguelet?”
Pope pointed at them wildly. “You?”
“Yes!” Sarah laughed.
And Pope laughed, getting to his feet as he hugged John B. “You’re going to be a freakin’ dad!”
It was the perfect moment.
It was P4L.
It was what was meant to be.
Because JJ knew – even as he held Kie and watched his friends – that there was nothing good in him. That hadn’t changed.
But there was good in them.
There would be good in that baby.
He didn’t deserve to be a namesake. He didn’t deserve to be a godparent. JJ didn’t deserve any of this, not one damn bit of happiness or relief.
But he hoped he could give something back. Some fragment in return.
Kiara burrowed against him as the congratulations continued.
And he knew, like he had never known anything in his life.
He would give everything.
-o-
This time, as the darkness fell, it felt different.
It was different.
He felt them settle, falling into one another. The easy comfort they’d always shared at the end of a day. The camaraderie of being together, slipping easily into repose as much as they could move ahead. This was the give and take, the ebb and flow that had defined Poguelandia. More than a place to live. More than a business.
It had been a family.
Even if they never got Poguelandia back, they still had this.
A whole ocean away, broke and on the run, they still had this.
Pope and Cleo, tucked next to each other. Kiara holding JJ tight. Sarah in his arms, safe and secure. And JJ, eyes bright around the fire – smiling. Laughing.
The boy who had gone overboard.
And the boy who had swam back to shore.
John B knew they were the same. He knew he couldn’t forget that.
They would deal with that. Just like they’d deal with Groff and the crown and Shoupe. The land and the money and the charges. He’d deal with JJ’s emotional fallout; he would.
But for tonight, they were together.
For tonight, they were happy.
They were whole.
This could work, John B thought as they set up camp. This might really, truly work.
-o-
None of this was what Sarah had ever envisioned.
She hadn’t gotten the dream wedding. She wasn’t going to get a pampered baby shower or an expensive baby registry.
But somehow, it was still everything she’d ever wanted.
The man she loved, pledged to her for life.
The family she’d chosen, rallying around her.
Her baby would have it all. Not money, maybe. Maybe not even a home.
But a family.
A place to belong.
She curled up next to John B, his arm draped over her. The journey ahead was still long, she knew that. It wasn’t going to be easy; it wasn’t going to be safe.
But it was all falling back into place.
Just like it was always meant to be.
-o-
When the sun started lighting up the eastern sky, Pope was already awake. He waited until the light settled, its scan warmth starting to fill the dunes. He shifted, sitting up.
He was already awake.
He was ready to go.
Getting up, he brushed the sand from his clothes, trying to get some of his blood circulating again. It was still cool with the breeze of the water, but it wouldn’t take long for it to heat up. He got up, scanning around them, just to reorient himself.
They had to go north.
To Agapenta.
He figured they’d arrive today.
But he wasn’t about to leave that to chance.
On the ground near him, Cleo roused. “What are you doing?”
He threw more sand on the fire. “We should get an early start.”
She murmured slightly, mumbling something incoherent.
“We’re short on supplies,” he said, prodding her lightly. “The more distance we get in the dark, the better.”
She groaned, making a face. “Is that a fact?”
He shook out what he could of their supplies with a grunt. “That’s a fact.”
“Ah,” she muttered, but got herself sitting up. She squinted, eyes adjusting to the dark. “You got the others?”
Pope nodded, looking out over the camp with certainty. “I got the others.”
Because he had a plan. And he would see it to fruition.
They could get the crown. They could get Groff.
They could all go home.
JJ would have his name cleared. John B and Sarah would have their baby. And Pope would go to school.
That was the plan.
And Pope was sticking to it.
-o-
The morning – it felt good.
Like, it felt real.
It felt like a chance. A real chance.
Like maybe JJ hadn’t ruined everything.
Or – he had. But maybe he could fix it.
A day like this? Friends like these?
He could fix it.
Pope had them set out early, and JJ was all for it. He helped clean up the camp. He helped restock their water, helped scavenge something for breakfast off the beach. He made sure everyone had their shoes and helped Pope figure out the right direction.
Well, mostly he nodded a lot while Pope had ideas. But he was a positive affirmation. He was adding something good to the group; he was.
He made Cleo laugh. He gave Sarah a little hug. He ribbed John B about fatherhood, and he made sure he kissed Kie, long and good, just because she deserved it. His problem this whole time – his biggest problem – was that he thought it was about him.
His parents. His legacy. His dad.
His mom’s corpse. His family inheritance.
His stupid choices. His crashout.
JJ made it all about him.
Stupid and selfish.
And shit, he almost killed himself. He almost took the easy out.
For what? To leave them high and dry?
He was a bad person; he was an idiot.
But he’d never thought of himself as that much of an asshole.
He couldn’t do that.
He wouldn’t.
So, they’d go to Essouira. They’d find the crown. They’d bring Groff in.
JJ would clear Pope’s name. He’d give his friends their lives back. And, if he was really lucky, he’d get back Poguelandia for them. It was the least he could do.
They had put up with him all this time. They hadn’t cut him loose – even when they should have.
So he had a purpose again. Every step, had meaning. Every movement, had a reason.
He was here; he was alive.
For them.
He could still be useful.
For them.
The idea of it was heady. After a week of floundering, he understood why Groff hadn’t murdered him. He understood why Luke had never managed to kill him. Because JJ’s friends still needed him. And it was about time he didn’t let them down.
So he hiked. He cheered everyone up. He made sure everyone was okay. He checked in; he did the work. And he fell in line next to Kiara, holding her hand, and looking at her like she deserved. Like he always should have looked at her.
He’d never deserved her. He’d never be worthy of her.
So he owed her everything, all he had.
He would give it. He would give every last bit of himself.
Until there was nothing left. No air in his lungs. No heartbeat in his chest. No fleeting thoughts firing through the synapses of his brian. Until they buried him.
“And listen,” he said, trying to make it sound as casual as he could, step by step next to Kiara. Like he wasn’t trying to apologize for falling into a dark hole and drowning in his own misery, the selfish bastard that he always had been. “I know I’ve had a bit of a wobble the last couple of days.”
She looked at him like she knew better.
She looked at him because she did know better.
He couldn’t stop, though. If he let the shame cripple him, this was done. He was done. “I just want to say, I’m back.”
He could do it. He could do it for them.
His own issues – didn’t matter.
They mattered.
He took a breath and nodded at the surety of it all. John B’s arms around his neck, brothers for life. He’d saved Sarah and saved himself, bought himself a second chance.
“And I feel good,” he said it because he meant it. He had to mean it.
Next to him, Kiara walked several more paces before she looked at him. “Just, when we get there,” she started, pinning him with her look. “Can you be careful?”
As if it was a choice. As if it mattered.
As if his life was in question.
He didn’t know why she still loved him. He still wished she wouldn’t. Because – that made it harder. He’d do anything for her, but what she was asking – he didn’t know if he could do that.
Protect them – always.
Protect himself – he didn’t even know what the point was.
“JJ, that was too close,” she said emphatically. “Way too close.”
It didn’t really make sense.
The words were simple, sure. JJ wasn’t stupid, and he wasn’t drunk or hungover. He knew what she was saying.
He just didn’t really know why.
At this point, nothing was too close – not if it got results.
JJ had already pulled them all to the brink. His dumb choices. His stupid actions. It was him – always him.
Anything he did now was just rectifying that. They had called him out, they had made it plain: this was his fault.
He had to do anything – anything – to make it right.
That was what John B had shown him, right? From calling him out on the OBX – to calling him a brother for life right here in Morocco. The only thing that had changed was JJ’s actions. He’d saved Sarah. He’d done something valuable. He’d made it count.
The risk? Didn’t matter.
Not for them.
There was no restraint. There was no self-control.
The depression on the boat – drowned deep in the alcohol – had been replaced by a manic alternative. Part of him knew it wasn’t sustainable, but it didn’t matter. He would ride this high until it crashed again.
He would until he crashed again.
He just had to do it for them this time.
Just for them.
He squinted across at Kie, and felt a flicker of regret. He wanted to tell her what she wanted to hear; he did.
But he’d made a lot of promises.
And he’d kept so few.
He knew, however this shit ended – it would end hard. Right here in Morocco.
A flash of brilliance, where he saved them all.
Or a flaming fireball, as he went down one last time.
“JJ?” she pressed.
And he looked down, nodding a few times as the certainty fueled him.
“I’m back,” he said simply, because that was all he had. He smiled at her with a nod. “And I swear, I’m going to make it right.”
She hesitated, but she didn’t disagree.
And why would she?
JJ was back.
And this shit?
All his shit?
A lifetime in the making?
It would end in Morocco, one way or another.
-o-
John B wasn’t stupid. He wasn’t naive.
He knew he’d almost lost her.
He’d almost lost them.
This quest for treasure – all these years in the making – had pushed them further and further into danger. And one stray wave – and it had nearly washed everything John B cared about out to sea.
He’d been uncomfortable when Limbrey sought out miracles instead of treasure, but he got it now. The pressing need of hope.
John B had spent the whole night without her praying for relief.
And he still looked at her, starstruck that he’d gotten this chance. Another chance.
She was alive; she was healthy.
She was walking right next to him, crossing the Moroccan desert like nothing had happened.
But something had happened.
He reached out, taking her hand. “You doing okay?”
She shuffled her feet, wrinkling her nose as she looked up at the sky. “I guess.”
He followed her gaze, squinting at the relentless sunlight. It was tempting to think that solid ground was the answer, but then John B couldn’t be stupid. He couldn't be naive.
A big wave.
A baking desert.
The risks were real, and they came from all sides.
“It’s probably not good for you, being in the sun,” he noted with a frown. He flitted his hand up to brush her hair out of her face. “Or for the baby.”
She looked at him, like hearing him say it still made her smile a little. “We’re back with you,” she said softly. “That’s all we need.”
He looked around, taking a wary breath. “I just – wish we had a way to get to some shelter.”
“Well, that’s what we’re doing,” Sarah said. “Pope thinks we’re going in the right direction.”
John B scowled a bit, scouring the horizon for something – anything. “I mean, I already got you washed out to sea.”
“It was a storm, John B,” she said flatly. “You had no control.”
“I’m the reason you’re out here,” he insisted. “Me and–”
He didn’t finish it.
It didn’t feel right, suddenly. To cast this all as a JJ thing.
He’d needed to do it back in the OBX.
But the boat ride had changed that. He couldn’t be angry, not when he’d seen how broken JJ had been. JJ had nearly drowned crossing the Atlantic, and it had nothing to do with the time he spent overboard.
He glanced back, biting his lower lip as he watched his best friend take Kiara’s hand.
That was the JJ he knew.
That was the JJ he loved.
That was his JJ.
“We’ve been too hard on JJ,” Sarah said.
He looked back at her, a little surprised.
She shrugged, her smile tugging sadly at her lips. “I mean – he was incredible, don’t get me wrong,” she said. “He literally is the only reason I’m alive. Every time I went under, he pulled me back up. I have no idea how he did it. The waves were swallowing us whole, and he just – didn’t quit. He didn’t give up.”
John B felt something twist in his chest, a deep ache spreading through his body. “That’s just JJ.”
Sarah glanced back, toward where JJ and Kie were walking, and she lowered her voice. “But when we got to shore–”
Her voice faltered.
For several steps, she closed her eyes, inhaling through her nose. John B squeezed her fingers.
“When we got to shore,” she continued, opening her eyes again. “It was like he just fell apart. Once he knew I was okay – he just fell apart.”
He just – well, he wasn’t surprised.
It was just so tempting, looking at JJ now, to pretend like it hadn’t happened. Like the entire boat ride hadn’t been real.
This was what he’d said, right? That JJ would crash out and be back to his normal self? That they just had to let JJ do a JJ thing? And he’d be back and everything would be okay.
Sarah was alive; his baby was alive.
And JJ was alive.
John B had his family, his whole family.
It had to be okay.
“But he’s okay–” he started to say, the words too weak to finish.
She shook her head. “He’s not,” she said. “I know how he’s acting. I know he’s pretending like there’s some magical reset button – but he’s not.”
John B’s own voice grew tight, cut off in the pressure of his throat while they kept walking.
Sarah rubbed her lips together for a long, hard moment. “His wound hasn’t healed,” she said flatly. “Not a little.”
That one hardly surprised him. “I know,” he said. He tilted his head a little. “But it’s only been a week–”
Sarah huffed. “Did he tell you about what happened at Goat Island?”
The turn in her conversation surprised him. He looked at her. “What?”
“Goat Island,” she said. “Did he tell you what happened with Groff?”
John B’s mouth opened, but no words came out. He frowned as he considered it for a long moment, before he eventually had to concede, “No. I guess I didn’t ask.”
Sarah sighed, nodding her head as they kept walking with the sun beating down on them. The boat had been full of nooks and crannies, plenty of places to hide.
Here, they were laid bare. There was nowhere to stow their secrets anymore.
“They didn’t just go see his mother’s grave,” Sarah explained as she shook her head. “Groff made him open it.”
John B made a face, looking at her. “What?”
She looked back, eyes hard and tired. “Groff made JJ rob his own mother’s grave.”
It struck him.
Honestly, Groff had been clear from the start. That they had to get something from Larissa’s grave.
John B just hadn’t thought–
He hadn’t fully considered.
JJ, who had spent his whole life looking for love.
Had to open his mother’s grave. Touch her corpse.
Alone.
Then, Sarah continued. “Did you know he had a grave, too?”
Now, his chest clenched. He shook his head as the denial gripped him. “What?”
Sarah kept walking, her eyes fixed ahead of her. “Groff had them bury an empty casket for Jackson,” she said softly. “JJ saw it when they were at Goat Island.”
It crashed over him. The force of a wave sweeping him out to sea. The power of the sun, baking him relentlessly into the ground.
“Shit,” he said, for the lack of something better to say. “We never should have left him alone with Groff.”
Sarah shook her head. “We really shouldn’t have.”
It all made sense.
JJ hadn’t been coping badly.
No, JJ had coped as well as humanly possible.
For a kid who had just had his entire world fall down on top of him.
He glanced back, where JJ was nudging Kie playfully. Kie smiled back, looking at him gratefully. They were all so glad he was back.
Not just physically.
But emotionally.
The idea that it was a guise. The idea that JJ was just covering up the pain.
Well, it wasn’t an idea.
John B knew that was what JJ did.
He had lots of practice.
“Well,” he said finally. “We’ll just keep an eye on him.”
Sarah gave him a weary look. “We’re back to wait and see?”
“I don’t know,” John B said, shrugging helplessly. “I mean, we’re here. We’re so close, Sarah.”
“We don’t know how close we are,” she argued.
But he wouldn’t hear it. He shook his head insistently. “We just need to get the crown. We just need to stop Groff,” he said. “And then we’re going to make JJ sit down. We’re going to have him tell us everything, and I’ll kick his ass to therapy myself, if I have to.”
At that, she looked impressed. “And do you think you need it, too?”
John B looked playfully wounded. “Is that any way to talk to the father of your child?”
She scoffed, but a grin was spreading across her lips. “I think that’s exactly how I should talk to the father of my child.”
It made him laugh; he loved her.
He just loved her.
Her sense of humor. Her defiant sense of self. The way she could just be, no matter what. Even when she’d been a Kook, she’d been something else.
Now, she was all Pogue.
Now, she was all his.
“Well, I think I’m very well adjusted,” he said.
“Right, that’s why we’re in Morocco?” she quipped.
She was kidding, but he looked at her anyway – hesitating slightly. “I mean, I know I shouldn’t have brought you here–”
She rolled her eyes in obvious exasperation. “Oh, not this again!” she said, shoving him playfully away from her.
He chuckled, stumbling a step before falling in line with her again. “I’m serious, though,” he said, watching her as they marched on through the sun. He nodded up at the sky, gesturing out to the sand that stretched in front of them. “This can’t be good for you or the baby.”
This time, she hesitated at least before taking a long, slow breath. “It is what it is.”
He took her hand again. “That’s not how I want it to be,” he said. “Sarah, you come first. You and the baby.”
She looked at him, something guarded in her expression. “We’re Pogues–”
“I know, I do,” he said. “And I love all of them, especially JJ.”
She didn’t speak, even as she watched his expression.
He drew to a stop for a moment, pulling her with him. “You come first.”
It was a promise.
He didn’t get to take her to the courthouse. No one had declared them man and wife.
But here he was.
Making the vow anyway.
The only one that mattered.
She held his gaze, nodding after a long moment.
Because P4L? It mattered.
It mattered a lot.
But Sarah would always – always – matter more.
“I love you,” she said.
He took her other hand and squeezed it. “I love you.”
And they kissed, under the hot Moroccan sun.
Sarah in her white dress.
John B in his best shirt.
Man and wife, until death made them part.
-o-
Honestly, this made sense. When Rafe thought about it, this made total sense.
Pogues were reckless; they were stupid. They didn’t think things through. They had shitty plans with no follow through. The fact that they’d lost all their money and screwed themselves over – wasn’t remotely surprising.
What was surprising was that they’d achieved anything in the first place.
Rafe had provided them an out with the cops. He’d provided a boat.
And here they were. Shipwrecked and abandoned.
Morons.
Every last one of them.
Morons.
They had lost everything. Sarah had nearly died – JJ, too.
And here they were, acting like everything was picture perfect, hunky dory. Making cute little plans and bonding. Like this was some casual treasure hunt and not the only thing left to save their pathetic little asses.
They would laugh and joke, let the good times roll.
As if they hadn’t locked Rafe in his own boat.
As if they hadn’t squandered everything.
As if JJ saving Sarah could redeem all the bullshit he’d done before. Even locked up, Rafe knew JJ was a disaster. Drinking and depressed.
But now they were making nice. Like nothing had happened.
They made him sick. They really, truly did.
Every mile they hiked. Every stop they made. Every hug, every clap on the back. Every check in. Their stupid little P4L garbage.
It made him wonder why he came.
But really?
Was family really worth this?
He could just build his own family. With Sofia.
He didn’t need Rose. He didn’t need Wheezie. He didn’t even need Sarah – and he certainly didn’t need them. Sarah had built her own family; how hard could it be?
If you threw it all away, it didn’t mean shit anyway. And with Sofia–
Well, that was the point, though.
With Sofia.
If Rafe wanted to build a family, he had to start with himself. He knew the bullshit he’d done. He knew the mistakes he’d made. He knew he could be a Kook. He could be rich and powerful and all that. And he still didn’t deserve Sofia.
Not someone like her. Who was good.
Yeah, she was pretty. She was smart and sweet and demure. She was all those good things – and malleable. She’d be the wife he needed. She’d hang off his arm and trust him to lead. She would.
But this wasn’t a power play. This wasn’t a search for a trophy wife. He wasn’t looking for someone to impress his father or cement his role in society. She made him want to be a better man. She made him want to be a husband worth marrying. She made him want to be the father of her children.
And if he was going to do that.
It started with this.
He didn’t know what the hell a Pogue would do – for justice, for treasure.
But he knew what a Cameron would do.
So he shut his mouth. He closed his eyes, taking solace in this much.
If Sarah was alive, so were his hopes of making this right. Second chances, it seemed.
Were still on the table.
-o-
Cleo had figured it out early on: these Pogues were more talk than action.
It wasn’t that they didn’t have it in them. It wasn’t that they weren’t willing to work hard or take risks. It was just that they didn’t have the same raw grittiness she had, the kind she’d developed on the streets and in the hulls of ships crossing the sea.
She had always counted on hard work and her druthers to get her out of scrapes.
These Pogues had always had lofty ideals of golden windfalls and happy endings.
That was part of what she liked about them; it truly was. Everyone needed something to believe in.
But it also made them just slightly less prepared for the difficult necessities of life. Because there were harder things than being a Pogue, and Cleo knew it. Life on the Cut was hard, but it wasn’t like this.
They were in over their heads, that much was clear. So far from home and everything they knew and loved.
Cleo, though, was in her element. The energy of the city; the ambiance of the streets. She’d never been here, but she still knew it. She didn’t have to know the language; she didn’t have to know the street names.
She knew the ebb and flow of the city; she knew the give and take of the people.
The energy had a feeling of hope.
It also carried a sense of foreboding.
Cleo kept alert, kept her head up and her eyes alert.
Whatever came next, she knew she had to be ready.
For all of their sakes.
-o-
After a long boat ride across the Atlantic, a day lost at sea and washed up on shore, and then a two-day hike across the desert, Sarah expected civilization to feel like a relief.
However, as they entered the city, it was anything but.
There was no respite here; there was no relief. The energy of the city was overwhelming. It was crowded, making the air seem hot – and the walled off streets gave a sense of claustrophobia. The winding corridors felt something like a maze, and Sarah did her best to stay calm even as they took turn after turn.
And ended up nowhere.
Maybe the heat was getting to her.
Maybe it was the lack of food.
Water.
The noise was too much; the crowds were too pressing. She wanted to keep going – she needed to keep going – but her head spun. Her ears rang.
She licked her lips to no avail. Each time she swallowed, her throat felt more dry. Her breathing started to feel tight in her chest, and the light looked haloed.
After all she’d been through, why was she shutting down now? After all she’d survived, why was her body giving out now?
This was stupid; this was dumb. She was safe; she was on solid ground. She had her friends, her family.
What else did she need?
Her stomach threatened to turn itself inside out, and Sarah blanched, catching herself on the wall as she gasped. It wasn’t the heat; it wasn’t the lack of food.
It was the baby.
How could it be the baby?
The baby was – what? The size of a grain of rice? It was miniscule. A small clump of cells. It didn’t even look like a baby yet; there wouldn’t even be a detectable heartbeat.
Her mind knew that.
Her body, however, had different ideas.
She was sick; she was exhausted. She felt tired, and everything made her want to cry. Someone said something funny – she was blinking back tears. Someone said something sad – her chest was tight and her eyes were burning.
Now that they were off the ship, it was getting harder to hide. She couldn’t pass her nausea off as seasickness anymore. The long, grueling journey – had given way to the adrenaline of the hunt. They were back on game; even JJ was on point.
But where they all rallied reckless abandon–
Sarah just wasn’t sure.
Her body felt overwhelmed.
And her soul felt weary.
Kiara looked at her, brow furrowed with worry. Sarah shook her head, mustering up a smile in return. “It’s fine,” she whispered.
Kiara didn’t look convinced. “Sarah–”
“We can’t stop,” Sarah said, straightening up and pressing out. “Not for me.”
Kiara huffed. “For the baby?”
Sarah swallowed and kept walking. “We can’t stop.”
Because Sarah was still trying to figure out what those two lines on the pregnancy test meant — for all of them.
Maybe relief, she feared, would be elusive until they were safe and sound back on the OBX.
Together.
Just like they were meant to be.
In the meantime?
Sarah had to find a way to keep going.
-o-
The truth was, treasure hunting wasn’t Kiara’s go-to. She didn’t love history. She wasn’t especially fond of tracking down clues and putting shit together. Pope was the analytical one. John B had the mindset. JJ had the enthusiasm.
But when things came together – when the signs finally pointed in the right direction – well, she got it.
That thrill.
That satisfaction.
That hope.
“Yo,” Pope said, coming to a stop next to JJ at the gate. The statue on top looked old; looked special. And Pope made it clear why. “That’s Murat.”
They all came to a stop, Kiara finding herself along JJ’s other side.
“The Barbary pirate,” Pope explained. “That’s the guy Groff was telling us about.”
John B came up behind them, letting out a small, breathless gasp. “Holy shit, that’s him. The berber. The one who made the map to find the crown.”
Kiara’s stomach flipped a little, but JJ was starting to smile. “Which might be closer than we think.”
She looked at JJ.
She looked at the statue.
The last few days. The last few weeks. The last few years.
Okay, then. Maybe there was a reason for the struggle. Maybe John B had been right. Maybe everything was going to be okay.
“It’s a sign,” she said, letting herself smile for the first time in days. She turned her gaze knowingly to JJ.
JJ looked back, his own smile spreading.
It was just like before, she told herself. Everything was just like before.
“Come on,” JJ said, nodding as he took them forward. “Let’s keep moving.”
Because they would find the crown. They would stop Groff.
She would take JJ home.
This plan?
She told herself.
This plan was going to work.
Chapter 22: CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Notes:
So I'm obviously a JJ girl, but I do try to give all the characters a proper arc with more depth in this story. We will get into a lot of that in Morocco, as everyone sort of double downs on the things that matter. Not only does this give each character a purpose, but I think it helps explain why JJ's needs fall through the crack still -- they all have things that are coming to a head, and it's not just about JJ -- even if they are woefully ignorant to just what is going on in his head.
Drop me a line if you're still reading. I swear, it'll make my day. Thanks!
Chapter Text
-o-
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
-o-
Being a Pogue conditioned Pope to certain things. He preferred to think of this as a statistical analysis and not an emotional reaction. He was a critical thinker, not Pavlov’s dog. The fact that he was suspicious when things were going well was pure logic, derived from ample, verified data.
Anecdotal data, but still valid. And still absolutely impossible for him to ignore.
JJ would call it fate and flip the universe off. John B would grin and say it was meant to be. Pope called it a logical deduction but all the same.
All the same.
The pieces were falling into place. Essouira was the place on the map – and here they were. Standing in front of a statue of the man whose map they were chasing. He was literally welcoming them into the city. Pope didn’t want to read too much into it, but come on.
Was fate tempting them? Was good fortune taunting them? Was Pope being blinded by his own foolish ambition?
Because things didn’t work out like this.
Not for them.
Two treasures – lost. The Merchant gold in the hands of the Cameron family. The cross melted down to scrap. El Dorado spent and squandered.
The idea of it left him wary; like good luck was a suspicious thing at this point. They were Pogues; luck notoriously was not their friend. Sure, he knew they’d found El Dorado.
But how much had they lost along the way?
And how much had they lost since then?
He couldn’t take it for granted; he wouldn’t. He wouldn’t get cocky; he wouldn't be sure.
Bad things were going to happen. That was how it worked in life.
“You’re doing that thing,” Cleo said, her voice interrupting his thoughts.
He looked at her, jaw working as they continued on into the city, falling in line behind each other as the crowd thickened and slowed them down. “What thing?”
She shrugged, utterly nonplussed as she continued forward. “That thing where you worry too much.”
“I think I’m worrying an appropriate amount, all things considered,” Pope said.
She shook her head, rolling her eyes.
“It’s coming together. The clues. The hunt,” she said.
He inclined his head, conceding that much.
She gave him a little push. “And JJ’s back.”
“But is he really?” he asked. He nodded ahead, where JJ was still enthusiastically pushing forward through the streets.
Cleo did. “He looks good. Better than before.”
At that, he scoffed. “Because he was depressed and suicidal,” Pope said. “You don’t just get over that. Getting here, saving Sarah, that’s a boost of adrenaline, but I don’t know if that’s that.”
She was quiet, face drawn. She exhaled, long and hard. “I know. He’s always been good in a crisis.”
“Exactly,” Pope said, as they kept pressing forward. “But sooner or later, it’s all going to catch up with him. I just want to be sure he’s safe when it does. Or who knows what he’ll do.”
He wasn’t trying to be dire. If anything, he wanted to be optimistic.
But it had to be grounded in realism.
It just did. For all their sakes, but especially JJ.
Winding through another street, Cleo’s voice was steady but low. “You really do worry about him.”
He gave her a look – because it didn’t seem like a question she had to ask.
They all knew, didn’t they?
That this was how it was?
Pogues – yes.
But between him and JJ. JJ and John B. There was something to that, something special. Before Cleo. Before Sarah. Even when Kie had left them for the Kooks.
Pogues.
They fought; they struggled.
But they always came through each other. Always.
“Of course I do,” he said.
And now, her voice was even quieter. “Is that why you took the fall for him?”
There wasn’t an easy answer. And sometimes Pope didn’t like the answer.
Sometimes he hated it, resented it. Sometimes he couldn’t stand it, that JJ had been so stupid and reckless – and that Pope had thrown everything away because of it.
It was full circle, at least. Back to Topper’s boat, bringing them right back around.
But that wasn’t it either. This wasn’t tit for tat. This wasn’t paying JJ back or settling a score. JJ had never kept a tab, and honestly – Pope couldn’t either. For all his logic. For all his reason.
Some things you just felt.
“No,” he said. “I mean – JJ taught me what friendship was – what loyalty was.”
They moved on, the crowd closing in even closer as the group continued to slow their pace. “Even if it ruins your life?”
“Who says it’s ruined?” Pope said. And he looked at her, tipping his head now, nodding to the scene around him. “I mean, we made it this far didn’t we?”
She looked at him for a beat before turning her eyes back out to the street, a smile creeping over her face. “Okay, then.”
He let out an airy breath, keeping pace as they hurried again, turning down a street. “Okay?”
When her eyes met her again, she was beaming. “Okay,” she said, as simple and plain as that. “Loyalty and friendship, to the end.”
He raised his eyebrows.
She elbowed him and picked up her pace once more. “No need to worry about anything, then,” she needled him. “I think we’ve got this in the bag.”
Was she right?
Empirically – there was no way to tell.
Was she right?
Anecdotally – well, Pope was starting to feel pretty good about shit after all.
-o-
They had sun in the Outer Banks; they did.
But this was different.
Because they also had water in the Outer Banks.
And Sarah could go on adrenaline. She could fuel herself on good vibes and Pogue living.
Sooner or later, however, she had to face the fact that her body just couldn’t do it. Street after street, turning through the crowds.
Her stomach turned. Her head went light.
Wavering, she had to steady herself. She was still blinking her vision clear as they sat her down, and she barely had her wits about her as they hatched their plan for food.
Not that it was much of a plan. Shoplifting wasn’t exactly a thoughtful approach, but Sarah was in no position to protest. In fact, she could hardly get her head straight until the others were gone and it was just her and Kie in the shaded alley – with Rafe moping up on the other end.
Now that she’d caught her breath – and gotten out of the sun – she felt stupid.
And conspicuous.
“This is dumb,” Sarah said, shifting restlessly, itching to get back to her feet and at least help the others with their ploy. “We shouldn’t be wasting time.”
Kiara didn’t move, though, maintaining her spot in front of her. “Taking care of you isn’t a waste,” she said. “If we’re not there for each other, then what the hell are we doing?”
It was true, in a way that should have been obvious.
Sitting there, it didn’t feel obvious.
Given how the trip over had gone, it felt anything but. “We’ve kind of been messing that up,” she said softly, the regret coloring her voice. “Haven’t we?”
Kiara’s expression tightened, and her eyes darted down.
Sarah winced, feeling guilty. “I just don’t want the fuss,” she amended quickly. “We’re all in this. It’s not just about me.”
“We know that,” Kiara said with renewed confidence. She gestured to Sarah’s stomach. “It’s about the baby, too.”
Her jaw tightened, not sure how to react.
Kiara smiled, tipping her head toward her. “You’re the one carrying the baby, but that Poguelet belongs to all of us.”
It made her smile, despite everything. To think about her baby.
To think that her baby would never be alone. This baby didn’t just have a mother and a father. This baby already had a family. The best family.
This baby might not be rich. This baby wouldn’t be raised in Tannyhill.
But this baby would have everything.
“I’m serious,” Kiara said, nudging her again and waiting until Sarah met her gaze. “We’re here for you. And John B.”
She tilted her head with that.
Sarah chuckled, too tired to not bother. “I’m not sure John B really knows what’s happening. I know he knows there’s a baby–”
Kiara smiled, nodding along. “He’ll get there,” she said. “He’s honestly handling it better than I might expect.”
“Well, sure,” Sarah said. “Because we haven’t even really had time, have we? To even think about what this means. How much it’s going to change everything.”
Kiara was quiet for a moment, as she seemed to play it out in her head. She seemed to shrug, though. “That’s not bad, though,” she said. “None of this is bad.”
“I know,” Sarah said, and she sighed now, trying to let her body relax. She didn’t like being selfish – taking attention from what was going on – but she was hungry. And she knew she couldn’t support a pregnancy if she didn’t eat. “I just worry about it, I guess.”
“I know John B,” Kiara said steadily, not even hesitating. “He’s going to be a great dad. We’re going to have to tie him down when he gets the itch to hunt for treasure, but beyond that–”
She laughed, nodding in agreement. “Yeah, after this, I think I could be done,” she said. “One more treasure.”
“Well, we said that last time,” Kiara reminded her with a little wince.
Sarah rolled her eyes. “Well, we’ll do it better this time,” she said. Now, she hesitated, too. Kiara’s gaze dropped, even though she didn’t say anything. They both knew what they weren’t saying. But if Sarah was going to be forced to talk about shit, so was Kie. So, she nudged her back. “And how’s JJ doing?”
Kiara looked up, shrugging a little. “You’re the one who spent the most time with him,” she said with a vague shrug.
“That’s why I’m asking,” Sarah said, letting her voice be soft and steady.
Kiara took a breath, long and slow. She seemed to process that, almost with regret. Pursing her lips, she nodded a few times. “I don’t know,” she said finally.
It was an admission that didn’t surprise her.
It still made her ache. “Do you think he’ll be okay?” she asked.
Kiara laughed, shaking her head as she sat back a little. “You don’t need to worry about that.”
“Of course I worry about that,” Sarah said. “JJ’s my friend.”
Kiara’s smile faltered, and she nodded, tucking her hair behind her ear. “I know,” she said. “And he’s acting like it’s fine.”
“Do you think it is?” Sarah asked softly, prodding Kie gently.
Kiara shrugged. “I don’t know, maybe,” she said. “I mean, sometimes I look at him, and it’s like nothing’s changed. Like he’s still just JJ, that impossibly happy-go-lucky asshole I fell in love with.”
Sarah nodded, but didn’t press this time.
“But it’s just – sometimes I see this flicker, this doubt,” she said. “Like Groff broke something inside of him. Something he can’t fix.”
Sarah wet her lips, tilting her head to the side. “Maybe we shouldn’t do this–”
“No,” Kiara said. She nodded after the others, where they had disappeared in the market. “This is the only thing that’s made him happy at all. He finally thinks he can do something.”
“But maybe he needs to let us do something,” Sarah suggested. “Maybe he needs to not feel like doing something is the only way to fix it.”
“Oh, you mean, he should learn to accept help and love?” Kiara asked, giving her a wry, pointed look. “Like you?”
Sarah blushed. “Touché.”
They laughed lightly, before the silence between them lapsed. She reached out, taking Kiara’s hand. “Hey,” she said. “You know, JJ really did save my life.”
Kiara looked back at her.
“He’s amazing,” she said, letting a huff of air out. “Everything he’s been through, all the things he’s endured – and he still just can’t stop himself from helping us. Putting us first.”
Kiara smiled, almost to herself while she nodded. “Yeah,” she said. “He is kind of amazing, isn’t he?”
“He’s going to be the best godfather,” Sarah said. And then, she pursed her lips. “Which means, we still need a godmother.”
Kiara blinked at her, face blank.
“I mean, if you’re up for it, anyway,” Sarah continued.
“Wait,” Kiara said, as if doing a double take. “You want me to be the godmother?”
“John B and I barely had to talk about it,” she said. “It was obviously going to be JJ – and you.”
They’d talked about a lot of things. They’d worried about so many things.
But who would help them raise their baby? Who would stand next to them for every milestone? Who would be there in the good and the bad?
They had always known. From the moment the two lines appeared on the stick, some things had been a foregone conclusion.
Their baby would be a Pogue. Their baby would be loved.
They trusted no one more than JJ and Kie.
Even after everything.
Even here.
Kiara’s mouth hung open. “I mean – are you sure? I don’t know anything about babies.”
“Neither do I!” Sarah said, snorting as she half-laughed, half-cried. She reached up, flicking the tears away. “I am in completely over my head. And John B? Do you think he’s even held a baby?”
Kiara made a face. “I mean, if we tell him the baby is like a really big gold bar, maybe–”
At that, Sarah laughed. “But you see my point,” she said. “We don’t know what we’re doing. But we love each other. And we love the baby.”
Kiara smiled.
And Sarah shrugged. “And I know you and JJ will, too.”
“Of course,” Kiara said without hesitation. “Always.”
“So?” Sarah asked, a little shy now. She ventured the question hesitantly. “What do you say, godmother?”
Kiara rolled her eyes. “I object to the diminutive name,” she said.
“What? No bippity boppity boo?” Sarah quipped.
Kiara grinned now. “Well, for your baby – maybe,” she conceded.
“Thank you,” she said. “That means so much.”
“Hey,” Kiara said. “It’s the least I can do.”
“It’s more,” Sarah said, and her emotions were getting to her again. “Oh shit, these hormones–”
Kiara chuckled, moving forward and wrapping her in a hug. “We’ll do it,” she promised. “All of us, together.”
Fresh tears fell and Sarah didn’t bother to wipe them, even as she breathed shakily into Kiara’s embrace. “That’s all I needed to hear.”
Because there may not be money waiting for them. They may not have a house or land. There could be legal troubles and God knew what else.
But they would have each other.
That was all she needed in the end.
She knew it was all her baby needed, too.
-o-
These Pogues – all out of their element. For all their talk of being poor – the outcasts of society. They had no idea; none.
Cleo got it, though. She knew how to navigate this market. She knew how to talk the talk. She knew how to hoodwink hardworking men and women out of a few dollars. The morality of it wasn’t as hard as most people thought. When it was a question of survival?
Well, then legalese meant less than the morals you attached to it. As far as Cleo was concerned, stealing wasn’t no sin when you needed it to survive.
Her stomach was rumbling. So for Sarah? The Poguelet?
Then, a bit of food was necessary.
It wasn’t just a question of charm, though that helped. It was confidence, unbridled and real. It was looking someone square in the eye with such surety that they didn’t think it possible you were tricking them.
Did that make her a bad person?
Ah, well. Good and bad was relative.
She wouldn’t make friends in this market, this was true.
But she’d save a few.
And that was the truth that mattered more, as far as she was concerned.
Everyone played the game to win, after all. That was the nature of it. And if that meant someone else had to lose – then, needs must.
She didn’t come all the way to Morocco for less.
For the Pogues, at least it wasn’t a question of morality.
It was, however, a question of skill.
She smiled and talked louder, just trying to compensate for the fact that she was working with rank amateurs. Pope and his wide-eyed goodness. John B with as much subtlety as a damn brick. JJ was passable, at least, but they were tanking this – and fast.
“Where do you get your fruit?” she asked, feigning extreme interest in the skin quality of the oranges. She picked one up and held it in his face. “I heard this color ain’t natural.”
“What?” the man objected, his accent growing deep and heavy in his indignation. “That is ridiculous! Who told you that? Was it Beni? You can’t believe a word he says.”
She shrugged coolly. She didn’t know who Beni was, but she suspected he was about as honest as this gentleman.
Which was to say – questionably so.
She wasn’t judging. Not even.
Not when she was trying to steal from him.
“I don’t know,” she said, tapping a finger against it. “Growth hormones?”
The man looked appalled. “All natural! My fruit is all natural!”
She narrowed her eyes, watching as John B stuffed enough apples in his shirt to look more pregnant than Sarah.
Cheese on bread
These idiots.
If she didn’t love them, she might have to murder them all.
“I don’t know, man,” she said with a meager shrug. She put the orange down. “I feel like maybe I should shop around.”
He looked disappointed, but ready to let her leave.
So she played it up thicker. “Do you know where Beni’s stand is set up?”
That would do it – it would.
The boys were leaving, slinking off with the grace of a damn hippo attempting ballet. It was that bad–
It was worse.
Because John B ran right into traffic.
And the fruit came spilling out.
“Shit,” she muttered, as the mark started yelling, running after John B as JJ and Pope prodded him forward into the crowd.
These Pogues.
If she didn’t love them, she might hate them.
Shit.
And they all started to run.
-o-
Pope’s legs could only go so fast, but his mind was going a million miles a minute. He went over it in his head, the consequences of committing a crime while in a foreign country. They didn’t even have papers. This was a catastrophic risk–
“Come on,” JJ yelped, prodding him. “Come on, come on!”
“Shit!’ John B said, right behind them.
Because Pope could have a plan.
But with best friends like these, what the hell difference did it make?
-o-
Kiara had thought they were trying to keep a low profile.
But when she heard the racket coming up the street, she knew better.
They were all there, at least. Pope and John B and Cleo – and JJ.
She resisted the urge to go to him, to hold him by the arm just in case.
Instead, she watched as John B got down in front of Sarah, producing an apple.
“So, an apple a day,” he said with a dumb, boyish smile. “Keeps the baby hap-pay.”
It was dumb as shit, but it made her smile.
“You’re eating for two now,” Cleo added.
Smiling now herself, Sarah took a bite.
“That’s all you got?” Rafe asked.
Because he was still Rafe. Kiara rolled her eyes.
Pope’s patience ran even thinner. “Shut up, Rafe.”
Sarah ate her apple; everyone caught their breath.
Pope finally leaned down. “You good?” he asked Sarah.
“Better?” JJ added, just as intent.
They were all taking this in stride, this shift from six to seven. This additional responsibility – was not just for Sarah. Not just for John B.
It was for all of them.
And none of them had to say it. None of them had to talk about it. It just was.
Sarah swallowed, taking another bite with a grateful sigh of relief. “Mmm,” she said. “I’ll be all right.”
“Yeah,” Kiara said, glancing anxiously at JJ. “Good.”
JJ shrugged back, smirking. “Let me know if you’re not going to finish it.”
“Well, okay,” Cleo said, with a look behind her. “The wharf’s that way. Do you think you can make it?”
Sarah nodded again, still eating, and Kiara let herself think that things might be okay.
For a second.
She actually believed it.
Until the cops came running.
-o-
Cleo gritted her teeth.
Of course the cops were coming. Because John B had made a scene, and they stuck out like sore thumbs. Finding a bunch of American kids in the streets of Morocco?
Well, they couldn’t have more of a target on their backs if they tried.
Everyone was ready to panic; everyone was ready to run.
She pursed her lips, looking around to get her bearing while everything fell apart. She had no idea how they’d gotten this far. Truly, not a clue.
John B had the heart. JJ had the soul. Pope had the brains.
And somehow, between the three of them, nothing good could ever happen.
“Well,” she muttered, turning away from the chase. “It looks like I have to do everything around here.”
-o-
Rafe should have known better by now.
The Pogues would use him. They’d be shitty to him. And they would leave him behind whenever it was convenient. He would be their scapegoat.
Every. Damn. Time.
He was getting tired of it; he really was.
But as the cops drew him aside, frisking him aggressively, he thought of Sofia. He saw the others run, Sarah’s face lingering as she looked back, and he could still see the way she looked when he held her under water.
He gritted his teeth, biting off his remarks as best he could.
He was innocent of whatever bullshit was going down right now.
But Rafe wasn’t stupid. He wasn’t that innocent.
If he wanted justice, then he had to accept justice. In his favor.
And against.
-o-
Well, JJ thought dimly, this could have gone better.
But, he assured himself as they finally made their way back to Sarah and Kiara. It also could have gone worse.
So, you know. Relatively speaking.
It wasn’t a win
But it wasn’t a loss either.
One apple for Sarah and the baby.
And angry cops for them.
John B was being all cute and sweet and shit–
They had to go. They had to run.
Since that tactic had worked so well for them in the past.
There was no time to contemplate it now. No, now they just had to move–
They darted through the streets, navigating through the alleys with a complete lack of precision. The cops nabbed Rafe – which – whatever. He focused on one foot in front of the other, making sure they were all in line.
John B and Sarah. Kie. Pope and–
Cleo.
Where was Cleo?
The question was on his lips, but he didn’t have the breath to ask it. This running thing used to be easier. The last 18 months had made him soft.
And also–
His side was on fire.
They drew to a stop a few blocks over, stopping to catch their breaths. While John B and Kie focused on Sarah – and Pope finally realized Cleo was missing–
He looked at his side.
He winced just at a glance, and when he pulled up the shirt to take a peek, the pain nearly made him pass out. It was all he could do to breathe through it, the intensity of it making his hands shake and vision dim around the edges.
The bandage was discolored.
It was also more red than it used to be.
That whole infection thing Sarah had talked to him about?
Yeah, he was pretty sure that was a thing.
Taking a breath, he put the shirt down again, hoping his friends hadn’t noticed. He couldn’t slow down, after all. He couldn’t sit here and complain.
He was back. He was making things right.
His friends came first.
Always his friends.
And everything else?
Well none of that meant shit.
-o-
John B was a slow learner. He just was.
Some things, sure. He was good at some things. He was good at treasure. He could put clues together. And he was really awesome at denial – he was so good at that.
But school hadn’t been his thing. And really, having a normal job was never going to be his thing. Those details, they didn’t stick. They couldn’t stick.
He was like his dad that way.
Except he couldn’t be. Not anymore.
It had been mere days since he watched Sarah get swept out to sea. The learning curve on that sort of thing? Was pretty big.
He had to learn to step up, and he had to learn right now. He knew his mom had had a lot of good reasons for walking out on Big John.
He wasn’t going to repeat that cycle. No way, no how. He was going to make Sarah happy. He was going to be there for his baby. He was going to learn.
It started here. It started now.
He wasn’t going to push for his way. He wasn’t going to assume that he knew what she wanted. He wasn’t going to tell her what she needed.
He was going to support her. First and foremost. Getting her food, letting her rest – that was the bare minimum for her physical needs. When it came to her emotional needs, John B needed to listen, even when it came to Rafe.
“Hey, hey,” he said, pulling them to a stop and taking her by the arm. He waited until she was looking at him. “What do you want to do?”
Standing there, Sarah looked momentarily lost. He hated it; to see her like that.
How far had he taken her? From her home? From the life she thought she wanted?
She shrugged, almost helpless. “What do you think?
What he thought – didn’t matter. What he wanted – didn’t matter.
Sarah mattered.
The baby mattered.
They mattered.
“I mean, should we try to go back and help him?” she asked, clearly not sure. “Or–?”
Pope’s ire was high; he was not a low-stress person in a high-stress situation, that much was still true. “No, hell no,” he said, almost insisting. “We don’t have passports. If we go back, we’re going to get arrested.”
And from behind them, JJ helpfully pitched in. “I agree,” he said, sounding breathless and worn. “I’m with Pope on this one.”
He ignored them. Completely. He kept his eyes on Sarah, where they belonged. “I’ll do whatever you want to do,” he said it like a promise. He meant it like a vow. “He’s your brother.”
She hesitated, but finally, she shook her head. Reluctant, but decided. “No,” she said decisively. “Let’s just go to the wharf.”
John B was a slow learner, it was true.
But Sarah Cameron?
Not so much.
She was the most impressive woman he knew.
If he loved her more now than before, well – that was only because John B was a slow learner but he wasn’t a complete moron.
He took her hand and nodded.
It was time to go.
-o-
Cleo knew a thing or two about running.
People ran when they felt cornered; they did it because they were scared.
Sometimes, with good reason – that was true.
But you had to think. Not just about the next step – but the step after that.
Because you could run away.
Or you could run to something.
And Cleo? Well, she had refined the skill of the latter.
Turning away, she ducked off the main street where the rest of the Pogues were going. No doubt, JJ would get them away from the cops.
Cleo would do her part and get them to their end goal.
Which meant – they needed supplies. Not just food, though that was going to be a problem. And transportation could wait for now, until they figured out the location of Groff and the crown.
But first things first?
They needed to blend in.
A little discretion went a long way, especially when you were on the run. These Pogues were genuinely hopeless. How did they get anything done without her?
It didn’t take long; it wasn’t hard.
Once she pulled into the residential alleys, everything was right there – primed for the taking.
She considered her options. Not for style; but for accessibility.
Also, she looked for lines that were well stocked. She wasn’t about to go stealing everything someone owned. A piece there. Another there. Until her arms were full.
And she grabbed a sucker from a street vendor on her way back, sneaking it out without him even seeing.
Five minutes.
And she’d bought them a whole lot more.
Winding her way back, she found them looking for her.
She rolled her eyes, hushing them. All her work, and they were trying to get caught.
“I permanently borrowed these from a clothesline,” she said, handing the garments out indiscriminately. “We need better disguises. The coppers are looking for us.”
JJ grinned at her, genuinely impressed. “Maybe you are the best thief!”
She beamed back at him. “I know that,” she said, winking at him as they shuffled to start moving. “Wharf’s this way! Let’s move!”
-o-
Truth be told, Rafe’s resolve was wavering.
This idea of justice, this idea of amends – he liked it, he did. He knew he needed to get his shit together if he wanted a life – a family – with Sofia.
But this was getting ridiculous.
They’d stolen his boat. They’d punched him out. They’d tied him up. They’d sunk his boat. Then, they’d left him behind to be their fall guy.
It was less than ideal.
Rafe was trying to be moderate about this.
Less than ideal.
As if somehow that could make him less irate right now.
All the work he’d done. The boat he’d gotten them. The deal he’d struck with Shoupe. He’d let them punch him up and tie him up for a week.
And he let it go. He didn’t try to get even. He didn’t even make snide comments.
To their faces.
Often.
But now, after that – after all that – they had ditched him. They’d set him up and left him with the cops. Even Sarah.
He was doing this for her.
And she had ditched him, too. Left him behind like he was nothing.
Assholes, every last one of them. He really wasn’t sure why he bothered. He didn’t need them. Not like they needed him.
He had money; he had identification.
The cops had cleared him quickly enough, and he could do whatever he wanted. He could buy his own supplies; he could book his own hotel room. He had leads they didn’t, plain and simple. Because Groff had tried to play him. He still had Groff’s pen.
It didn’t take much – just a few bucks – to buy the phone. He picked up a knife in the meantime with a little spare change, just to be safe. Dialing Sofia’s number was easy, and she answered just that fast.
“Hey,” he said.
She sounded concerned, even all the way across the ocean. “Is everything okay?”
She was perfect, she really was. None of them were worth it, but she was.
That was what he had to tell himself. He had to keep himself centered on that.
This was for Sofia.
Even more than Sarah.
Even more than his dad.
Sofia.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” he said, pushing his way through the crowd. “I just need you to find the pen Groff gave me. It should be in the kitchen, maybe.”
“Uh,” she hesitated, but he could tell she was moving. “Yeah.”
“It should be in one of the drawers,” he coached. “Got it?”
“Yeah,” she said, sounding expectant.
He grinned, nodding. “Perfect, okay,” he said. “There should be a name of a hotel written on the side. Do you see it?”
“Yeah,” she said, slowing down as she read. “Riyadh, Mimouna, Essouira, Maroc.”
She sounded uncertain, but he wasn’t. He whistled, buying a cloak for himself while he took that in. “Great, I think I saw a sign for that,” he said, because it was that easy. “Yeah.”
When you were that smart. When you were that connected. When you were that good.
Things were easier.
The Pogues wouldn’t understand that.
They’d bitch and moan about how unfair it was, but it wasn’t Rafe’s fault.
She hesitated. “Is everything okay?”
He finished paying. “Yeah,” he said, because it was more than good.
“Are you okay?” she followed up, sounding even less sure.
He loved her; he did. “Listen, I’m just taking care of business,” he assured her. “Okay?”
He started down the street, feeling his confidence come together. Build him up.
“I’m going to get it all back,” he promised. For himself. For his family’s legacy. For her. “With interest.”
He felt it, like a pressure building in his chest. The anticipation. The sense that he was close.
It was the thrill of closing a deal. It was the adrenaline of making a score.
It was the growing sense of certainty that he was about to get everything he wanted – and then some.
“Just be careful, okay?” she said, voice faltering.
She was sweet; she was young.
She was still so naive.
“Yeah, I will,” he said, no doubt. “I got to go.”
It was a promise.
It was a certainty.
It was a fact of life: Camerons came out on top.
The end, full stop.
Rafe was his father’s son, and he always would be.
“Hey, Rafe,” she said.
He stopped.
“I love you,” she said.
All those miles away. An ocean between them.
That was what it was about.
The pride melted; the confidence wilted.
The adrenaline, the certainty.
It was just her. It was always going to be her.
“I love you, too,” he said.
Because Rafe already had the girl. He knew where Groff was, so he could get revenge, too. And, what the hell? If he found the treasure first, then he could have that, too.
The Pogues had already left him behind to do things his way.
So he’d do it his way.
Better than them.
When he brought it back home, maybe he’d drag them along. Maybe he’d given Sarah a pittance to make nice. Maybe he’d show them once and for all why Kooks came out on top.
It wasn’t a question of luck.
No, it had always – always – been a question of smarts.
Rafe had it; and they didn’t.
He smirked as he made his way to the hotel.
They’d learn the lesson the hard way, in the end.
-o-
It wasn’t that big of a town, at least. They made it across in good time, clearing through the markets and the streets until they came out near the water. The wharf wasn’t as fancy as the ones back in the OBX, with the big yachts and the Kook patrons. But it was the kind of wharf Cleo knew, the ones she’d grown up between on the Caribbean.
And she knew they were looking for Groff’s boat. Groff was why they were here.
But the only thing she could see was the beat-up thing on the end.
Worse for wear and weather. Beat up and listing.
But sturdy. Strong as they came.
A boat she knew. A boat she called home.
Terrance’s boat.
That was Terrance’s boat.
And just like that, it was personal.
It had been personal before, she knew that. Poguelandia had been her home, too. It had.
But this?
This was different.
Cleo didn’t have much in the way of a legacy. She came to the Pogues without leaving much of anything behind. But she’d had Terrance. She’d had that.
Terrance had died for her. They’d buried him.
And those assholes had stolen his boat.
She wasn’t sure why that was the part that got her. Not just that they’d put a bullet in him and left him for dead. But that they’d taken his boat and used it for their purposes. As if he could be reduced to a plot point. As if he hadn’t been a person, but a means to an end.
That wasn’t fair.
That wasn’t right.
That was not going to stand.
Not if she had anything to say about it.
They could stop Groff. They could get the crown.
And they could stop the assholes who killed Terrance. They could get revenge.
Which, as it turned out, she might want more than treasure anyway.
-o-
It had been a long trip, getting here. Difficult and winding; full of ups and downs.
But they were here. They were in the city.
This was their first lead.
Their first actionable lead.
They couldn’t blow that; not now. Sarah knew that.
The boat was right there. Checking it out was the only logical thing. They didn’t flee the OBX, cross the ocean, and wash up on shore to stop now.
Someone had to go. Someone had to take the risk. Someone just had to do it.
The thing was, being pregnant was weird. Sometimes, she felt strangely vulnerable, exposed in a way she never had been before. Her understanding of actions and consequences was suddenly more acute, and risk felt more pressing.
But nothing had changed. Her status as a Pogue hadn’t changed. Her commitment to her friends hadn’t changed. Her need to be a part of this, whatever it was, had not changed.
Now that she was hydrated and fed — and not nauseous for once — she reminded herself of the key point.
She was pregnant.
Not dead.
So if they needed someone to go investigate Terrance’s boat? If they needed someone to sneak in right under the noses of the Corsairs?
Then why not her? JJ they could ID. Kiara wasn’t about to leave him behind. Pope would be too gun-shy, and the look on Cleo’s face suggested she wasn’t exactly going to be showing much restraint.
They needed someone who could keep a cool head.
They needed someone who could keep a low profile.
They needed her.
And the simple fact was, she didn’t need their permission. She didn’t need their blessing.
Not to board the boat. Not to scour it. Not to suss out the clues to Groff’s location – or the crown.
She just needed to go.
-o-
Shit was getting real.
They’d made it to Essaouira. They’d found clues to the treasure to indicate they were on the right track. They hadn’t found Groff, but they’d found the mercenaries, and now they were scouring that lead for whatever it might yield, taking them one step closer to the crown.
One step closer to Groff.
One stop closer to clearing their names, restoring their reputations, and getting the land back.
Pope wasn’t sure they had a plan anymore, but this was as close to it as they would get. Sarah and John B were going on; and the rest of them would keep watch.
Over the boat.
And over JJ.
No doubt, that was why they’d paired off. Cleo and Pope could keep an actual eye on the situation. And Kiara could keep an eye on JJ – to make sure he didn’t become the situation. They had to keep it together now, more than ever. They had to keep themselves grounded and focused.
Which figured. The moment they needed to step it up, he was losing Cleo.
He frowned at her, watching as she fidgeted. Too quiet; too dark. Her brow was deeply furrowed, and the easy confidence she normally exuded seemed muted all of a sudden.
Like she was entirely different since stepping onto the wharf.
Since seeing Terrance’s boat.
Which – Pope was a smart enough guy. He could make a few deductions.
“You good?” he asked finally.
He knew the answer, but he also knew she had the right to tell him herself.
She pursed her lips, not looking at him for a moment.
“Cleo,” he pressed. “This not talking thing – I’m not confident it’s a smart thing to do with JJ. I know it’s a bad idea for you. For us.”
That got her to look at him. “Not everything is about us,” she said, her voice harder than normal. “Not all of it is even about the Pogues.”
Pope had already heard some bullshit confessions this week. JJ admitting he was suicidal? That was one he didn’t know how to confront.
This one, though.
He shook his head. “That’s crap.”
Her brow darkened. “You don’t get to say.”
“I do,” he said, and he nodded out toward the boat. “I know it bothers you. That they have Terrance’s boat. They killed Terrance and can do whatever they want. It’s not fair.”
Her cheeks flushed, breathing quickening. “Fair is only what you make it,” she said. “I don’t trust anyone to be fair except myself.”
He sighed, shaking his head. “You think we all won’t go all-in with you? I mean, why the hell else are we even here?”
“For JJ–”
“For all of us,” Pope said. He shook his head again. “I figured that out a long time ago. Parsing out the blame, trying to pin it on any one of us – it doesn’t work. We’re either all in, or we’re all out. That’s just how it works.”
She looked back out across the wharf again, still glowering. “You didn’t know him.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Pope said. “I mean, we’re already stopping Groff and getting the crown. So what if we add nailing the Corsairs onto the list?”
She gave him a long, sideways look. “I don’t want to nail them,” she said. “I want them dead. Every last one of them.”
She said it with enough conviction that it made his stomach flip. JJ talked shit like that, too, but they all knew he was too soft to do anything about it.
Cleo, though.
Well, Pope wasn’t so sure.
“Cleo,” he said. “Revenge isn’t the same thing as justice.”
“I know,” she said flatly. “I didn’t say anything about justice.”
He sighed. “But if we let it blind us, we’re going to compromise everything.”
“I know!” she said, eyebrows going up. “That’s why I was going to keep it to myself.”
Now, his brow furrowed. “That’s not – I don’t–” he tried, fumbling the words. “It’s just, we have to do it right.”
She looked plaintive at him now, wholly unswayed. “And what is the right way to do this?”
“We follow the order of operations,” Pope said, as reasonably as he could. “First, we have to find Groff. Then, the crown–”
“And you can,” Cleo said. “I’ll just – do the Corsairs on my own.”
He wanted to think she knew how stupid that sounded.
But as he looked at her, it was pretty clear she didn’t.
Shit, she really was like JJ sometimes.
“Right, since you can take out an entire mercenary group,” he said.
The snark was not appreciated. She crossed her arms over her chest. “Then just the one. Lightner.”
He turned away, letting his eyes skim over the wharf, alert for any sign of danger – or more danger. Since the conversation coming from his girlfriend’s mouth was pretty damn dangerous right now. “I’ll think of the best ways to do it, I will,” he said. “But we have to stay focused.”
She lifted her chin with more than an air of defiance. “I intend to.”
“I’m serious,” he said. “The stakes are high here, too high.”
“You mean like you haven’t gotten distracted?” she said, turning it right back around on him.
Now it was his turn to flush. He could feel the heat, rising up his neck, and he swallowed thickly.
He was distracted.
The plan had been to get the business up and running, handle the finances, and then apply to med school. By the time he started his studies, he would have the others up to speed on the books and the business would be self-sufficient. He would go to school, Poguelandia 2.0 would be a long-term, operational success, and they were all going to be happy.
That had been the plan.
But now Pope was a wanted criminal. He was traveling without a passport and with no money and no backup plan. He literally couldn’t be more distracted if he actually tried.
“All the more reason,” he said finally. “Because one more distraction – and someone’s going to wind up dead this time.”
This time, she sighed, letting her gaze drift out again. She wet her lips again, breathing for several long seconds. “Fine,” she said, conceding the point just a little. Just enough. “I’ll stay focused.”
He relaxed, just a little.
But Cleo’s jaw was still set firm as she looked out across the wharf. “But if I see my chance,” she said, giving him a look of warning. “I’m going to take the shot.”
He didn’t love it, but he didn’t have to love it. He didn’t love any of this.
It was enough of a concession; it was as good as it got.
“Okay,” he said, drawing in a breath and holding it. He nodded, looking at her – looking at the wharf. And looking at her again. “And I’ll be there with you.”
She looked back, face softening just a little. “Yeah?”
“Yeah,” he nodded, smiling now. “You can count on me.”
She leaned in a little, smile tugging at her lips. “What about focus?”
He leaned back. “Well,” he said, shrugging slightly. “Some of my focus is always going to be you.”
Chapter 23: CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Notes:
Ugh, how is it Monday? I am not ready for another week.
LOL, I'm not sure JJ is either. But here we go! We're in the home stretch here, so hopefully the action makes sense and doesn't disappoint.
I need to start hitting the second part of this fic hard -- there will be a lag in posting but I have probably about 100k written. Not sure if that's half or a third or what. So I need to get to work!!
Thank you all for ongoing comments and support. You all are the best and I hate that JJ died -- but I love that there are still people here who live with me in denial.
Chapter Text
-o-
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
-o-
So his lead on the hotel?
Was dead on.
The thing was swarming with mercenaries, and they weren’t looking for him. Getting in close – that shit was easy.
However, pinpointing his next step – well, that was harder. He needed to be careful. The Pogues ran around like chickens with the heads cut off, impulsive and reckless. Rafe would be smarter about this. He’d get his intel and then figure out his next move.
Easing his way out of the building, he circled around it, just trying to get his bearings. He needed the full picture before he acted; he needed all the information before he could come up with the best plan of attack.
He scoped out the entrances, making note of the open windows. Then, along one of the alleyways – heard something.
Voices in Arabic – that was par for the course.
And American.
He knew that voice.
Pleading, begging – lying.
That was Chandler Groff.
Curious now, he pushed himself up – finding his way onto one of the stair systems outside the building. It took some work to navigate up – crisscrossing through the exterior system until he was able to pull himself over the lip of the roof.
The area was obscured – covered with drying laundry and other objects that must have belonged to the maintenance staff. He could hear Groff pleading now – always talking, always conniving – and it sounded like he wasn’t getting very far.
Honestly, part of Rafe wanted to let that go. Let Groff get what he deserved.
But if he did that, then he’d never get his revenge. He’d never get his justice.
He hadn’t come all this way, risked all he had, for someone else to get the payoff.
No, Groff was his.
This treasure – was his.
So when the guy came at him, creeping through the clothes, Rafe smirked, fingers curled into his fist.
He was too old to go looking for a fight. He had learned that lesson.
But shit, right?
He was more than ready to take a swing.
His knuckles hit – hard. He could feel the satisfying crunch, and the way his knuckles split made him grin with sadistic satisfaction. The man went down – and hard. As he scrambled back to a defensive position, Rafe was already on him.
He didn’t give a shit about fighting fair.
No, he just wanted to win.
With another hard hit, the man sprawled to the ground. Rafe looked over at Groff, who was picking himself up off the ground, dabbing at his bloody nose.
Asshole.
Why was Rafe always surrounded by assholes?
“Your choice,” he said flatly. “Him or me.”
Groff was an idiot, Rafe was sure of that. But he wasn’t an idiot. “You,” he said, holding out his hand and laughing, almost like he couldn’t believe his good fortune.
Which, yeah. Rafe didn’t have time to capitulate. “You owe me money,” he said gruffly, laying all his damn cards out on the table. This wasn’t a joyride. This wasn’t a helping hand. This was what it was, and they could do it the easy way – or the hard way. Rafe had come a long way for this, so it was going to happen. He looked back to the man on the ground, still struggling to push himself up off the ground. “Give me your keys.”
On the ground, the man glared up at him. Pissed to have been bested. Pissed to be forced into this. Just pissed. “I’m going to kill you.”
Whatever. Rafe had been there, done that. He didn’t give a shit what this asshole thought he was going to do.
All that mattered was what Rafe was going to get done.
He reached down, taking the keys for himself while the man writhed.
He turned back to Groff, grabbing him and yanking him forward. “Come on,” he said. “Let’s go.”
Groff didn’t need to be told again. Still limping, he stumbled forward, and Rafe yanked him, pushing him in front of him, until they were both running back down the stairs. Groff pulled to the right without saying anything, into a room, and Rafe followed.
It didn’t take much to figure out this was Groff’s room.
Now, Rafe didn’t give a shit about his personal belongings. If he had a toothbrush – it wasn’t Rafe’s problem.
But this was a treasure hunt. If Groff was playing the mercenaries, then he was probably hiding something. And that something? Was probably something they needed.
“Get your shit,” he said, glancing anxiously behind him.
“All right,” Groff said, stumbling forward.
Rafe didn’t have time for posturing. “Let’s go!”
Groff went over to the fireplace, leaning down. He reached up, feeling around for something.
And he pulled out a tube.
Whatever. “Come on!” Rafe yelled, keenly reminding himself just how many mercenaries were at this hotel. “Hurry up!”
Groff grinned. “All right, sport,” he said, too nonchalant now for Rafe’s liking. “Let’s go.”
Like it was his idea.
Whatever.
Rafe would deal with that. Rafe would deal with all of this.
Once he got what was his.
One way or another.
-o-
Luke was still unpacking shit – somehow that was his job, as the low man on the proverbial totem pole – but it wasn’t hard to figure out that something was going down.
For mercenaries, see, they weren’t all that subtle. Maybe they didn’t care; maybe they were bad mercenaries. Luke wasn’t sure.
In general, it wasn't his problem.
Until, of course, it was.
Dalia stormed toward him, flanked by two of her men. Luke straightened, ready to explain – whatever it was he needed to explain.
But she came to a stop, all but seething.
“Where did he go?” she demanded.
Behind her, Lightner was limping into view. He looked like shit.
He looked pissed, too, and Luke might have been amused were they not looking at him like it might be his fault.
He hadn’t done shit, so he wasn’t sure how it was his fault.
But the looks on their faces?
Made it pretty clear he was going to be held accountable for it.
“Who?” he said. He was sober enough now to make the question genuine – and to keep himself from sounding like an asshole – while he looked from Dalia to Lightner and back again.
“Groff,” she said, almost like she was spitting the name. Her lip curled with utter vehemence, and Luke realized belatedly that the answer should have been obvious.
Sober or not, he could be kind of an idiot. Oblivious in the face of the obvious.
“Where did he go?” she demanded.
Luke considered this – he considered her and he considered Lightner, and he put a few bits together. Shit had gone down; Groff had either tipped his hand or been forced to make his play. How he’d gotten the one-up on Lightner – that, Luke couldn’t say. But he’d cut and run, probably taking the scroll and the amulet with him for good measure.
He was doing his best to make sense of that, but not fast enough.
Dalia seethed openly. “You promised me you could keep tabs on him, keep him in check,” she said, voice going low and dangerous. She poked a finger at his chest, jabbing it hard. “And yet, here I am empty-handed.”
“I wasn’t there,” Luke said, protesting before he had a chance to think about how little his excuse would mean to this woman.
Lightner came up next to her now, still dabbing the blood beneath his nose. “He’s probably working with him,” he said, glaring at Luke. “We should cut off his head and send Groff a message.”
Luke’s eyes widened in alarm. He had strong self-preservation skills, okay? It was about the only instinct he’d managed to keep, sober or drunk or high. “Hey!” he said. “I’m doing my job. Looks like you’re the one who dropped the ball.”
Was it the smartest thing to say? Possibly not.
Lightner’s face darkened murderously, and his body tensed as if to surge forward.
But Dalia stepped between them, giving Lightner a cold look.
Before she looked back to Luke. “I don’t know if you’re in league with him or not; you could be,” she said. “And if you are? If you’ve betrayed me like he has? Then Lightner’s idea isn’t so bad.”
He stiffened, swallowing back his protests once more.
She stepped closer, face set and hard. “But I don’t need the violence. I need Groff and his little scroll. That’s what I need,” she said flatly. “You made promises to get on this trip. Now, I’m calling them to task.”
It made his stomach churn with anxiety, but he couldn’t pretend like she wasn’t justified in some of it. As far as deals went, Luke knew the terms. He’d agreed to the conditions.
Was it a bad deal? Well, maybe. Had Luke made a mistake? Standing there, on the streets of of foreign country surrounded by killers, he had to concede that it was possible.
He still knew why he was doing this.
And really, if Groff wasn’t here? Then, whatever his endgame was – was more likely to come to pass, and Luke had every reason to suspect that would be bad for JJ. He needed Groff back in the OBX, facing charges. Getting his ass locked in prison.
If he got away here – with the crown – then JJ would never get his land back. Hell, JJ would end up in prison for a crime he didn’t commit.
His hesitation wasn’t appreciated. Dalia’s nostrils flared. “You better make good on your promise, or I’ll do more than cut you loose,” she said. “I’ll make you pay for Groff’s crimes. Do we understand each other?”
Luke wasn’t a man with nuance, but he also wasn’t that. He didn’t so much understand the threat as he felt it, down deep in his bones.
Of course, the threat of dying? Well, that didn’t mean as much as it probably should.
But the threat of letting Groff go free? While JJ’s freedom was still in the balance.
That was a weight he couldn’t ignore.
“You want to give me some idea where to start?” he asked, looking from Dalia to Lightner again. “Since your man here lost him?”
Lightner made a move – as if the lash out – but Dalia lifted her hand to him – and stared him down hard.
“My patience with you is thin,” she said, eye locking again on Luke. “Your boy bested Lightner – because he had help.”
Luke frowned, trying to make sense of that. “Help? From who?”
“That’s what I’m asking you,” she said angrily. “Because it was an American. A blonde kid.”
That detail made his stomach constrict, and he did his best not to show it. This play was already precarious enough as it was. The last thing he needed to do was to give Dalia more reasons to doubt him.
Especially when they were all justified, every last one of them.
He wasn’t quite good enough. Her lip curled again.
“I think you know,” she said, nodding at him. “Those kids, from your little island. Your son. They’re here.”
The idea of it made his mind reel. He knew that Groff was up in JJ’s business – that was why he was here.
He hadn’t considered, though–
Would JJ be that stupid?
Would his friends be that stupid?
To come after Groff? To come after these mercenaries?
It was suicide, and Luke would know. It was straight-up suicide.
She snorted, clearly derisive of his shock. “And you didn’t know?” she asked. “I almost believe you.”
“He’s a liability–” Lightner started.
She turned on him – hard. “And you’re still the one that let him go,” she snapped.
Lightner stepped back again.
Dalia pressed her lips together and looked back at him. “If they’re after the crown, then they’re going to be in my way,” she said. “And I will eliminate them if needed. I have enough distractions as it is.”
He drew back, clamping his mouth shut.
“If they stay out of my way, I’ll stay out of theirs,” she said. “I just want Groff. And I just want the crown. Can you help me with that, or did I make a mistake with you?”
That was a question with an obvious answer – that wasn’t obvious at all.
Luke barely had control of this bullshit when it was him and Groff.
If JJ were here? With his friends?
Well, that was more than he’d bargained for.
And yet, somehow, something he couldn’t afford not to protect.
“No, I can help,” he said, so sure and so quick that he didn’t have time to consider the weight of his lie. “I can get Groff. The kids won’t be a problem.”
Dalia looked skeptical – and with reason. It was a bold promise. The kind Luke had no business making.
The kind he couldn’t afford to break.
For anyone involved right now.
“Go,” she said, her voice flat and her eyes like flint. “And don’t come back to us empty-handed.”
He nodded, swallowing back his doubt. “Sounds good,” he said. “I’ll make this right. You’ll see.”
That much of the promise – he meant.
He would make this right.
He just didn't know for sure if Dalia would like how it looked, in the end. He felt the others watch him as he squared his shoulders and lifted his chin, stepping around Dalia and brushing past Lightner, who stepped in his path enough for them to bump.
Lightner’s chest puffed out, and Luke raised his eyebrows. He reached up, smirking, as he patted the man on the stomach. “You got something,” he said, lifting his other hand and pointing to Lightner’s bloody nose. “Right there.”
Lightner shoved his hand down with far more force than necessary.
Luke smiled a little more, cocking his head to the side as he stepped around him again. Dalia was watching them both, and Lightner went ramrod still as Luke kept walking, and he could feel their eyes as he moved on.
He didn’t stop – he didn’t dare stop – until he turned the corner.
The facade fell, his confidence faltering.
Shit. Groff was gone. Shit.
JJ was here.
Shit, shit shit.
Luke’s life was on the line, and so was JJ’s. He had to get himself together; he couldn’t falter now.
He took a breath.
Then another. He closed his eyes and focused.
And when he opened his eyes, he looked down at the keys in his hands.
He’d swiped them from Lightner. He noted with some disappointment – they weren’t car keys. They wouldn’t work with Lightner’s motorcycle.
No, these were boat keys.
No doubt, a spare pair to the piece of shit moored in the harbor. It wasn’t what he was hoping – now he was stuck on foot as he searched the city. He would have to find alternative means of transportation – assuming he could find any lead at all.
He shoved the keys into his pocket, along with the notes he’d swiped from the locker. A boat and Groff’s next step? That might be the long-term plan needed to cut out Dalia and her men altogether.
If this went south – if Luke needed to cut and run with JJ – then a boat and a lead were the only things that mattered.
He made his way out, back into the street, trying to take a steadying breath.
Given what he had to work with here, a contingency plan might be the only saving grace he had right now.
-o-
It was just – he should be loving this.
This was the shit he used to love.
Searching for clues. Unearthing secrets. Uncovering truths. Piecing together the mystery.
It had been the stuff his dad raised him on. It had been what had helped him cope with his father’s disappearance. It was in his blood; it was in his soul.
A month ago, he would have admitted – deep down, this was what he wanted. Not a charter business, not a surf shop. Not a perfect little life, quiet on the OBX.
But this.
Treasure hunting. Just like his old man.
But John B hated it.
He hated sneaking onto the boat. He hated going through the clues. He hated piecemealing the facts together. He hated that Sarah was the one who was with him.
Sarah was the one who was willingly putting herself into danger.
Sarah.
And his baby.
The thing he hated most? Was that this was his fault. The only reason they were into treasure hunting was because of him. No one – not even JJ – would have thought this was viable without his lead. His influence. Him.
He could blame JJ – and he had – but he had to take accountability here. He made choices, and now Sarah was on a boat operated by mercenaries, looking for clues to steal a priceless artifact out from underneath them. The thrill, the excitement. The stakes, the adrenaline. All of it, piecing together the clues, just like the Merchant gold, just like the cross, just like damn El Dorado.
Before, the slim possibility of success had always been enough of a wager.
That wasn’t a JJ thing.
That was John B.
But now, the idea of success seemed so fleeting when up against the potential failure. The odds had never been in their favor, and it had never mattered when it was just them.
But Sarah? The baby?
What the hell kind of parent was he? What the hell good was he as a husband?
Nothing to lose was a bullshit anathema – the one he had claimed.
And now it would haunt him until the end of his days.
“We need to hurry,” he said, as Sarah crept into the office.
She scoffed, not bothering to look back. “We just got here.”
He swallowed hard, glancing anxiously over his shoulder. “But if they come back–”
This time, she did glance back. Tugging his hand, she rolled her eyes. “Then we should hurry.”
There was a practicality to that, and John B could concede that much. Pursing his lips, he figured he was already here. The risk was already taken.
He could learn a few things and hurry this along.
At this point, it was his only option.
Sarah was already moving through the papers as John B started in on another stack.
“They’re not exactly into organization, are they?” Sarah observed, opening a drawer with a frown.
“Well, they’re mercenaries,” he reminded her. “What did you expect?”
“They’re professionals,” Sarah retorted. She shrugged, a little off handed. “So – you know. Professionalism.”
That much made him smirk. “That’s very Kook of you.”
She glared, pausing in her search. “You really want to say that to your wife? Your pregnant wife.”
His smile widened, turning back to the desk. “Well, there’s got to be something.”
“Got some cash,” she said, holding up a few bills to him.
He shoved them in his pocket. “That’s a place to start,” he said, picking through some of the documents.
Sarah opened another drawer. “I’ve got nothing on Groff, though,” she said. “How about you?”
John B frowned, mustering up his focus. “No,” he said, sifting through the things. “But they really are concerned about this Finch guy.”
He picked up another sheet showing it to her.
She skimmed it, nose starting to wrinkle. “What is he, then?” she mused. “Their investor?”
“Well, they’re mercenaries,” John B said. “So, guns for hire.”
Sarah nodded along as she followed his point. “So maybe he’s the one who hired him.”
“Maybe,” John B agreed, giving the paper another look. There was an address – something in Lisbon. “And if he’s the one buying the crown—”
Sarah’s eyes lit up at that. “Then, we might find Groff,” she said. “Something like that, it’s not going to have a big market.”
“It sounds like Groff, too,” John B said, putting the paper back down and making a mental note of the name and location. “He could have double-crossed the mercenaries. Cut them out of the deal.”
“And he doesn’t have to share the profits,” Sarah concluded. “I mean, it does sound like Groff.”
“It’s still not our endgame, though,” John B said, starting to look again. “We need something that gets us the crown first.”
“I know, I know,” Sarah muttered, starting her search again. “So demanding.”
“You're the one who insisted on coming,” John B reminded her.
“Because I’m not going to be dead weight,” she said, lifting her chin a little as her eyes flashed to him. “I’m not.”
He paused, too, leaning over to kiss her. “Never. But I am going to protect you.”
“I know,” she said, kissing him back. “But sometimes I want to protect you, too.”
“You’re the one who’s pregnant,” he reminded her.
“And this baby needs a father as much as it needs a mother,” she protested.
“Well, don’t worry,” he said, starting back through the papers. “I intend on getting both of you home.”
She started up again, too. “I intend on getting all of us home.”
Because the baby made three, sure.
But the Pogues?
Had always been more than that.
-o-
Luke wasn’t panicking. Not quite.
But his overall sense of control and confidence was slipping. A lot.
Really, as he made his way out into the town, the only reason he wasn’t panicking was that he didn’t have the time. Shit, panic was a luxury. If he panicked now, he was dead, JJ was dead, and this whole damn thing was going down in flames.
On the one hand, JJ and his friends were safe. They were here. Whatever Groff had planned, he hadn’t done it yet. So – you know. That had its merits.
The bad news was that they were here. Which meant whatever Groff had planned would be that much easier to put into action, and that they weren’t just in Groff’s way – but the mercenaries, too. And shit, probably this Finch asshole.
He had the keys to the boat. He could split right now.
But no. He’d come this way to do the responsible thing.
He didn’t know what that was – he had no idea – but he knew it didn’t involve running away now, not when shit was about to get real.
Groff was on the run. The mercenaries were out for blood. JJ always had the worst ideas, and his friends were stupid enough to go along. How was he supposed to fix this?
Luke didn’t know.
But he was pretty sure it started with Groff.
He had to find Groff.
And he had to find him now.
At the row of motorcycles, parked behind the hotel, he found the easiest one to hotwire. Grand theft auto hadn’t been his crime of choice, but there wasn’t an engine he couldn’t jury-rig. Starting the thing was easy, and he gave a tentative glance around as he started off.
He moved through the first few streets, considering.
What he knew about Groff.
He’d sold himself to the mercenaries on that, and it wasn’t like he’d been lying. He did know this asshole, if only by his manipulations and what he was willing to do. For Groff, this stupid crown was everything. It was why he’d betrayed everyone who had ever trusted him, including his own damn son.
He tried to remember.
The stupid crown.
The map.
Groff had showed him the map. In detail. The whole coastline. The translation.
He hadn’t paid a ton of attention; he hadn’t cared.
But if he could remember–
The map targeted an area by the sea. Something – north?
He was pretty sure it was north.
Agraba?
Was that a city?
Or just some made up bullshit.
He turned through a few more streets, making his way out of the market and looking for the closest city gate as he considered. Not Agraba.
Not Atlanta, that was the US. Not Argentina, that was South America.
With a hard right, he found a side gate – something small. He got himself out, out into the outskirts, pulling the bike to the main road as he considered it. Groff had most of what he needed by now. He wouldn’t linger here, especially not if Dalia and Lightner were onto him. He’d be going for the gold now – literally.
With nothing more to go on, he started up the bike again, kicking up some sand as he turned the bike north. He made it, along the outside of the city, until he came to the main road and paused. There was a sign, directing the way to Essouira.
And another pointing north.
To Agapenta.
It clicked, just like that in Luke’s brain.
Agapenta.
The crown was in Agapenta.
Groff was going to Agapenta.
So, what the hell?
He put the bike back into gear, and pressed down hard on the gas.
He was going to Agapenta, too.
-o-
JJ didn’t really like this job.
Keeping a look out.
That was bullshit. He was sitting there doing nothing, and he knew it. It was back to the B team; they’d benched him.
To be fair, he probably deserved that. He was basically a walking disaster, and all his plans had made their lives exponentially worse. He’d lost their home. He’d cost them their freedom.
He was pretty sure the shipwreck was his fault, too, even though he had been so drunk he really didn’t remember it all that well. He remembered hitting land, though. He remembered John B hugging him. Brothers for life.
Saving Sarah was the only good thing he’d done in days. Weeks.
Maybe ever as far as he was concerned.
If this was what they needed, then he could do it. He would do it.
It was just – so damn hard.
He fidgeted, moving anxiously about their perch on the fort walls. They had a great vantage point, it was true. So JJ could see everything.
And do nothing.
“Hey,” Kiara said next to him. She smiled at him with a bob of her head. “Did you know that, supposedly, if you find the blue crown, you get a wish?”
That bit made him stop.
He looked at her, nose wrinkling. “Is that what they say?”
She looked pleased with herself. “That’s the legend,” she confirmed.
And he considered it.
Like, who wouldn’t consider it.
A wish, right?
A single wish.
JJ had grown up wishing for a lot of things when he was young. But when Santa never came, when the Easter Bunny never showed up – when there was no Tooth Fairy or Great Pumpkin or any of it. When there wasn’t water or electricity or food in the fridge – but empty beer cans and spent lotto tickets – he’d stopped wishing.
He’d stopped dreaming.
But the last 18 months had been different.
She was different.
Someone to help him believe.
“Let’s hear it,” she cajoled. “What’s your wish?”
She made it easy, didn’t she? To believe in impossible things.
To believe in everything.
To believe in himself.
“Don’t say a truck,” she preempted.
He postured, turning back around and abandoning his post for a moment as the ideas flitted through his head. There were a lot of things, weren’t there? Things he’d never done. Things he’d never dared to hope for.
Things he’d never thought he’d deserved.
“I know,” he said, finally looking at her. “Save Poguelandia.”
The smile that played on her lips was just the one he wanted to see. She nodded a few times, letting her gaze sweep out again. “Yup,” she agreed. “Good one.”
But the moment turned wistful, just that fast.
“If we could make it like it was,” she mused, gaze falling once more. “That’s the dream.”
She looked at him, and it settled over him. Hard and cold, even in the desert heat.
She’d lost that dream. They all had.
Because of him.
He couldn’t let himself forget it. He wasn’t the victim of fate. This wasn’t just bad luck.
It was his mistakes. His.
No one else’s.
“Or I could go for a truck,” he said, desperate to push away the weight of the depression as it came back at him, even stronger than before. “New suspension, LED lights, rims. You know, make it look like a spaceship.”
Her expression softened. Bemused and patient. “You could, but you have to pick,” she said, pinning him down. “It’s not a genie. You only get one.”
And he turned back around, looking over the scene again.
“Make it good,” Kiara said with a little shrug.
It was just–
Well, it was just a lot of things, really.
Yeah, he wanted Poguelandia. Sure, he wanted a truck.
But he wanted them more.
He looked at Kiara, this beautiful, perfect girl. This girl who loved him, even when he didn’t deserve it. Even when he’d never deserve it.
He wanted what he already had. He wanted her.
The last 18 months were the best of his life. The only good ones of his life.
He wanted that.
He wanted her.
He wanted them.
“Okay,” he said, his mind settling on what he’d known all along. He looked back out with a nod.
“Okay?” she asked. “Got it?”
He nodded.
“What is it?” she asked.
Simple question.
Not so simple answer.
The thing was, JJ had never believed in happy endings.
Or, he did. Just not for him.
They were for other people.
Better people.
He had always known it, growing up. That Pope would go to college and not look back. That John B would find a treasure and not need him anymore. That Kiara would go off and save the world, while he stayed back and did nothing. Whether he rotted in prison or just wasted away in the same shitty house he grew up in, it had never mattered.
The future wasn’t his to broker.
When he said he had nothing to lose, he’d meant it. Every damn time.
And looking at her – seeing her – knowing that she’d chosen him, despite everything. Knowing that she loved him, even when he had never once deserved it.
That was his wish.
To feel like that again. To feel that fleeting moment of happiness, to hold it, just one more time. He didn’t need a lifetime; he was never going to get a lifetime.
But if he could feel it again.
If he could have it just one more time.
Well, then he could die a happy man.
He could die complete.
Then his story wouldn't be a tragedy. It would just be done.
Wishes, though, we’re a luxury.
“Well, that’s the thing about wishes,” he said, with a shrug that belied how hard this was. “If you say them, they don’t come true.”
She rolled her eyes, more than a bit exasperated. “Wow,” she said with a scoff. “You’re really not going to tell me?”
He shrugged helplessly. “It won’t come true!”
What he needed now was to get his friends home. Safe and sound.
“If you give me a hint,” she reasoned, even as he kept his eyes out across the wharf once more. “It’s not the same thing–”
And as the familiar, dark-clad figure appeared, he knew there was no time for wishes.
“Wait, wait, wait,” he said, pointing out across the crowd. “You see that guy?”
Kiara frowned, following his finger.
“That one, right there,” he said with a note. “That’s one of the Corsairs. He kidnapped me and brought me onto his ship.”
The sense of dread was filling his stomach, and this time, there was no alcohol to numb it. Kiara’s voice was heavy as she said, “He’s definitely heading toward the boat.”
“I see it,” he muttered, taking off his bag and reaching for the first hard thing he saw.
No, now was the time to act.
-o-
It wasn’t like Kiara didn’t get it.
She knew the stakes were high.
The night JJ had burned the town down, they’d crossed a line. A point of no return.
And now they’d crossed an ocean. They’d risked it all.
So it wasn’t time to get shy. They were well past the point of doubt, well into the simple reality that they needed to act.
And they needed to act now.
JJ wasted no time, slamming against the cannon and effectively sounding the signal. Across the wharf, she could hear Pope’s pounding, echoing back at them.
For a second, their hobbled together plan was working.
Until, another sound resounded. Louder, more persistent. A tolling of a bell. A long, loud chant.
“What is that?” she asked, frowning as she looked around her.
JJ stopped, looking around.
Before his face fell and his arms dropped to his sides. “It’s the call to prayer.”
It was too loud; too insistent. She watched in horror as the scene was gripped by it. “They’re never going to hear us!”
JJ looked out toward Terrance’s boat, face tense. “I know,” he said, and he pursed his lips, reaching for his things again. “Okay–”
She knew what he was thinking.
In a split second, she could see the logic playing out in his head.
He was going to go down there. He was going to intercept the man and buy Sarah and John B time. He was going to make himself the sacrificial lamb, reckless and stupid and heroic.
He was going to get himself killed.
“JJ,” she said, stepping in front of him. “You’re not going to like this.”
He was still grappling with his things, so focused on his plan for a second that he didn’t see her.
But she wasn’t backing down.
She couldn’t.
Not like she had on the boat. Not like she had for weeks back on Kildare.
“He’s definitely armed,” she reasoned. “And he knows you.”
JJ didn’t take long to figure it out. His eyes widened and he shook his. “What, are you kidding me?” he asked, following after her. “Kie, no. It’s definitely too sketched right now.”
And it wasn’t that her plan was amazing. It wasn’t even that she had a plan.
But she wasn’t suicidal.
Right?
You didn’t let a suicidal person go on a suicide mission. Not if you wanted it to succeed.
And not if you wanted them to come home.
She would prefer this to succeed, she really would.
And she would also like JJ not to die, please and thank you.
“I’m going,” she said, like she should have said before. Like she should have said every time, starting from the auction on. If she loved him – and she did love him – she had to know when to save him, even from himself. Especially from himself. “Stay here.”
He looked crestfallen, shoulders going lax.
“Hold down the fort,” she said, and shrugged with a light smile as she jogged off. “Literally.”
And she made her way down into the fray.
Headfirst into danger.
Trusting in the fact that this time – just this time – JJ might be safe.
-o-
Sarah knew they had to move. Like – now.
They’d learned about the buyer. They’d ID’d the location of the crown. They had money and supplies. A hell of a lot more than they started with.
So, they had to move now.
The signal was sounding; the alarm was going off. She and John B were clearly trespassing, and just because the boat was already stolen didn’t mean that the Corsairs would be nice about it.
No, they’d probably do more than turn them over to the police.
They’d probably shoot them dead and dump them in the ocean.
That was what had happened to Terrance.
Ironically, they were on Terrance’s boat because of it.
So, it was time to move.
She let John B lead, but she kept pace. She was still poorly nourished, too hot, and pregnant – but adrenaline was a hell of a thing. All things considered, she felt pretty damn good.
She could still do this.
She was still doing it.
She was smart; she was clever. She was strong. She could do this shit, better than any of them.
Sneaking into things; putting clues together. Cutting and running when shit was going down.
Hell, they even grabbed some extra cash on the way out, just because.
Because they were going to Agapenta.
They were going to find the crown.
And Sarah felt awesome.
-o-
JJ knew a thing or two about bad plans. Really, he knew all about them. The only plans JJ ever had were terrible, and everyone knew it. Half baked? Quarter baked?
Screw all that, JJ served them up raw, and shoveled them down his throat.
Afterwards, always surprised that they turned his stomach inside out and left him retching.
So for him to say this was a bad plan was something, okay?
This? Kiara flirting her way into a distraction with a mercenary to let John B and Sarah escape?
This was a bad plan.
It put Kiara at risk. It put John B and Sarah at risk. It put the baby at risk. He knew risks were inevitable, they always had been, but it was supposed to be him.
It had to be him.
He promised John B. He’d told them all. He would take the fall. He had to take the fall. He owed them that. The only thing he’d done right in the last few weeks — the only thing worth anything — was saving Sarah.
John B had let him back in then. His sacrifice had given him purpose. His risk had had value, something he’d been sorely lacking for the days and weeks before now.
His risk.
His fall.
His.
He never should have let her go. He never should have let Sarah and John B go. He stood, tapping his toes anxiously as he gritted his teeth and watched as she preened and feinted. That smile of hers, batting her eyelashes.
She was good. She was.
That didn’t make it okay.
He fought the urge to charge down there and stop her. It would tip the asshole off, though. It would make things worse. He had to think. He had to have restraint.
He had promised Kie that much.
Even though he hated it.
Loathed it. Almost couldn’t stand it. Standing there in his turban, sweat slicking down his back. Eyes strained from watching, and his heart slamming against his ribcage.
It was hot.
He was tired.
And shit — his side was killing him. He swallowed hard and spared a glance down. The wound seemed to throb under his clothes. He could hear John B lecturing him about cleaning it. It had been a day or two since Sarah had cleaned it out with sea water.
In his defense, they didn’t really have first aid supplies. Or time to coddle him.
He made the mistake with Groff. That bullshit was on him. He would just need to suck it up. Endure
He had practice with that at least. Luke had given him that much.
To pretend. To cover it up.
Deny, deny, deny.
He winced, breathing heavily through his nose as he looked up again. Kie was still doing her thing. He could see, a ways off, as Sarah and John B appeared. Time was running out.
Denial was only going to get him so far now; it would reach its limit.
But screw it. JJ would take it as far as he could.
He had to do this.
For them.
He had to keep himself together. Or how the hell was he going to keep them together?
He would get them home. He would give them a happy ending.
Even if it was the last thing he did.
-o-
Cleo loved her Pogues, to be sure. Finding them defined her life, gave her a place. She’d broken all her personal rules for them, changed herself entirely. She would fight for them, die for them. All of it and more.
But good Lord, they were impossible. She didn’t know how they’d ever found treasure without her. John B’s ideas. Pope’s unending logic. Kiara’s passion. Sarah’s posturing. JJ at least knew how to do shit, when he could focus.
Which was an if, to be clear. A big one these days. That boy had been running scared, and sobering him up had helped.
But he was still so worried about saving the rest of them that she was pretty sure he wasn’t seeing the big picture. Because, yes, they needed clues and intel. But for real, they needed some action.
Transportation.
They had to solve real problems with real solutions.
Pope had the brains, but not the gumption. He was the type who could hold a gun, perfect his aim. In practice, he always hit the target.
In practical application, however, the boy lacked gumption. He didn’t know how to pull the trigger, not even to save his own damn life.
No matter. They all had their spot in this little family of theirs. And Cleo’s job? Was to make shit happen.
It was a job she normally shared with JJ, but since he was a bit off the cuff right now – fine. She’d do it herself.
The plan was falling apart; they needed a quick exit.
The getaway car?
Was parked right there.
The Jeep was easily accessible and had plenty of space. Its rough visage would make it great for any type of driving conditions, even if they had to get out of the city.
Ducking away, she didn’t bother asking for permission. She didn’t need to clear it or check it off with anyone. John B and Sarah were out of range anyway, and Kiara was thoroughly engaged with a bad ploy of distraction. JJ was on edge watching her — which was, as best Cleo could tell, at least a good change of pace from the indifference that mired him the trip over.
That said, it wasn’t getting shit done. Pope was fretting, and Cleo saw her moment. She ducked away and made her way back to the streets.
She didn’t know this city, it was true – but she knew this city. A hub of activity, full of traders. Buyers and sellers, constant bargaining. The energy, the activity.
It meant there was a lot going on.
Including crime.
That would make some people nervous, but Cleo didn’t mind it. Criminals weren’t always bad people. In fact, she often found them to be as moral as the rest. They had their own codes, their own standards – and it wasn’t like Kooks, who lived above the law, had much ground to stand on. Cleo preferred honest criminals over dishonest citizens any day of the week.
Those were her people, after all.
And, by all accounts, it was her.
When you had nothing, stealing was a way of survival. That justification had worked very well for her at a very young age, and the fact that she was good at it?
Well, it just meant that there were fewer consequences. The moral weight of it didn’t mean bullshit. You did what you had to do.
And Cleo did it well.
She eased her way through the crowd, settling into a comfortable rhythm. It wasn’t hard to get a read on things – the regulars, the visitors. The upstanding citizens, the ones scraping by. Market stalls; women doing the daily shopping.
The jeep was well within her sights, and she just had to time up her approach. Easy, nonchalant–
The driver hadn’t come back; no one was looking. The damn thing was wholly unattended.
She looked around again, keeping watch for a long moment, before ascertaining that the owners were nowhere to be found. Moving casually, she eased across the street, giving the area another careful once over. No one seemed to notice her; no one seemed to care.
Sliding into the driver’s seat, she acted like it was hers. With enough bluster and confidence, no one doubted it as she ran her hand under the dash, looking for the panel.
Ripping it free was loud, but the market was louder. She gave a long look around, almost daring anyone to challenge her, as she pulled out her knife and finished the job.
Exposing the right wires was easy enough. Splicing them was a bit conspicuous, but effective. Within 15 seconds, the engine was turning over, and she sat up with a grin.
She didn’t have a full plan, but now they had transportation. Now they had escape.
Now, simply put, they had a chance.
She put the car into gear and smirked, pulling away from the curb and back toward her friends.
-o-
JJ knew how the story went. The details were different; the setting could be changed.
But it always had the same, stupid plot twist.
Just when you thought things might go okay – they inevitably got worse.
Always.
The second you thought you had shit under control – was the second you lost it entirely.
If JJ was smart at all, it was a lesson he would have taken to heart. But everyone knew JJ was an idiot. The biggest screw up; a moron. He never did learn to read quite right, and no matter how many times Luke beat him senseless, he still made the same dumb-ass mistakes.
You couldn’t unteach stupid, it seemed.
Because JJ would never see it coming. Until the day he died – he would never see it coming. The way things fell apart.
Completely.
Because in theory, their plan was workable. John B and Sarah would get what they could from the boat; the rest of them would keep watch, high and low vantage points covered.
They had good visibility, it was true.
And still almost no way to actually do something if shit went down.
Which it had. Invariably.
JJ had wanted to go in swinging, but Kiara wanted to try a softer approach.
And she was good, she was. Smart and charming and disarming.
But you could only bullshit so long.
JJ would know.
Once you sold your bullshit, things fell apart. With teachers and cops, that was usually a pain in the ass. With mercenaries?
Well, that could be a lot worse.
He bounced his foot anxiously as he watched. The guy was waning. Too good at his job, probably. He was more interested in the boat than he was the hot girl playing coy in front of him.
Kie wasn’t giving up.
Which, that was Kie. He loved her tenacity.
But it was going to get her killed.
He could show restraint; he could make promises. He could make wishes.
He was still the kind of guy to do what needed to be done, though.
He just was.
The man looked annoyed, face scrunching up in frustration as he looked from Kiara to the ground around him. The gun in his waistband was easy to see, especially as he reached for it, fingers brushing over it.
JJ had gone off half-cocked for worse reasons before, to be sure. To save Kiara?
Well, leaving his secure position and putting himself in the line of fire?
Was 100% justified as far as he was concerned.
He moved quickly, no longer doubting – no longer thinking at all. It was all reflex.
Stop the bad guys.
Save his friends.
Keep the mission alive.
Protect Kiara.
That was all.
That was everything.
The risk? Unimportant. The personal fallout? Entirely acceptable.
He knew what he told Kie about being careful; shit, he knew.
But it didn’t matter.
It couldn’t matter.
They came first.
It was what he’d realized when he jumped in after Sarah. It was the lesson he’d learned when John B hugged him on the beach. His redemption wasn’t real. His absolution wasn’t possible.
But his utility wasn’t spent yet.
There was one reason he was here, and one reason only.
And that was to protect them. He had to get them their lives back. He had to make sure they all lived happily ever after.
He crossed the distance quickly, barely processing it as he did. Getting down from his position took some time, but his blind, reckless abandon certainly moved things along. Someone yelped as he passed, and he just picked up his pace.
He could see it now. The way a bad situation inevitably got worse.
Because that asshole?
Pulled his gun.
And Kiara was right next to him.
His vision went white for a second, the idea of losing her almost too much to take. He couldn’t be responsible for this. He couldn’t be the one to take his friends so far from home just for them to never return. He would never put Kiara’s life in danger. Never.
The man shifted his stance, looking off. Not at Kiara, not at JJ–
He glanced over.
Sarah and John B.
Of course it was Sarah and John B.
Sitting damn ducks, coming off of Terrance’s boat.
It was his hit to take. It was his fall to make. His.
He charged, teeth gritted as he closed the rest of the distance. He saw Kiara’s eyes widen, her mouth open to yell out at him.
It didn’t matter.
JJ closed the gap, slamming into the man – hard. There was a gunshot, sending the crowd scattering, and the force of JJ’s hit took the man down, sending him stumbling into the ground with a curse and a grunt.
JJ barely noticed. He was focused solely on the shot – which went wide.
Sarah and John B ducked, continuing to run, heads lowered. Safe.
They were safe.
The relief flooded him, and he straightened – and regretted it immediately. The asshole was still down – but JJ was about to join him as the pain in his side flared. It was so sudden, so intense – that it stole his breath. Spots danced in front of his eyes, and it was all he could do to make himself keep breathing.
He lifted his fingers numbly to his side, looking down at the fresh splotch of blood, just peeking through his t-shirt. He gritted his teeth, pushing the pain down.
There wasn’t time for this.
They had to get out of here.
He saw the gun on the ground, and snagged it. Because the odds were stacked against them, and JJ knew he needed all the help he could get. He shoved it into the waistband of his pants, gritting his teeth against the pain.
He focused on his breathing for a few more seconds, licking his lips and nodding to himself.
They had to get out of here now.
Chapter 24: CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Notes:
Rewatching the finale with such detail nearly destroyed me, lol, but I hope the results are worth it to make this fic make sense. The show's writing and editing was so randomly haphazard by this point; hopefully giving it more depth works. I hate this show, but I love these characters.
And I love everyone out there who is reading and reviewing and so on. It means the world. This is kind of a crappy week in RL, but at least there's fic :)
Chapter Text
-o-
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
-o-
When Pope saw Cleo in the car, his first thought was how hot she was. Strong, beautiful, confident — and the most attractive thing he’d ever seen in his whole damn life.
His second thought was damn it.
She’d just committed grand theft auto. He didn’t know the local laws, but he was pretty sure a felony was a felony was a felony, and they didn’t even have papers or legal passports and—
“Come on,” she yelled, it’s time to go.
Well, he figured as he climbed in after her. What was one more felony between them all?
They were all safe; they were all together.
And that was the point.
They started this together.
Cleo gunned the engine as everyone braced for a fast escape, through the streets and back out to the city gates.
They would finish it that way, too.
-o-
The irony was, of course, that the Pogues had ditched Rafe. Left him behind without a second thought.
And here Rafe was. With Groff and all the clues to their precious little crown.
Funny how that worked.
They double-crossed Rafe – and who was the successful one here?
Oh, right him.
He’d done it on his own. In spite of them. Despite them.
Assholes.
If he could pull this off, he could get Groff, get his money back – and then some. Maybe he’d have enough left over to let the Pogues have some scraps. Something as a token to revitalize his relationship with Sarah. He could give her a cut, and if she chose to share it with those morons, then that was her business.
Or not. He’d figure that out. He’d have the discretion to do whatever he wanted. That was the privilege of winning.
And Rafe? Intended to win.
“Maybe we should slow down?” Groff said, calling to him from the side car.
He glanced at the man with a derisive snort. “You think you get a say?”
“Well, I do have the information–” Groff said.
Rafe shook his head, eyes back on the road. He had to raise his voice over the sound of the engine. “You’re the one who cares about this treasure.”
Groff gave him a look. “Really? You came all this way for 400k – when a fortune is at your fingertips?”
Rafe gave him a hard look. “Right, and you want to cut me in, right?”
“Well, I could,” Groff said, rising to the bait. “You and me–”
He turned hard, taking them around a bend with more force than necessary. Groff braced as Rafe skidded to a stop, sand kicking up around him as Rafe put his feet down and stared him down hard.
“I saved your life,” he said. “And not because I felt nice. Not because I want a partner.”
“And that’s fair,” Groff said. “If you’ve done the work–”
He shook his head, annoyed. “I know you’re a liar. I know you’re a thief,” he said. “I could turn you back in to the mercenaries. I could turn you in to the authorities back on the OBX. I could do anything I wanted with you.”
“The mercenaries would kill you,” Groff said. “And turning me in to the cops – well, what does that get you in the end?”
“Satisfaction,” Rafe told him. He wrinkled his nose as he shook his head again.
“But the money–” Groff said, eyes lighting now. “I can help you with that.”
This guy. Really.
“I know you killed Hollis,” he said.
“Hollis? Why would I kill her?” Groff said, feigning innocence.
“Because she was pissed, just like I am,” he said.
Groff wet his lips. “I didn’t kill her,” he said. “But JJ–”
“Shit,” Rafe said, laughing now. “You really did mean to frame him?”
Groff blinked, as if he had no idea what he was talking about. “What?”
“You set up your own kid for murder,” he said, shaking his head with a disbelieving chuckle. “You really are a piece of work, aren’t you?”
The indecision flitted over Groff’s face. Even now, he was looking for the best out. The best sell.
He knew his own father had been flawed. He knew he was flawed.
But this guy?
Would sell out his own son.
In a heartbeat.
It wasn’t like he was about to feel sorry for JJ Maybank–
“Well, I – I mean, it’s complicated,” Groff said, like he thought Rafe might believe that.
And okay, maybe he felt a little sorry for JJ Maybank.
A little.
That didn’t change anything, though.
What did change?
Was that Rafe couldn’t trust this asshole.
He just had to use him.
“Shut up,” he said, kicking on the engine again. “And just tell me where we’re going.”
“Agapenta,” Groff said. “We’re going to Agapenta.”
He couldn’t trust promises. He couldn’t trust reassurances or deals.
But he could sure as hell trust that.
-o-
The jeep moved quickly, the air hot on their faces as Cleo got them out of the city. The corridors were winding, and John B kept glancing anxiously behind them, while Pope sat braced in the front seat, offering directions to Cleo that she mostly ignored.
Behind them, she could see the tense set of JJ’s shoulders – and the anxious look on Kiara’s face. Neither of them were talking.
As for her, she couldn’t help but look at her own belly.
She’d been confident going in.
But that gunshot?
Had made her think twice.
She still had the scars, didn’t she? From getting shot. She had nearly died – almost bled out. If that happened again, her baby would die.
This baby would die.
And then all her hopes for a family, for settling down with John B – they would mean nothing.
Cleo cursed a few times, taking a few more sharp turns. They lurched, and John B put his arm around her. “You okay?” he asked.
She glanced at him, her face burning as she tried to nod.
He nodded back, before looking behind them again.
The gunshot could have hit her. It could have hit the baby.
It could have hit John B.
Or any of them.
There was something about life that made death seem more real. The idea that there was a whole person inside of her, depending on her for everything – was a weight she was going to have to contend with sooner or later.
Being pregnant didn’t change what she could do; she’d proven that now.
But maybe it changed what she should do.
She didn’t know. She had no idea how to do this – any of it. She was just barely figuring out marriage. She was still getting a handle on family. Treasure hunting wasn’t exactly second nature yet.
So motherhood?
Was she ready for this?
They peeled out through the city gates, pushing the jeep north as they got their bearings on the open road ahead. John B put his arm around her again, giving her a little squeeze – this time with a smile.
“Where to?” Cleo yelled from the front seat. “Or am I just driving?”
“Agapenta!” John B called back. “We’re going to Agapenta!”
Ready or not, she figured, fingers pressed to the seat of the car as they sped ahead. Here they came.
-o-
He knew where he was going – kind of. Agapenta was a destination, but Luke didn’t know what he was looking for when he got there. It occurred to him now he should have paid more attention, should have asked more questions.
But he never was good at that shit.
Thinking ahead. Planning.
Being smart.
Some people were born clever; some people were born Maybanks.
All he knew how to do was make it up as he went along. As a general rule, that wasn’t a very good approach. His success as a parent was testament enough. As was his success – with, well, everything. He didn’t have any savings. He was a convicted felon. He’d lost his house, and was an addict. He was about the dumbest piece of shit to ever walk the face of this earth.
But when Chandler Groff gave him a baby, he said yes.
So, all these years later, he was going to make right on that, one way or another.
If that meant going to Agapenta, then okay. Here he was, biking his way to Agapenta.
He drove for nearly 30 minutes, the hot sun beating down on him. He was getting a little light-headed with it all, to be honest. And he hadn’t packed supplies. He had a little cash in his pocket, but beyond the clues from the boat and the keys – he was basically traveling with nothing. Those clues could be his escape plan, but without relief from the baking sun, he’d never get that far.
Parched, he saw the sign for the watering hole and took it. He pulled off, parking his stolen bike and then did a double take.
His bike wasn’t the only one on the side of the road.
No, he knew that bike.
That bike had been parked out front by the hotel. That bike belonged to Lightner.
The asshole had been parading around on it all day, bringing supplies back and forth in the little sidecar like he was some kind of hero. He’d left Lightner back in Essaouira.
Which meant—
If the bike was here–
Shit, he thought, slowing his pace as he took a slower, more circuitous path to the well.
Was his luck finally turning? Was he actually going to be that good?
The answer was yes.
Because there – right there – was what he was looking for. Not water. Not respite on a hot day.
No, Chandler Groff.
Looking worse for wear but very much alive and well.
Talking to Rafe Cameron.
Hastily, Luke lowered himself, finding his position away from view. From this vantage point he could see them perfectly – he could hear snippets of it, too. Enough to figure out Rafe Cameron had saved Groff for his own reasons.
Mostly because Cameron had a score to settle.
And he wasn’t about to let the mercenaries have all the fun.
Kooks were like that. When you crossed them, they didn’t let it go. They couldn’t let fate be. They took it personal-like, as though they thought it wasn’t fair for the universe to be stacked against them.
Asshole. As if Luke had that kind of luxury – to care. To hold anyone accountable for the shit in his life. When bad things happened, he had to accept it.
Or fix it himself.
Consequently, that was why he was here. Because he could blame people all day long. Or he could just fix it.
After all this time, Luke just needed to fix it.
It was clear, just by watching, that these two weren’t getting along. Not that that was a surprise. Rafe Cameron, like all Kooks, was a son of a bitch. And Chandler Groff didn’t have friends. He just had enemies in various stages of malice.
For all that Rafe acted like he was in control, he could see Groff biding his time, gauging his options. A million calculations, his mind a mile a minute.
While Rafe plotted the next five seconds.
Groff was looking at the next five hours.
That was the difference between a man who was used to buying his way out of shit.
And one who knew his own wits would keep him going.
In a wager between the two, Luke would still put his money on Groff. He’d been playing this game longer than Cameron had been alive.
That said, Cameron was motivated. He could tell by the way he stalked around, the way he puffed himself up. He made no secret of his power play, and when Groff offered him a cut of the crown–
Well, yeah.
Cameron looked interested, to say the least. Hesitant – but not for long. Kooks never had enough money. People like that always thought they needed more. And whatever, being promised a fortune – well, that sort of shit made you dumb.
It made you believe people like Chandler Groff.
Groff would promise you treasure. Groff would promise you revenge.
Hell, Groff would promise you love and a family. It was the play he must have made with Larissa. The play he probably made with JJ, too.
Luke knew he was a monster – he knew it.
But he wasn’t like Groff.
He didn’t revel in the pain of others. No, he drank himself into oblivion to forget it; he popped pills just to try to dull it. And it didn’t make him a good guy.
But it didn’t make him Groff.
Even watching him, playing Rafe Cameron, offering him anything and everything – made his skin crawl.
The way Groff sold the same lie. The way he peddled the same messed up truths.
And everyone kept buying it. The mercenaries knew better, but they bought it. The poor damn real estate agent back in the OBX – she’d bought it and paid for it with her life. Larissa, Wes Genrette, JJ–
So when Rafe Cameron looked interested, Luke wasn’t surprised.
Some people believed out of desperation. Some people believed out of the goodness of their hearts. Some people understood the necessity of it all.
But someone like Rafe?
He believed he had all the power.
And even from here, his hidden vantage point, he could see Groff’s expression light up. He was getting what he wanted. He was setting Rafe up – hook, line, and sinker.
Rafe looked happy.
Behind him, Groff looked happier.
Luke just felt the same nagging foreboding he’d felt this whole time. He was here to save JJ – and he still wasn’t any closer to figuring out how.
Then, Groff got out the map. The little amulet, too. He had Rafe poring over it, pointing out the features. Agapenta.
Now Groff was pitching Agapenta.
Like he hadn’t pitched it to Luke. To the mercenaries. To his buyer.
Hell, he’d probably pitched it to JJ, too.
The thing was, Groff wasn’t as good as he thought. He was too confident, too fake. And Luke wasn’t close enough to hear what he said.
But he watched the way Cameron stopped. His whole body, going ramrod straight. The expression draining out of him. And shit.
A potential alliance.
Was about to turn sour.
Just that fast.
Luke hesitated – not sure who he wanted to help or if he wanted to help. Ultimately, it didn’t matter. Groff pulled his knife.
And Rafe spun hard.
Groff didn’t get the killing blow he was going for, but there was a glancing squick of flesh and blood. Rafe yelled, a loud howl – something primal in its anger. And he was angry – more than he was hurt. So pissed off that he charged Groff back without hesitation, knocking him clean off his feet.
Groff spiralled, for a second. Falling back.
Right over the edge of the well.
His arms flailed for a moment.
Before he was gone.
Just like that.
Well, shit.
If Luke had known it was that easy.
Maybe he would have kept murder on the table.
As it was, Rafe gave a long look down the well before he turned back with a sneer. He took a few deep breaths – some failed attempt to calm himself – before gathering up the things. All the supplies. The amulet. The map.
And stalked away. Luke ducked down lower, making himself scarce while Rafe passed. The kid was so pissed that he didn’t notice him, not as he charged back to his bike and threw his things in the sidecar where Groff had been before. He started the engine without recourse, gunning it.
Before peeling out, going north to Agapenta.
Which just left Luke.
And whatever remained of Chandler Groff.
-o-
It wasn’t that Rafe had thought it would be easy.
No, he knew making amends with Sarah would be difficult.
He knew that chasing down Groff and getting his money back – would be difficult.
He had anticipated the frustration. He had come in expecting it to be a pain in the ass.
Really, he had expected the Pogues to screw things up. The fact that they’d betrayed him? Wasn’t really all that surprising. The fact that Sarah – despite his best intentions – had chosen them – really, just par for the course.
And he even knew Groff would try to talk his way out of it. He knew the asshole would sweet-talk anything he could, try to weasel his way out of the consequences of his actions. Someone like Groff – that bullshit was predictable.
He had counted on all that. He had contingencies for every last bit of it.
The thing he hadn’t prepared for? The part that did catch him off guard?
Sofia.
How the hell had he not seen that coming?
The Pogues – sure. Groff – of course.
But Sofia?
His girlfriend?
Shit, his fiance?
Groff thought playing that card could get him what he wanted – but screw that. He’d thrown Groff down a well and left him there, hoping the desert sun would bake his bones for no one to find. The asshole made a few key mistakes, the kind you can’t make with Rafe Cameron.
First, he told him the location. He laid the whole treasure out for him, all but marking it with an X on the map. Agapenta.
Second, he made a play. The verbal game was wearing thin, so – what? He upped it with a knife. Too bad Rafe was smart, faster – and ultimately better.
Third, he thought the truth about Sofia would help him. Like somehow one betrayal would make Rafe less angry about the first one.
RIght, like Rafe had a limit on his ability to get revenge.
Groff crossed him – now he could die a slow, painful death while Rafe collected his treasure.
Sofia crossed him – now she could just–
Well, what could she do?
She was back home, wearing his ring and living in his house. Planning their wedding, some farce of a happily ever after.
He climbed on the bike and shook his head. Fingers tight on the handlebars, he revved the engine and went. As far as he could. As fast as he could.
Because that was it, then.
It was over.
This whole damn game he was playing. This absolution bullshit.
He was done.
He was done with Sofia. He was done with the Pogues. He was done with Sarah.
He was even done with his father, and the ideals that meant nothing.
He was done being the good guy.
There was no reconciliation. There was no reformation.
This whole damn thing, he resolved, was ending now.
One way or another.
-o-
Now, to be honest, Luke wasn’t sure who he wanted to win.
A bastard like Rafe Cameron? Entitled, good for nothing, Kook?
Or Chandler Groff? The manipulative asshole.
Truth be told, he’d like to see them both go down. Take them both out of the game – it would be easier. All he wanted to do was get JJ out of here and plunk that kid back down in the OBX once and for all.
But if he had to pick an outcome, he had to admit – maybe this one wasn’t so bad.
Groff had made his play.
Rafe Cameron had bested him.
Now, Rafe had the map, the jewel, and his ticket out of here. And okay – whatever. The crown wasn’t anything to him right now.
Because what Rafe had left behind?
Was exactly what Luke had come here for.
He waited until Cameron had sped down the road – barely even looking as he passed. He made his way out, traipsing across the hot desert with renewed purpose.
He’d been tasked to find Groff, and found him, he had.
He’d set out to stop Groff, and okay.
He was stuck at the bottom of the well.
Whatever happened next, Luke was the one who got to make the call.
There was no one around as he approached, and he could hear Groff yelling – calling for help. Something, anything.
His voice echoed, pitching desperately for a moment.
At the edge, Luke hesitated and considered it one more time.
If he walked away now, Groff was done. Gone.
But Luke had come to make things right with JJ. If Groff had set up JJ for a crime he didn’t commit, Luke needed to know that. He needed to know how to fix it.
He needed to know what this man had on JJ and what he intended to do with that boy.
He needed to know.
Stepping forward, he took a breath and inched his way toward the edge.
The well wasn’t quite as deep as he’d thought, but it was deep enough. Smooth stone walls, and a dry bottom. Looking worse for wear, Groff was at the bottom.
Worse for wear, but still in one piece. He’d fared the fall pretty well, all things considered. Breathing heavily, he dabbed at his head absently. When he noticed the shadow fall across him, he looked up.
He blinked – and did a double take. “Luke Maybank? Is that you?”
With clear surprise, Groff’s face broke out with a smile as he got to his feet.
“You are a sight for sore eyes,” he crooned. “Imagine the luck!”
It was enthusiasm Luke couldn’t match. He pursed his lips, staring down at Groff hard. “What did you do to piss off Rafe Cameron?”
“Oh,” Groff said, making a little scoff. He waved a hand through the air. “A business misunderstanding, nothing more. The kid is spoiled; thinks the world is his. He shouldn’t be a problem – if you can just give me a hand–”
His outstretched hand was expectant, but Luke didn’t move. This was a game for Groff, it had been since they left the OBX. Hell, it had been long before that. It probably had been since he left JJ with him all those years ago.
When he married Larissa in the first place.
The man was always working an angle. He tried to be everything to everybody.
Which just made him nothing in the end.
But if he knew where JJ was.
If he knew how to help JJ.
“I know JJ’s here, in Morocco,” he said. “Tell me how to find him, and I can get you out.”
Groff’s mouth opened, as if there was an easy answer. And then it closed. He smiled. “JJ is – with his friends, I’m sure,” he said. “Safe and sound, back on the Outer Banks.”
The asshole was lying to him. Now, of all times.
Why lie when you needed help?
Unless the truth only made you less palatable.
Luke felt his stomach churn. “I know he’s here. I’ve seen his friends in town. He don’t go nowhere without them.”
Groff seemed to consider this, genuinely surprised. “Well, they might be chasing the same treasure–”
“So tell me how to find the treasure,” Luke demanded.
At that, Groff laughed. “Surely, you can’t think–”
“You need me to get you out, don’t you?” Luke snapped. He adjusted his stance, squinting up at the sun as it bore down on him. “How long do you think you’ll last out here? On your own?”
Groff’s smile faltered, and he visibly swallowed. “We can work something out,” he offered. He gestured again, wide and grand. “You can get a cut. Help me out–”
Luke shook his head. “I just want JJ.”
“With a cut–”
“JJ,” Luke demanded. “You’ve been playing games with him all along, and I’m done with it, Groff. Tell me where JJ is or I’m letting you rot.”
“But he’s not here–”
His breath caught, hot and taut in his lungs. “Like hell–”
“Luke, I’m serious–”
Luke slammed his palms hard on the edge of the well, temper flaring well past its breaking point. If Groff were level with him, he probably would have decked him. As it was, all he could do was glare. “No more games, Groff. You’ve been messing with that kid’s head ever since you came back, sending him off on treasure hunts, asking him for help. I know you set him up to take the fall; I know you’re the reason he and his friends are on the run. Tell me what you want with JJ, once and for all.”
Something shifted. There was a flicker of understanding, and something settled over Groff’s face. Something unsettling.
“You really want to know?” he finally asked.
Luke nodded, jaw locked.
“JJ’s dead,” Groff said. And then, he had the audacity to smile, laughing like he couldn’t believe it. “He is.”
His chest seized up, and it felt like he’d been punched in the gut. Denial welled up immediately, and he shook his head. “No–”
“Luke, you don’t need to worry about JJ. He’s never been your responsibility,” Groff said, as if that was some kind of consolation. “And really, there’ll never be a body. Drowning, just like his mama, but this time, they’ll never find the body.”
He laughed, then. Short and giddy.
The man was a psychopath, plain and simple.
Luke’s stomach didn’t just turn. He damn near passed out, the blood draining from his head as he tried to make sense of it.
Groff’s cryptic answers. JJ being set up as the perfect fall guy.
JJ had Groff’s DNA, but he was Luke’s boy through and through. When he took risks, he held nothing back. He would let this kill him; he would follow Groff hook, line, and sinker – right to the grave.
Luke had taught him that, after all. How to make bets you couldn’t win. How to pick fights that never paid off.
How to trust someone who would hurt you – and keep coming back for more.
He’d formed JJ into the perfect victim, plain and simple. He’d made sure the kid didn’t have an ounce of self-esteem, and he’d conflated the idea of love until he didn’t have a clue. He’d set him up, primed for whatever the hell Groff had planned for him.
It was his fault.
He inhaled sharply, eyes burning. “Did you kill him?” he asked, because even as the pieces fit into place, he couldn’t bring himself to believe it. “Did you kill my boy?”
Groff looked momentarily surprised, like this wasn’t the response he’d been expecting. All his calm calculations – Groff wasn’t expecting emotions.
For him, this had been a ploy from the start. Hell, he’d probably only had a baby with Larissa to keep her like a fish on the hook. He had never wanted a baby.
Which, okay. Luke hadn’t set out for fatherhood either.
But when you looked at the kid.
When you looked at him.
Well, you couldn’t just turn him away, could you? You couldn’t not love him. There was something broken in Groff not to get that – even now.
Though, Luke wasn’t really one to judge, was he?
He hadn’t dumped JJ’s body out at sea, but hadn’t he? Hadn’t he beaten him black and blue? Hadn’t he taught him that love was earned with a closed fist? Luke had been taking that kid apart for years. Groff just swooped in to finish the job.
They were both the villains of this story.
Just because Luke learned what regret tasted like didn’t make it any less true.
“Oh, come on,” Groff said, almost like he really couldn’t believe it. “I know who you are, Luke. It’s no secret what life you gave JJ. And you’re going to sit there and pretend like a good father now?”
The audacity of hope, he supposed.
The impossibility of a second chance.
“Better late than never,” he said, forcing himself to breathe. He blinked a few more times until he managed to fill his lungs completely.
“But – it is too late,” Groff said, as if he was trying to be reasonable. “I mean, but between us, we can salvage something–”
Luke was already shaking his head, face twisted with a rage that he could barely contain. “There is no we,” he said. “And if you’re telling me the truth, there’s nothing to salvage anyway.”
If he could count on Groff to be anything, it was a lying son of a bitch. He seemed to clock it right away, that he’d made the wrong play, wagered the wrong bet. His face totally changed its look, from malice and derision, to some kind of sympathy.
“No, no, it’s not like that,” he said quickly. His smile was too fast, almost as slick as his words. “I didn’t mean it. I forget, you know. You’re not like them. You’re not like the others.”
Luke hesitated. There was no way in hell he could trust this man, but the trick was finding the lie. He told so many, turned your head inside out, until you didn’t know what was real and what wasn’t. Was that how he’d played old Genrette? Was that how he’d twisted Larissa’s mind before she drowned?
And what the hell had he done to JJ?
He’d used him, no doubt.
The question was if he’d left anything left of the kid.
“I didn’t kill him, I swear. He was alive when I last saw him,” Groff said, placing his hands on the smooth sides of the well.
Luke braced himself, jaw tight and nostrils flaring. Groff looked earnest, staring up at him, but Luke knew his weakness here. This was a lie he wanted to believe. He’d come all the way to Morocco to save JJ. This was a lie he had to believe.
Groff pressed closer to the wall, eyes even wider now. “We can go back,” he said. “When we find the crown, we’ll go back together. You and me.”
His smile was brilliant, so wide it turned his damn stomach.
“We’ll find our boy,” he said, as if his promises meant shit.
As if anything this asshole said had ever meant shit.
He betrayed the Corsairs. He betrayed Larissa. He betrayed JJ.
Every chance he got, the man threw it away. He wasn’t just greedy; it was psychopathic. His need to take, and take, and take.
Not just to have things.
To have power.
It wasn’t a greed Luke understood. He knew his own flaws, he did. He knew when he manipulated JJ, it hadn’t been about taking anything from him. It had been his desperate attempt to impose order on a world he felt powerless in. That didn’t make it right – nothing made it right – but he would never have done it in his right mind.
If he’d stopped the drugs sooner.
If he’d dumped all the alcohol when it would have made a difference.
Luke wanted to make things right now – he did.
Groff? Was still playing the game, moving people around the board like they were pieces. JJ, to him, was a pawn on his way to checkmate. Had he sacrificed him yet?
Or was there still time?
There was no choice, really. The idea that JJ might not be okay. The idea that it was finally too late – didn’t compute. Maybanks were gamblers, down to their last breath. They’d risk it all with the grim reaper, double or nothing, just for the chance to win.
He sneered. “He’s not yours,” he snapped. Groff held up his hands. “And I swear to you, if you’ve hurt him–”
“I knew you were the right choice, all those years ago,” Groff told him with a nod. “I always knew you were the one meant to take care of JJ.”
It was bullshit. Groff’s intentions, Luke’s.
But someone had to do it now. Someone needed to take care of JJ.
It wasn’t going to be Groff.
“You’re full of shit, Groff,” he said, shaking his head as he squinted down the well. “Always have been, always will be.”
Groff laughed, short and desperate. “Guilty as charged, I guess,” he said, putting his arms out. “But we can talk about it. When you throw me the rope. We’ll talk about it. We’ll go find JJ, we’ll fix this–”
“Yeah,” Luke said. “That’s what I’m doing. I’m fixing shit.”
There was a moment of hope, flickering across Groff’s face as he straightened. Then, he shook his head.
He turned and started away. Groff yelled after him, begging at first. Pleading.
And then angry invectives.
“You’ll never find him without me, Luke! You’ll never find him.”
He stopped, stiffening for a second.
“I’ll kill you! I’ll kill you and dump your body, just like I dumped his!”
And he closed his eyes, breathing through it.
Lies or truth. Falsehoods or honesty.
Luke had the growing, horrible suspicion that he was never going to see his son alive again.
-o-
Pope wasn’t especially mechanical. Sure, he understood the concepts of how mechanics worked – he could break down the theory of a combustion engine, simple and easy – but the practical applications were harder for him. It was easier with body parts; anatomy he could make sense of. But every time someone opened the hood of a car, he remained equally vexed and totally out of his element.
That said, it wasn’t hard to figure out that they were having engine troubles.
The spluttering from up front was clearly problematic, and when they started smoking, he gave Cleo a long, hard look.
“Oh shush,” she muttered, pressing them on.
He wisely shut his mouth, all things considered, but by the time they made it to the next town, it was clear that they weren’t making it any further. Cleo pulled off, parking while the engine hissed, and the Pogues sat there in a certain kind of silence.
Had they been in worse situations?
Pope wanted to tell himself yes, obviously.
However, they were in Morocco. They had travelled illegally. They were wanted at home and had nothing to work with. Just a destination, a few desperate clues, and a fledgling hope in a magical crown and JJ’s murderous biological father.
And now they had a broken-down car, too.
A stolen car, for that matter.
Just because that really was how this whole thing was going.
“Shit,” Cleo said, giving the steering wheel a slam with her hand.
John B sighed heavily, climbing out the side. “We have to get it running again.”
Sarah followed after him, just a bit more gingerly. “Do we even know for sure where we’re going?”
“Did you get the location on the crown?” JJ asked, hopping out next. He paused, reaching back to help Kie down.
In the rush of their escape, they hadn’t done much talking. There certainly hadn’t been time to go over the clues and compare notes. With the adrenaline pumping and the sound of the wind at their faces, it just hadn’t come up.
John B pulled out a few papers. “Agapenta, like we said.”
“And cash,” Sarah said, holding up a wad of bills. “We didn’t leave empty handed.”
Cleo took some of the money. “I’ll get this piece of shit fixed.”
Kiara took another bit. “We’ll see what we can do about supplies.”
With a few of the remaining bills, Sarah shrugged. “I could use some food.”
These were practical things; necessary things. But Pope looked at John B.
Who looked right back.
“You want to see it?” he asked.
“Well, if we’re staking our entire future on this–”
John B rolled his eyes. They moved to the side, and John B laid out what he had. “It’s not much–”
But the portion of the map; the notes.
It lined up.
The notations.
All of it.
Lined up perfectly.
“You know,” he said, letting himself smile a little. “This might work.”
John B grinned back, laying it out for him again. “It really, really might.”
Because there it was.
Clear and plain.
Agapenta.
The signs were pointing them to the crown. The signs were pointing them to Groff.
The signs were pointing them to Agapenta.
And for the first time since arriving in Morocco, Pope let himself believe that redemption might just be within reach after all.
-o-
Kiara knew, getting away from Essouira was a safe bet. It got them away from the mercenaries for now. It got them closer to the crown and Groff. Every mile, they were closer to their goal, closer to success.
And every mile she felt worse.
Because she’d seen JJ back there.
She’d seen him jump into harm’s way, Reckless and without recourse.
Same old JJ.
Only with an edge to him now. Before, when JJ said he had nothing to lose, there was a sense of desperation.
Now, he just meant it.
Like his life wasn’t up for grabs. Like it was an acceptable expenditure in the pursuit for this.
It was partially their fault, and she knew it. They’d let this linger. She’d let it linger. She hadn’t called JJ on any of it, not when he was crashing out and not when he was trying to kill himself on the boat ride over.
“Don’t you think it was a little dangerous?” she finally asked while JJ procured the gasoline to fill the tank. “Just running up on him like that?”
JJ glanced at her, like it hadn’t even occurred to him.
And it was tempting to let it go. It would be easy to let it go.
Just like she’d let everything else go.
But that was the problem. If she was going to save JJ from everything else – she had to save him from himself, too.
“What if he had just turned?” she reasoned, trying not to think about it too much. “He was, like, actively shooting a gun?”
He could have been hit so easily.
He could have taken a bullet.
To the chest. To the gut. To the head.
He could be bleeding out; he could be dead.
This story could still have a very different ending, if he wasn’t careful.
If she wasn’t careful.
“He was holding a gun,” she said, making the point emphatic, hoping that he’d understand.
He didn’t, though. He leaned back with a shrug, because the trip to Morocco had reinforced the wrong lessons. JJ wasn't learning to be careful.
JJ was learning to give up his life.
All this time, she’d tried to teach him to care about himself.
And all he’d learned was that he didn’t matter – as long as they were safe.
“Not anymore, though,” he said, clearly pleased with himself as he finished up with the gas. He moved away to return the canister, and she saw it. The gun as he adjusted it in the waistband of his pants. And all he could say was, “Live a little.”
It caught in her throat, breath taut in her chest. She’d already watched him crash out. She’d watched him fall apart. She’d seen him swept out to sea.
How much more could she take?
Until she lost him entirely?
She was letting him slip right through her fingers.
Again and again and again.
“Really?” she said, voice pitching. “JJ, this is what I’m talking about.”
He smirked at her.
Turned around and just smiled.
It was just – well – everything.
Always. Impossibly. Predictably.
Because she knew JJ. She loved him. She knew his strengths, and she knew his weaknesses. She knew that his coping skills were nonexistent, and he would hold strong until he just quit entirely. She knew it.
So it wasn’t a surprise.
That JJ was still JJ.
But this far out. This far gone.
What was left to anchor him? What was left to keep him moored?
She was trying, she was.
She just didn’t know if she’d be enough anymore.
If she’d let him cross the point of no return.
“You know,” she said, her desperation getting the better of her. “Someday, your luck’s going to run out.”
It wasn’t supposed to be a threat. It wasn’t supposed to be a prediction.
But as he smiled at her, the weight of it was heavy. He turned back to the man to pay him for it, and Kiara was left with the cold realization that JJ was sober now – but he was just as out of control as ever. He was still JJ.
And now he had a gun.
A gun.
Great.
Of course he had a gun. Like this couldn’t get any worse.
-o-
It was a drive to Agapenta.
Which, they’d just crossed an ocean.
Granted, JJ had been drunk the whole time. But still an ocean. JJ wasn’t known for his sense of delayed gratification, but honestly – he should be. JJ had rarely had instant pleasure in life. He’d rarely had pleasure at all. He knew that life was work. He knew that good things required effort. They required sacrifice.
He was just glad to be here. He was just glad for the chance.
After all he’d screwed up, he was making things right again. He’d saved Sarah on the ocean. He’d saved Sarah, John B, and Kiara back in Essaouira. He was finally back on track. The wobble was gone; he was finally on solid ground once more.
Next to him, Kiara tried to smile – but he could tell she was struggling with it. He knew she was still worried. About the gun – or whatever.
She loved him; that was a thing. She didn’t want him to die or whatever.
But she was missing the point.
The actual point.
See, it had never mattered if he lived or died. It didn’t mean shit if he was drunk or sober. It didn’t make a difference if his parents loved him or hated him, hit him or hugged him. If he had drowned in that ocean – whatever. That would have been fine.
What mattered was them.
He was just a means to an end. A plot point in his own damn story.
Because he could save them.
That was the point. The only one that meant anything.
The gun? Well, that was just more ways to protect them. To save them.
Honestly, JJ felt good about it. Confident. Sure.
Like maybe he was finally doing something right in his stupid, pathetic life.
It would be okay, once they got back. It would be okay, once he was able to finally give her the future she deserved. It would be okay, when he finally made it up to her.
Mile after mile, he squeezed her fingers.
It was going to be okay.
-o-
John B knew it wasn’t that long of a drive.
It still felt long, though. The winding roads; the dust in their eyes. The overwhelming weight of what they were doing. This desperate bid to get the crown. To fix everything.
It was what they had to do.
He was okay with that.
Hell, he was the one who had taught them that. This idea that they could fix it all? With some impossible treasure?
That was the Routledge way, long before it was a Pogue thing.
He flexed his hands on the wheel, trying to assure himself it wasn’t his fault.
Even when some of it was probably his fault.
He looked to the side, where Sarah was sitting, face out to the sun. Behind him, Cleo and Pope were discussing things. And at the back, Kiara and JJ were perched, ready and waiting.
It wasn’t that long, then.
Not if they were together.
“Hey,” Sarah said, tugging his arm. “Do you think we could get a drink?”
“What?” he asked, yelling over the sound of the road.
“Water!” Sarah yelled, and she pointed to a sign up ahead. “Let’s get water!”
Pope guided them the rest of the way, and John B eased them off the road. He parked as close as he could, killing the engine while they piled out. Parched and restless.
Ready.
If John B had known that the well was empty, he never would have stopped the car.
Yes, he wanted to take care of his pregnant wife, the one he’d haphazardly dragged across the ocean and shipwrecked on a foreign shore.
But time was kind of a thing, all things considered.
And if John B had known that instead of water, they'd find Chandler Groff, JJ’s long lost father who made Luke Maybank look like a saint?
Well, he would have kept driving for sure.
Because not having water: was bad news.
Having JJ – in his still precarious mental state – come face to face with his father: was the worst news possible.
Groff was yelling, making a ruckus, and they all closed in – just to see. Just to be sure.
And there he was.
The bastard who had tortured JJ with his dead mother’s grave. The son of a bitch who had framed JJ for murder. The manipulative asshole who had taken JJ out to sea just to strand him there and leave him for dead.
Chandler Groff.
His heart clenched, and his throat constricted.
They all looked up, almost in unison, to where JJ stood up straight. The resignation in his face. The defeat in his shoulders.
“I guess we found Groff,” he said simply.
Like this wasn’t the asshole who had used him, abused him, and ultimately left him for dead.
Like this wasn’t the man who was responsible for every bad thing in JJ’s life, from the day of his birth to right here and now.
And the bastard had the audacity to call for help.
He’d left JJ bleeding, miles from shore. He’d left JJ alone – to die. A slow, painful death.
And now he wanted mercy?
Now he wanted help?
He looked at JJ again, and he knew this was bad. Whatever composure JJ had regained in Morocco was hanging by a thread now. He could almost feel it, the way the stress vibrated through his body. It was the anxious energy that had started JJ drinking in the first place.
Now, stone cold sober, JJ had to face it.
And all John B could do was watch.
“Just–” JJ started, walking heavily toward them. The look on his face was taut, like he was just barely composed. Like he could scream. Like he could cry. Like he was about to shatter. “Let me take care of this.”
It wasn’t as much determination as it was desperation. It would be a mistake to think of JJ as strong – not because JJ was weak. But because it had never been a choice.
JJ had never had a choice.
It was either survive – or die.
JJ had just done what he had to do. To face another day. To keep getting up.
It was the same look JJ had when he cleaned himself up at the Chateau, when he shrugged his shoulders and told John B he had to go home. John B had always offered to let him stay – for the night, for the week, forever — but JJ had always gone back.
Looking just like that.
Below, Groff was still yelling, pleas desperate and stupid as the Pogues backed up. John B hesitated – not sure if he should let JJ do this alone–
But he always had.
He always had.
JJ steadied himself, stepping closer. One step, and two.
A deep breath as he looked down. “Who’s down there?”
They were all holding their breath now. Sarah reached anxiously for his hand, and Pope was frowning. Kiara stood stiff, ramrod still.
“Help!” Groff screamed. “Help, I’m trapped!”
Maybe it was the way he was begging. Maybe it was just the sight of the man who had caused him so much pain.
Maybe it was just JJ had finally reached his breaking point.
After a lifetime, JJ had just hit the edge of what he could handle.
They stood, breath baited as JJ looked over the edge.
And Groff’s voice, soft but clear. “JJ.”
As if he hadn’t left him for dead, stranded in the ocean. John B had seen JJ’s wound when they pulled him out. More than that, he’d seen JJ’s eyes. The brokenness in his expression.
The depth of pain that not even Luke Maybank had ever caused.
Whatever Groff had done to JJ that day, it wasn’t over.
JJ tried to drink it away. He tried to drown it.
Now, he tried to laugh it away. He tried to act like everything was fine.
But the look was still there. Haunted in his eyes, set in the features of his tired expression. Like a weight, pulling down his shoulders, making him seem too young and too old all at once.
“Is that you?” Groff asked.
Sitting in the car, Sarah closed her eyes. Pope glanced anxiously at him, and Cleo pursed her lips. Kiara Seemed to hold her breath, ready to intervene if she needed.
For what.
None of them were sure.
For something.
For everything.
It was ironic, of course. The way JJ had all the power this time. He was standing there, at the top of the well, looking down on Groff.
Groff had nothing. Nothing at all.
And he was in complete control of the situation.
“Oh my God!” Groff said, and even from a distance, John B could hear how forced it was. “A divine vision!”
The part that killed him was that, as awful as it was, it wasn’t a surprise. He had pegged Chandler Groff from the moment he met him. He’d known the kind of man he was; he’d known from the start that you couldn’t trust him.
This was the bastard who had abandoned JJ. With Luke.
He had always known he wasn’t a good guy.
And yet, he’d convinced himself that it was okay. That JJ could handle it.
Whether or not JJ could – that wasn’t even the point.
JJ never should have had to.
No one should have faced anything JJ faced. No one should have grown up like he did and suffered like he did. John B had accepted a long time ago that he had no control over what Luke did to JJ. They’d both been so young, so powerless. There was nothing he could do except be there for JJ, be his safe haven.
He had a choice with Groff.
He’d had a choice from the start.
And he’d left JJ to deal with it. He’d walked away while JJ faced it alone. He’d abandoned JJ, just like Groff had. Left him alone and vulnerable and shit.
The truth of it was hard to swallow, and they all knew it. As they watched JJ face Groff down.
The stark reality of what JJ had faced – alone. What he had endured – alone.
It suddenly made his crashout on the boat a lot more understandable.
If anything, John B was pretty sure JJ had handled shit better than any of the rest of them could have hoped for. Because there was no playbook for being abandoned. There was no script to follow when you were abused.
And when you were manipulated. When the person you wanted to trust more than anything used that love against you?
Well, they were so far from anything that John B didn’t know what to do.
Except stand there.
And watch.
In horror; in guilt.
In total resignation.
As Chandler Groff tried to play JJ one more time.
JJ looked away, his jaw working. His entire body was shaking, expression just barely composed as he struggled and failed to keep his breathing in check. “What happened?”
As if there was an answer to that question. As if there was some way to explain it all.
JJ’s entire life. All of it.
Groff, the son of a bitch that he was, tried. “I’m trapped down here because of that – Rafe!”
That bit made Sarah look up, a frown darkening her brow at the mention of her brother. John B would deal with that – he knew he had to deal with that – but he could only take one family crisis at a time right now.
Groff didn’t stop. Not while he was ahead. Not while he was behind.
Not for the broken look JJ would never be able to overcome.
“But now, my boy – my beautiful boy,” Groff rejoined loudly. “Is here to rescue me!”
It was like stabbing JJ all over again. Just digging the anchor into JJ’s gut – because he could.
Luke used to make promises when JJ was younger, about how sorry he was, about how it would never happen again. The man had the decency to stop making the promises after a while. To stop saying anything when he came to pick JJ up – battered and bruised.
That was bad enough, watching JJ slump back, shuffling his feet with his eyes down, back to a bastard who beat him.
This was worse.
To hear Groff use his words so flippantly.
To take something as precious and easy as a son’s love.
And use it to gut JJ all the same.
Somehow, JJ kept himself calm. There was no crashout. There was no outburst.
He shifted, swallowing hard. “What happened to the scroll?”
As if that was what this was all about.
The hunt. The redemption. Them.
John B wasn’t stupid. He knew how JJ operated. He knew JJ had shut something down inside of him to get this far. To make it off the boat, JJ had shut down everything.
It was the only way to keep going.
John B accepted that because they needed to keep going.
It had been an acceptable compromise, just to get them all back home safe.
It didn’t feel so acceptable anymore.
“Rafe!” was Groff’s answer.
That much was probably the truth, John B reasoned. In fact, it might be a best case scenario. Rafe wasn’t necessarily going to be happy about them abandoning him, but at least they had a chance with Rafe. If the mercenaries had it, they were done. It was all done.
JJ nodded, looking around as he took a deep breath.
“He took it and tried to kill me,” Groff continued, voice echoing up the well. “But I know where it is. I know how to get it back. We’ll go.”
Like it was that easy. Like they would just all go along.
Like he hadn’t stolen from them, attacked them, tried to kill them.
Like he could be trusted at all.
JJ shifted, rocking on his feet while his expression moved. His jaw worked, lips pursing and unpursing. He stiffly put his hands on his hips, trying to process it, like it could even be processed.
Groff was undeterred, however. “We’ll go together,” he offered, and he almost sounded sincere. He almost sounded just like the father JJ had always wanted and always deserved. Almost. “Just throw me the rope.”
That was it. The line JJ couldn’t take.
He turned away, face in a panic for a second while he reeled.
This was the man who had left JJ hurt and alone at sea. Who had turned the boat away and let JJ stay there. Resigned to die alone.
And now he wanted JJ to save him.
JJ’s cries for mercy had undoubtedly gone unheeded.
Yet the bastard expected JJ to comply.
It was so stupid.
What was even stupider was the hesitation written all over JJ’s face. How much he wanted to.
They sat there, watching him. Waiting for something. JJ postured, taking a breath and letting it out. But he couldn’t form the words. He couldn’t collect his thoughts.
Pope broke the silence first. “I don’t think we should trust him,” he said, plain and matter of fact. “But that kind of goes without saying, doesn’t it?”
It did. They all knew it; even JJ.
Especially JJ.
John B shook his head, looking away while guilt churned in his gut for letting JJ face this. For letting it go on so long. Groff never should have had a hold of JJ in the first place.
That was on him.
That would always be on him.
It was Kiara who said it. “JJ, it’s your call.”
Because JJ deserved to make the choice. JJ deserved everything.
John B was just scared shitless that JJ wasn’t equipped to make the right one. The one he needed to make to protect himself. The one he should have made from the start, before his friends abandoned him to this monster.
JJ took a minute. And then another. One deep breath followed by the next before he nodded to himself. He nodded to them, and turned back around.
“JJ?” Groff yelled.
JJ stopped, taking his place above the well and looking down in full.
“Did you get the rope?” Groff asked, like he believed it was possible. Like he thought he could try murdering his son and still get him to save his life. “It’s attached to a bucket beside the well. Just throw it down to me.”
JJ looked at the bucket.
Then, he looked back at Groff.
He picked it up, running it through his hands – considering it.
What it meant, to save this man. What it meant, to pull him up. What it meant, to give Chandler Groff a second chance.
“JJ, I need you to throw me the rope,” Groff said, voice darkening just a little. There was an edge to it: fear. Desperation. Anger.
Then, JJ finally spoke to him. “Why?” he asked, so simple. So cutting. John B forced himself to swallow it back down hard. “Why should I do that when you tried to kill me?”
He said it, at least. He gave it voice. There was accountability there, something JJ had never lobbed at Luke. All the years he’d known JJ, he’d never once admitted to the fact that his father abused him.
But here he was, asking Groff why.
There was no answer, of course. There was no justification.
Groff postured one up anyway. “I snapped,” he said. “Sorry.”
He winced; nearby, Kiara flinched. Pope’s jaw worked as he looked down, and Cleo stared hard ahead. Sarah looked ready to cry.
Sorry was what you said when you left the bathroom light on. Sorry was what you said when you stepped on someone’s toes.
It wasn’t the right response for attempted murder.
The bastard.
John B had met some evil people. Some terrible people. It happened, in this line of work. Treasure hunting didn’t exactly attract the most reputable sorts. Murderers and thieves; liars and cheats. Even his own father had killed two men, just because.
But Chandler Groff?
Was still playing JJ.
Like the asshole hadn’t already tried to murder him.
“But I knew you’d get to shore,” Groff said, even as JJ’s expression twisted.
Something angry. Something painful. That his suffering meant so little. Some negligible thing – acceptable.
Groff thought it.
And John B knew, with some guilt, that they had thought it, too.
“And I’m so glad you did,” Groff said. “Just get me out of here, JJ. And we’ll go get the crown. Together, just like we planned.”
JJ shook a little, something starting to give. The composure wouldn’t hold. The balance couldn’t be maintained. Whatever JJ had scraped together upon the shores of Morocco was more tenuous than he let them believe, and the risk of him unraveling, right here and now, was real. John B wanted to move, but didn’t trust himself.
He had to trust JJ.
“You gave me away,” JJ said, voice suddenly quieter. Younger. “You gave me away because you don’t want me. You don’t want a son.”
It was a horrible sort of realization.
One they’d all known, of course.
But it wasn’t fair. Not for JJ to say it; not for him to make it plain.
Not for him to live it.
Every day of his life.
He’d discovered his whole world was a lie. And the truth?
Was even worse.
Worse than Luke Maybank.
Worse than everything.
“Now, you come into my life, acting like you had to do that,” JJ said, and the smile on his face was so deeply imbued with pain. John B could feel it, radiating off him even now.
Groff didn’t see that it was done. Groff didn’t acknowledge that he’d broken something in JJ beyond repair. He’d taken something from him – so delicate and fragile – that it would never be fixed. Groff kept trying to talk his way out of it.
“No, you’re my boy, and I love you,” he said, almost insisted.
“No, don’t say that,” JJ said. “Don’t say that. You don’t know what that word means.”
JJ did know. The Pogues, imperfect as they were, had shown him that.
JJ hadn’t learned love from a father. Not from a mother or a family.
But from his friends. The family he forged almost entirely on his own. His faith, his loyalty, his love. He had learned it for them as much as from them. He had always kept them together. Always.
“You don’t even know me,” JJ said, shoulders falling.
The Pogues were supposed to know JJ. They did.
They had just – forgotten.
They’d just been so preoccupied.
They’d been distracted.
But they knew him.
They loved him.
Groff could never make it right, but they could. John B swore to himself, once they got out of Morocco, they would.
“You never were my father,” JJ said, looking at the rope in his hand and shaking his head. “You never even tried.”
“I’m a weak man, JJ,” was Groff’s reply. “You wouldn’t kill me for that, would you?”
The audacity of the ploy. The utter cruelty of it.
Pleading for mercy.
When he himself gave none.
“That’s not you,” Groff concluded. “You’re better than me.”
That one hit. He could see it land, as JJ flinched.
Because Groff was right, wasn’t he?
JJ talked big. He could play up violence, talk about punching people in throats and tying them up. But he could never do it. He never had. He’d fired the gun in the air, nothing more, because JJ Maybank was soft on the inside. He wasn’t a killer.
He was still some stupid little kid.
Who just wanted someone to love him, choose him, pick him.
JJ turned away, taking a long breath as he looked at Kiara. Then, he stooped over, picking up the water and carrying it back with resolution.
“Being better than you really isn’t that hard,” he said, dropping the jug down. It landed with a thud.
Then, he turned away, back toward them. Face set. Face sure.
“Bye, Dad.”
From behind them, Groff’s protests resounded. Louder, and more desperate. Self-righteous and angry.
JJ didn’t turn back. He didn’t even look.
He stood in front of them, plain as he could. Offering himself. Offering all he had.
Not to Groff.
To them.
Always to them.
Kiara nodded. “You deserve a better family.”
JJ looked at her, looked at all of them. Eyes landing on John B. “We all do.”
With that, he stalked to the jeep and climbed in. “All right,” he said, as they all followed. “Let’s go get the crown.”
It was the reasonable thing, John B told himself, as he started up the engine.
First things first. First the crown. Then their lives.
They’d restore Poguelandia, John B would become a father. Everything would work out.
And JJ would be okay.
John B would sit him down, let him cry, make him talk.
JJ was going to be okay.
Chapter 25: CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Notes:
This fic is barreling toward the home stretch, which means I have to give fair warning. This fic IS a fix-it but it won't end with everything exactly as it should be. I have...other fics that come after this which will get the Pogues to the happy ending they deserve. Originally, I believe I've said, this fic was going to encompassing S4 and what I might imagine an S5 to look like -- taking the Pogues to Lisbon. I broke it up into two fics. There's still a distinct ending here, and it's not a cliffhanger exactly -- but there's definitely another fic.
That fic is currently 100k and I'm working on it. There will be a lag between this and the next but like I said. I'm working on it! The entire verse is mapped out for quite some time, but I have to keep my stamina up. Hearing from you all definitely helps -- so thank you for being part of it!
Chapter Text
-o-
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
-o-
It was a good thing, Kiara told herself. For JJ to face down his abuser. For JJ to call him out, define his boundaries. JJ was standing up for himself, for the first time – ever.
That was good. That was progress.
And it was utterly horrible to watch.
She had thought seeing JJ on the boat, drowning himself in the alcohol – that was rock bottom. She had hoped.
But this was worse.
The way JJ knew. The way his entire body seemed to respond to it. He had had to rally himself, not just against the betrayal. But against the lifetime of inequity that had kept him locked into bad habits and impossible cycles. JJ was standing up against a long-learned habit that he wasn’t worth it, that he deserved the pain. JJ was finally acknowledging that he deserved better, that he deserved so much better.
It wasn’t fair, though. She watched his face as they drove away. John B was at the wheel, and all of them had found their places without a word – JJ at the back. Kiara was next to him – but somehow he still felt so far away.
The jeep rumbled down the turnoff, a plume of sand behind them as they hit the main road. John B eased them onto it, hitting the gas to pick up speed north to Agapenta.
For a few minutes, they drove in silence, and Kiara looked out ahead of them – at the inevitability of what they were facing.
But what was coming – couldn’t eclipse what had been. The road to get them here had been hard – too hard.
She wasn’t sure it was worth it.
Kiara gnawed her lower lip, looking over at JJ. He was still sitting, as stiff and silent as he had been when they climbed in. The weight of walking away from Groff was one he was still contending with.
She wondered what else he was contending with.
Luke? The Enduro? The loss of Poguelandia?
The mother he never knew? The grandfather who might have loved him?
She wanted to ask him; she wanted to comfort him. She wanted to help him – she wanted something, anything.
Because he just sat there.
Aching. The sound of Groff’s pleas and exhortation had long since faded into the wind, but she could still feel them. She could see them, written all over JJ’s tight expression.
Some part of JJ still wanted to go back.
Some part of JJ still wished he’d drowned.
Some part of JJ didn’t want to do this at all.
Every time she got frustrated with JJ for being reckless. Every time his short-sightedness caused them stress. Every time he crashed out and put them in danger.
She remembered this.
The reason why.
See, JJ wasn’t a bad person. He wasn’t stupid.
He was damaged.
It was so easy to forget sometimes. It was so easy to pretend like it was something he could control, like it was a choice he was making.
And not a lifetime of trauma that he struggled against, that he worked – day after day – to keep in check.
JJ had been abused – mentally and physically. He had been emotionally manipulated and beat down his entire life. He had never been shown unconditional love, and no one had ever believed in him. He’d been told his whole life that he wasn’t wanted, he wasn’t good enough, that he didn’t deserve the things everyone else took for granted. He had been conditioned – through years of cruelty and neglect – to neglect himself.
When enough people told him he didn’t have a future.
Sooner or later, JJ had believed them.
What they had given JJ in 18 months – happiness, stability, belonging, and love – would never be able to fully undo the first 18 years of his life. The rest of them were grappling with the simple task of growing up.
JJ was struggling to figure out how to be a person. Fully realized and whole.
It was easy to forget that. When he was spending all their money and making shitty-ass bets on himself. It was easy to get mad when he was crashing out and putting all their lives on the lines.
It was easy to forget.
Until she saw him, standing face to face with all his worst nightmares. Until he was reckoning with his own demons.
She should have been there. She never should have let him do this.
Not this but all of it. His long crashout, this inevitable pain. She had hurt JJ, too, and her damage was just as profound.
“Hey,” she said, reaching for his hand.
He flinched, just slightly. But when he looked at her, his face softened. When she squeezed his fingers, this time he smiled.
“You made a good choice,” she told him, her voice low over the sound of the wind and the road.
Because it was his choice.
All the things that had been done to JJ, this one was his.
She had worried he’d give in. She had been scared he’d offer Groff the rope. She had thought, for a second, JJ would pull him up. Would save him, let him back in.
Just like he always had with Luke.
A second chance. A third chance.
All the chances.
Yet, for as much as she didn’t want him to give in, watching him give up was almost just as bad. Because she could see it, the way the tension set across JJ’s shoulder. The way his face was just barely composed.
It broke his heart, all over again.
Even now, as he contended with it, she could see that it hurt him. It crushed him.
To be reminded what Groff had done to him. As an infant. And just last week.
The constant reminder that JJ was unlovable, that no one wanted him. The inevitable idea that he was the problem, that it was him.
And they hadn’t helped, had they? Holding him accountable, laying him bare. In their frustration and anger, they’d all but flayed him, and she wondered if it all felt the same to him. Giving them a second chance, giving Luke a chance, giving Groff a second chance.
How many people would take JJ for granted?
The thought of it broke her heart, too.
Because that was on her.
“I know,” JJ said, short and simple. Like he knew it was right, even if he didn’t quite believe it.
“I’m proud of you,” she said, squeezing his hand again.
His smile faded somehow, even though his lips remained turned up.
This was a victory, she knew, for JJ to walk away. For JJ to recognize his own worth and protect himself.
It didn’t feel like a victory.
JJ sat stiffly in the car, doing his best to smile for her. Putting on a face – for them. Acting like nothing had changed.
And maybe it hadn’t.
Maybe this was still the same old JJ, putting on facades. For them.
Always for them.
It didn’t feel anything close to a victory.
Because what JJ had gained was nothing compared to what he’d already lost. What had been taken to him, stripped from him, bit by bit. He’d been taught, all these years, that he wasn’t wanted. And no one should have to know that. No one should have to face that.
Especially not JJ.
“I love you,” she said, because it needed to be said.
She should have never stopped saying it.
And this time, his smile fell as he looked down for a moment. Then he turned his eyes out.
“I know,” he said, fleeting and distant as he looked ahead. “I know.”
The fact that he didn’t say it back – she didn’t want to dwell. She didn’t want to overthink.
But she was done looking away.
She was done playing cards.
When they got back home, she was going to give him the family he deserved.
She swore to herself, she was going to give him everything.
-o-
It was the right thing to do.
Sarah had to believe that.
All that they’d done – all that they had to do – it was the right thing to do.
Shit, it was the only thing to do.
The uncertainty of it all was harder to parse than it used to be. She could still remember, at 16, craving the adventure – a chance to feel alive. To live outside the bubble wrap.
She missed it a little now. That sense of safety.
She looked at John B, hands tight on the wheel. Behind her, Pope and Cleo were quiet. At the back, Kiara was watching JJ with worry – and JJ –
Well, what was it about JJ?
The fact that he was in a bad way was clear. Whatever recovery he’d had when they hit land, it wasn’t as real as he wanted them to believe. That wobble JJ talked about?
Ran a lot deeper than he wanted them to know.
It worried her. In a way it didn’t use to worry her.
JJ needed them. JJ needed a lot of things.
“How far?” she said, leaning over to John B.
He looked at her, eyes widening in sudden concern. “Are you okay? Do you need the bathroom? A drink? The baby?”
She rolled her eyes – but only fondly. “I’m fine,” she said. She glanced back, shrugging a little. “I’m just–”
He nodded, eyes back on the road. “Yeah,” he agreed. “Me, too.”
That was all he needed to say.
It was all they could say.
As they sped forward to face the inevitable.
-o-
JJ lost track of time.
He lost track of distance.
Shit, he lost track of everything.
He knew Agapenta wasn’t far, but he couldn’t track it anymore. He couldn’t hold onto it. This idea of going forward, of getting to the end–
Was haunted by what was behind him.
It wasn’t about Groff, really. It wasn’t even about JJ, even though sometimes he thought it should be.
No, this was about his friends.
Groff couldn’t be trusted; he had already cost them too much already. He’d put his friends in jeopardy. JJ couldn’t take that chance. Not when he still owed them everything.
He couldn’t shit around with his family nonsense. Not when he had to fix things for them.
Even so, it was weird, wasn’t it? Standing up for himself. Deciding his own fate.
It was a novelty, some strange, uncertain thing. This strange self-possession, like he had a right to his own life, like he had a say in his own happiness.
Like he deserved better.
Kiara was still watching them, her hand on his the whole way to Agapenta. She hadn’t let go, not once. The calm reassurance should have worked. It didn’t work.
It just–
It was weird.
JJ couldn’t shake it.
That he’d just made another bet on himself – bigger and stupider than before.
And that, sooner or later, fate would call it due.
-o-
No one said much.
The jeep moved forward, the engine throbbing from the constant acceleration, but at the wheel, John B didn’t dare slow down. He barely yielded on the curves, taking them up the road and closer and closer to Agapenta.
The silence was as thick as the air between them, laying heavily on them like the relentless rays of the sun above. The finality of JJ’s choice to leave Groff behind wasn’t one any of them doubted or regretted.
Kiara just knew like the rest of them knew: it wasn’t over.
This wasn’t just about the crown.
They needed the crown; they needed Groff. Those were the keys to finishing this, to getting their lives back. The quid pro quo Shoupe talked about; the money they needed to buy back the land.
But it was more than that, and Kiara was sure of it with each passing mile. The crown was a tool. Groff was a stepping stone. To get back home, and to really rebuild.
Not just a house. Not just a business.
A family.
They had to rebuild one another.
Pope needed to go to school. Cleo needed to get her citizenship papers. John and Sarah needed to get married, and JJ–
She looked at her boyfriend, as stiff and blank as when they left Groff miles back.
JJ needed to figure out who he was. She didn’t know what the future would hold for JJ, but she knew he needed to find out. She knew he needed to see that future, to believe in it.
Now, more than ever.
Because JJ’s past – was a mess.
And so was right now. Everything JJ had done over the last few weeks was pressing down on them. Not just a wobble.
A damn earthquake, rocking JJ to the core.
She had to believe that the choice he made with Groff was good. It was smart and healthy and good. A step in the right direction.
But with each passing mile, the double lingered. She could see it, written all over his face. He had walked away from Groff, but he hadn’t left him behind. Groff still had a power over JJ, and probably always would – just like Luke before him. That was inevitable, she knew that.
She just didn’t know what it would mean now.
What they were leaving behind, she wasn’t sure they could outrun, but as the city started becoming apparent on the horizon, she sat up a little straighter. JJ was looking right at it, and he nodded. “Is that it?” he said. “Agapenta?”
The final destination. Their last shot at redemption.
“Yeah,” she said, giving him a smile, and letting herself believe they might get through this after all. “Agapenta.”
-o-
It was several more miles before they found an actual watering hole, and this time there was actual water – not long-lost, murderous fathers in the well. They drank their fill – giving extra time for Sarah to rest – while Pope paced anxiously back to the truck.
She followed after him because she knew that anxiety.
The same that had kept him up, night after night, trying to save Poguelandia. The kind that had him running from the law. The kind that had him holding the gun and agonizing over the trigger. To be so smart had its drawbacks; Pope lacked decisiveness.
It was why, she thought, he’d probably wanted to be an ME. Doctors had to respond in real time. MEs could take their time. Their patients were already dead.
The pity was, Pope would be great in action.
He’d be a brilliant doctor.
He could be the hero of them all, if he could just get over himself.
“Hey,” she said, coming up alongside him. “What are you thinking?”
He didn’t look at her, but reached for the map instead. “I’m thinking we need to reconsider our approach.”
Cleo gave him a critical look, then let her gaze linger to the city in the distance. “I think we need to get there first,” she suggested.
His gaze was not amused in response. “We have to think this through,” he argued.
She sighed, glancing at the map. “We’re still at least an hour out,” she said, tapping her finger at the distance.
“Right,” Pope agreed. “But we can’t just barge in.”
“I didn’t suggest we ram through the city gates with the truck,” she quipped, her voice as dry as the desert air.
Now, he looked at her with a glare. “I didn’t say that either,” he sniped back. “I just think we need a slow approach. Something careful.”
She inclined her head, looking back at the city. “Okay,” she said. “But we can’t stop here.”
She thought that was an obvious statement, but he didn’t readily agree.
She scoffed at him. “Pope, it would be a hike that took us hours!”
“It would give us time,” Pope said. He gestured at the map again. “We could camp for the night, get our bearings, make a plan of attack–”
She gaped for a second, wishing he were kidding. “And let the mercenaries get all our treasure, leaving us with nothing,” she reminded him. “We have to get it done. We can’t just sit around and hope for it. We’ve come too far, yeah? Sooner or later, we have to pull the trigger.”
It wasn’t a metaphor he appreciated – clearly – but his lips pursed in reluctant agreement anyway. “Fine,” he said, breathing heavily through his nose. “We’ll get closer. But I still think we need to ditch the truck and go in by foot. This is an old city. The roads aren’t even going to be made for vehicles of this size, and the last thing we want to do is draw attention to the fact that we’re there to plunder their artifacts.”
He had a point, as he usually did. He was a smart one.
Too much so for his own good, to be sure.
And still, she loved him. She truly did.
Smiling now, she nudged him. “Ah, well,” she said. “Treasure hunting is a lot like a relationship.”
He gave her a skeptical look.
She grinned back. “They both flourish with compromise.”
His face softened, and he nudged her back. “Get the others,” he said. “We should get going if we want to get to Agapenta today.”
Her boy could load the gun and cock it. He could steady his aim.
She’d get him there. She’d help him pull that trigger.
When it mattered, she’d make sure of it.
-o-
They took their time, at least.
Kiara knew time was pressing, but she also knew the stakes. Sarah was pregnant, and while she didn’t want to be demanding – she had the right to be demanding. Kiara couldn’t imagine, growing another person. She wasn’t even sure she was motherhood material, and that vulnerability was part of the reason why. Sarah had different needs now, different priorities.
How she could do that and hunt treasure–
Well, she shouldn't have to.
It wasn’t as much a choice as a necessity, and taking care of JJ shouldn’t come at Sarah’s expense. They had to do it together.
“I’ll go see if we're ready to go,” JJ said, nodding to her. “The truck sounds a little funny.”
“Well, it’s a piece of shit,” John B reminded him, keeping his spot next to Sarah at the well’s edge.
JJ flashed a grin – or some semblance of one. “No one is better equipped for shit than me,” he quipped.
Kiara smiled lightly, giving his arm a squeeze. “Tell Pope and Cleo we’ll be there in a minute.”
JJ lingered, his smile faltering even as he nodded back. He glanced at Sarah and John B, before heading back to the jeep to talk to Cleo and Pope. She watched him, waiting until he was out of earshot.
Taking care of Sarah, she reminded herself, didn’t come at JJ’s expense either.
“I don’t know if he’s ready for this,” she said softly.
She didn’t have to say who. Her eyes stayed on JJ, and Sarah and John B watched him, too. The way he carried himself. His guarded expression. The sadness in his eyes.
JJ wasn’t okay.
JJ was so far from okay.
“What else can we do?” Sarah asked. She looked at Kiara. “I mean, is not getting the treasure an option?”
Kiara pressed her lips together, wishing she had an answer. Wishing they hadn’t painted themselves into this corner, with no good way out.
“I don’t know,” she admitted. She sighed, shaking her head. “He’s just – not back. Not like he says he is.”
She looked at John B for confirmation.
John B, however, brought his brows together. “He’s just – I mean,” he fumbled. Then, he drew a breath and nodded. “It’ll be okay. It will.”
At Kiara’s dubious look, he continued fervently.
“We just have to stay close to him, make sure he’s not alone,” John B reasoned, even as he kept his voice low. “He won’t crash out if we’re here with him.”
Kiara tried not to snort. She wasn’t mad at the idea.
She just found it a bit overly optimistic. “Like he was okay back in the OBX?”
John B’s face twisted up in immediate reaction, his emotional walls going up and going up fast. “That was different.”
But Kiara had let it linger. Too long.
Packing boxes. Playing cards.
Standing idle was a bad idea. “No, it wasn’t,” she said. “John B, all of this? Everything over the last few weeks? Years – his whole life? It’s adding up, and I’m not sure he can outrun it forever.”
His brow darkened, but there was nothing for his defenses to throw up this time. “Look, we just have to get him through this.”
She sighed, rolling her eyes a little. “You keep saying that!”
John B looked furtively at the others, watching JJ for a second, and Kiara followed his gaze. “I don’t know what else to say,” he said, and he shrugged almost helplessly. “I mean, what else am I supposed to do? Cleo stole a truck. Pope’s trying to find his way into a city I can’t properly pronounce. We’re hanging all our hope on a treasure no one has found in hundreds of years, not just to savage our home – but our freedom – everything.”
He scoffed, shaking his head in futility, eyes slightly wild. Sarah edged closer to him, her face creased with obvious concern.
Across the way, JJ was looking under the hood of the jeep, talking to Cleo while Pope pored over the map again. The same stuff, she was sure. They were all anxious; they were all ready – and not, at the same time.
Ready to be done.
But nowhere ready to face it.
“I don’t know what else to say, Kie,” he admitted finally. “I don’t know.”
And what was she supposed to say?
What was she supposed to do?
She knew John B was telling the truth. She knew how hard this was on him in particular. Now that Sarah was pregnant. Now that he was going to be a father.
The idea that they had nothing to lose wasn’t just a fantasy. It was diametrically opposed to the truth. JJ was hurting – Kiara knew that.
But he wasn’t the only one.
Sarah reached out, taking his hand gently.
He looked from Kiara to her, both guilty and grateful.
Ultimately, Kiara sighed. “I know. I just – don’t know what to do. I feel like I’ve been sitting here watching him crash out for weeks now. And I’m just worried what will be left of him on the other side.”
Because John B and Sarah – they had everything, right? No matter what happened, they had each other. And they were going to have their baby. Their perfect family. Their built-in happily ever after.
Kiara didn’t know if she was going to get that. If JJ would be able to clear his name and come home.
Would they be on the run forever? Would he end up in a prison back on the OBX?
Would he survive it either way?
“Just tell me we’ll get him out of here,” Kiara said, her plea simple. “Just tell me you’ll help me get him home.”
To this, John B nodded. He didn’t hesitate. He didn’t flinch. “I promise, Kie,” he said. “I’ll do whatever it takes to get him home.”
Was it enough?
Kiara didn’t know.
But it was all she had.
To save JJ’s life. To give him back his future.
It was all she had.
“Come on,” Cleo called at them from the car. JJ slammed the hood down as Pope climbed into the seat. “We need to get a move on!”
John B got up, taking Sarah by the hand with him. Kiara followed, letting her gaze meet John B’s one more time. He held it, giving her a nod.
They both knew what they were risking, at least.
And they both knew what they were trying to save.
They piled back in, one right after another, and Kiara took her spot next to JJ, offering him up the only smile she had left.
Only time would tell if it would be enough.
-o-
Leaving Groff behind was easy; Luke had been doing it for years.
But this time, he didn’t know where he was going.
What the hell, right? There was nowhere to go.
He’d come all this way – across the damn ocean – to try to find JJ and keep him safe.
And Groff had killed him already, left him for dead back in the OBX.
The suddenness of that failure was more than he could bear. By the time he made it back to the main road, his legs gave out. He felt gutted, half collapsing there as he tried to catch his breath. He blinked, but his eyes wouldn’t clear. He could feel the way his heart slammed against his ribcage, ears ringing.
It was a hard thing to put his mind around, all right?
He’d raised that boy. He’d taught him to walk, taught him to swim. Surfing and fishing. All of it. He’d raised him.
And now he had to bury him?
Not even, though. Groff had dumped him at sea. There was nothing to bury. JJ was just gone, the last 20 years erased, like they had never happened at all.
Luke had come all this way – and for what.
Luke had sacrificed everything – and for what.
All he’d wanted was to save JJ.
To finally make it right.
And Groff had killed him back in the OBX.
JJ was dead.
The shock hit him suddenly, overwhelming him with a ferocity that he couldn’t control. His breathing caught, head spinning as his heart pounded. JJ was dead.
JJ was dead.
Luke had made JJ’s life a living hell, and Groff had swooped in to finish it. The bastard had abandoned JJ all his life, and for this. To come back and end it for nothing.
It wasn’t JJ’s fault, was it? That he was Groff’s son. He couldn’t control his DNA any more than he could control the abusive bastard who raised him. Luke had always believed in God, but it was hard to reconcile, why a good God would be this unfair.
Why a loving God would take a kid who just wanted a family.
And destroy him for it.
His boy was dead.
He staggered to the road, but he couldn’t keep going. His equilibrium faltered, vision going white at the edges. His knees gave out and he crashed to the ground, catching himself on his hands and knees as he struggled for air.
The oxygen wasn’t enough. It churned in his gut, and the nausea roiled him. He heaved, spewing the scant contents of his stomach, and the acrid smell of bile made him vomit again.
When he was done, he was shaky – and he didn’t feel done at all. The finality of it all was impossible to grasp, and he collapsed back, sitting on his ass under the harsh sun in Morocco. It all came to nothing, then. None of it meant shit. There was no way to absolve it. There was no way to rectify it.
Groff was still leaving JJ behind whenever and however he pleased.
And Luke was straggling behind, picking up the pieces, until there was nothing left.
There was nothing left.
Luke wasn’t a father anymore.
Luke had never been a father.
When the car approached, he didn’t look up. He didn’t look up until the shadow covered him and the door opened.
“This is a strange place for a rest.”
Luke squinted up. It was Dalia – and behind her, in a string of three vehicles – her crew.
As if doing the job mattered now.
The smirk on her face faded a little, and she nodded at him, more serious. “Everything okay?”
“I can’t imagine you’d care,” Luke said, short and bitter. He made no attempt to get up.
Her mouth flattened and she regarded him carefully. “I hired you to do a job, you know.”
Luke had quit less important jobs for worse reasons. All he could do was scoff with a shake of his head. “You want Groff?”
“I want the crown,” she said. “I don’t think Groff is the key anymore.”
Luke frowned.
“It’s the kids,” she said. And she hesitated. “Now, I know that one is personal to you.”
“It was,” he muttered. “Not sure it matters now.”
She nodded, eyes narrowed. “Do you have a line on them?”
Luke sighed, wishing she’d just leave. “Just the one. The big one,” he said. “I followed him here. My guess is that he’s already in Agapenta.”
The answer seemed to please her. “We’ve been tracking the other six. Right up this road.”
And that – that bit – made him stop. He looked up, brow pulling together. “Six?”
She nodded. “The Pogues, as they call themselves,” she said.
Luke got up, scrambling to his feet as he stepped closer to her. “You’re sure there were six.”
“They left Essaouira together,” she confirmed. “Separate from your big one, the one that came at Groff.”
Luke’s breathing caught and he did the math in his head again. John B, Sarah, Pope, Cleo, and Kiara.
And JJ.
The sixth one was JJ.
Which meant JJ was in Morocco.
Which meant JJ was alive.
Groff was wrong.
JJ was alive.
“If they’re the key to finding the crown, then I will follow them,” she said, and she spoke slowly and carefully now. “That can end poorly.”
Her voice was low with the warning as she pinned him with her look.
“Or,” she ventured with a shrug. “It can go less poorly.”
Her mercenaries could shoot to kill, in other words.
Or not.
“What do you need?” he said, icy resolve forming in his stomach again.
“Just the crown, love,” she said. “If they give me the crown, then I don’t care what they do.”
“You swear?” Luke said, another step forward.
“I know my priorities,” she said with a small smile. “And I know yours. I think we can still be of some use to each other, hm?”
Luke nodded.
Like his life depended on it.
Like JJ’s life depended on it.
“Then, let’s go,” he said, moving around to the truck. “We need to get to Agapenta.”
-o-
JJ knew they were going to Agapenta. This was a destination. They were running to something.
And there it was, looming large in front of them. Their destiny. His second chance.
He didn’t know, then. Why getting back in the car was so hard. Why his chest felt tight as they approached. Why the closer they got to the goal, the less sure he was.
Because JJ wasn’t just going to Agapenta.
Was he?
No, JJ was leaving behind Groff. He was leaving behind that rejection, that abuse. He was leaving behind the person who had never wanted him. It should have been a slam dunk. It should have been easy.
But JJ felt less sure than ever.
About himself.
About his father.
About everything.
The truck rumbled closer to the gates, and no one dared to say anything. They sat – driving in silence – and JJ knew it was because of him. He wanted to break the silence – ease the tension with a quip – but he didn’t know how. He just didn’t have it in him.
Not after this.
This whole trip, everything he’d done since leaving the OBX.
Who was he to talk about love? Really, though? He didn’t know a damn thing about it.
How could he?
Groff had abandoned him – and come back just to manipulate him. He’d already left JJ for dead once. He didn’t owe that man anything. He didn’t.
But the deep ache of leaving him behind – that was still real.
It was the same ache that sent him back to Luke, after every fight. It was the same need that had him taking a hug just as readily as he took a punch.
Luke had loved him once – he knew that. But the years of abuse made it hard to understand. The number of times Luke told him he hated him outnumbered the times he said he loved him. JJ didn’t know the difference anymore.
He didn’t know where to draw the lines.
Because he didn’t understand love.
John B had told him all along, that wasn’t what love looked like. Kiara had been so patient with him, while he fumbled through romance. He hadn’t even taken her on a proper date. Because he didn’t know. He had no idea.
He was inherently defective. He was messed up.
Damaged goods.
It was probably what Groff had seen in him, even as an infant. It was surely what Luke had seen, what had made it possible to beat him black and blue. The only parent who had ever loved him was dead and buried, and JJ had gone to her grave and robbed it. He’d stolen her jewels, disturbed her final resting place. He’d violated the only arms that had ever held him purely.
Because JJ was dumb as shit. He didn’t know what love was.
It was why he spent all the money. It was why he bet it all on himself. It was why he’d trashed the town and dragged them all on this wild goose hunt.
Because JJ was a selfish bastard. Because JJ was a piece of shit.
Because JJ Maybank.
Had no idea what love was.
He wasn’t sure he’d felt it.
He was pretty sure he’d never given it.
And he had never deserved it, not once. Not then. Not now.
Because look at where they were. Look at what they were doing.
Risking it all. Across the ocean.
Because of JJ.
All his talk of love, of family. His bullshit P4L.
This was all his fault.
The weight of that felt more real now. Leaving Groff for dead – it was a hard but necessary lesson. Groff deserved it.
And so did JJ.
They should have thrown him in that well with Groff, and left him behind. They should have thrown him overboard. Left him to rot in a prison back on the OBX. They should have let the cops shoot him after all.
Sure, JJ was better than Groff. JJ was probably better than Luke.
But what the hell kind of measure was that? What sort of victory could he claim in that?
JJ had to make this right.
By any means possible.
He would risk everything.
He would give everything.
Because love was a selfless act, and JJ had taken enough for one lifetime.
As Agapenta gates appeared in front of them, he felt the quiet determination in his gut. It ached along with the wound Groff had given him, deep and hard.
It was time to give back.
Once and for all.
“You okay?” Kiara asked, nudging him as they neared.
He looked at her as she smiled.
He hated that he loved her.
He hated that she loved him even more.
He wanted to hug her; he wanted to kiss her.
But all he did was nod, swallowing it all back hard.
“I will be,” he said. Like a promise, like a vow.
The last ditch effort.
One last chance.
To make this right.
-o-
Luke was starting to think he was in over his head.
Now, to be fair, he probably should have thought this a while ago. Like – forever ago. The moment he sold his services to mercenaries, that probably should have been a tipoff. And hell, the second he accepted responsibility for a child – that should have been the moment, right? He should have known – no way, no how. No. No, no, no.
But here he was.
As much of a father as JJ had ever known, and all the way across the world, bandying up with killers and thieves. This was either the best decision of his life or the worst, and time would tell.
Soon, he wagered.
Time would tell soon.
Because the mercenaries were rapidly approaching Agapenta, and the so-called treasure was going to be within reach. They had their meeting with Finch; they needed to be in Lisbon in a month. One way or another, this was going to end.
They could have their crown.
As long as Luke went home with JJ.
“Okay,” Dalia said, pulling the first buggy to a stop well outside the city. “I want us to split up. Three and three.”
She nodded abruptly to three of the buggies. Then, to the other three, she pursed her lips. “You’re all with me. We’re going in the main way. The rest of you, split up. Find alternate ways in. I want a strong presence – a thorough presence. If we have company, I don’t want surprise. We leave this city with the crown or we don’t leave at all, do you understand me?”
There was a murmur of agreement. If they were scared, they knew better than to show it.
For his part, Luke was too numb to let himself be frightened. He was just past that point, he supposed.
As the men dispersed, he turned to head out with them. But Dalia grabbed his arm. “Leaving with the crown - that’s a must,” she said, voice low. “Leaving with you – is entirely optional.”
Luke pressed his lips, half feigning a smile. “Good to know.”
He didn’t posture; he didn’t beg. He didn’t do shit. He just turned and made his way off. Some of the men took the buggies. Others went by foot. He made his way through the city walls, waiting for the others to find their ins.
And then he stopped.
And considered.
If he wasn’t after the crown, then he didn’t need to stake out the city. No, he needed to see who came and went. Because if Dalia was right – if the Pogues were here and after the crown – then he needed to track them.
It was the only chance he had to find out what the truth was.
Was JJ alive?
Or had Groff finally done it.
Had Groff finally destroyed JJ’s life once and for all.
He stole away, taking up position near the gate. A high vantage point, easy to see everyone who came and went. He had a strong view of Dalia and her team. If JJ and his friends were coming, he’d see them.
He was hedging his last bet.
All or nothing.
-o-
John B pulled the car to a stop, feeling the way his heartbeat picked up its pace. His palms started to sweat, and it had nothing to do with the heavy clothes or the Moroccan sun.
The closer he got to Agapenta, the more he saw it. The ancient city.
And the relic.
Sitting on top of the damn hill.
A beacon.
Calling them there. To find the crown. To finish the hunt.
To bring it all home.
The thing was, JJ wasn’t the only one with an addict for a father. Sure, Big John Routledge wasn’t addicted to drugs. He wasn’t even a drunk, although he did like to knock back a few beers.
No, but he was an addict. It had destroyed his academic career. It had torpedoed his marriage. It had driven a wedge between father and son, and it had gotten him killed in the end.
Because John B’s father was addicted to treasure.
And not even treasure. It wasn’t just gold.
It was the hunt.
He was addicted to the thrill of the search, the adrenaline from the puzzle. It had drawn him out, time and time again. It had made him spend all his money, give up all his credentials. It had taken him away from home until one day, he just didn’t come back.
Because the hunt had mattered more than his son.
He could frame it any way he liked, but that was what it was. He wasn’t protecting John B. At 15, John B had been an orphan. Because his old man didn’t know when to quit.
That was his family legacy, whether he wanted to admit it or not. He could remember his father fondly – he could – but he couldn’t be naive about who he was.
Or who John B himself was.
Because that blood ran in his veins.
He’d grown up on it; it was all he knew.
Even now, John B could feel it. That surge of excitement as they neared the end. That familiar rush, deep and intoxicating. The kind that made you leave people behind and compromise your morals. The kind that usurped P4L and ignored a positive pregnancy test.
He had to be smarter. He had to be better.
He had to do this right.
He looked at the relic, then he looked at the others. Pope and Cleo. Kiara and JJ.
Sarah and his baby.
He didn’t have to be his father, and this? This hunt?
Was his chance to prove it, once and for all.
-o-
Rafe was tired of this bullshit.
He tried to help his sister – she abandoned him.
He saved Groff’s life – and the asshole betrayed him.
He tried to build a life with Sofia – and she was a backstabbing bitch.
At this point, he just wanted this treasure. He wanted reparations so he could move on and leave all of these idiots behind him.
He had the map; he had the amulet.
And he still had no idea what he was looking for.
Then, there was a noise up ahead. He was hoping it was a passing vehicle, but no such luck. Rafe didn’t have anything resembling luck.
He recognized the asshole from the roof as he climbed out of the car. He looked pissed – gun raised and ready to shoot. All things considered, it wasn’t like Rafe could blame him.
He wanted his money, yes.
But he wanted to walk away from this more.
There was always another way to earn money. There was always another trick.
You had to be breathing to pull it off, though.
That was another lesson from his old man, and wherever Sarah buried him.
He put the map down.
He put his hands up.
And hoped he wouldn’t see his father’s disapproving look in the afterlife.
-o-
A lot of things about this trip were tough for Sarah. She could admit that now – without shame. She was sick; she was tired. She was emotionally spent.
She knew she had to get her shit together for this last push to get the crown – but it was hard.
Everything was hard.
And then, just when she thought things couldn’t possibly get more complicated, they came across Rafe.
Her dear beloved brother, the one who had tried to murder her, the one who she had abandoned.
Being held at gunpoint.
Face to face with the mercenaries.
She wasn’t sure what had gone down, but Rafe had the amulet; he had the map. That much was obvious.
It was also obvious that the mercenaries were going to kill him to get it.
She could only watch, horror churning in her gut as the others discussed it. Debating Rafe’s demise with a strange detachment; considering the consequences of losing the map when they were so close. Considering their best options to move forward with the mercenaries already caught up.
But all Sarah could think about was her father.
And the look on his face when he saved her life.
All the bad things he’d done – and he’d done so many bad things. The way he’d used her, lied to her. The way he’d tried to kill her and control her.
All of it, just to save her in the end.
To give himself up for her.
That didn’t make it all right. That didn’t absolve everything.
But it was something.
She wouldn’t pretend that it didn’t keep her up at night. She couldn’t deny the fact that she missed him – mourned him.
If he’d lived – she didn’t know. Maybe they never would have reconciled. Maybe he always would have been toxic.
But he might not have been. Maybe he could have made it up to her. Maybe they could have made it right. Maybe her baby could have had a grandfather.
That was the hardest part about it. The what might have beens.
Dealing with what had happened – Sarah could do.
But facing what could have happened – still haunted her. Paralyzed her.
“There’s seven of them,” John B muttered, his voice settling over her. “And they all have rifles.”
He was doing the calculations.
The same calculations she was doing.
To save Rafe – to save the map.
At this point, it was the same thing.
Next to him, JJ didn’t miss a beat. “I know, that’s why we’re going to have to think outside the box.”
And he pulled out the gun in his waistband, checking his clip.
John B’s eyes widened in concern. “What are you doing?”
But Sarah got it.
She got it this time.
“Diversion,” JJ said, no fear. Totally matter of fact.
Totally JJ.
The same one who jumped off the boat to save her.
That JJ.
“Dude, you can’t be serious,” John B said.
The others kept low, but turned their attention that way, too. “This isn’t Call of Duty,” Pope hissed.
“We’ve got four rounds,” JJ reasoned anyway. “There are seven of them.”
John B was nearly beside himself; Pope was nearly apoplexy. Kiara’s breathing hitched. “Four rounds?” she asked incredulously.
JJ was wholly undeterred. “Yes,” he said, like it was simple. “We’ll hit them heavy and take their vehicle.”
Sarah looked back out, at the mercenaries approaching, at her brother at gunpoint.
She’d watched her father die.
She didn’t think she could take watching her brother die.
She couldn’t.
Right or wrong, good or bad. This wasn’t about what Rafe deserved.
It was about what Sarah deserved, what Sarah wanted.
So Sarah took the gun.
She pulled it from JJ’s waistband, simple and decided. She was going to be a mother; she could make these calls for herself, for her baby, for all of them.
“What are you doing?” JJ asked in surprise. “Hey – whoa.”
Pope froze. Cleo’s eyes widened.
Kiara gasped. “Sarah–”
And John B went very, very still.
Sarah aimed the gun, closing one eye as she focused.
Her mind was made up. She knew what she had to do.
Screw everything else. She was going to do it.
“That’s my brother,” she said, decisive and plain.
Before she fired a round.
And one of the bikes exploded, bursting into flames as the mercenaries scattered.
“Huh,” she said, impressed with the outcome.
Impressed with herself.
This motherhood thing?
Well, maybe she could pull this shit off after all.
-o-
Rafe didn’t know what happened.
One second, he was pretty sure he was going to get killed.
The next, things were exploding and the gunfire was not at him.
Did this warrant some curiosity? Probably.
But not now.
Right now, Rafe just needed to get the hell out of here.
Sure, Camerons were supposed to be smart. They had to take initiative and be in control.
But they also had to be opportunistic. He had to take the good things fate gave him – and run with them. Whatever the mercenaries were doing – not his problem. Whatever the Pogues figured out – not his concern. Whatever the hell Sofia did – was no longer his concern. He’d kick her out of his house and sue her ass for the ring, if he had to. This was his chance to do what he needed to do.
No more promises. No more doing the right thing. Screw absolution.
He grabbed the map; he wrapped his hand around the amulet.
And ran like hell to the city, leaving the chaos behind him as best he could.
-o-
Ah, well. This wasn’t so unexpected, was it?
Making it up on the run. Half-assing the thing. Throwing spaghetti at the wall and seeing what stuck. They were Pogue, yeah? And Cleo had always fit right in.
The gunfire picked up, following after them as they ran. It was one step forward, two steps back. Same old, same old.
They saved Rafe.
And put themselves in harm’s way. The mercenaries were after them now, and any hope of stealth – well, that was long gone.
No matter. They had a job to do. They’d come all this way, across the ocean, into Morocco. For this crown, and that was what they were going to do.
Forget Groff. Forget Rafe. Forget the mercenaries.
Their eye was on the prize.
Metaphorically speaking.
Once they found the prize.
Gunshots kicked up the sand behind them. Pope yelped, and John B grabbed Sarah by the hand. JJ flung Kiara in front of him, moving faster and faster–
Toward the gates of the city. Toward Agapenta. To the crown.
To everything they ever wanted.
Nothing to lose.
Everything to gain.
Cleo didn’t know how they were going to pull this off.
But they pushed forward.
More gunfire rippled behind them – along with yells and shouts – as they kept moving.
There was no going back now.
-o-
Patience was a virtue, and Luke Maybank had never been much of a virtuous man. There was a reason he’d turned to anything and everything to help take the edge off. He was a man without stamina. Integrity didn’t mean much to a man like him, but he had to hope – staked out in front of Agapenta – that it wasn’t too late.
This was more than a second chance.
A third chance.
A fourth chance.
Whatever chance.
He had to hope.
He had to hope.
Then, it happened.
First, he saw Rafe Cameron – making his way into the area alone. He stopped just outside the city. Poor bastard didn’t realize the area was already staked out. He could see Dalia and her men – the team of three – poised and waiting. Just waiting to see if he had what they needed.
And Rafe Cameron was the kind of idiot who thought he had everything in the world. Who thought luck was something that only worked in his favor. He didn’t even look around as he got out the map. He didn’t even look twice as he got out the amulet.
The shithead had no idea. He’d just set himself up for Dalia to strike.
And strike – she did.
If it was JJ or any of his friends, that might have been something. Luke would cut his ties here for JJ – maybe even his friends.
But Cameron?
A damn Kook?
Well, Luke had to keep his priorities. Camerons had never given a shit about Maybanks.
And it wasn’t time to start returning a favor that had never been granted in the first place. Was it poetic justice to watch him give everything up?
Yeah.
Would he look away when they riddled the kid’s body with bullets?
Well, maybe.
Luke was vindictive, but petty. He didn’t necessarily think Cameron deserved to die. Violently – like this. But these rich people with their greedy pleasures. Everyone fighting for a little extra when Luke had spent his whole life scraping for enough to get by – enough for his kid to get by.
If fate could be that unkind to JJ, then, well – Luke wasn’t going to stop this shit.
But then – he saw more.
From his vantage point, he had a clear view of Rafe and Dalia.
He also had a clear view of the road leading up from the other direction. Movement there drew his attention. He frowned, squinting his eyes in the sun.
That looked like Routledge. That stupid kid JJ loved so damn much.
And next to him, the Cameron girl. Pope Heyward, that Cleo girl, and Kiara Carrera.
Then, his heart stopped, as he tracked a sixth figure.
Lean. Lanky. Blonde hair sticking out from under the sloppy turban.
For a moment, all he could do was stare. Stupid and dumbfounded, right there on the streets of Morocco. Groff had left him for dead, but Luke had conditioned him for that, too, hadn’t he?
To survive.
Against all odds.
To survive.
He was too dumbfounded to intervene, watching blankly as JJ pulled out a gun – blanker still as Sarah Cameron took it and fired a shot. There was an explosion – one of the buggies going up in a burst of flames – and then suddenly, the whole scene erupted.
The sound of renewed gunfire made him flinch. He was well out of the line of fire, but he ducked down anyway, heart hammering in his chest as he looked out over the scene. Rafe had gotten away – moving through the gates of the city. Dalia and her men were recollecting themselves, Lightner holding steady to fire–
At the Pogues.
The kids were running, moving with some speed toward the gates. It was closer than it should have been – close enough for Luke’s breath to catch – but the kids made it through. One right after another, and he caught a glimpse of JJ looking back.
Alive and whole.
His boy was alive.
And Luke knew now was his time to step up, once and for all.
Chapter 26: CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Notes:
Things continue to pick up, and I remind everyone that this IS a fix-it. Everyone WILL be okay.
But it's not necessarily a perfectly happy anything. I think the setup in S4 was just so hard for all these characters, and the fallout has to be equally hard. And for JJ in particular, surviving Morocco will always be just the first step. I do intend to get there. I have to write faster. And I hope you all stick around!
Thank you for all comments. Seriously, it means the world. Life is hard; this fandom feels impossible. But you all are the best.
Chapter Text
-o-
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
-o-
Getting inside the city was supposed to be a relief. A checkpoint.
A moment to collect themselves after running for their lives.
However, the instant they get through the first gate, John B realizes his own naivete. The first gate was just that – the first gate. They had to keep moving, crossing a wooded area, interspersed with open plains – doing their best to stay out of the line of fire.
He wasn’t entirely sure where they were going – not in a concrete sense. The idea of getting to Agapenta was not quite as pressing as getting away from mercenaries, but the end goal was the same.
Get inside the city.
Get safe.
Get there now.
The next gate was farther afield, and they didn’t make it easy. The terrain was rugged and unfamiliar, and for whatever reason, the adrenaline of being chased by gunfire did nothing for their coordination. He did what he could to keep Sarah in front of him, glancing back to watch the others. JJ fell – of course he did – face planting on the ground, but he was up and running and there was no time to waste.
In front of him, Sarah was slowing somewhat – but Rafe had passed them all. He didn’t even look back, not as he charged through the next gate – before turning back.
And closing the door.
His chest clenched. It was hard to deny the sense of betrayal, even if he knew it wasn’t unwarranted. They did just save Rafe’s life, sure. But they’d also left him behind in Essaouira. They weren’t friends; at this point, it wasn’t even clear if they were allies.
They would have to figure that out.
Once they were all inside the city.
And, you know, they weren’t all dead.
Rafe looked at him – square in the eye – and started to close it anyway.
Cursing under his breath, John B ran harder, and Sarah joined him. They pushed their way through, screaming at Rafe the whole time, skidding to the courtyard on the other side of the wall. He could hear Rafe yelling – the arguments about who did what to who – but he looked around and got the bigger picture.
This wasn’t really about Rafe. It wasn’t about Pogues or Kooks.
If they wanted to get out of here, they had to focus on the goal.
The crown was here, in Agapenta.
That revelation had seemed so important.
But now that he was here, John B realized the limitations of it.
Agapenta was a city.
More than that, it was a fortress. What it didn’t have in size, it made up for in structure. Poised on the hill, the streets crisscrossed the entire area, with intricate streets and terraced walls. The entire thing was built as a labyrinth, with gates and checkpoints designed for Medieval security.
The advantages for them were instantly obvious. There were more places to hide, more circuitous routes to hide their progress.
The disadvantages were equally clear. There were more places for the mercenaries to hide, more paths for them to be intercepted by bad luck and sheer chance.
He turned back, watching as the rest of the Pogues filtered in, breathless and weary – but together and whole.
They’d made it – this far, at least.
But as John B looked back up at the city looming above him, he knew this was going to be hard.
This was going to be close.
This was going to be everything.
-o-
For a lot of Sarah’s life, she had been trying to get away from her brother.
Even as kids, Rafe had been kind of an asshole. He had been mean spirited and petty; he liked tattling when he had the chance, and he enjoyed seeing her get in trouble for any infraction. He thought the rules applied to her – and no one else.
The fact that her father clearly liked her better had only heightened their discord. At times, he keenly ignored her. Other times, he full out mocked her. And when he had the chance, he would be purposefully mean and cruel, as if to balance some cosmic scale he thought was tipped against him.
She’d learned to avoid him.
And over the last few years, running away had been prudent. His drug habit had made things intolerable, and the whole killing cops and attempted fratricide had only solidified her staunch desire to redefine what family meant.
Nothing had changed – really.
But something had changed.
Because this time, she was following after Rafe, hoping to catch up.
Hoping to talk to him.
For once and for all.
To clear the air. To make things right.
She needed to catch up with Rafe.
Pregnant or not, she was still a good runner, and adrenaline was a kick in the pants. She still had negative memories of being shot, so she didn’t need an additional reminder to get her ass in gear, and she pushed herself harder over the terrain to Agapenta, looking up just in time to see her brother.
Just as Rafe started to close the door.
Did she have it coming? For leaving him to the cops in Essaouira?
Or was that just retribution for him drowning her.
She got dad killed; he shot her. Yeah, she knew he was more wrong than right, but she couldn’t pretend like it was simple. Like you could break it down on a scorecard to figure out who won and who lost. At this point, no one would win.
And they’d both lose.
Everything.
Breathless, she came to a stop, taking large, gulping breaths as she tried to get herself together. Any desire she had to talk to Rafe would have to wait. For the purely physical reality that she couldn’t form words right now.
Pregnant or not, Sarah wasn’t a sprinter.
It didn’t help that Rafe looked pissed as hell. Clearly, he hadn’t fully grasped that she had just saved his life.
Or he didn’t care.
At this point, that could go either way.
Finally getting herself upright, she found herself doing a headcount. In addition to Rafe – looking pissed as hell – John B was there. Cleo and Pope. And Kie with JJ – still favoring his side. She made a note to herself to check his wound soon.
Or, as soon as they weren’t about to die.
They were rough around the edges, just barely keeping it together. They were running on adrenaline and hope – and the outside chance that they might just pull this off.
Sarah might bring her family home. She looked at Rafe again, whose cold eyes stared back.
All her family.
What ambition was more lofty? Reconciling with Rafe? Finding the crown?
Keeping JJ alive?
Well, screw it. Sarah was aiming for all of them.
They were together now; it might work.
She knew from experience, sometimes that was all it took. Desperate times didn’t always call for desperate measures. But they did make you choose.
What you cared about.
What you would protect.
-o-
Damn it, Luke thought, trying to keep up. His chest was tight, heart nearly pounding right out of it. He’d soaked through his shirt now – dripping with sweat – but he couldn’t stop.
He wouldn’t.
The mercenaries were motivating – to some degree.
But the sight of JJ and his friends in front of him?
That was more important.
They were faster than the gunfire, at least. But Luke wasn’t stupid. He knew that luck wouldn’t last. These mercenaries – they weren’t here for shits and giggles. They were here for the crown, and they would shoot to kill – no reservations, no regrets.
So if Luke felt tired, that kept him going.
Legs pumping – vision bobbing – as he saw the last Pogue disappear through the gate.
Right as the door closed behind them.
The group surrounding him split up, almost without discussion. Lightner and his assholes went straight for the door, firing as best they could. They were going for sheer force, it seemed. Ancient wood against modern bullets; it wasn’t a question which one would win eventually.
The others, though, veered off. And Luke found himself drawn up with them. The direct approach was never the best way to go, he knew from experience. And he knew JJ. He knew his friends. They wouldn’t make it obvious.
Following the men, they rushed along the outside of the wall. The city was clearly a network of streets – confusing as hell and hard to navigate. But all they needed was an opening–
And there. One of the men found it, pushing open one of the doors. It was small – they had to file through one by one – but it got them inside.
It was disorienting – another alley, another door, another gate – and worse – the men seemed scattered. He did his best to keep his shit about him, turning about himself until the sound of gunfire oriented him. He moved, running with another band of men, keeping back enough to stay out of the line of fire. In all this, no one had bothered to arm him.
Which, considering his loyalties, was probably smart for the Corsairs.
But a son of a bitch for him. He was entirely vulnerable – no protection, no backup, nothing. How was he going to get JJ out of this?
They came to a clearing, moving up to the roofs. And there, Luke saw them.
JJ and his friends.
For all that Luke wasn’t armed, JJ was. He checked the gun one more time before handing it off to the Heyward kid. Then, Luke watched as he disappeared behind the door.
“Come on,” one of the men said. “We need to track them–”
And then they were off again.
Looking for treasure.
Looking for JJ.
Luke knew which one mattered to him.
-o-
It was too late to turn back now; Kiara knew that.
She’d known it for a while, hadn’t she? Ever since they hit land in Morocco. Ever since they helped JJ escape from police custody. Ever since JJ lost everything and blew up all their lives.
Ever since she fell in love with him in the first place.
Now they were running through the streets of Agapenta with no clear direction except away. The sound of gunfire followed them, and she felt more than a twinge of guilt for letting Pope and Cleo make the stand.
It wasn’t that she thought they were expendable – she didn’t.
She just trusted them not to make it a suicide run.
She glanced back, tracking JJ behind her. With him, she still wasn’t sure what this was. He’d ceded the gun, at least. But that look in his eyes–
The sound of his voice.
It wasn’t a wobble.
It was more than that.
It was a lifetime in the making.
As JJ careened toward what he saw to be inevitable. All his life, people had told him he was doomed to fail. All his life, they’d made him believe he was worthless. He’d been told he didn’t have a future.
This was it.
Not if they were right – they weren’t. Kiara would never believe they were.
But if JJ believed it.
If JJ couldn’t break that belief.
If he still gave it power over him.
Then, that was more dangerous than mercenaries. It was way more dangerous than Shoupe and the Kildare Sheriff’s department. It was even more dangerous than Chandler Groff.
“Come on,” she said, pausing as she beckoned him forward. In front of them, Sarah, John B, and Rafe were gaining distance. But she couldn’t leave JJ behind. “We have to hurry–”
He gritted his teeth, forcing himself forward. His hand gripped at his side as he winced, propelling himself forward anyway.
Every step – wasn’t enough. Every door behind them – wouldn’t hold.
They were running out of chances.
They were running out of time.
They had to keep running.
-o-
JJ knew they weren’t going to make it.
It had been a nagging doubt, probably from the start. Hell, it was why he’d tried to divert Kie’s attention 18 months ago. He knew he wasn’t destined for greatness. He knew he wasn’t destined for anything. Piece of shit like him?
The best case scenario was a jail cell.
They’d pulled him out of that.
Which meant, the only other option – the only real option – was.
Well.
The kind of ending that didn’t linger. The kind of goodbye you couldn’t go back on. JJ didn’t have a death wish, but life didn’t want him. No one had ever wanted him.
He could save their lives. He could right the things he’d wronged.
But would it matter?
In the end, would anything be different?
Even if he made it back home, he’d still be JJ Maybank. The kid no one wanted. The outcast the Kooks wanted to throw in prison. If it wasn’t this, it would be something else.
They weren’t going to make it.
The thought scared him, on some level.
But it solidified him, too. With each passing footfall, through each street. Winding through doors and alleys, gates and houses. He knew what he had to do.
He had to finish what he started.
Because they might make it – they really might.
If JJ knew his part.
He gripped his side, trying to keep pace as they took another corner at breakneck speed. They were climbing now, up through the streets, and he tried not to think about how he’d left Pope behind. Cleo behind.
That was a mistake.
He never should have done that.
It was his turn, wasn’t it?
No – not his turn.
It was just his destiny.
Catching up, Kiara’s eyes were wide with fear. In front of them, John B hesitated, taking Sarah by the hand. They all faltered – their steps uncertain – as they turned to follow Rafe into the next building.
“Guys,” he said, gritting his teeth as the pain flared up – burning at the edges of his vision and taking his breath. He pushed them after Rafe, as best he could. “Come on.”
He could spur them forward. He could talk them into anything.
It was his own body, though, that could betray him now.
That was how it was, though, right?
JJ Maybank had always been his own worst enemy.
It had been true his whole life.
And it was still true now.
-o-
Wonders would never cease. Cleo knew – she did – there was a first time for everything.
Yes, life often existed in patterns and routines. People didn’t often surprise her.
And it wasn’t usually change. It wasn’t necessarily character growth.
Sometimes people broke.
Sometimes they shattered.
That was when change was inevitable. Striking and surprising.
Unsettling, too.
That was what Cleo felt the moment she saw it. JJ Maybank – pulling a gun.
That bit didn’t surprise her.
But seeing him hesitate?
Well, shit. Things were getting real, weren’t they?
Guns firing; Rafe reunited. Pregnant mothers and treasures abound.
Now, here was JJ.
Unable to keep his shit together. He was scared; he was injured.
This was stupid. They’d been ignoring it too long. John B’s ideas be damned.
She needed to live by her own advice.
Pull the damn trigger already.
“Give me the gun,” she demanded, making no further pretense about anything.
JJ stopped, face pale and blank. “What?”
She reached at him, pushing him slightly. “Give me the gun!”
He looked genuinely confused.
The stupid, stupid boy.
Smart as he was, there were some things he never did get. Never would get. All that P4L bullshit, and he didn’t think it was a two-way street.
“What?” he asked. “But there’s only three shots left.”
“JJ, you’re hurt,” she said bluntly. Too tired, too stressed, too everything. The mercenaries were right on their asses, and they were running short on time. “Come on!”
JJ made a face. He was in agony, it was clear. The more he tried not to show it, the more Cleo knew he was just barely holding it together. “No,” he argued. “We should stick together!”
It figured. JJ would say that now.
If he could, he would be making this stand.
If he couldn’t, he’d insist on going down together.
Everyone was stopping now, hung up on this sticking point.
Which was the opposite of what Cleo wanted.
If a stand needed to be made, it wasn’t supposed to be all of them. JJ was compromised – physically and emotionally – and she needed him clear. And Sarah was equally compromised. Not because moms couldn’t be bad-ass – not because Sarah wasn’t bad-ass – but because they all wanted the Poguelet to have a chance.
“Hey, go!” she shouted to John B. “She shouldn’t be here!”
John B tugged at Sarah’s arm, and Kiara nodded from the door to the next alley. “Sarah, come on.”
Sarah looked shocked – momentarily betrayed – but she didn’t fight as John B took her further from the fray.
JJ, though, didn’t move. “No, you’re not doing it,” he said, color rising in his cheeks. His voice tightened as he looked from Cleo – to Pope. “No, no–”
Pope came up beside her, taking the spot where he belonged – right next to her. He grasped JJ by the arm. “Hey,” he said. He braced JJ’s shoulder. “We got it. We’ll hold them off.”
The way he said we mattered.
It turned her on a bit, if she were honest. If they survived this day, she would jump his bones for sure.
But survival first.
Cleo understood priorities. She did.
And so did Pope. He looked at JJ, as intent as ever.
He played his trump card. The one he had been holding out on all this time. “Let me protect you for once.”
It had been a long trip. Too long.
JJ had been through too much. He’d suffered more than he should.
Chandler Groff had taken him apart, and JJ tried to hide it – but it was like the wound festering in his side. It was catching up with him. It would take him down, and JJ would let it.
They had to stop him.
They had to.
JJ wavered. Because he loved his friends – he did.
And he would die for them.
The question was – would he live for them?
Would he actually do that?
She could see him waver. She could see the doubt.
He knew he couldn’t do it.
He knew.
He looked at Pope, expression breaking.
“You’re not the only one who shot teddy bears,” Pope said finally.
In the distance, she could hear the shouts. Angry – and getting closer.
Right outside the door.
When she looked down, Pope’s hand was already on the gun.
And JJ broke, one last time. “Safety off,” he said breathlessly. “Believe in it.”
With that, he turned, limping off to follow the others.
Pope gave him one more pat. “Don’t do anything stupid!”
At the door, JJ turned back, one more time.
One last lingering look.
He would let them save him this time.
As Cleo watched him turn away, she just hoped that would finally be enough.
-o-
It wasn’t that Pope thought he was smarter than his friends.
No, he wasn’t. He was just – smarter in a different way. He had a skill for retaining a different kind of knowledge, and his ability to use facts, statistics, and logic allowed him to make deductions that the others missed.
So when JJ agreed to let them take the gun and hold the line, he knew two things.
First, JJ was in more pain than he let on. With the borrowed clothing, his bloody shirt was obscured now – but he was visibly favoring his side. He wasn’t recovered. If anything, the long days, extreme heat, and complete lack of proper sanitation were likely taking a toll on JJ, in ways that he wasn’t admitting.
Second, JJ was still unsteady. He had been visibly suicidal on the boat, Pope knew that better than anyone. His recovery once hitting land had been remarkable. JJ had been JJ again. Grinning, joking, making rash decisions in the field. And yet, when push came to shove, he let Pope talk him out of it. He gave Pope the gun.
JJ wasn’t just unsteady.
JJ himself knew he was unsteady.
Third, JJ had never been okay. That was the fallacy of this entire thing, and Pope knew it. They could talk about JJ’s depression like it was a new thing – but it wasn’t. Was it more pronounced, yes, but JJ had always been dancing on the edge. He’d always been hanging onto the vestiges of himself, barely held together by his own inhibitions and complete denial.
Those three points taken together explained why JJ walked away.
And why he left Pope with that last, lingering look.
Fleeting, at the door.
JJ was questioning if he’d made the right choice.
More than that, JJ was questioning if he’d made a promise he could keep. Or if it, like so many before it, would be shattered and torn before this day ended. JJ promised lots of things. He’d clean up the boat – he never did. He’d repair the dock – it was still broken.
He wouldn’t overbid on the house. He wouldn’t make decisions without the rest of them. He wouldn’t crash out and not tell them.
Promises made with good intentions.
Promises that JJ couldn’t keep, no matter how hard he tried.
Pope had taken the gun; he was making the stand.
But what was JJ going to face? And could he trust that JJ wouldn’t do something stupid? How confident was he that he would see his best friend when this was over?
It made him ache, something deep in his chest, hollowing out his stomach.
He had to hurry, then. He had waited, he had bided his time. The whole trip over, he’d done nothing.
He wasn’t waiting now.
Safety off, JJ had said. Believe in it.
Pope believed in JJ. He believed in Cleo. He believed in them.
In the end, that was all that mattered, wasn’t it? That was how they’d found every other treasure. That was how they’d survived every last thing. That was how they’d founded Poguelandia, and that was how they could get it back.
He undid the safety and took a breath.
Licking his lips, his eyes settled on the door.
It was about commitment, right? He’d made a choice.
Right or wrong, he’d made the choice.
He wasn’t going to back out of it now. He couldn’t.
Because lives were on the line.
His own – sure. And that mattered.
But JJ’s, too.
JJ had been putting his life on the line since the start. Hell, it was a well established pattern, impossible not to see now that he was looking for it. All the way back to the first moment he stole the gun and pointed it at Topper’s head, JJ has been willingly putting himself in harm’s way for the rest of them. He didn’t always do it in a smart way. He didn’t always do it in a sensible way, but he did it nonetheless.
The stupid part was, he’d always been honest about it. It wasn’t like Pope couldn’t have put these pieces together. He’d said it, plain as day, the moment he got arrested for Pope’s misdeeds.
He saw Pope’s future.
He didn’t see his own.
So any sacrifice, in JJ’s mind, was only logical.
He should have realized it sooner. That wasn’t just loyalty. That wasn’t just JJ being a great friend.
That was JJ with no self-worth.
That was JJ with a latent death wish.
A death wish that wasn’t quite so latent anymore.
Because JJ had said it, hadn’t it? Back on the boat. He wanted Pope to let him die, to let the cops kill him. It was why JJ had gone after the crown, the risk of the Corsairs be damned. It was why he’d shot at the cops. It was why he’d trusted Groff. It was why he’d made the dive. It was why he’d entered the race.
Because JJ believed his life was worth less than theirs.
And JJ was willing to die.
The only thing that had changed now was that JJ wasn’t just willing to die.
Part of JJ wanted to die. Things had gotten better – sure, but that didn’t undo what had been done. He couldn’t unhear what JJ had said. JJ could do a lot with adrenaline and focus, but the issues were still there. Pope wouldn’t pretend another second longer.
There was no way, no how. Pope wasn’t going to stand here and let JJ die. When your best friend was suicidal, you did the obvious thing – and took the damn gun out of his hands.
He would take a stand for JJ.
He lifted the gun. Next to him, Cleo came closer to him.
The guy who had been arrested for him. The kid who had taken hit after hit for him.
The one who had been willing to throw himself at the cops. The man who had jumped off a boat to save Sarah, even when his chances of survival were almost nonexistent.
JJ had always taken a stand for him, even now. Even when he was hurt and broken and barely holding himself together.
He wasn’t paying anything back.
He was just following JJ’s example, plain and simple.
He narrowed his gaze, steadying aim. Cleo was close enough that he could feel her, the warmth of her body close to his, as they watched. As they waited.
Believe it, JJ had said.
And fine. Okay.
Pope had never believed anything more.
-o-
Cleo always had a different understanding of family.
It wasn’t just matching pajama sets on Christmas morning or Saturday night bonfires. It wasn’t a glass of wine with dinner or grocery shopping on Tuesday nights.
She liked those things; she did.
But that wasn’t family.
It was one of the reasons why she’d not missed a beat with these Pogues. They all understood family the same way. The good and the bad. The easy and the hard. The safe–
And the dangerous.
Family were the ones you would live for.
The ones you would die for.
With JJ off safely with the others, Cleo turned to follow after Pope. He had taken his stand, braced against the ground, gun in hand.
He’d come a long way, for better or worse, she had to think. She’d fallen in love with a boy who wanted to make a difference in the world, who wanted to use his brain to solve problems.
And here she was, standing side by side with a boy who had broken out of prison and was holding up a gun, ready to be the last line of defense for the others.
What was Cleo going to do? Talk him out of it? Tell him to run? Take the gun from his hands?
That wasn’t her thing. Not a little, not a lot.
Instead, she took her place next to him.
Side by side, where she belonged.
Beyond the doors, she could hear the yelling. It was closer – louder. And more intense. The mercenaries had caught up, it seemed. And there were a lot of them now.
She looked at Pope and his gun. The three shots left.
Too many of them.
Gunfire split the air, thumping into the wood and splintering. Pope took a breath, something sudden and convulsive. She could see the pulse point at his neck quicken, and she took another step next to him.
This was it, then.
She ought to be careful, Cleo decided, about what she wished for. Because getting what you wanted–
Well, that was a thing, wasn’t it?
The unintended consequences of having all your dreams come true.
She’d spent so much of her life wanting a family, looking for a place to belong.
Now that she had it, what the hell was she supposed to do?
Except fight like hell not to lose it?
The others were gone; it was just her and Pope. She had her people; she had her place. She had a man who she loved and who loved her. And did she still have the audacity to say it? That there was nothing to lose?
She looked at him. Her boy. Her Pope.
He wasn’t a man yet, but he would be. She had to believe they’d live through this, and he’d be that man. The one she knew she was meant to spend the rest of her life with.
“You have a plan?” she asked, leaning close to him.
His hands were shaky on the gun and he took an unsteady breath, watching as the door threatened to give. “I was thinking about not dying.”
She snorted, despite everything. “That’s it? I’m amazed you don’t have a full ride already.”
He grinned a little, glancing at her. “Nothing to lose,” he said. “That’s what you would say, isn’t it?”
It hit her, a little harder than she thought. She swallowed, fingers brushing on his arm. “That’s bullshit.”
He shook his head. “It’s not,” he said. “It’s what we tell ourselves to do the impossible.”
“It’s what we tell ourselves when there’s everything to lose,” she murmured back, even as the sound of gunfire increased and the voice seemed to edge nearer.
“Everything,” he agreed quietly. Steadily.
She loved this boy; she did.
She would stand with him to the end.
Any end.
“Pope,” she said, inching even closer to him as her palms started to sweat. The door was nearly in tatters now. It was a matter of seconds before this was over. Before they had to make their stand. “You ever shot anyone before?”
She knew the answer.
He shook his head anyway. “No. Have you?”
He knew the answer to that, too.
They both froze as a man’s head came into view, framed neatly by the hole in the door. It was a perfect shot, dead on.
She caught her breath, freezing.
Pope narrowed his eyes, finger twitching.
He had to pull the trigger.
It was finally time to pull the trigger.
She saw him flinch, though. Face contorting as he pulled his shot up high.
It hit the wood, a resounding noise. Enough to make the man pull back.
But not enough to stop them.
Lightner showed up in the door, gun pulled out. He didn’t flinch; he didn’t hesitate.
And it was all they could do to avoid the rapid gunfire.
“Go, go!” Pope yelled, pushing her backward.
Cleo turned, Pope’s hand at her back, as they made their fast and desperate retreat.
-o-
For Luke, things were going from bad to worse.
Granted, this wasn’t uncommon for him. He had lived a rough life. He knew better than to think he had found rock bottom. Every time he thought he was there, the floor fell out and he found a whole new level of hell. Addiction was like that; poverty, too. Luke knew that bad situations had a tendency to just keep getting worse.
Even so, this wasn’t the kind of bad he was used to. This wasn’t no water for a month or 30 days in a jail cell on stupid shit misdemeanors and court fines he could never afford to pay. This was mercenaries, shooting their way through an ancient, foreign city.
He might have been able to roll with that – maybe.
If the main target – wasn’t his kid.
It wasn’t like Luke didn’t know who he was with. It wasn’t like Luke had thought those guns were for show or that those threats had been idle. He knew who these men were, and he’d come along with them anyway. He didn’t have a particular objection to befriending killers; he knew people did things for all sorts of reasons. He wasn’t in a position to judge anyway.
And yet, these assholes were shooting at his kid.
His kid.
Groff could shrivel up and die, for all Luke cared. If Groff was really stupid enough to not want JJ – to try to kill JJ – then that was it. There was nothing else to be done. Luke knew he wasn’t much; he knew he was a piece of shit.
But at this point, he was all JJ had for a father.
And screw it all, he’d do it.
Anything he could.
Everything.
Moving through the layers of the city was a mess. Luke didn’t know where he was going, but he wasn’t sure the others did either. The Pogues had a head start, at least.
They would need it.
These assholes were shooting to kill.
Like they weren’t chasing kids.
Literal children.
The Pogues had experience with it, at least. He didn’t know all the bullshit JJ had been swept up in over the last few years, but he knew it was a lot. He knew he was no stranger to putting himself at risk, so maybe this was old hat for him.
As it was, the Pogues threw up roadblocks every chance they could. Locking doors; barricading shit. The Corsairs would find their way around, but it slowed them down.
Would it be enough?
Well, long-term, probably not.
But it was something.
He ducked after them, following the others through another ruined doorway, trying to circumvent the locked entrances as best they could. Up ahead, he saw a flash of blonde hair. Gunfire erupted, and the figure scurried.
Luke picked up his pace, coming to a halt as the man next to him opened fire. The sound was loud – ripping through his ears – and he fell back, heart pounding. Up ahead, he could see that it was JJ. He could tell by the way the kid hit the ground – sprawling with all limbs and no grace. He hit hard, but got up fast.
His boy, through and through.
The man fired again, this time the bullets landing closer.
Too close.
He gritted his teeth. Looking up, he could see the man’s eyes narrow as he concentrated, taking his aim–
And he looked ahead, where JJ was scrambling to his feet, trying to catch up with that girl of his.
JJ was good; but he wasn’t that good.
And if this guy could hit the shot–
If this guy’s aim was anything–
He didn’t stop to think about it. Pushing himself up, he flung himself at him. The gun went off, the shots going wide. He hit the ground, tangled with the man, as he cursed and pushed Luke away.
“What are you doing?” he demanded, seething. “What are you doing?”
“Sorry,” Luke said, fumbling to his feet. “Didn’t see you there–”
The dumbest excuse ever.
But the man had no time to question it.
Not as JJ finally got away, pulling the next door shut behind him, safely on the other side.
The man cursed, starting off again.
Luke followed him, trying to keep pace. He needed to stay in this thing.
As shit got real, he couldn’t leave JJ alone.
Not now.
Not ever again.
-o-
The sound of gunfire never got easier.
Funny enough, every time someone shot at her, it just made her more and more anxious. Sometimes, Sarah could still feel it, the fire in her side. Like Rafe’s bullet had just pierced her flesh all over again.
That wasn’t happening now, though.
They weren’t going to get shot now. No one was going to get killed. Not her. Not John B.
Not any of them.
And especially not her baby.
The thought of it kept her going, moving her forward on pure adrenaline. They cut through as many houses as they could, finding the circuitous route through the city as best as possible. Pope and Cleo were making a stand – and they would be okay, too – and Sarah realized belatedly that they weren’t running away from anything.
No, that wasn’t what this was.
They were running to something.
The thought occurred to her about the same time it occurred to John B. At the head of the group, he pulled to a stop. Behind him, Rafe skittered past him – seemingly ready to keep moving. But John B pulled him back – hard.
“Rafe, stop! Rafe!” John B yelled, pulling Rafe to a stop.
Rafe stopped – but frantic. He turned, breathless and wild-eyed back on John B. Sarah came to a stop behind them, still breathing heavily herself.
John B held his hands up. “Just relax for a second!”
Sarah knew her brother well enough. She was pretty sure that wasn’t going to be a convincing selling point.
Rafe turned – moving like a caged animal as JJ came swarming in behind them, Kiara right behind.
“We don’t know where we’re going,” John B said. “All right? Just give me the scroll.”
Sarah knew John B’s intentions were good. He was right; they were running blind.
But she also knew John B’s intentions were John B’s intentions.
He loved his treasure.
Rafe was cornered – he was outnumbered – but they were Camerons.
They didn’t wilt in the face of anything. Especially not when they thought they deserved the world.
Rafe’s face contorted, and he pulled his knife. He had it at John B’s face before any of them could react. “You want this?”
Sarah gasped, stepping forward in fear. Rafe would do it.
He’d shot Peterkin in cold blood. He’d tried to drown her.
He’d kill John B.
He would.
Behind him, JJ also tensed – ready to spring. “Wait!”
But John B himself stayed calm. Hands up and disarming. “Give me the scroll,” he said again.
“It’s ours,” Sarah said, almost pleading with him to see reason.
Rafe huffed, letting the knife drop – more in frustration than anything. Maybe he had changed. Maybe he wasn’t the same guy who had shot Peterkin.
The Rafe she used to know would never have backed down.
Not without a fight.
Not this easily.
And he turned, face to face with her now. Knife brought to bear again.
She flinched, swallowing hard as she looked at it.
She could still feel the place where he shot her.
She could still feel his hands, holding her beneath the water.
But when she looked at him – when she really looked at him – she could see that he was just as scared as she was.
Just as broken.
“It was,” he agreed, sneering. “I took the shit.”
He turned back, knife to John B again. “I bought it for 400k, actually,” he said. “Okay?”
Sarah couldn’t do this.
She couldn’t do this.
Not after what had happened to their dad. Not after Rose took Wheezie God knew where. Not after the little stick said pregnant. “I just saved your life,” she said.
He turned, face twisted with rage. “No, no, no, no,” he said, lifting the knife to her again. “You did it so you could steal from me. There was something in it for you.”
And she could see it now. How much Rafe had lost.
Not just his family.
But himself.
He didn’t believe in love. He didn’t believe in anything.
Did he?
Sarah had found the Pogues. She’d found life.
What did Rafe have? Sofia?
Or just his own anger. His own fear.
“All right? Not to actually help me,” Rafe said, voice starting to waver. “I know that.”
Behind him, John B looked anxious. Kiara glanced back from the door, and JJ was still circling them warily. “Rafe, we don’t have time.”
But Rafe was looking at her.
Only her.
And Sarah didn’t look away. She stepped closer. “Only we can read that,” she said, softer now. “You can’t.”
His voice rose, pitching angrily in response. “Why should I help you?” he asked. “I don’t trust you!”
He looked around, throat bobbing anxiously. He turned, flashing the knife toward JJ in a desperate circle.
“I don’t trust any of you!” he yelled now. JJ stiffened, sharing a look with Kiara, but he didn’t move. “Do you understand?”
And then, face set like stone, he turned back to Sarah.
“Dad trusted you,” he said, the torment in his eyes painfully clear, even as the anger took him. He kept the knife up, stepping toward her. “You remember what happened to him? You remember?”
Sarah had had enough.
Of all of it.
Of everything.
She was going to be a mother, for God’s sake.
She was going to have a family of her own.
She could lie and cheat and steal. She could put her life on the line.
She sure as hell could stand up to Rafe.
She would own her past. Just like she would own her future.
If this was hers to build, she started it right here, right now.
With the truth.
“Dad died saving my life,” she said, eyes flashing as she stepped forward – the knife in his hands be damned as she stared him down.
He was panting, even as he backed up a step, his grip faltering.
She didn’t, though. She didn’t falter. She wouldn’t.
“And you’re so eager to blame me for everything,” she said, her heart starting to pound anew. “You won’t even listen to what happened!”
Maybe it was the tone of her voice. Maybe it was the intensity of her gaze.
Maybe Rafe was just finally ready to listen.
He stopped, still heaving for air, but he said nothing.
“Singh’s men had me at gunpoint. I was going to die,” she said. No pretenses. No lies. Just the truth. As much as it hurt her to say; as much as it hurt him to hear. “Dad took those bullets for me.”
His breathing caught, and she could see something flicker inside of him.
“And if dad were here, he’d want us to work together,” she pleaded. “I know you know that.”
Because her father wasn’t perfect. He wasn’t even all that good.
But that didn’t mean he was wrong about everything.
Parents were imperfect; they were fallible.
She had to understand that now, more than ever.
Rafe looked smaller now. His expression wavered, eyes glistening. “No, you’re just trying to screw me over like everyone else in my life,” he said, almost broken now. “I know you will.”
Her tears were too hard to fight now. “No,” she said. Insisted. “Because I’m all you’ve got.”
She could do this without him.
But Rafe?
He had nothing without her.
Just his anger. Just his vengeance. Just a history of mistakes and no one left to absolve him of any of it.
Her breathing caught. “And you’re the only family I have left,” she said, her voice cracking. It wasn’t to belittle the Pogues. It wasn’t because P4L didn’t matter.
It was just–
Well, she knew what it was to lose someone.
And she couldn’t do it again.
Or – she could.
She just really, really didn’t want to.
As her tears fell, Rafe’s resolve nearly shattered. From behind him, John B stepped forward. “She’s telling the truth,” he said.
But Rafe didn’t look away. He held her gaze, and he didn’t look away.
He stayed true.
He stayed fast.
He stayed.
Around them, JJ had gone silent. Kiara didn’t even move.
“All right,” he said, eyes diverted down. “If we’re going to work together–”
He hesitated, posturing desperately now, even as he lifted the scroll.
“I still get my cut,” he said, all the vitriol gone now.
Sarah nodded, a smile tugging at her lips.
Behind her, John B nodded, too. “Yeah.”
Even JJ nodded in agreement; Kiara from the doorway bobbing her head in solidarity.
Rafe held the scroll out to her, and John B exhaled heavily in relief. JJ all but sagged against the wall, propping himself up to keep his feet.
Sarah didn’t take the scroll.
Instead, she crossed over, and took her brother instead. Wrapped him in a hug, sobbed into his chest.
Because the Cameron family had finally made amends.
-o-
Kiara knew this was important. Family stuff was important. The bullshit with her parents had made her appreciate that; made her cling to it. She wouldn’t begrudge anyone their chance at making amends.
She wasn’t sure she’d get the chance.
Sometimes, she wasn’t sure she wanted to.
But there was a time – and there was a place.
In the middle of a treasure hunt? When they were being stalked by mercenaries?
In Morocco?
Probably not the best time.
“Guys?” she said, glancing anxiously behind them from her position at the door. She was keeping watch – though she wasn’t sure for what. If someone caught up with them, they were probably just dead.
JJ had been keeping a closer watch on the fallout, poised to intervene if needed.
It was thankfully not needed.
JJ pushed himself forward – and Kiara didn’t miss the way he winced, still favoring his side. “Hey, this is great and all, but we seriously need to go.”
That was an understatement.
She looked behind them again. No sign of Pope or Cleo.
No sign of mercenaries.
She wasn’t sure which part of that was good – and which part was bad.
She just knew time was short – and running out by the minute. “You all keep going,” she said, not moving from her position. “Try to find the crown.”
John B moved back, taking Sarah by the arm. Rafe’s posture had shifted, the tension draining from his shoulders as he seemed to look to them for direction.
Which, John B would have to figure out the the map. He would have to find the crown,
That was his job.
Kiara’s job? JJ’s job?
To provide the cover they need.
Pogues for life.
Pope and Cleo made their stand.
Now, it was time to make theirs.
She knew it was crazy; she knew it was stupid.
The kind of plan JJ would have.
So, no surprise, then. He moved right next to her, face set like it had been his idea from the start.
She didn’t need to ask; she didn’t even need to say it.
He just knew.
This was how they were, when they were at their best. This was JJ and Kiara, the chaotic duo. JJ had fought her – he’d resisted – but once they got together – once they made that commitment – that had been it. That had been everything that mattered.
A perfect match. Soulmates.
Perfectly in tune.
They knew.
Everyone thought JJ was the reckless one, but Kie knew the choices she’d made. She knew the things she’d done.
She knew that when push came to shove, she didn’t hold back any more than JJ.
He would bet on himself, every time.
And Kiara would bet with him.
Without fail.
She could lecture him. She could scold him.
But really, she could never stop him.
All she ever wanted – all she ever needed – was to do it with him.
“Okay,” he said, retreating back to join her. “We’ll stay back and hold them off.”
Kiara was sure; JJ was sure.
And John B and Sarah had no way to complain now. They’d been a family, living and working together for 18 months now. They knew how this worked. They knew each other.
The last week wasn’t just a wobble for JJ.
It had been a wobble for all of them.
Somehow, on the shifting sands of Morocco, they had to find their footing again.
John B nodded, taking Sarah by the hand. She nodded, too, nudging Rafe as they left. They didn’t need to talk about it; they didn’t need to explain.
They all knew.
Kiara watched as they slipped out the back way, still manning her position at the door. JJ staggered forward, still clutching his side. “Come on,” he said, starting to move back through the streets. “This way.”
And Kiara didn’t miss a step.
Didn’t miss a beat.
As she followed him back into the fray.
Chapter 27: CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Notes:
I swear, I am not trying to milk this -- the pacing of this is based entirely on the show. Because I committed to all the storylines, I needed to give them all their due diligence, so we get some of that here -- with Cleo/Pope, Sarah/John B. I spent way too much time watching the finale to stay accurate to the timeline, so this chapter is mostly about filling some of those pacing/storyline goals.
The climax? With JJ and Kiara and Groff and Luke? Is still to come.
But we are getting there.
I hope that makes sense! Thank you, all!
Chapter Text
-o-
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
-o-
John B was sure his old man was rolling over in his grave right now. That John B was on the cusp of another treasure – well, that shit would make him proud.
But that John B was there with not one – but two Camerons?
Not to mention the baby Cameron he’d helped create?
His dad wouldn’t get it. Not in a million years.
It would piss him off; it would make him miserable and taciturn. It might even make him a genuine pain in the ass.
But when he saw the clues.
When he saw all the pieces come together.
Well, that would be all that mattered.
That was all that ever mattered.
The thrill. The excitement. John B had drunk hard liquor. He’d gotten high on different shit. Nothing beat this.
Even if Rafe Cameron was here.
His little unlikely family.
And maybe his father would understand after all.
-o-
Logically, Pope knew he’d made a mistake.
He should have taken the shot. Some things, you only got one chance to do. You took the moment, or you let it pass you by.
And he’d let it pass.
Standing there, in borrowed clothes, holding a gun in the streets of Morocco, Pope hadn’t gotten the job done. He couldn’t reason his way into murder. It didn’t matter if the man coming after them was a killer. He couldn’t even rectify the idea that it was self defense, that the man would have killed him as readily as Pope killed him – and with far less regret or hand-wringing.
And yet, Pope hadn’t been able to do it.
Finger on the trigger, perfect aim.
But all he could think about was the impact of the bullet. The way it would break the skin, and shatter the skull. It would cut through the brain matter. The man would be dead in an instant; just like that. He probably wouldn’t know what happened.
He’d just be gone. Dead.
He didn’t think he could live with that.
Which meant, as a consequence, he had to live with this. The man was still alive – and Pope was in more danger than ever. Cleo was in more danger; his friends were in more danger. The integrity of this mission was hanging by a thread, and Pope barely had time to calculate their dwindling odds as they ran hard, they ran rast.
Running for his life. Running for his freedom. Running for his friends.
Running for the woman that he loved, who was more vulnerable than ever because of him.
It wasn’t so much logic anymore as it was instinct. Inevitability. They couldn’t leave the city at this point, which meant they simply had to evade. Bullets were a limited way to stop a limited number of people. Taking the mercenaries on a wild goose chase – as far away from the others?
Well, that might just work.
“This way,” Cleo said, dragging him into one of the buildings. She twisted around, going through vacant rooms and navigating to the stairs. She looked back to make sure he was keeping pace. “You have the gun?”
He huffed, sweat soaking through his tunic. “All the good it does,” he muttered, prodding her forward. “We’ve only got one bullet.”
“Ah,” she said. “JJ likes guns. I prefer other methods.”
“Knives?” Pope asked, only half joking as they pushed their way out onto a second floor.
She looked back, somehow managing to smile despite the intensity of their chase. They couldn’t see mercenaries here; but they could hear them. Still everywhere; pressing and present. “Among other things,” she said. “We’ll improvise now.”
He didn’t have time to ask what – or to ask how. They broke out onto one of the roof tops, the sunlight momentarily blinding him. He struggled, trying to get his bearings, and he heard the mercenaries before he saw them.
At first, he tensed – thinking they were coming up behind them.
And – they were.
But another group – was right there.
On the street below.
Cleo peered over, and Pope joined her. There was one bullet, sure.
Logically, however, they had the high ground.
He didn’t have to ask; Cleo didn’t have to specify. They’d lived together for 18 months. She was the one, the only one he wanted. His reason; her impulses.
And those beautiful moments when they came together, like clockwork, perfect unison.
A balanced equation.
She pushed some of the stonework, and he hauled some up and threw. Peering over, it was easy to see they’d had some success; several men were down.
The others were looking up at them, guns drawn.
Another group slammed up the stairs behind them.
“Come on!” Pope yelled, and Cleo was already moving.
Because this wasn’t over yet.
-o-
Sometimes, JJ felt guilty about bringing Kiara here. About putting her in danger at all. She was precious; she was perfect. She didn’t deserve any of the shit he put her through.
But that was the thing.
He couldn’t just be some caveman here.
He made mistakes, and he owned that. He was responsible for what was happening, and he wouldn’t shirk that.
But he also couldn’t pretend that he had any control over Kiara Carrera. She was a strong, independent woman. More bad-ass than anyone he’d ever met before. He wasn’t going to make the same mistake her parents had made, and try to rein her in. She didn’t deserve that bullshit; and she wouldn’t take it, even if he tried.
And as much as he hated putting her in this position.
He completely loved this woman.
He would tear himself apart for her. He would rend the whole damn planet. He would do anything. Anything at all for her.
Because side by side, this girl – this woman – didn’t even miss a beat. On the run from mercenaries, she didn’t flinch. Playing the last line of defense to give John B and Sarah time to solve the clues, she didn’t even hesitate.
Now that they were running out of places to hide – now that the mercenaries were closing in – she looked at him, ready to do this shit.
He would have kissed her, he would.
If he had the time.
It was one of the many things he’d do – once he fixed this mess. He’d kiss Kie. He’d get down on one knee and propose to her. He’d ask John B to let him be the godfather again, and he’d swear his fidelity to Sarah for the rest of her life. He’d hug Pope and thank him – get down on his knees and grovel – for saving his life, and he’d tell Cleo how sorry he was for messing with her man’s future. He would make it right.
JJ was going to make all of it right.
But it started with this.
He nodded at Kie, keeping his head down. She licked her lips, looking worried – but she didn’t stop him. Instead, she held back, letting him go down. They didn’t need to talk about it; no, they already knew.
JJ and Kiara were the perfect duo. They always had been; they always would be. His soulmate; his endgame.
The woman who would let him play bait.
Just to follow up and take the bastards out.
He put himself out there, flashing himself with an arrogant smile. He waved, enough to piss them off, and bring them running. Just a few men; that was all he needed.
Jumping back over the wall where he’d left Kiara, she didn’t need to be coached. She was already pushing, working at the stone.
He waited until they were right behind it, and then he threw his weight in after her.
It didn’t take much.
Just the two of them, in perfect unison.
The wall gave, and the men stumbled – crushed beneath the mass. She grinned at him as he pulled her to her feet.
“Not bad,” she quipped.
“Not bad at all,” he agreed, and they started up again, making their way to the precipice after John B and Sarah. They only got over the next crest, when JJ stopped – eyes looking out over the horizon.
His stomach clenched a little, the pit of his stomach filling with dread.
“Is that–?” she asked, voice hedging lightly.
He swallowed, with a dread that felt inevitable. “A sandstorm.”
Blowing hot; blowing hard.
And coming right at them.
No matter what he did, fate wasn’t on his side.
He had known, hadn’t he? Ever since he was a punk kid?
He wasn’t that guy.
He wasn’t the one who got to be happy.
He wasn't the one who came out on top.
He wasn’t the one who got to grow up, to grow old.
He wasn’t the one.
Kiara took him by the hand, giving him a little tug. “Come on,” she said, her expression hardening as she visibly tried to keep her fear in check. “We have to find the others.”
JJ knew what a happy ending looked like.
Just like he knew he was never born to have one.
-o-
When they reached the top, there was nowhere else to go. There was nowhere to run. Standing on top of the city, they could look back down over the streets. They could look up to the monolith or out across the desert.
But this was it.
John B knew it.
There was nowhere left to run. Nowhere left to go.
Pulling to a stop, he dragged Sarah with him – and she looked back, bereft.
Rafe huffed, coming to a stop next to them. He looked around and seemed to realize that they were out of places to go – and out of time to pander.
“I can’t read this shit, here,” he said, pushing the scroll at John B. He looked pissed, even as he offered it freely. “Here, you’ll need this.”
He handed him the amulet, too. Just like that.
JJ’s father’s scroll. JJ’s mother’s amulet.
JJ’s legacy.
And the only hope for a future the Pogues had left.
It made him hesitate. But it sure as hell didn’t make him stop.
Turning toward the stone ledge, he unfurled the scroll. Sarah came up next to him, helping him stretch the parchment flat. Rafe leaned over, looking at it for a second before scoffing and shaking his head in frustration. He muttered curses and invectives as he stalked away, but John B didn’t hear him.
He didn’t need to hear him.
He was too busy going over the map. Trying to parse it out.
This was it; he had the pieces. He had the clues.
He was here.
He had to figure it out. Now.
“Wait,” Sarah muttered, pulling something out of her bag. “Wait–”
The pictures; the ones they’d stolen from the boat. Notes from the mercenaries. Snapshots of the missing journal. She lined up the first place, and John B’s heart skipped a beat. He grappled for a second one, lining it up as well.
The pieces fit. One by one, until the map was fleshed out.
And the translation was there, spelled out as plain as day.
There it was. Glaringly simple in the Moroccan sun. The destination; everything.
John B was, in the end, still his father’s son. Big John Routledge lived on in him, and that wasn’t just an unquenchable thirst for treasure. It wasn’t some blind pursuit of riches or glory.
It was the hunt.
It was putting the pieces together.
It was solving the puzzle no one else could solve, answering all the questions, one last time.
John B had that passion.
John B had that skill.
More than that, John B had it. Right here. Right now.
In the sand, in Morocco. It was all coming together.
Sarah and Rafe. Pope and Cleo. JJ and Kie.
“At the dawn of the day, touch the earth to reach heaven,” Sarah read, letting the translation take root between them.
John B frowned, looking at Rafe. “Did Groff have this figured out?”
Rafe was just barely composed. “No, no, he didn’t figure it out,” he muttered, throwing his hand up. “He tried to kill me, okay?”
Rafe wasn’t going to be any help as he paced away.
But Sarah looked up at him, eyes intent. “Touch the earth,” she repeated softly. “What does it want?”
John B stopped.
John B thought.
Next to him, Rafe was increasingly agitated. “It wants us to dig? Where? This place is massive–”
Sarah frowned, shaking her head. “I don’t think it correlates with heaven, though.”
John B picked up the map again, looking at it closer. “At the dawn of the day,” he recited.
“The sun rises in the east–” Sarah posited.
John B kept his focus. “–touch the earth to reach heaven.”
“Maybe it means something with prayer,” Sarah said, growing somewhat desperate in her speculation.
Rafe scoffed. “It could mean prayer. Great!”
John B was still thinking.
He was still processing.
And he turned from the map, away from where Sarah and Rafe were arguing.
Looking up.
Where the sun shone.
His chest clenched. His heart skipped a beat.
And he lifted the map up – directly at the sun.
The shadow on it was eerily familiar.
Too clear to dispute.
There it was.
There it was.
“Guys,” he said, swallowing over his dry throat as he grappled with the reality of what he’d just done. “Guys, look.”
They came toward him, looking at it, too. The shape. Unmistakable.
A perfect match.
For the statue at the apex of the city.
And the last clue.
The last hint.
He knew where it was.
He knew where it all was.
Because John B was his father’s son, yeah.
And what he did today? What he did today?
Would define the father he was going to be.
He was going to save his friends. He was going to redeem Poguelandia, he was going to give Sarah a real ring, and he was going to be the best damn dad in the world.
Yeah, he thought as they climbed higher, winding through the city, the prize in sight.
It was all coming together.
-o-
John B did it.
Rafe had to give the asshole credit. The little shit did it.
He didn’t just look at the clues. He worked it out. He put the pieces together.
He figured out where the treasure was.
Groff’s posturing. The Corsairs’ force. Rafe’s bullshit.
And freakin’ John B Routledge did what centuries of explorers failed to do and pinpointed the location of the crown.
That was the good news.
The bad news was that the mercenaries were still out there, and this city was small and secluded. This high up – and going higher – there would be nowhere to hide. And their lines of retreat would be quickly cut off. In short, getting the damn thing would be suicide – a set up for a deathtrap with no feasible way out.
Better still?
There was a sandstorm blowing into town.
Because why not?
He stood with Sarah and her shitty Pogue husband on the cusp of greatness – and the precipice of disaster.
Why not?.
-o-
For Cleo, things weren’t great – this was true.
But they weren’t bad.
The shipwreck had been less than ideal. Running into the mercenaries – sure, wasn’t great.
Even taking a last stand to protect the others – all well within the purview of acceptable risk. Cleo had a healthy amount of anxiety, but not fear. They still had this; the end was still in sight. There was no reason to panic.
Until a stray gunshot shattered the stone in front of her.
And the next sliced through her arm.
There was a blinding moment of pain, a sluice of agony ripping through her with an intensity she wasn’t ready for. Too shocked to scream; too pained to cry. Her arm was on fire, sending shockwaves through her body. Her heart flinched; her chest constricted. For a split second, she thought about passing out.
But Pope was right there, barely missing a beat. He yanked her up, pulling her by her good arm. He hissed, muttering a string of curses under his breath as he ripped a portion of his tunic to make a bandage. Something fast and hasty – and she was still in shock from the hot blood running down her arm when he tied the bandage around the wound with unrelenting force.
She bit back her cry, her entire body threatening to convulse, as he gave the arm another look. He nodded to himself with a frown before pulling her forward.
She blinked, dumbfounded as she looked at it. The dirty rag around her arm, already bloodsoaked. The whole thing was makeshift – quick and dirty. Nothing but a stopgap, but Cleo knew better. It would have to do.
She was used to that, at least. Making do. Managing to make the most of nothing.
So they ran. They pushed on.
Energy fleeting; blood spilling. Options running out and dead-ends closing in.
Pope helped her, half-carried her when she stumbled. He meant so well, he did. But Cleo felt it – not the pain in her arm, but the doubt in her gut.
He should have taken the shot.
Sooner or later, everyone had to take a shot.
Because if you didn’t take it.
Someone else would.
They would take it first.
And they wouldn’t miss.
“Come on,” Pope said, eyes wide and face scared as he pulled her along. “We need to move.”
Because they would run until they ran out of road, she knew.
What would Pope do then?
Well, she feared as they started through another doorway into the city’s labyrinth, they were about to find out.
-o-
Cleo had always been faster than him – faster, stronger, and in many ways, smarter. She was the epitome of a better half, and Pope was man enough to admit it.
But she was slowing down now.
Badly.
Street after street, turn after turn. She tried to keep pace. She pushed herself, as much as she could. But there were some variables you couldn’t change. There were some attributes that were universal and immovable.
It had always been fanciful, hadn’t it? Unrealistic.
Hell, he was the book guy. He was the one who could actually calculate the odds. Just because they’d found several other treasures didn’t mean they could find this one.
Moreover, finding a treasure wasn’t the same thing as securing a treasure.
And securing a treasure was a far cry from getting it safely back home.
Pope knew that.
He did.
Yet here he was, dragging his girlfriend through the streets of Morocco – bleeding – while being chased down by increasingly angry mercenaries.
Because why? Because Pope thought they could make a stand. Because what? He thought he could take the shot.
He hadn’t taken the shot.
And their great stand was nothing but a frantic retreat now.
Worse, Cleo was slowing down. He hadn’t had a chance to assess her properly. He knew she was losing blood. If she was bleeding too much–
If it had hit bone–
If she had nerve damage–
There were a thousand what-ifs that made the situation untenable.
And Pope was running out of options that seemed viably successful.
Sooner or later, he needed to account for that. Sooner or later, he needed to take responsibility.
Accountability mattered. They demanded it from JJ – they raked him across the coals to get it – and Pope would find his own.
Because Cleo was bleeding and the mercenaries were closing in. This wasn’t just about JJ. It was about her. It was about himself.
The blood was significant.
Cleo was significant.
Accountability wasn’t a word; it was an action. All the time he spent planning. All the time he spent thinking. All his analysis and problem-solving and everything.
He needed to take a stand.
He needed to see this all the way through.
It wasn’t just about JJ, really. Now that he wasn’t pissed, it was easier to see this. It was easier to take into account how they’d all gotten them to this place, every last one of them. All the choices they’d made – small at first – and taken in sum to lead them here.
Total victory.
Or complete loss.
JJ was just an easy scapegoat. He always had been. It was so easy to blame him, to act like he was the reason they were here. But to areas reductive, and Pope knew it. JJ had been reckless and stupid — for them. Always for them.
It was the only way he understood love. Love, for JJ, was always a risk. He didn’t know it was kindness and support. He didn’t know pancakes on Saturday mornings or a hot dinner every night. JJ loved when he thought it would hurt him, when he knew it could kill him. He loved with selfless abandon because he thought they were worthy and he wasn’t.
They all made their choices. And most of them? Made those choices for themselves. Pope going to school. Sarah and John B getting married. Kiara taking a stand against her parents. Cleo starting her life with them.
The merchant gold. The cross. El Dorado.
These choices they got to make with no blame. Free passes for all of them.
And JJ?
None for JJ.
Even though he was finishing a story they started. Even though he was doing it for them.
Did JJ need to learn to think? Did he need to learn a lesson in self-control? Did he need to learn basic money management and quintessential life skills?
Yes.
But he needed to learn love first.
He could bandage her wound. He could carry her through the city. But sooner or later, he knew he had to stand his ground – for real this time.
Sooner or later, he had to take the shot.
Pope was good with talk. For years, he was all talk.
Today, though.
Today was the day for action.
-o-
They didn’t know where they were going, but it was a city on a hill. If you went up, there was really just one destination. So by the time Kiara and JJ got there, Sarah and John B were there, too.
Rafe as well, but Kiara figured he only half counted.
In so much as Sarah probably wanted him here, and they preferred him here with them as opposed to – doing whatever the hell Rafe might do alone.
Kiara looked at them – looked at the statue – and squinted back down behind them. There was no sign of the mercenaries.
Yet.
But they were coming.
They were coming fast; they were coming hot.
“Do you think they know?” JJ asked her.
Kiara shrugged. “They look like they know?”
“Or they looked pissed that they don’t know,” JJ said, taking her hand as they navigated up another incline.
“They know,” Kiara said, determined not to let it be wishful thinking. “They know.”
“I really hope they know,” JJ muttered as they crossed the remaining distance.
John B and Sarah saw them coming, turning back toward them even as Rafe scowled.
“Do we have any idea where to look for the crown?” JJ asked.
Fortunately, there was no need for preamble. All things considered, they were all focused on the same thing.
Getting the crown.
And, ideally, not dying.
“It’s up there!” Sarah yelled, pointing at the statue.
Kiara looked up, breath catching.
It was too obvious, wasn’t it?
So obvious.
For hundreds of years.
All the people who had looked for this.
Could it be hidden in plain sight? Was it that simple?
But then, nothing about this had been simple.
“It’s in that statue, somewhere,” Sarah said.
Kiara could see it, the look on JJ’s face.
He had made the calculation, the same as she had. Sandstorm coming in – that thing was plainly exposed. Worse, it was high ground. There was no place to hide if the mercenaries caught up with them. If it wasn’t one thing, it was another.
“We got to climb up,” John B said.
JJ pursed his lips, nodding to himself. Kiara knew what he was doing.
Because she was doing it, too.
They’d pushed this as far as they could. It was time to make the bet.
She looked at him, the wind picking up as sand started to blow up in their faces. She nodded at him. He nodded back.
It was time.
-o-
They had grown up on the Outer Banks. JJ had spent his whole life in a shithole house, perched along the edge of the marsh. He knew what wind was like. He knew the force of a hurricane as it shook the rafters. He knew the sound of shingles flying free and tree branches slamming against the clapboard. He knew the creaks and moans of a house that was stronger than it had a right to be, that was strong because it had to be.
He knew winds that could level houses and upturn boats. He knew winds that blew up storm surges and drowned entire islands. JJ knew wind.
But this wind was different.
Hot and dry, it whipped up from the ground. It stirred hard, coming in straight as it flattened the earth in front of it. People scattered from its onslaught, so fast and sudden.
The tepid breeze.
Followed by the whistling gust.
Then, he felt the sand.
It came in with a ferocity he wasn’t expecting, the grains sharp as they pelted him. He fumbled with the goggles, struggling to protect his eyes, even as his cheeks started to burn. His tongue was coated, gritty pellets crunching between his teeth. It was hard to see; it was hard to breathe.
He turned, arm around Kiara as she shuddered next to him. Rafe braced, flinching as the sand hit him, too. And John B reached for Sarah, pulling her close against the onslaught.
There was no relief; there was no ebb and flow.
Just a constant, nonstop pressure.
Nothing standing between them and success.
Except a sandstorm.
Of all the stupid, dumb, and ridiculous–
JJ tried to take a deep breath, but choked on the dust. He tried to calm himself down, but the constant barrage left his nerves frayed. They were too exposed.
There was no way around it.
They were completely at risk here, out in the open. Vulnerable to the wind and sand and mercenaries. As far as they’d come – as close as they were – and still it wasn’t enough.
When would it ever be enough?
“Hey, I’m going to scope it out!” Rafe yelled, leaning toward them to let his voice be heard. “I’ll meet you up there!”
Funny thing, trusting Rafe.
That would be a no. He could bond with Sarah. That was cool.
But trusting him with treasure? JJ’s family legacy? His only shot at redemption?
No way.
“I’m not letting him go alone!” he yelled.
Kiara didn’t hesitate, her goggles already in place. “I’ll come with you!”
“Come on,” he said, starting forward.
Behind him, though, John B hesitated.
And JJ’s gut twisted.
They weren’t kids anymore. He couldn’t talk shit. He couldn’t go around pretending they had nothing to lose. JJ had to be responsible
And that started now. Right now.
John B was his best friend, his brother.
Sarah was his sister. That baby – that baby was his, too.
JJ had everything to lose.
“Hey, John B,” he said, making his way back down. “You two sit this one out.”
John B stiffened, but Sarah was already nodding.
“Okay?” he said, hoping he understood.
For all the times JJ had done it wrong. For all the times he had put them at risk. He was going to do this right.
He was.
“We’ll find the crown,” he said. He promised.
It was all he could offer them. It was the least he owed them.
He would spend the rest of his life making up for his mistakes.
Starting right here. Right now.
Until the day he died.
“He’s right,” John B said, taking Sarah by the arm. “You can’t stay.”
That was all he needed. That was all there was. “Go!” JJ said, moving forward and shooing them off.
Sarah hesitated. “Are you sure?”
“Go,” Kiara said.
Because JJ had never been more sure of anything in his whole damn life. He had one shot to make it right. He had one shot to give them back everything he’d cost them.
Redemption was an idle pursuit.
Retribution didn’t mean shit.
But making it up to them? Paying the Pogues back a fraction of his mistake?
Well, that was a chance worth taking.
That was a chance he had to take.
-o-
This whole trip, Sarah had fought with herself.
Did pregnancy change her?
Or didn’t it?
Was she the same person? Or was she different?
Could things be like they were? Or was it all irrevocably changed?
She needed time to think about it. She needed space.
Time she didn’t have on a breakneck treasure hunt.
Space she wasn’t going to get while on the run from mercenaries during a sandstorm.
The simple fact was: Sarah didn’t want to leave them. She didn’t want to walk away from JJ and Kiara, not when they were so close to fixing everything.
But there had been two lines on that stick. There was a baby taking form in her uterus right now. What she wanted mattered.
What the baby needed mattered, too.
She couldn’t stay.
Sarah knew that as John B led her away.
She didn’t know what it would cost. She didn’t know what the consequences would be. She didn’t know if JJ and Kiara could do it; she didn’t know if Rafe would keep his word. She didn’t even know where Pope and Cleo were at all, if they were still alive.
She didn’t know if they would find the treasure or get back to the Outer Banks.
She just knew she had to protect her baby.
Her fingers latched tight onto John B, and she let him lead her down the incline, back to safety once more.
-o-
Rafe got to the monolith first – because, well, of course he did. He was smarter than all of them, even little Heyward. And he was stronger than all of them combined – easy. And he had the grit to do what needed to be done. None of that posturing bullshit that always cost them in the end.
Now, they had made a deal. Equal shares of a treasure. A seven-way split.
Rafe was going to honor that.
Probably.
But if he came down with the crown first. If he was the one who had it–
Well, it wouldn’t be wrong to see what leverage he had after that. He had done most of the work; he had invested most of the assets. If he got the crown, then whatever he gave them, they would have to be satisfied.
That was an idle thought, though. First he had to get the damn thing.
He looked for the best post – eyeing the best handhold he could. He reached up, securing his fingers and hefting his leg up. He got a little ways up, using his other hand–
Pain lanced through him. He tried to grit his teeth, push his way through it, but the pain didn’t relent. He grunted, frustration mounting as his hand just gave out. The fingers lost their grip, and he crashed back down to the sand.
Hissing in pain, he got back up again. Trying once more, he got up – one hand, two. This time, he made it to a third position before the tremors in his fingers were just too much, and he fell back to the sand again.
Breathing heavily, he looked up through the sand and wind. It was too tall; there was no way.
Rafe was never climbing, not with this hand.
He looked back, squinting at the approaching figures of JJ and Kiara.
And he clenched his teeth with resignation of the inevitable.
This might be an equal seven-way split after all.
Because Rafe needed the Pogues, just as much as they needed him.
-o-
It wasn’t that JJ was petty–
No, it was a little that JJ was petty.
Seeing Rafe try – and fail – to climb the statue. Well, the son of a bitch had it coming. For the Enduro. For Midsummers. For a whole decade of making JJ’s life a living hell. Rafe had been bullying him since he was 11 years old and first found himself at the boneyard. He’d kicked his ass just because he could, and he’d never held back. He’d shown no restraint; he’d been intentionally cruel and always unfair. He cornered JJ; he fought him four to one. He had beat the shit out of him when JJ was small and nothing, and he was big and everything.
So, yeah, it was good to see Rafe fail. To see him not get what he wanted.
Sarah could make nice – that was fine. That was her right, and JJ didn’t begrudge her anything.
But Rafe Cameron was still Rafe Cameron.
And JJ would always take some pleasure in his failure.
It wasn’t like the asshole didn’t have it coming.
But Rafe ceding control to him – it wasn’t quite as gratifying as it might have been. Because now that responsibility was where it belonged – with JJ.
JJ had said it after the Enduro: he would always bet on himself. It was who he was.
That wasn’t cocky bullshit, no matter what the others thought.
That was just his way of protecting them.
That was his way of carrying the burden so they didn’t have to.
If he put the bet on himself, he was the only one who lost. If he won – great. They all won. If he lost, then okay. That was his failure, his shame. His.
That always sounded good when he made the bet.
But the Enduro had stung. The town council had beat him down. JJ had grappled with his failure, and it had nearly destroyed him. It still might, honestly.
Looking up, seeing the statue as it towered above him, lost in the sand and wind, it really might.
Was he serious about this? Did he actually think he could pull this off?
That JJ Maybank might be the hero.
That he had a chance at redemption.
This was it, his only shot. The only way he could make it up to his friends. To redeem Poguelandia. To clear his debts. To settle the score with Shoupe.
To earn his way back.
To claw back his place with his family.
It was all he wanted.
Not a crown. Not riches.
Just them.
God help him, just them.
But it was so tall. And the wind was picking up, and the sand stung on his cheeks. The mercenaries were closing in. The risks were pressing. The risks were real.
The chances of success were slim.
But he knew it. Deep in his gut. Fluttering in his chest.
He knew it.
This was a risk worth taking.
Not because he had nothing to lose.
No, but because he had everything – everyone – to gain.
He looked at Kiara. The girl who had chosen him. The girl who had stood by him, no matter what he’d done. The girl who had followed him across the ocean.
The girl who loved him.
The girl he loved.
“I got to do it,” he said simply.
Kiara shook her head, eyes flicking to the monolith – half obscured by the storm now. “No, no, no,” she said. “We should wait it out!”
She was worried about him, he knew that. And she should be.
He was a mess.
No, he was a disaster. A complete mess.
He was reckless and he was stupid.
He was everything he shouldn’t be.
But he had to do this.
John B’s hug on the beach had made it clear.
He was supposed to do this.
He had to take the risk.
So none of them ever had to pay for his mistakes ever again.
“There’s no time, Kie,” he said. “Right now, this is our chance!”
He reached out, taking her by the shoulders.
“They’ve taken everything away from us,” he said. “They’re not going to take this, too.
He had to save them. With all he had left, this was what he had to do.
It was the only reason he was still alive. After everything, this was it.
He dropped his voice, willing her to understand.
“I’ve got to do this,” he said. “I’ve got to do this for all of us.”
And he pulled back, swallowing hard over the emotion in his throat.
“I mean, hey, it was my fault to begin with,” he said, as casually as he could. As if that summed up losing the money, losing the house, losing their freedom – everything, all of it.
Every last thing.
His fault.
Only him.
“So I mean, I guess I should be the one to fix it,” he said, as simply as he could. His throat was tight; his eyes burned as he looked at her. “Okay?”
Her face was tense, but he could see her nod.
She knew him.
And for some reason, she loved him anyway.
He had never deserved her. He never would.
“Okay,” she said, reaching up to him. “Come here.”
Her arms circled him, pulling him tight.
He nearly melted; shit, he nearly fell apart. To be held. To be loved.
It was all he wanted.
It was everything.
More than Poguelandia. So much more than riches.
He just wanted a family.
His one wish.
Already coming true.
The crown wasn’t magical, he knew that.
But finding it?
Might just do the trick.
“Okay,” he said, pulling away. “I’m going to do this.”
She smiled at him. Despite everything, she looked at him and smiled. “I’ll be waiting for my crown!” she quipped.
“Coming right up,” he said, adjusting the mask over his face against the wind. He glanced back, grinning. “Queen Kie.”
And he turned to the monolith.
Ready for one last climb.
-o-
There was part of Kiara that knew this was a bad idea.
It was that voice inside of her, the one that sounded like her father. She hadn’t listened to it in 18 months because why would she? Her father had been wrong about the treasure. He’d been wrong about JJ.
He’d been wrong about her.
But people weren’t that easy, were they? You couldn’t put them in little boxes and expect them to fit. Part of her still knew her father loved her.
And part of her – even when she tried to deny it – still thought maybe he was right about some of it.
That maybe some risks were too big. That maybe she was too young to understand the difference. That maybe JJ wasn’t equipped to give her any kind of a future.
Because living in the moment, JJ was the best. And it wasn’t that JJ was selfish or that he didn’t try. He just didn’t know how.
She’d seen it in him when she first confessed her feelings and he ran himself off an overpass. She’d seen it when the house was on the line and all he could think was to take on all the risk himself. And she saw it now, as he stood at the base of the statue and told her he had to do this.
In a sandstorm, in a foreign land. With bad guys bearing down and time running out. In some ways, they had nothing to lose.
In others, they had everything to lose.
But she could see it in him. She understood him in a way the others didn’t. She knew why he drove off that overpass. She understood completely when he bet all the money on himself.
And she knew why he had to climb it now.
Why he had to go alone.
He blamed himself for all of this. He knew the weight of his mistakes, and how it affected all of them. He needed to take responsibility. It was the only way he could put it behind him and rebuild his life.
And then – and only then – would he let her help, would he let all of them help.
It wasn’t about the crown, not really. It was about success. It was about doing the right thing, which was all JJ had ever wanted. He needed to do this.
JJ would never believe her if she said it didn’t matter. He would never understand if she told him that, crown or no crown, she would never be going home empty handed. Because JJ bet on himself and lost, and he didn’t know who he was anymore.
She didn’t care if he found the crown.
She just wanted him to find the boy she fell in love with.
The one she was going to spend the rest of her life with.
So she let him go.
She had no choice but to let him go.
She loved him; she trusted him. She believed in him.
The voices in the back of her mind – her father’s voice – be damned.
-o-
Well, shit. Luke had never wanted to leave the OBX, and this trip? Was confirming why.
Yeah, ancient ruins. Vibrant marketplaces. Blah, blah, blah.
Mercenaries, looters – oh, and sandstorms.
The wind was bad enough – but Luke knew wind. He’d been through countless hurricanes, hunkered down with nothing but makeshift plywood hammered over the windows and extra nails in the shingles to hope the roof wouldn’t fly off.
But the sand.
It whipped around him, harsh and abrasive as it cut his skin. It got in his mouth, his nose, his eyes. It blinded him, and he could taste it. Shit, he inhaled the stuff, thick and cloying as it coated his throat and stuck in his lungs. This bullshit was going to kill him.
But it didn’t matter.
JJ was still out there – and that was what mattered.
So instead of taking shelter, he fashioned a mask over his mouth, pulling it up as high as he could over his nose and face. He didn’t have much he could do for his eyes, so he held up his forearm to block as much of the incoming sand as he could. He still had to squint – the rough sand abrasive on his corneas – but he could see enough to move.
If he could see enough to move, then he was going to move.
Since he was sober, his instincts were sound enough. Navigation had always been inherent to him, and he had already mapped out the city well enough in his head. He knew where he had to go. The key was just getting around the windswept streets.
Quickly.
At least in the chaos, there would be fewer people out. Dalia and her men would be the biggest obstacle, but they had bigger fish to fry than him. They were after JJ, too.
At this point, all he had to do was follow them.
Follow them to the statue.
Follow them to the crown.
Follow them to JJ.
He pressed on, stumbling around another corner. He heard voices up ahead, and drew back, watching as a few of the mercenaries made their way through. He pressed his back to the wall and waited before following suit right behind them.
They wound their way up. It was hard to see now – the structure at the top. No doubt – their destination.
Fine. Whatever.
Luke pressed on, breathing in more sand as he hissed angrily at a fresh gust at his face. He blinked his eyes hard, letting his tears flush just enough sand out to keep on going. The men ahead turned one direction, but his gut screamed no. He veered hard on the other path, eyes set above.
They could have the statue. Shit, they could have the crown.
JJ was his.
He was going to find him. He didn’t care about the wind; he didn’t care about the sand. He didn’t care about the mercenaries; he didn’t even care about Groff.
JJ was his son. His.
He should have fought harder before – he knew that now. He knew how many chances he’d squandered. He knew all the mistakes he made. It might be too late.
But he had to try.
God help him.
He was going to try.
-o-
This was going to end how it started for JJ.
JJ took the risk.
Because it was his fault. This wasn’t about personal glory. This wasn’t some shot at redemption. This wasn’t his shining moment or his crowning achievement.
No, this was his penance.
The sand whipped around his face, blasting the goggles. It was hard to see; it was hard to breathe as he climbed. His fingers struggled to find purchase as the wind threatened to dislodge him, but he held on. Just like he had his whole life. He fought and clawed and dragged himself up.
The bad guys were closing in. Poguelandia was already gone. John B was going to be a dad, and Cleo needed revenge. Pope took the fall for him, and he had taken Kie as far as he could and come up short.
So, JJ took the risk.
It didn’t matter that the higher he got, the further it was to fall. All his life, the greatest moments were followed by the worst, and part of him knew this was no different. But hope was a horrible thing, wasn’t it? It was pervasive and terrible, and it kept you going even when you should have known better.
JJ should have known better.
But he’d come too far. He’d risked too much.
He had to see this through.
If he fell – then he fell.
Maybe this time, he wouldn’t take anyone out with him.
Or maybe – just maybe – this time he’d succeed.
At the top, he plunged his hand into the eye. He dug – deeper and deeper – desperate and frantic. For a second, he thought it would come up with nothing. For a second, he thought he’d come all this way for nothing. For a second, he thought this was just like every other risk, and he’d come up short.
But his hand found purchase.
And for a moment, he held everything in his hands.
The crown, sure. The wealth and the notoriety. The respect and the self-worth. Poguelandia and a future for his friends. Absolution.
For a moment, he thought maybe his story had a happy ending after all.
-o-
Happy endings, though, were subjective.
That was Cleo’s realization a few streets back. Staying behind to protect the others had seemed like the right thing at the time. Really, she wasn’t about to go back and undo it, but with the enemy closing in and her arm on fire, she had just enough sense to question herself.
It wasn’t like she’d set out for a happy ending. She wasn’t naive. She knew life was hard; she knew it was hell. She knew you had to fight for everything and hold nothing back.
No goodbyes, she’d told Pope.
Which was ironic now, given how close they were to saying goodbye – forever.
And for what? Revenge?
To kill the man who killed Terrance?
Yes, then. She knew her price, and that was it. She wasn’t ashamed of it. She wasn’t afraid of it. She knew exactly what she was doing as she reached for the gun.
“Hey,” Pope said, reaching down to stop her. Her fingers were tingling and numb, and, despite the bandage, blood was still leaking down her arm. “What are you doing? You can’t even lift your arm.”
Pope and his practicalities. She loved him, she did, but he was so damn difficult sometimes. He lived in this neat world of right and wrong, like he still thought there was justice and not pure random chance. He thought he had control, like he wasn’t just taken by the wind and waves like the rest of them.
She needed his hope, this was true.
He needed her common sense. God help them both.
Gritting her teeth, she tried to ignore the agony as her fingers flexed for the gun. “We’ve only got one bullet left,” she said.
She breathed heavily and looked at him. She knew what she meant now. She knew what she’d come for and what she wasn’t leaving without. Was revenge a bitter pill? Or just a necessary one? Swallow it hard, teeth bared and eyes closed, and you didn’t taste it until it was down.
But his eyes were wide and soft, even now. His touch gentle, even as it brushed against her skin — and the metal of the gun.
This boy with a police record.
This boy who could go to school.
This boy she loved.
She understood JJ better than anyone, sometimes. Better than she wanted.
He didn’t see a future for himself. She could, sometimes. But she didn’t need it. She just needed now.
It was easier before him.
“Just go, Pope,” she said, almost begging him now.
It was the wrong thing, and she knew it. She was saying goodbye.
“I have to do it,” she explained, as best she could. She swallowed, willing him to get it. “Please.”
Of course he did.
Dear lord, this boy of hers. They’d broken him, then. JJ had trained him well. Loyal to a fault. He looked at her, and something hardened. Something solidified. Something became real and true and—
“Where you at, girl?” a voice sneered, floating in on the wind from the street as the sand died down. Her breathing caught, and Pope’s finger squeezed. “Come out now, and I’ll let you live.”
The bullet wound hurt like a son of a bitch, but that hurt worse. Like a shot, straight to the heart. She hated that man.
That man was dead.
If she could just make her fingers work.
She couldn't even get up, damn it.
She couldn’t do anything.
But Pope could.
It was a distant realization at first, echoing hollowly in her head. She knew, probably, but denial was as strong a thing as she’d ever known.
Almost as strong as love.
True, real love.
Because Pope did.
“Hey, it’s okay,” he said, eyes on her as he spoke. Cool and calm, like he knew exactly what he was doing. Like he had no regrets. Like he’d run the odds in his head and decided he didn’t give a shit. “I got it.”
Her heart fluttered.
Her stomach settled.
All of her doubt and he did not waver now. “I got you.”
He took the gun, slipping it from her fingers. He made it easy, ceding this control. His certainty stilled her heart and dulled the pain.
He was ready.
She was ready.
Gun in hand, he took up a defensive stance, positioned in front of her. His finger twitched once and then settled as he took a long, steady breath.
She leaned up, her arm be damned. Leaning close, she let her heart thrum fast and even in her chest. “Remember what I told you about just rolling with it?”
Of course he remembered. Pope was the smartest man she’d ever met. The brightest, the best.
The most true.
Her breath was soft on his skin as the moment mounted. The tension in the street felt thick enough to cut at, and she didn’t dare move.
“Nothing to lose, Pope,” she whispered.
He went still, eyes narrowed on the door, breath taut in his chest.
“No tomorrow,” she said. “Get ready.”
And he was.
No questions. No doubts.
From just outside, Lightner called out. “One last chance!”
It was his signal, in the end.
She exhaled hard as the door opened. “Now!”
The gun went off.
This time, she was expecting it. There was no element of surprise. But the sound of it, sudden and cutting, still split her to the core.
In front of her, Pope went very, very still. Almost frozen, like a statue. The way he got when his mind couldn’t process what was happening and he just needed a second to shut down.
And there, in the doorway, Lightener’s body was on the ground. Splayed on his back, gun fallen from his loose fingers — not fired. His eyes were open and sightless, a round hole in his forehead. On the ground, was a pool of blood and brain matter, unmistakable.
That was it, then.
When she realized what she’d done.
Not revenge. Not justice. Not even peace or closure.
She hadn’t been lying, when she offered him the no goodbyes club.
Because there was no farewell she could give, not to the asshole who murdered Terrance. But to the boy she loved.
It was just hello, then, to the man she’d just made.
Chapter 28: CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Notes:
This section of the fic was so stressful to write, trying to pace it to the show. Hopefully it flows okay!
We're on the cusp of the fix here. I swear, we're close!!
Chapter Text
-o-
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
-o-
Close didn’t mean shit. Just horseshoes and hand grenades.
Not treasure hunts, it seemed.
Not absolution, to be absolutely sure.
So Luke knew he was close. But at the bottom of the incline, the storm sweeping around him, he knew it wasn’t close enough. Dalia and her men – they were already in position. JJ was already exposed and vulnerable at the top.
There was nothing to protect him.
Not from the wind and sand.
Not from the mercenaries who would kill him.
Not from the fate Groff resigned him to all those years ago.
Luke had never been enough. Luke had never even had a chance.
Just like JJ didn’t.
Luke had learned to stop trying.
JJ hadn’t.
Because JJ didn’t look back. JJ didn’t hesitate. JJ faced the danger and went for it anyway. This was his chance. If not to succeed, then to try.
Dalia moved into position, her sniper low and steady.
Luke had to try, didn’t he? Didn’t he owe it to JJ to try?
The distance was too great. Dalia was that much closer. The sand, the wind–
Luke wasn’t close.
But what the hell?
He hadn’t come all this way to watch.
So he started to run up the hill. He started to run to the action.
Luke Maybank started to run to his boy.
-o-
In JJ’s short life, success was usually measured by the absence of failure. For him, something good was mostly the lack of something bad.
The best moments – the moments when he was truly happy – were few and far between. And all of them – every last one of them – had been defined by the happiness of the people he loved.
It wasn’t a personal thing, for JJ. He understood, after all. He wasn’t the kind of person who got to be happy. It wasn’t his lot in life to succeed.
Happily ever afters were meant for other people.
The best he could hope for – the best he would ever hope for – was to be part of that with them.
For them.
Maybe he’d forgotten. Maybe Poguelandia had dulled him to it. Maybe Kie’s love had softened him too much. He’d forgotten.
Groff was good for this much then: he reminded JJ what mattered.
Not him, not his happiness or success.
But them.
He would give everything he had, he would spend the rest of his life. He would expend himself, pour himself out. He would hold nothing but to give them what they deserved.
Fate could do what it wanted with him. JJ had resigned himself to that years ago.
But not them.
He would fight and claw his way back – for them.
And this time–
This time–
He did it.
He had it; he had the crown.
Clutched in his fingers, metal to his flesh. He sat on top of the monolith, face turned up to the sky, and he had it. The wind blew; the sand cut him. But it didn’t matter. Not when he held the treasure in his hands.
Not so much his shot at redemption.
But his way to buy back theirs.
It had come together, finally. All the pain, all the sacrifice; all the loss, all the mistakes. For all that JJ had cost them, he could give it back now. He could earn his way back. John B’s hug around his neck, words whispered in his ear, brothers for life. Sarah would let him touch her stomach and feel the baby kick, and Cleo would smirk, proud of her rude boy.
And Kiara’s lips to his, her fingers in his hair. When she kissed him, he could kiss her back. She would look at him again; she could touch him with her eyes open, without pity.
If he gave all he had, it would never really be enough. Not for them.
Not for this.
For one moment.
For one beautiful, glorious moment, JJ Maybank got everything he ever wanted.
-o-
In the rush of it all, John B barely realized what he’d done.
He’d walked away.
He’d put all the clues together, he’d gotten them this far. He’d identified the location of the treasure. He had figured it all out.
And then, he’d walked away.
He’d just left.
JJ could handle it; Kiara could take care of it. Hell, even Rafe.
For all the ways John B was his father’s son, he was also his own man. A better man.
He took Sarah by the hand, leading her through the streets. Away from the mercenaries. Away from the storm. Away from the endgame they’d all put so much on the line to finish. Win or lose, treasure or no, he had what really mattered right here in his hands.
He could go home empty handed.
He couldn’t go home without her.
He’d made the right choice; he was so damn proud of himself for making the right choice.
Until one wrong turn, and they were face to face with a mercenary.
True, it could have been anyone.
But the gun he pointed at them, the smirk on his face–
Yeah, that was a mercenary.
That was all of John B’s good intentions coming to shit.
He froze, fingers wrapped around Sarah’s while his breath caught painfully in his chest. There was nowhere to go; there was nothing to do.
So he played his last card.
And put himself in front of her. His body in front of hers – in front of their baby. If this was it–
Then this was it.
The man pulled the trigger, and John B closed his eyes, prepared for the inevitable. The shot, the bullet, the pain.
It didn’t come.
There was a long moment, punctuated by stillness, and he gasped – eyes open as he realized what had happened. The man was there, slamming his hand to the gun – which had clearly jammed.
Fate, it seemed, had given him one more chance.
“Sarah, go!” he yelled, letting go of her hand and sending her off. “I got this!”
He saw her face – scared and distraught – as she turned away. Cleo and Pope had made their stand; JJ and Kie had made theirs.
It was his turn.
If he was the last line of defense for his wife and baby – for the future of the Pogues – then so be it. Okay.
Fine.
And he threw himself at the man, with no holds barred, even if for one last time.
-o-
The funny thing about it was this: it wasn’t over.
JJ should have known that. They’d found enough treasure: he knew that. Finding the treasure was just the first step. And building a life, making something of yourself – that shit came later.
First things first, JJ had to get his ass down and safe. Because finding a treasure – they’d done that. Keeping a treasure – well, that was a lot harder.
As far up as he was, JJ still heard Kiara’s voice. She was like his conscience now, sometimes.
Was that weird?
He didn’t mean it to be weird.
But she was the steady voice in his head, the one that reminded him he had to be better, he had to do better. Sometimes, he could hear her telling him she loved him.
At least, he used to.
Now, he just heard her telling him it was time to come down.
He looked down, and it wasn’t in his head. She was right there, hand cupped around her mouth, calling at him.
To come down, to be safe. To come back.
Even from here, he could see it. The way she needed him.
Not him. He wasn’t dumb; she was better off without him. Now, more than ever.
But she was too good. She needed him to come back down so this could be over. She needed him to bring back the crown so they could go home and rebuild their lives. She needed him to fix what he had broken, to undo the mess he’d made. She needed him not to quit.
She needed him to come down.
With a breath, he tied the crown to his waist, fumbling with the waistband in the wind and sand. Then, he eased his way back over the edge, stabilizing his position for the trip back down.
He took a breath; then two, forcing himself to think through the faltering of his adrenaline.
He had to remember, it wasn’t over yet.
The crown was a promise.
It was his ticket home.
Now, he just had to get them all there.
He started down, easing his way back over the side. The wind was still blowing hard, the sand making it difficult to focus. The weight of the crown around his waist was substantial, and the adrenaline had made him shaky.
His hand slipped; his footing was precarious.
Swallowing hard, he looked down for the first time, down where Kie was waiting for him.
All he could think was, shit.
That would be a long way to fall.
-o-
Sarah wasn’t thinking.
Was that the baby? Had pregnancy hormones already had their way with her?
Or was it just adrenaline?
Was it going too hard, too fast – with far too much to lose?
Because Sarah could concede that things were different now. She was different now. She had to think things through; she had to be smarter. Her choices didn’t just affect her, they affected her baby, and that mattered. She had to keep that at the forefront of her mind.
So letting Pope and Cleo make a stand – okay. Letting JJ and Kiara go after the crown – sure. That was why they were a family, to share the load.
But running away while John B fought? While he tackled a fight he couldn’t win?
She loved her husband, she did. But he was bad in a fight. No doubt, he was outclassed. If she left, she would guarantee her safety.
And risk his.
The duality of it mattered, though. This had always started as a partnership, two people drawn together – because they needed each other. At first, he needed her access for a treasure hunt and she needed him as her respite from a future she didn’t want.
Then, she needed his safety, and he needed her constancy. They’d fallen in love, not out of want – but need. Something so deep, so primal. Something she was willing to throw away her family for. Something he was willing to forsake treasure to get. Each other.
As much give as take.
Turning back, she made her way back through the streets. It was hard to navigate in the storm – not to mention the labyrinth that was Agapenta – but it wasn’t hard to find John B.
Was it?
Finding him had always been fate, like two stars drawn to each other across the universe. She was his, and he was hers, and this baby?
This baby was meant to be.
She found him in the alley, and she knew in an instant that the fight was over. John B had been overpowered – and quickly. The mercenary had him in a choke hold, and he was already limp.
She could be too late.
But no.
Sarah wasn’t just a Pouge.
Sarah was a Cameron.
She would take what she wanted.
And leave no regrets.
Scrambling, she picked up the nearest stone. She didn’t hesitate – the wind, the sand, the attack – all of it be damned. She reared back, and brought it down.
It hit – hard. The force of the stone on the man’s head was devastating, and she could almost feel the give of flesh and bone. The man crumpled, going down with a thump, and she followed up with a few more hits – just to be sure.
She didn’t consider whether or not she had killed him.
She just considered whether or not he had successfully killed John B.
She turned back to him, letting the stone fall to the ground. To her relief, John B was grappling with the ground in front of him, pushing his way blindly back up to his feet.
“You shouldn’t have come back,” he protested, hoarse and weak. “I had him.”
Now, Sarah rolled her eyes. “No, you didn’t.”
His tough-guy, macho persona lasted for about a second longer.
Before he nodded in concession. “You’re right, I didn’t.”
They couldn’t do it alone, she knew.
But then, they weren’t supposed to.
This baby had two parents.
She pulled him up and started moving again, grinning at the thought.
This baby had six parents.
And nothing could stop them now.
-o-
As with most things in life, Luke was coming up short. JJ had found the crown; he’d done it.
And where was Luke?
Not where he should be. Not nearly close enough to save his kid.
The wind was violent, kicking up the sand with an intensity that made him stop – to clear his throat, to clear his eyes. He gagged, choking on it, eyes burning as he squinted.
He wasn’t far enough. He’d made it half the way–
But Dalia had her sniper waiting, looking for the perfect shot as JJ started his way back down. His finger still on the trigger, but her hand was poised to halt him as they watched JJ, maneuvering down – grappling for each handhold as the crown swung from his waist.
Time seemed to slow; existence seemed to wane.
Luke’s legs didn’t work anymore, and everything went distant and numb as he watched.
JJ descended the statue with all he had. He seemed oblivious to the wind. He didn’t slow with the sand. He had to know there were people out there, looking to pounce, but that didn’t stop him either.
He was thinking about the prize: the crown.
No, not the crown.
JJ was thinking about the prize.
His family.
Because Luke had raised that boy. He knew his heart. He knew the way he loved, with all he had. He knew that he would give everything he had, everything he was–
Not for riches. Not for a quick buck.
But just so someone would tell him that he loved him.
Would a crown restore JJ’s friendships? Would riches make JJ’s mistakes go away?
Well, shit.
Luke froze, transfixed as he watched.
They were about to find out.
-o-
There were few moments of triumph in life. Few moments of pure, unadulterated success. Most good things came with bad. There was hardly anything you could get in life with no strings attached.
Kiara knew that.
But all her good moments. All her best moments.
Were directly linked to JJ Maybank.
Catching fish on Poguelandia.
Getting rescued at Kitty Hawk.
Falling in love, the right way.
Locked in a shipping container, dreaming about a surf trip.
Seeing him dance on the pier.
That was what happiness was. That was what love was.
That was why, even though he made the worst mistakes, she still loved him. That was why, no matter how many times he thought he didn’t deserve her, she knew the reverse was true.
She would never deserve JJ Maybank.
But damn. She loved him.
And this moment?
Watching him pull the crown free? Watching him bring it back down to her – his Queen Kie?
Was pretty damn good, too.
-o-
Luke could only stare. Jaw hanging open, sandstorm be damned, he gaped. JJ clung to the structure, fighting for every inch as he made his way back down – inch by inch. Luke felt his stomach clench as he watched him struggle, nearly falling more than once.
It was impossible.
Too tall. Too much wind. Too much sand. The mercenaries poised to shoot.
It had to be impossible.
But JJ.
His boy.
JJ did it anyway.
He watched, breath caught in his chest, as JJ adjusted his grip and lowered himself the rest of the way down. He was breathless – ragged and run down – but he was down in one piece. It was hard to see – from this distance, with the storm – but he blinked against the burning sand, attuning himself.
His world narrowed, away from the storm, away from Dalia and her men, away from Groff himself, and he focused on JJ.
That was what it should have been from the start.
That was what Luke had forgot, somewhere along the way.
He remembered now. He knew it, coalescing inside of him, that singular truth that changed everything. That changed him.
Love was a choice.
And you got to make it.
Not just one day. But all the days.
He could choose it today. Luke still got to choose.
And then, he had it. Clutched in JJ’s hand, clear as day even in the storm, as he held it up to that girl of his.
The crown.
JJ did it.
The son of a bitch actually did it.
His boy, not Groff’s. His.
There was a moment, then. Of pride. Of victory. Of damn near perfection.
Then, over the sound of the wind whipping in his ears, he heard the gunshot. He flinched, eyes drawn back to Dalia. Her sniper had fired.
In horror, he looked back to JJ.
Scattered, with Kiara. But upright. Unhit.
Dalia was screaming at her men, hot on JJ’s trail. JJ took off at a run, taking Kiara by the hand. They had a head start, but not by much.
Not by enough.
Luke needed to move.
This?
Wasn’t over yet.
-o-
The thing about endings was this: it didn’t matter if they were happy.
They were still over.
JJ found the crown.
He did it.
All the mistakes he’d made, all the losses he’d incurred. All the problems he’d caused, the debts he’d incurred. He’d been nothing but a problem, a burden, and for one moment.
One perfect moment.
JJ did it.
He found the crown. He saved them all. They’d get back Poguelandia. John B and Sarah would have their baby. Pope would go to school. Cleo could become a citizen. Kiara would save the turtles, all of them, every last one. They’d have a home. They’d have a future. They’d be happy.
JJ broke it.
JJ fixed it.
He took the risk.
And finally it paid off.
But it was a long way down was the thing.
The higher he went.
The further it was to fall.
JJ had been a Groff only a few weeks, sure. But he’d been a Maybank all his life. There were some things he knew, some things you couldn’t deny.
Because Groff or Genrette or Maybank — they weren’t that different.
They didn’t get to be happy.
They did, however, all get to be done.
Kiara’s voice called to him, carrying on the wind.
She was waiting for him. They were waiting on him.
God help him.
If he let them down now–
Then there was no hope left for him at all.
-o-
She couldn’t do this.
All this time, she’d sat by and watched JJ self-destruct.
She couldn’t do this.
She loved him; she loved him so damn much. She wanted to get him out of here – now. To get him safe. They didn’t need the crown. They didn’t need Poguelandia. Seeing him up there, vulnerable like that – she just needed him.
“JJ!” she yelled, begging him to hear her. “Come on!”
The wind was deafening, the sand brutal against her skin. She barely felt it, her eyes transfixed on JJ. He was losing his grip; he nearly fell – once, twice.
She held her breath, no longer keeping count. “JJ!”
He crashed the rest of the way down, his grip giving way as he tumbled to the sand. He hit hard, rolling awkwardly as he tenderly gripped his side. Her breath caught.
“Are you okay?” she asked, coming over to help him up.
“I’m good, I’m good,” he said, scrambling to his feet. “I’m better, actually. I’m great.”
The sand was still cutting against her skin, but she pushed closer to him. He ran down faster, though, coming to her as he unfurled the band at his waist.
She didn’t see it at first, but he held it up, between them.
And even in the sand. Even in the dying light.
There it was.
The crown.
JJ was holding the crown.
“I got it,” JJ said, almost pulsating with excitement. He whooped, almost unable to contain himself.
She looked from the crown, to him. “Do you know what this means?’
He looked back, eyes bright. “Oh, yeah, I do,” he said. No flicker of doubt. No hesitation. “We’re getting it back. We’re getting back our home.”
She had always believed in him.
She had always believed in him.
Not because he could win bets. Not because he could find crowns.
But because the best moment of his life.
And all he could think about was them.
That was JJ.
That had always been JJ.
At his best. At his worst.
That was JJ.
He stopped short, though – looking off with concern.
“Wait, wait, wait!” he said, pointing off down the incline. “We got to go!”
She saw it; the sniper. “Go!” she said, pushing JJ forward. “Go, go, go!”
-o-
It was heady; all of it.
Finding the crown.
Kiara’s hug.
The way she looked at him. The way she finally looked at him.
She’d barely been able to tolerate him on the boat, but here she was. Looking at him like he was worth it again.
The gunshots were closer than they should be, but JJ couldn’t bring himself to be afraid. If anything, it solidified something – it solidified him.
It wasn’t over. They still had a long way down, didn’t they?
Redemption wasn’t a single moment. Absolution wasn’t one victory.
It was a lifetime.
It was everything.
He pulled her, ducking them down below the line of fire. The crown felt heavy, all of a sudden, and home felt farther away than ever. That maybe this wasn’t over. That maybe the risk didn’t outweigh the reward. That every good thing had to be weighed by something bad and this moment, this high.
Could be his biggest fall yet.
He had to keep trying, though. He couldn’t let up.
He held fast to the crown; he held faster still to her.
“We have to go!” Kiara yelled over the wind. She pulled him forward, almost against his will as he staggered. The pain in his side flared again, the adrenaline helping as much as it hurt him. “JJ–”
He couldn’t stop. He couldn’t leave her.
He couldn’t leave them.
John B had said it, after all. Brothers for life.
As long as he could save them, then that was all that mattered.
This crown could save them.
Kiara pulled him forward, keeping low, and he followed.
If not home, then as far as he could go.
-o-
John B had watched his father all his life. He knew that the hint required total concentration. You couldn’t let your focus be divided.
When he was very young, that had been exhilarating. He’d liked the late nights when his dad lost track of time. He’d loved impromptu trips for clues, taking him away from school unexpectedly. It had been an adventure, and John B had been all in.
John B was still all in, more by necessity than anything else.
At least, he knew he was supposed to be. The stakes were high. Poguelandia was in the balance. JJ was wanted for murder – and all of them had implicated themselves as accomplices. They had to get the crown, they had to get Groff, to put everything right somehow.
He knew that. And yet, as the sandstorm whipped around him, he couldn’t think about the treasure. He couldn’t even think about the stakes. God help him, he couldn’t even think about Pope making a stand with Cleo or JJ risking it all to bring this shit home.
All he was thinking about – all he could possibly think about – was Sarah.
His wife.
The mother of his child.
He knew what he had to do.
There was only one thing he could do. It wasn’t about Pope or Cleo. It wasn’t about Kiara. It wasn’t even about JJ.
It was just about Sarah.
Taking her by the hand, he found the first door that would open. He pushed his way inside, pulling her across the threshold and out of the sand. It took a moment for him to clear his vision, but he guided her forward, shutting the door behind them and blocking out the worst of the wind.
He stopped. He walked away. He had everything to lose, and he knew it. And it changed him. He let it change him.
Maybe he was finally growing up, a feat his father – in all his years – had never fully accomplished. The others would understand. Hell, JJ had practically given him his blessing.
Because John B? He loved his dad. He did.
But John B did not want to be his father. Not for one second, not even a little.
So, he took Sarah out of the storm. He got his baby out of harm’s way.
He left the hunt behind.
And for a second – if just one second – he didn’t think about treasure.
He took Sarah’s hand and brought her to sit down. The baby’s cradle was a sign, he thought. A sign of what was to come, what was meant to be.
As he squeezed Sarah’s fingers, warm and sure, he didn’t think – not once – what he might be leaving behind.
-o-
It was a cost-benefit analysis.
Right?
Pope had pulled the trigger; Lighter’s brains were spattered on the pavement.
But Cleo was alive; they were free to go.
There was nothing holding them back anymore.
The cost was high. To take a life. To become a killer.
The benefit was higher. To save his friends. To fix everything.
“Come on,” Cleo said, giving his arm a tug.
Pope let her take the gun from him, letting it fall useless from his limp fingers. He stepped closer to Lightner, just to look, just to be sure.
Open, sightless eyes – that was damning.
His face was void of color, mouth parted slightly. He hadn’t moved from where he’d fallen, not even a twitch. The heaviness of his body had a finality to it. He kneeled down, fingers hovering over his body, reaching for the pulse point on his neck.
He stopped, though.
The sight didn’t make his stomach turn, even though it was the most gruesome thing he’d ever seen. Lightner’s skull had been blown away. There was a gaping hole now, a section of the bone just gone – splattered with matted hair all over the ground. And the brain matter–
It had been ruined.
The bullet had ripped through it. The soft matter had been obliterated, the exposed skull showing the unsettling definition between the ruined portions and the fading of the rest of the organ. It was a catastrophic injury. It was unsurvivable.
He sat there, fingers poised and frozen.
Standing over him, Cleo touched his back. “Pope.”
She stopped short.
There was nothing to say.
There was nothing to do.
Pope had pulled the trigger.
And that was it.
He dropped his hand, staring a little longer.
“Come on,” Cleo said again, gentler now. Almost pleading.
Reluctantly – inevitably – he got back to his feet.
He stepped over Lightner’s body, taking Cleo by the hand. “We need to move,” he said simply.
Because the others were still out there. There was still a treasure to get.
And there was no way – by reason or pining – to put a bullet back in a gun after it had been fired.
-o-
Luke had to hurry.
That was a thing, wasn’t it? A hell of a thing.
All the years he took for granted. All those long hours, tedious minutes, inevitable seconds – and he’d just assumed. He’d acted like it was nothing, like that boy was nothing. As if one moment of initial kindness could justify a lifetime of neglect and abuse.
The time was up, though. The seconds – spent. The minutes – wasted. The years – gone.
If Luke didn’t act now, if Luke didn’t salvage this moment, then everything was well and truly lost.
Through the streets, back down from the monolith. After the Pogues, after Groff, after JJ. It was hard to keep his bearing, so badly disoriented from the adrenaline that he felt shaky. Every step felt uncertain, but he wouldn’t stop now. Through the streets; ducking through a house. Looking for any sign of the prize.
Not the crown. Forget the crown.
Just his son.
Just JJ
Damn it.
Luke had to hurry.
-o-
Kiara knew, okay?
It was like Pope, lecturing them about the laws of physics. For every action, there was an equal and opposite reaction. What went up – had to come down.
JJ was good at the up part.
He was even better at crashing down.
Kiara knew that his highs were often followed by his lows, and getting the crown – that was the best. He’d done it. He’d actually done it.
Now it was up to Kiara to make sure he got home safe and sound.
She hadn’t exactly been doing a stellar job of that so far. As his girlfriend over the past week, she’d helped him escape police custody and watched him crash out in a multitude of spectacular ways. He had barely survived – no thanks to her – and she wasn’t going to sit by idly another second longer.
She was going to get this boy home. Safe.
Sound.
No matter what.
Fortunately, he was following her lead now.
He was listening. He was following. He was ready to do it right.
Kiara just had to get him out of here.
They were so close.
To restoring their home. To clearing their names. To living happily ever after.
She turned back, catching a glimpse of him as he gripped his side, wincing as he tried to keep up. “Come on!” she called, turning ahead to see her way forward. “We’re almost there!”
There was hope again.
There was anticipation.
There was finally the idea, taking hold between them, that this might work out after all.
Until she turned the corner, losing a grip on his hand. She moved ahead, looking forward just for a second–
Just in time to see Chandler Groff.
He smirked as he grabbed her, smothering her yelp as he brought a knife to her face and pressed it to her skin.
“Easy, easy,” he cooed, voice uncomfortably grating as it brushed over her ear. “Let’s just wait for JJ, shall we?”
Her stomach twisted in horror, and her body went ice cold.
JJ.
“You didn’t think you could leave me behind, did you?” he said, singsong in her ear as he adjusted his grip on her. “I’m his father. He’s my son. He only exists because of me.”
She shuddered, blinking hard against tears as her throat constricted.
Shit.
“You don’t deserve him,” she seethed. “You never did.”
He hissed, the knife pressing deeper, and she felt the blade sink into the epidermis. “He’s nothing without me,” he said, voice hitching with anger. “It’s about time he learned.”
Her eyes burned. “Just leave him alone,” she said, begging now.
If he saw her like this.
If he saw Groff.
Groff laughed, short and breathless. “I know he found the crown,” he said, voice going low now. “If he gives me that, then you can take him. You and your Pogues can have him.”
She was shaking, feeling her breath stuttering her chest.
He leaned closer, whispering now. “I should have drowned him when he was a baby, back when I had the chance.”
She closed her eyes, dread filling the pit of her stomach.
This man was a monster.
This man would destroy JJ.
Hell, he might have already done his damage, while Kiara sat by idly and let him.
Groff eased back, jostling her lightly. “Time to end this, hm?” he said, adjusting his grip as JJ’s footfalls came around the corner. “I’ve always dreamed of the perfect father-son reunion. Blood, at last.”
-o-
Adrenaline enough to keep him going, even as the pain in his side lanced again. Coming down was a bitch, literally and figuratively.
The highs never lasted.
JJ had smoked enough weed, he knew that.
More than that, he was Luke Maybank’s son. He knew that every success came with an inevitable failure. He knew that every victory was followed by loss. What you won wasn’t yours to keep. And yet, every time, you let yourself believe it.
You let yourself think maybe this time was different.
It wasn’t. It never was.
It never would be.
“JJ, come on,” Kiara said, yanking him forward. “We have to find the others – there’s no time–”
“Just – wait,” he said, struggling to catch his breath. The buzz in his body was giving way, back to the weight of the rest. The pressure in his chest was one thing; the deep ache in his side was another. The adrenaline was too much – or not enough. He staggered. “Wait.”
She yanked him harder, face insistent. “We have to find John B and the others,” she said. “If we don’t get out of here, they can still catch up to us, and they will kill us, JJ. They’ll kill you.”
He stumbled a few more steps, grimacing as he felt himself waver. “I know,” he said, gasping for air. He’d made it this far, but he didn’t know – he wasn’t sure. “But – just a sec–”
And he staggered, losing his balance. To catch himself on the wall, he needed a hand. One was holding Kie’s hand.
The other was holding the crown.
And it was so damn stupid. The stupidest thing yet – and JJ knew it.
Because he let go of her hand. He let his grip go lax, and he felt her fingers slip from his. He let her go, catching himself on the wall instead, his other hand tightening around the crown as he struggled to catch his breath.
She turned back, just for a moment. Her eyes were wide with alarm. “JJ, there’s no time,” she said – almost pleading now. “Please–”
She turned, moving again, expecting him to follow. For 18 months, that was how they’d lived. Perfectly in tandem. Total trust.
But JJ? JJ was like Luke in this, too: he lost sight of what mattered. He held onto the treasure, and let go of everything that really mattered.
It galvanized him, that fear. He pushed himself up off the wall and started after her again. Several paces behind, he lost sight of her, twisting and turning through the corridors. It was dumb as shit, though. Running ass backward through the streets of Morocco. The tighter he held onto that damn crown, the heavier it felt.
The less he wanted it at all.
It wasn’t about the crown. It wasn’t about getting his home back. It wasn't even his own damn absolution – that was a fantasy anyway.
This crown granted wishes, right? And despite everything, JJ didn’t wish for a truck. He didn’t even wish for Poguelandia, not really.
At the time, he’d made a wish for family, for love, a place to belong.
Holding it now, fingers tight around it, all he wanted was to stop doing this. To stop running after the things he had. To stop slowing everyone down as they tried to move forward. The last few weeks had made it glaringly obvious to him. While his friends were growing up, JJ was nowhere close. They were ready for a future.
JJ wasn’t ready for anything.
He was directionless, just like he’d always been. One step behind, trailing after the people he loved because he couldn’t get his shit together.
He was a screw up. He was a burden. Good intentions? They didn’t mean shit when they played out like this. He had lost the land. He had put the law on their asses. He had dragged them here. He was the one who made them totally dependent on this Hail Mary and his wish – his one wish – was to make that right.
To never hold them back again.
To never hurt them like he knew he had.
The second he made the wish, he knew he couldn’t undo it. He wasn’t even surprised then, following along behind Kiara, when he came to an abrupt stop.
It wasn’t real, right? The future he thought he saw? The one he thought he might have grasped at the top of that relic? It wasn’t real.
Returning to the OBX in triumph. Proving everyone wrong. Being the godfather of John B’s baby, asking Kiara to marry him. JJ believed he might get everything he ever wanted.
None of it was real.
None of it was his.
Because this was the reality. JJ was standing in an alley in Morocco, holding the most priceless artifact in the world.
Standing face to face with Groff.
Who held a knife to Kiara’s neck.
It all came crashing down, just like he knew it would. His hope, his determination, his future – all of it.
Because JJ’s past – every mistake he’d ever made – was right there, lurking behind every corner, just waiting to remind JJ that happy endings?
Weren’t for him.
Of course it was Groff. The idea of it settled over him, and surely – surely – he saw this coming. Out of the well, back from nowhere. Just to screw JJ over again.
One last time, maybe.
His fingers tightened on the crown, and he made his wish.
That no matter what happened, Kiara would walk out of here.
No matter what.
-o-
Twisting through the streets, Luke tripped over one of the doorways. He went down – hard. Catching himself on his hands and knees, it all caught up with him in a rush.
The last few days. The last few weeks. The last few years.
A whole lifetime.
There was a lot of regret; there was a lot of absolution. He’d been so fixed on Groff’s vindictive face and manipulative demeanor. He’d been so focused on JJ’s needy blue eyes and hunched shoulders. In that moment, trying to catch his breath and get his feet under him, he thought of Larissa.
She’d been so young, right? And she’d been so pretty.
But it wasn’t that shallow. It wasn’t like he’d been in love with her. He hadn’t hardly known her.
In some ways, though, he did.
In some ways, he felt like the last person on this planet who did.
So much had died with her, and now that her father was gone – what was left of her? That pretty girl who just wanted to be happy. That sad girl who didn’t understand why nothing worked. She had blamed herself, but it had always been Groff.
Groff had used her, just like he had used JJ.
And Groff had probably murdered her.
Just like–
Luke closed his eyes, shaking his head as the emotion overtook him for a long, hard moment.
JJ wasn’t dead. JJ wasn’t going to die.
He was going to save JJ.
That was how this had started.
Just to save JJ.
The little baby in a car seat, Kicking and looking up at him. No one left to care for him. No one left to care about him. Jackson Groff was buried, and what the hell was Luke supposed to do with JJ Maybank?
Larissa wasn’t gone, he reminded himself.
Not while that boy lived.
He had a chance to make it up to her. He had a chance to make it up to him.
Long story short – Luke had a chance.
He pushed himself up, gritting his teeth as he got his footing.
And he was going to take it.
That was his only thought as he started running through the streets, looking for JJ, again.
Chapter 29: CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Notes:
Okay, so after everything, here we are. The actual "fix" -- or the start of it. I know I wrote a lot of words just to get us to this point, so I hope it's not a disappointment. I'm sure some of what's about to happen will be predictable, given how I've been building certain storylines, but the fallout from here is long, complicated, and sets the stage for additional fics (that still need to be written, lol; I need help, y'all). I hope it's a satisfying way to bring these storylines to their crux.
Please let me know! I still have a lot to write follow up fics, so as much enthusiasm as you can muster is always loved and appreciated. Thank you to everyone who has commented so far here. We're getting close to the end :)
Chapter Text
-o-
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
-o-
JJ had wondered, over the last few weeks, if it had been hard. If Groff had been upset about leaving JJ behind. If some part of him – however small – regretted it, all of it.
He’d always known it was naive. Really, he’d known better. Groff had tried to kill him once, already. He’d left him for dead.
Because Groff had given JJ life, that much was true.
And here he was. Holding a knife to JJ’s very heart.
It wasn’t about victory now. It wasn’t about proving anything.
It was about saving what mattered.
It was about saving Kiara.
He’d said it before, so flippantly: they had nothing to lose
But he was wrong, as always.
Groff stood there, holding Kiara at knifepoint, just to prove how wrong JJ was.
“You let her go,” he said finally, when he found his voice. He kept it low and dangerous; he was good at threats. He could deliver an ultimatum with gravitas. But this wasn’t a bunch of Kooks on the beach. It wasn’t a low-level drug dealer in the slums of the OBX.
This was his father.
His own damn father.
And if anyone knew JJ was all talk and no show, it was this man. This man who had used JJ worse than Luke ever had. This man who had lied to him and manipulated him. Chandler Groff had left him for dead, and honestly, JJ still felt it. Like part of him had drowned in that ocean, and whatever was left of him wasn’t worth shit anymore.
Groff knew JJ had nothing. Groff knew JJ was nothing. He had lived for 20 years and had nothing to show for himself. All he’d lost. All his failures. Maybe Groff had seen it in JJ from the start.
He sure as hell saw it in JJ now.
Luke said it all along: he was a worthless piece of shit.
Groff must have known from the start.
From the day JJ was born.
He wasn’t worth anything. He didn’t get the girl, in the end. He didn’t get the prize.
All JJ was meant for was failure.
He twitched, fighting the impulse to lunge. He’d happily take this risk, but it wasn’t his life on the line this time. It was her.
It always had been, but JJ was an idiot.
He needed someone to put a knife to her face to make him think.
“Stop it right there,” Groff warned, pressing the knife deeper into the skin of her cheek.
Kiara whimpered, her body visibly trembling as Groff held her tight against him.
The sense of powerlessness threatened to overwhelm him. He had no real power here. Groff had the most valuable thing in the room.
And JJ had just one play to make.
Kiara shuddered, her breath shaky as she looked at him. Her dark eyes were desperate and pleading and terrified. She was supposed to be happy, planting a garden and painting surfboards back in the OBX. She was supposed to be saving turtles and making the world a better place.
But for JJ, she was here.
Because of JJ, she was here.
He’d make any play, then. Any play at all.
“Don’t move,” Groff warned him, eyeing JJ’s tenuous stance. His eyes flitted down, to the package wrapped in JJ’s hand at his side. “You know what I want.”
Groff had never wanted a son.
He’d never wanted a family.
He’d never wanted JJ.
He reached his hand out for the crown instead.
“Give it to me,” he said flatly.
The knife twitched, and JJ’s chest tightened. Kiara cried again, just barely holding back a sob.
JJ looked at the crown.
The pinnacle of his success. Which meant nothing in the ashes of his failure. He could go home without the crown.
But he’d never go home without her.
He looked back at Groff – his father. He wasn’t surprised that this was the deal. Scared, sure. Pissed, yeah.
But not surprised.
The inevitability was pressing. The fatalism had never really left him.
He had to make a choice: Kiara or the crown.
His family or his fortune.
It wasn’t much of a choice.
“Just let her go,” he said, making his terms clear. Making his concession plain.
Groff’s mouth twitched, almost in a smile. His eyes were cold, though. “You should have stuck with me, JJ,” he said, like he might have actually regretted it. Like he might have had a heart once after all. “Think what you could have had.”
A mother, he thought.
A father.
A birthright, a family.
A place to belong.
Yeah, JJ could have had it all.
“But now,” Groff said, shaking his head like he pitied JJ. JJ locked his jaw and pursed his lips as Kiara visibly worked to keep herself still. “Now you get nothing.”
If Groff wanted him to feel regret – he didn’t have to try. All JJ knew was regret.
Think what JJ could have had if he hadn’t squandered the money? Think what JJ could have had if he hadn’t made the bet? Think what JJ could have had if he wasn’t JJ? Think what JJ could have had if he were smarter and better?
The crown was going to be his future, but it wasn’t any more real than the magic imbued upon it. JJ was just chasing a fantasy, and he was holding onto a wish that would never come true.
The future?
Wasn’t his.
He couldn’t build a future when he’d ruined the past. He couldn’t plan ahead when everything behind him was stacked like dominoes, ready to fall one by one until his fate was played out in slow, horrible detail.
He had no right to what came next.
Because of what he’d already done.
And all JJ could think was if this was it – if this was the last risk he was going to take – he had to make it pay off. Because he’d put his friends on the line too many times. He wouldn’t do it again. Not with Kie.
He looked at her. That girl who loved him.
Who impossibly, completely loved him.
He never understood it. He only just barely accepted it. That she looked at him like that. Like he might have been worth something, if he could just stop being stupid. That she held his hand and kissed him. That she curled up with him in the moonlight and took him down to the sand.
He had known from the start she was too good for him. He’d known that it was never going to work. He’d let himself believe, for a little bit. He’d let himself give in, just for a while.
But he’d been right.
He had no right to this girl.
For all that he’d done wrong, he would do one thing right.
The idea of it – the reality of it – coalesced. He settled on the surrender.
It was okay.
It was going to be okay.
“No,” he said, and it felt lighter somehow. Now that he was done fighting it. “I already have everything.”
Because he’d never deserved Kiara. He hadn’t deserved the charter. He didn’t deserve Poguelandia or the place his friends had made for him in his life. He didn’t deserve Pope’s sacrifice, and he didn’t deserve Cleo's affection. He didn’t deserve to be the godfather of Sarah’s baby, and he sure as hell had never deserved a friend like John B.
For the first time, Kiara looked afraid.
He swallowed, finding peace with it. This would be the last time he’d scare her.
This would be the last time he’d hurt her.
“I have everything I ever wanted,” he said, looking at his father. He smiled, so wide it hurt. He didn’t know if this man had ever loved him. He didn’t know how gentle his mother’s touch might have been. He didn’t even know if Luke was being honest about choosing him, wanting him, loving him. One family abandoned him.
And he would leave the other.
But he’d had it, if only for a short time. He’d held it, if only for a moment. He’d been loved; he’d belonged.
It was more than he’d ever hoped for.
More than he’d ever been worthy of.
“Things you’ll never have,” he said.
Groff looked confused; Kie just looked terrified. His posturing was one thing, but Groff’s knife wavered. JJ held up the crown and shrugged.
“You want the crown,” he said plaintively. “Sure. Take it.”
He held it out, like it was nothing.
It was nothing.
He shook his head. “I don’t want it.”
Groff’s eyes darted back and forth, between JJ and the crown. Kiara’s breathing quickened as the knife danced across her skin.
His own breathing hitched, and he felt the doubt tingle in his gut. Adrenaline was starting to spin now, reverberating in his fingers and down his spine to his toes.
“Just let her go.”
With that, he held out the crown. He offered Groff what he wanted.
And Groff, finally, made the offer back.
He moved the knife, just slightly, loosening his grip a little to hold Kiara away from him. She stumbled – her entire body stiff – and JJ forced himself to keep breathing until she was safe.
The exchange was tenuous – and he gave by millimeters, waiting for Groff to give back. When Groff reached out for the crown, JJ stretched hand out for Kiara.
He let go of the crown.
And he pulled Kiara in.
The relief was fast and powerful, and he turned her away from Groff as far as he could. She was crying – and he hated himself for it – so he wrapped his arms around and held her.
Because he couldn’t fix it, and he was an idiot to think he could.
All he could do – all he could ever do – was let them fix it.
All he could do for them was stop.
Stop trying. Stop thinking.
Stop being.
For a moment, he held her, stilling her heart and easing her tears. For a moment, it was like it was meant to be, the two of them, against the world – against the universe.
And we’re winning.
But that was the thing about moments.
They passed.
Just as quickly as they came.
The crown wasn’t JJ’s.
And the fact of the matter was: neither was Kiara.
This was never his choice to make.
Just his lesson to learn.
“JJ,” Groff said, and JJ couldn’t help it. He turned.
He looked back.
Still waiting for someone to love him.
Still desperate for someone to want him.
Still pathetic enough to love the people who would throw him away.
Groff smiled – almost. “It’s a shame,” he said, and he almost sounded sincere as he stepped closer to him. “You and me.”
It was just the lesson learned, right?
The ending he couldn’t keep at bay any longer.
The walls collapsed. The floor fell out.
And it was all JJ’s fault.
So when the knife slid in, cutting through the still tender flesh on his side, he gasped. Not in surprise. In finality.
How many times had he cheated death? How many times had his sins warranted this? JJ didn’t say a prayer for himself – he never had. Just like at the table, with his friends, he closed his eyes and prayed for them.
Groff pulled him close, though, and twisted the knife. He could feel his father’s breath on his skin as he smirked at him.
And drove it deeper still.
“You should have given me the rope,” Groff said, voice full of rage and eyes full of spite.
JJ had held onto that rope.
He should have hanged himself with it years ago.
Groff pushed deeper, just to make his point clear. That this was personal. JJ was the son Luke never had.
And he was the son Chandler Groff never wanted.
As if he needed a knife blade to drive that home. As if the blade hadn’t been cutting deep his whole damn life.
If anything, it was almost a relief to feel it bleed.
Groff dug it down, though, beared down, until JJ’s breath left him and he gurgled. The future – the one that had seemed so real just minutes ago – dissipated in front of him.
But it had never been there, had it?
It was nothing but a mirage in the sand.
This family of his was nothing but an oasis, a short pitstop. He was never meant to stay.
The crown was gone – but it was never his.
He could hear Kiara cry as the blade cut through flesh and sinew as far as it could go.
She was never his either.
This wasn’t a loss, then.
It was the obvious conclusion. JJ had known all along. He’d been stupid to think otherwise, to even pretend. He should have remembered. He never should have let himself forget.
The lesson he learned from Luke was you played the chances until they ran out. You took one good bet, and pushed your luck until it ran out. You went as high as you could, fall be damned.
But you did fall.
That was what Luke showed him.
He just never showed JJ how to change.
And JJ kept living it on repeat, again and again and again.
The lesson he learned from Groff was different, though, wasn’t it?
He taught him that you could plot and scheme and it would never get you what you wanted. The more you reached for what wasn’t yours, the more people you would leave broken in your wake. You couldn’t have it all. You had to pick.
You always had to pick.
And JJ’s mother taught him one last thing, in the end.
She taught him that the only out you got — the only reprieve left — was death.
Just like that, Groff pulled the knife free. JJ felt the way his intestines shifted and the flesh squelched back into place. Blood, hot and wet, leaked out, and he could feel it, clinging to his shirt and spreading along his stomach. Groff let him go.
Which was funny, right?
The guy never did hold him, did he?
Not like a father.
But just like a murderer.
JJ felt his breath catch as his heartbeat faltered. Kiara cried out to catch him, but he was already falling. He’d been falling all along, since the day he was born. He’d spent his life beaten and abused, so maybe this was how it was supposed to be.
Maybe this was just who he was.
He hit the ground with an exhale.
Like he was already gone.
-o-
Luke wasn’t as young as he used to be, but sobriety had been good to him in this: he had some of his stamina back.
Either that or adrenaline was a hell of a thing, and he’d be feeling this shit tomorrow.
That was a tomorrow problem, one he’d gladly face assuming he could make sure JJ got to tomorrow, too. It haunted him sometimes, how JJ didn’t see a future. He could still remember, even with the haze of drugs, JJ hugging him in the dock. Not in this life.
He’d taken him to save him — he had. And how had he let it get that bad? That the kid wished he was dead?
It made him run faster.
He had to get JJ out of here, away from the mercenaries. He had to get him away from the authorities. He had to get the kid back home.
It made him run harder.
Set on the goal like he was for once, he barely even recognized the man he ran into, almost plowing him over as he rounded a corner. The asshole was running as fast as Luke – and as blind. They caught each other – freezing for a moment – before Luke’s stomach dropped.
It was Groff.
Groff had already recognized him, pulling back with a smirk.
“Still playing along?” Groff asked, catching Luke by the shoulders as they both came to a stop.
Luke’s breath caught. “You got out?”
“No thanks to you,” he said. “I thought we were partners.”
Luke drew back a little, shaking his head with his mouth set. “I’m just here for JJ. Always have been.”
Groff leaned forward, sneering. “Maybe he is your son,” he said in a low, dangerous voice. “He didn’t help me either.”
Luke felt his stomach twist, the unease settling over him.
Groff patted him – once and twice.
And that was when Luke saw the blood. Coating one hand.
In the other, he was holding something.
The crown.
Groff had the crown.
But JJ had found the crown.
And now Groff was on the run, crown in hand.
Hands covered in blood.
It was a conclusion he knew was obvious. One he couldn’t escape.
He couldn’t drink it away. No amount of pills would change it.
He lifted his eyes, looking back in horror at the other man. Luke wasn’t a smart man – he knew that – but he wasn’t that dumb.
He wasn’t dumb enough for this.
Because some people had a natural instinct when it came to parenting. Luke had dulled his with drugs and alcohol, but it was still here. It had always been here.
Groff hadn’t had it.
Not a day in his damn life.
And JJ, always caught in the crossfire.
“What did you do?” he asked, his own voice sounding hollow as it echoed in his chest.
Groff pulled his hands away, holding up the package he was carrying and giving a fond look. “What I had to do,” he mused, lifting his blood stained fingers to unveil a corner of the metal.
The crown JJ had held.
The blood–
He stepped forward, breath catching. “What did you do to JJ?” he demanded, grounded in fear.
It rose up, clenching in the back of his throat, tightening around his heart with a force he couldn’t name or pinpoint. His ears started to ring, the din rising, as he tried and failed to get his sense back under control.
“Oh, nothing for you to worry about,” Groff said, putting the crown away. He eyed Luke with cold, cruel satisfaction. “He never really was your son, after all.”
Groff held up his fingers, looking at the blood with a brutal kind of wonder.
“When you’re blood, you understand it,” he said softly, almost thoughtful. His eyes flicked to Luke. “But you wouldn’t know that.”
He shrugged, letting his fingers drop and Luke felt nausea roll over him with an intensity that threatened to blind him, to deafen him, to take him to his damn knees.
Groff’s lips twisted, some sadistic version of a smile. “Would you?”
For a second, there was rage. Blindingly incandescent; horrifyingly overwhelming. This man had killed Larissa. This man had killed Wes. This man–
He might have–
The blood–
If he touched JJ–
If he hurt JJ–
“You bastard,” he said, surging forward and grabbing Groff by the collar.
Groff gasped, taken aback while he struggled to keep his footing.
Luke shook him, seething in his face. “What did you do to him? Where is he?”
Groff didn’t fight him, the bloody fingers raised up in mock surrender. “He’s a few blocks back,” he said. “He was alive, when I left him–”
Luke seized him, shaking him harder as he hissed in fury. “You son of a bitch–”
Groff sputtered. “He might still be alive,” he said. “But you have to hurry.”
Luke blinked, heart thudding against his ribcage with a clarity he could hardly understand.
There was time. There was still a chance.
If he let Groff go.
The bastard laughed at him, like it might be a joke. Like he knew he had it, everything he wanted. Like he knew he’d won.
And shit, he might have.
But he could have the crown.
He could even have his freedom.
Luke would concede all that, every last bit. For JJ.
Only for JJ.
“Take your treasure, Groff,” he said finally, letting him go. “And I’ll go get mine.”
Groff blinked, face blank for a second, as Luke stepped back, gave him one last look, and turned to run down the street, as fast as he could to find JJ.
-o-
It didn’t happen fast.
If anything, it was painfully, excruciatingly slow. It was like time itself had come to a stop, holding them suspended, locked in a moment. All she could do was stand there and watch while Groff plunged the knife into JJ’s stomach. She felt it, a cold rush all over her, as he twisted it.
JJ keened, his body twisted as he gasped, and she felt like she couldn’t breathe.
She couldn’t think.
Groff held it there, pulled JJ close and held his shoulder. A horrible, long, protracted moment.
A lifetime in a split second.
An eternity in the blink of an eye.
When he pulled the knife free, time came back, and Kiara barely had the wherewithal to step forward, catching JJ as his body started to loll. His head tipped back as his breathing staggered, and she saw the blood on his hands before his knees gave out.
He crashed down as she caught him, easing him as best she could, but it didn’t matter. He writhed, his entire body protested against the pain, and her fingers trembled over it, the growing patch of crimson, spreading so fast, too fast.
“Hold on,” she said, rallying what she could of her self-control. “Hold on.”
But the moment had passed.
It had slipped away.
And JJ?
Had already let go.
She could see it, the way the light had already dimmed. The way he’d already surrendered. He’d given up.
He’d spent all he had. He’d given everything he was.
He had no fight left.
Kiara inhaled sharply, blinking hard. So, she would have to fight for him.
She had to.
“Hey, hey, hey,” she said, and she grabbed him, shaking him a little. “Look at me.”
His head rolled a little as his eyelids fluttered. She could feel the hitch in his chest as blood pressed through her fingers.
“It’s okay,” she said. “It’s going to be okay. Let me see it.”
He grunted as he shifted, hands faltering where they were grappling with the growing blood stain on his shirt. She swallowed hard as she pulled his hands away, catching sight of the wound underneath.
It was in the same spot as before, and she could still see the inflamed skin from the first wound.
But now the cut was long and jagged.
And deep.
For the first time, her resolve didn’t just falter.
It nearly shattered.
This went deeper than she’d realized. Deeper than she’d been prepared to deal with.
Too deep–
Not too deep. She locked her jaw and pressed her fingers down. He jolted at the contact, his whole body trembling as he cried out. The pain was clearly reaching a crescendo for him – too much. For JJ, it had always been too much. And the universe kept demanding more, like a penance he could never pay.
“Don’t move,” she said, willing him to hold on. For her. For their friends. For the future they were going to build together. “Don’t move, don’t move.”
She begged it now, voice breaking despite her best efforts. All of JJ’s near-misses. All the times he’d been reckless. And now he was gutted for playing it safe? Why would the universe penalize him for finally learning his lesson and doing the right thing?
“It’s okay,” she told him, even as her panic threatened to choke her. “It’s going to be okay.”
She was shaking, too, now, as JJ trembled, and she forced herself to breathe as she reached her other hand up and placed it on his shoulder. She looked up, trying to keep her tears in check, because she couldn’t afford to be scared.
Not when he was so close to slipping.
Not when he was slipping.
His blue eyes were hooded as he looked up, looking at her through the mess of his bangs. His face was pinched, and she could see him giving up even before he spoke.
“JJ, please,” she said. “It has to be.”
Because he didn’t know, did he? He didn’t know she couldn’t live without him? He had no idea that all she’d ever wanted was him – no money, no riches. Even Poguelandia came second. He hadn’t known he was her treasure and had been from the start. Just him.
“Hey,” he stuttered, gasping for air as the blood pulsed against her hand. “Hey.”
She met his gaze and wished she hadn’t. Something had settled in his expression. Something had solidified.
He smiled.
“I never told you my wish,” he said.
Her heart thundered in her chest at the impossibility of it all. She kept her hand pressed on the wound, but he was slipping away from her more every second. She was losing him because Groff didn’t know how to love a son.
She was losing him because JJ didn’t know how to love himself.
“No,” she said, her own control starting to slip. “JJ, it’s okay.”
He seemed to find it, some last reserve as he settled back. He blinked at her, still smiling. “I already got it.”
It was his closure. It was his ending.
All the times he’d fought to survive.
This time, JJ was giving up.
This one. Last. Time.
“No,” she sobbed, unable to keep it in check now as her head fell and the emotions overwhelmed her.
But he was steady. He was sure. “I already got my wish,” he said, voice thin on the Morocco air, but as certain as anything. “Everything I wanted.”
She looked up, tears on her cheeks and throat constricting closed. “No,” she said, willing him to fight. “Please. Stay with me.”
The pain took him again, stealing his breath as his head dipped back. His face contorted. “Okay, okay–”
“Stay with me,” she said, because he’d never denied her, not once since they started dating. He’d given her everything he had with nothing held back.
Except, the horrible truth came to her, this time he had nothing left to give.
He’d lost it in the Enduro. He’d left it at the bottom of the ocean. Luke Maybank had swooped in to take it, and Chandler Groff had cut it out of him.
JJ had been giving all he had for his whole life, getting nothing in return.
And he was spent.
He was done.
“Stay with me,” she couldn’t stop herself from asking. For more, for one last time. “Stay with me, please.”
Because what was life without him? What did it mean if he wasn’t there? How did she hold on when he let go? If his story was over – then she didn’t want to know where hers went.
He rallied, for a moment, bringing his gaze back to her.
For a second, she thought he could do it. She thought he could pull himself together. For her.
But his words broke her entirely in two.
“Take care of the others,” he said, like it was that simple.
Denial swelled up, too hard and too deep. “No. No. That’s not what this is.”
Something went dull in his gaze, and she felt the tension as it started to leave his body. He kept his eyes open, but only just, as he said, “I love you, Kie.”
He’d said it before, of course.
But he’d never said it first.
He’d never told it to her without hearing it first.
Because he was scared of the future that built for them.
And now he said it because he knew there was none.
She wanted to scream. She wanted to rage. She wanted to shake and tell him no, he couldn’t do this. He couldn’t just quit. The wound wasn’t that deep. There wasn’t that much blood. They could fix this. They could.
But he’d given so much. He’d lost too much.
And Kiara realized as her heart deafened her, she couldn’t ask for more.
She loved him too much.
“I love you, too,” she said, because it was the thing he wanted to hear. The thing he deserved to hear, the thing she wished he’d believed all along. “I love you.”
His eyes fluttered, and his breath exhaled. His head lolled.
And, after a lifetime of holding on, JJ Maybank let go.
Kiara was still holding onto him, still holding tight.
It was unfair; it was so damn unfair. To give this boy everything he wanted – just to take it. To give him a family – just to have him lose it. He’d been abandoned and abused his whole life – and now his own father had tried to murder him.
It wasn’t fair.
She shook him, she held onto him – because she wasn’t about to let go.
And she did the only thing left to do – and screamed for help.
-o-
Luke ran like his life depended on it. If he were honest, that was what it felt like. No one was gunning for him, but it still felt like his ass was on the line.
Not his ass, though. That shit would be easy.
No, this time, it’s his heart.
Feet pounding on the pavement, breath coming hard and fast, he wondered if that was what they called irony. He’d spent 18 years abusing JJ, making him feel like worse than nothing.
And now what? He was going to be the hero? He was going to swoop in and save the day? Like he was some kind of damn savior?
He was the bad guy, was the thing. He knew it. Hell, he’d resigned himself to it years ago. He was the villain in this story, and he’d drunk himself dumb, plied himself with drugs until he was stupid, just so he could convince himself that the best thing he could have done was give him back.
Here he was now. Running.
Like JJ’s life depended on it.
It wasn’t even just irony. It was a question of right. When he’d made the choice to cut ties with JJ, he’d meant to stick to it. He’d told himself it was the only kind thing to do after all he’d done to that boy.
But he’d seen that look on the kid’s up on the lighthouse. He’d seen the dull look in his eyes as he exited the courthouse. That wasn’t the look of Larissa Genrette. Ain’t no way that kid got it from Chandler Groff. That was Luke’s son, that was Luke’s boy. That was JJ Maybank.
His heart was thumping loud – too loud – and it was hard to catch his breath as the need for air intensified. The sand was burning against his exposed skin, but this was adrenaline now. Nothing but that.
Adrenaline and–
And what?
He couldn’t call it love, could he? He didn’t have that right. After what he’d done to that kid? He was lucky he hadn’t buried JJ years before – so who the hell did he think he was.
A father?
He didn’t have a legal say over that kid, never did. No papers, nothing.
He didn’t even have a moral right to him, all he’d done.
Was that why it mattered so much then? Was this atonement?
Or was this just Luke finally remembering why he started this.
Larissa Genrette had been a sweet woman and a loving mother. And Jackson had just been so easy to love. All he’d wanted to do was the right thing. He had wanted to do the right thing.
But the jobs he’d lost.
The rent he couldn’t pay.
The alcohol he drank.
The pills he took.
The things he’d used to forget what the right thing was. That he’d used to forget who he was. Shit, he’d hated it. The way JJ reminded him of who he was supposed to be. Who he wanted to be. If he could beat the shit out of the kid, maybe they’d both forget.
But JJ never did stop loving him, did he?
Luke told him he was worthless, and the damn kid just kept believing him.
And no amount of drugs or alcohol could help him run from that.
It was adrenaline and absolution.
Where was he going? Did he even know? He hadn’t thought this through. God help him, since the start, he’d never thought it through at all.
It was adrenaline and inevitability.
There was a scream – something feminine. Something broken. Something desperate. There was nothing to say what it was – but he knew. Luke was sober – far too sober – and some things he knew. He’d come chasing heartache. Somehow, he knew he was about to find it.
It was adrenaline and regret.
He ran, turning hard along the path he only just remembered. Things didn’t have to be perfect. This shit didn’t have to be pure. Sometimes it was muddy, sometimes it was difficult. Sometimes you got it wrong, and it didn’t make no sense.
Legs pumping, feet pounding.
It was adrenaline and love.
-o-
JJ thought some things were meant to happen. Some things were just inevitable, like fate. Some things you couldn’t fight.
As if danger drew him in.
As if tragedy was just waiting for him.
As if failure was a foregone conclusion he’d just been putting off all these years.
Disaster called him, one last time.
He wouldn’t deny it anymore.
The deck had been stacked from the start, and he was ready to pull the last card.
One last time.
-o-
JJ bled. Kiara cried.
And the others came.
Too fast, too slow. Tripping and stumbling.
Pope and Cleo. Sarah and John B.
They started this together, after all.
They had to finish it that way, too.
-o-
John B wasn’t ready for it.
You’d think, after everything he’d seen and done, he’d have understood. You’d think he’d know just how high the stakes were. He wasn’t some dumbass 16-year-old, telling JJ it doesn’t matter who’s trying to kill us.
He’d seen his dad murder two men. He’d held his dad’s hand as he bled out on a river in South America. He’d watched Ward Cameron throw himself off a cliff to save his daughter. John B knew the risks; he knew what it was to lose.
So when Kiara cried his name – voice breaking and desperate – he knew it was bad.
But he hadn’t realized how bad.
Not until he came into the alley and saw. The way Kiara was crying, clutching JJ close to her. The way JJ’s body laid there, listless and pale. The blood – so much blood. There was a sound – something inhuman and keening – and it took him a long, horrible moment to realize it was Kie. She was crying.
She was grieving.
No, John B wasn’t ready at all.
Sarah was behind him, and Pope and Cleo too. They converged together at the bottom of the stairs and for a second, none of them knew what to do. They didn’t know how to intervene. Kiara was distraught, holding JJ like a lifeline, and the sense of loss was palpable.
The sense of failure–
Pope was crying now, Sarah frozen behind him. Cleo stood, mouth hanging open, and John B was on his knees, trying to remember how to breathe. He reached out, tipping JJ’s head toward him as it lolled lifelessly, and everything inside him went cold. Numb. He stopped breathing, he stopped thinking.
Denial bubbled inside him, even as his hand reached down to take JJ’s wrist. He looked for a pulse, for a sign of life, for anything.
Because he should have seen it coming, right? JJ had spiraled hard, ever since Poguelandia was on the chopping block. Making bets and taking risks. He’d burned down the town – and his whole life with him. The drinking, the suicidal ideation – all of it. John B should have seen it coming. That JJ wasn’t okay, that JJ wasn’t okay at all.
But he’d let himself think otherwise, right? JJ had rallied, JJ had pulled it together. And John B had just enough hubris left to think they could do this, they could pull this off, they could cheat fate and win their happily ever after.
It was one thing when JJ bet his life on his own terms.
It was another when they let him do it.
Time and time and time again.
JJ lost.
They all lost.
-o-
It was hard to understand, actually. Pope had just killed a man. He’d pulled the trigger – self-defense or not – and he’d put a bullet in a man’s head, blown his brains out through the back of his skull. Dead. Gone.
Which was weird, right? Pope wasn’t scared of dead people. All his life, he’d wanted to study them. He wanted to inspect them, put together the remnants of their lives from the scars they left behind. It was his way of bringing justice, he thought.
That mattered, it did.
But life mattered more, didn’t it?
You couldn’t save someone when they were laid out on a slab in the morgue. Your justice didn’t put breath in their lungs. Solving the mystery of their death didn’t bring them back to their loved ones.
He thought he was comfortable with death.
Until it was on his head.
When he stepped out into that alley – guided by the sound of Kiara’s cries – he thought he’d already seen the worst possible thing that day.
Fact: it wasn’t.
Not by a long shot.
Because JJ was lying there in that alley. Kiara was shaking him, sobbing hysterically. There was blood and JJ wasn’t moving and – Pope wasn’t scared of death. He’d seen dead people. Hell, he’d just killed a man.
He knew what death looked like.
He knew what it felt like.
And it felt like this.
He fell to the ground in front of JJ, behind Kie and John B. He realized belatedly he was crying, for a moment still transfixed. Reason and logic only got you so far.
The right choice didn’t matter when there were only wrong outcomes.
And Pope? He was a man of action now.
He’d told JJ he would save him. He’d asked JJ to let him protect him for once.
“Guys,” he said, nudging his way through. “We have to – we have to help him–”
Kiara screamed, something utterly incoherent. And John B babbled, “I can’t find a pulse, Pope. Pope, I can’t–”
Pope cursed, reaching for JJ again. Kiara flailed though, making it impossible for him. He cursed again, struggling with her – and Cleo finally stepped in, gripping Kiara by the shoulders.
“We have to help him,” Cleo said, catching Kiara as they both fell back. “We have to help him.”
With Kiara out of the way, he got a better sense of JJ’s condition.
Which was to say, he saw just how bad it was.
JJ was pale – too pale. When he ran his hand over JJ’s forehead, the skin was clammy, and his body was listless. There was no resistance as he sprawled out on the ground, and the blood covered his stomach, his pant leg–
He calculated it, in his head. The amount of blood JJ might have lost. It always looked like more than it was, he reminded himself logically. But it looked like a lot.
It looked like too much.
John B was babbling. “Pope, is he dead? Tell me, is he dead!”
And Kiara was screaming.
Pope’s heart was pounding so hard he could hardly think, and his hands were shaking as he pressed his fingers to the pulse point on JJ’s neck, just below his chin.
“Put pressure on the wound,” he ordered, and Sarah finally came up behind him, sliding in next to him as she undid the layers of JJ’s cloak. In her haste, she yanked the goggles off, catching them on the necklace, which she also pulled free in her haste. He caught a glimpse of how much blood had soaked his undershirt and then saw the wound–
Bloody and garish.
Right on top of the previous wound, which was inflamed.
The cut in the flesh was long and jagged, like the skin had been split open and ripped–
His mind reeled, thinking about how such a wound would be made. The size of the blade, the proximity of the contact. The way the knife would have been twisted–
“Is he alive?” John B said, shaking Pope.
Kiara lurched forward out of Cleo’s grasp, jostling JJ as she threw herself on top of him.
“I can’t–” Sarah started, voice catching. Her hands fluttered uselessly over the top of the wound. “Pope, there’s too much blood.”
He tried to focus – fingers burying themselves deeper into the flesh of JJ’s neck – but Kiara was grabbing at JJ, and John B was babbling, and his heart was pounding. He couldn’t think, much less feel for a pulse. It was too much – too much – and not enough–
He adjusted his position, desperate for something, anything. His body felt disconnected from his body suddenly as the chaos unfolded around him, and he looked at JJ – the lack of color in his skin, the amount of blood, the lack of resistance in his body–
His chest constricted, and for a second, everything went white.
“I can’t find it,” he muttered, and he felt something different, something stronger and uncontrollable. The vestiges of panic. It swelled in his gut, deep and frantic, and he couldn’t keep it down. He couldn’t fight it back as it spread throughout body, burning like fire and then freezing him all the way through.
JJ was colorless; JJ was still. JJ was–
“I can’t find his pulse,” he said again, voice breaking with it, because he knew what it meant. He knew what this was.
JJ had wanted to die on the boat coming here.
And JJ had.
Pope hadn’t saved him in the end.
None of them had.
JJ Maybank was dead.
-o-
The thing about John B was that he and denial? They went way, way back. Back when his father had first gone missing, everyone had tried to talk sense into him. After enough time passed, even his friends believed Big John was gone, even if they were too afraid to say it out loud.
But John B?
He had never doubted.
He had never allowed himself to believe it.
He had refused to sign the papers. He had refused to let the cops close the case. He clung to it with such desperation that he’d dragged his best friends on a treasure hunt that nearly killed them.
All for denial.
All so John B didn’t have to accept what everyone else told him was true.
With his dad, there hadn’t been a body.
With JJ—
Well, what was it with JJ? It wasn’t that John B thought they were impenetrable. It wasn’t that he didn’t fear for JJ’s safety often. It was just, JJ never believed in himself. JJ always thought it was his destiny to die, like he didn’t have a future. Like he didn’t matter.
It was just that JJ Maybank had given John B everything he had.
And the least John B could do — the very least — was deny all those doubts for him.
JJ mattered.
JJ had a future.
JJ was worthy of living.
So, damn the fates. Screw what everyone told them.
JJ wasn’t going to die here.
JJ wasn’t going to die at all.
As Pope sat back, dejected, John B felt the familiar hardness in his stomach. This was the determination that found the gold. This was the certainty that had cleared his name. This was the blind, desperate belief that had brought his father back from the dead, proving everyone around him wrong.
Denial and John B? They went way back.
And John B turned to it today.
“Come on,” he said, reaching down. He picked up one of JJ’s slack arms, pulling him up. He slumped back, head falling back as Sarah squawked, her hands still on the wound.
“Wait,” she said.
“Should we get help?” Cleo asked.
And then, from behind them, Rafe appeared. “People are coming–”
John B pulled JJ harder, wresting him into his grasp. JJ’s head lolled against his shoulder, hair falling in his face with his body limp and heavy. He adjusted his grip, trying to reposition himself to get JJ up–
“John B, stop–” Pope said, grabbing JJ’s other arm to hold him back.
John B didn’t cede control, though. JJ jostled lifelessly between them. “We need to get help–”
“Seriously, people are coming–” Rafe said, sounding pressed.
“JJ, wake up!” Kiara said, flinging herself on his legs again, utterly inconsolable.
Pope shook his head. “John B,” he said. “It’s over–”
“JJ needs help,” John B said.
Pope’s face flushed, setting hard. “He’s dead, John B. We can’t help him, JJ is dead.”
And the denial flared – into anger. He reached across JJ’s body, shoving Pope away. He jerked JJ away, even as Kiara clung.
This time, though, Pope fought back. He lunged forward, shoving John B back, and JJ slipped, falling slack between them, sprawled on the ground once more.
“Guys – stop,” Sarah said.
“Should we be getting help?” Cleo asked again, voice rising.
He grappled with Pope, who was pushing back, and he hit the ground on his backside, turning his head to look at JJ.
JJ pale. JJ lifeless. JJ bloody.
John B and denial went way back.
But was it enough?
Was any of it enough?
If JJ was–
If JJ was–
“Stop!”
He blinked, startling at the voice he didn’t recognize. On the ground, he was in no position to defend himself, and his heart constricted in his chest. He looked up, blinded by the sun – blinded by his grief – and nothing made sense.
“You have to stop now, you hear?”
Rafe looked ready to intervene, but stood frozen in the spot. Pope stared up, uncomprehendingly, and Cleo just looked confused. Kiara was still on top of JJ, and Sarah’s hands were bloody as she gaped at John B instead.
And John B couldn’t make sense of any of it. How they’d gotten here. How they’d found the crown. How his best friend had ended up bleeding out in a Moroccan alley.
And how the hell Luke Maybank was standing there in front of him.
Offering to help.
Seeing him there didn’t make sense.
Seeing him offer to help made even less sense.
Sarah moved first, pressing down on the wound again. Kiara finally sat up a little, slumping dangerously as Cleo caught her, and Pope grunted. “How the hell are you here?”
Luke wet his lips, eyes darting frantically at JJ. “It’s a long story,” he said. “I’ve been trailing Groff since the OBX.”
“Why are you trailing Groff?” Pope asked, face darkening.
“Because he’s a bastard, and I’ve known it longer than any of you,” he hissed. “Let me help–”
He reached down, as if to pick JJ up, and John B’s defenses flared.
And hard.
He was on his feet before he could think about it, charging at Luke and driving him back. He had him around the shirt collar until they both stumbled back several paces. “You don’t touch him!” he seethed, shaking him. “You don’t freakin’ touch him!”
He could have strangled him. He might have.
But Luke’s face went blank and his hands were up.
In surrender.
“I know, okay? I know how it seems to you, but I’ve been following Groff to help JJ, ever since the riots back home,” he said. “And that’s what I want to do. I want to help JJ.”
“Oh, like you helped him all his life?” John B said, refusing to relinquish his grip. “Like you helped him every time you beat him into the ground? Like you helped him when you told him he was a worthless piece of shit? Like that?”
He shook Luke again, almost spitting in his face as his emotions pitched dangerously. He was already pissed and scared and everything. He didn’t know why Luke was here – why he was really here – but he was an easy target right now.
Because all the times JJ had been bruised and bloody? Most of them had been Luke’s fault.
“I know,” Luke said, offering no defense. His hands were still up. “But I didn’t do this. I didn’t–”
“Then who?” John B said, and he was screaming now. “Who?”
From the ground, Kiara finally looked up. “It was Groff,” she said brokenly. “It was his father.”
Because Luke was his adopted father. And Groff was his biological one.
Both assholes.
Both killing JJ. Luke did it nice and slow over the years.
And Groff had just gotten to the point.
Luke’s face was set hard, jaw working while John B felt his anger falter. The grief sparked in him, and suddenly, he wasn’t sure denial was enough. Not with the blood.
He looked at JJ, who still hadn’t moved. Who hadn’t opened his eyes.
Who might not have a pulse.
Luke drew a shaky breath. “It was Groff,” he said, like the words hurt him as much as they hurt John B. “I was too late, okay? He got the crown – and he got JJ – and I was too late–”
John B’s hands fell away, and he turned, pacing back. “This doesn’t make any sense.”
“Groff has the crown?” Pope asked, clarifying it.
“And he stabbed JJ?” Cleo asked, just as confused.
“All of which means, we have to go,” Rafe said. “So if Maybank is dead–”
“I can’t change what happened,” he said. He stepped forward, just a step as he visibly swallowed. “But I can fix it now.”
“He’s dead,” Pope said.
And John B closed his eyes. He couldn’t; he wouldn’t. All the voices of reason, and the one he was going to listen to was the only one telling him what he wanted to hear.
What he needed to hear.
“I can get him help,” Luke said.
It was such an impossible thing, that optimism. That optimism from him.
That it was Groff that stabbed JJ.
That it might be Luke who saved him.
“Talk fast, old man,” Rafe said, stepping into the fray with an ominous look. “Because I’m about to decide for all of us before we all end up bleeding out.”
Luke’s gaze flicked to JJ again, and he visibly bucked himself up, looking at John B. “I know you don’t trust me – you shouldn’t trust me – but the mercenaries? They’re on their way,” he said. “And if they find you – if they find him – they will kill you all.”
Kiara shook her head, getting to her feet now. Her face was twisted in a primal rage, something he’d never seen from her before. “Let them find us. JJ–”
“They ain’t going to ask questions,” Luke said. “They’re going to put bullets in all your brains. You need to get the hell out of here.”
“We’re taking JJ with us,” Cleo said, like it was obvious.
Sarah looked up from the ground, hands coated in blood. “Guys, we have to hurry. I don’t – I don’t know–”
“Let me get him out of here!” Luke said, almost like he was begging now.
“Take us all,” John B said, unable to tolerate the dissonance anymore. “Tell us where to go.”
“I can’t,” Luke said. “Six American kids in this place? How the hell am I going to pull that off when J needs a hospital?”
“This is bullshit,” Rafe said, shaking his head. “Maybank’s already dead. We should split–”
“We’re not leaving him,” Kiara said, turning on Rafe.
Pope just barely intervened. “Guys–”
“You guys go off, draw the bad guys after you, create a trail,” Luke said. “And I’ll get JJ to medical help. I will.”
There was a noise – voices closing in from the street.
“I know it’s a shitty choice,” Luke said, looking at John B now.
“It’s not shitty,” John B retorted. “It’s impossible. How can I trust you? After what you’ve done to JJ–”
“That’s why you have to,” Luke said. “Why the hell else am I here?”
He looked at them each in turn, and looked at JJ.
He swallowed hard. “Dalia won’t leave the city unattended, and there will be an investigation – cops or military or whatever – with all the bullshit you guys just pulled. If you stay, you’re all dead – JJ, too,” he said. He looked at John B, suddenly steady. “If you leave, he has a chance. I promise you that. I’ll give him a second chance.”
It was the worst, wasn’t it? All those years, he worried that Luke would be the one to kill him and now he wanted to save him.
And his real father was the one who put a knife in his gut.
It wasn’t fair. None of this was fair.
He looked at JJ, feeling himself hesitate. The only thing that they couldn’t salvage was JJ’s death. Everything else – they could work with.
As long as JJ was alive, they could fix this. They could show JJ he mattered. They could make JJ believe he was worth it. They could make sure – beyond all doubt – that JJ knew he was loved.
They couldn’t fix shit if he was dead.
So he nodded. He looked Luke in the eye – the man who had abused JJ all his life – and nodded. “Okay,” he said.
“What?” Pope said. “John B–”
“He’s dead anyway–” Rafe said.
“We’re running out of time,” Cleo said.
But Luke looked back at John B, nodding. He dug into his pocket, pulling out a set of keys. “This is to a boat in the marina,” he said. “We came in on it, but my guess is that they won’t leave on it, not if they want a fast route after Groff.”
Cleo stepped up, taking it slowly. “I know this boat,” she said. She looked at Pope. “It’s Terrance’s.”
“Also, this,” Luke said, digging something else out of his pocket. The paper in his hand was dirty and creased. “I nabbed this from the mercs myself, intending to follow after Groff. But if I can’t–”
John B was reluctant, but time was short – and the stakes were high. He unfolded it, blinking at it blankly. Montgomery Finch; 656 Silva. “What is this?”
“The name of the buyer,” Luke explained. “I took it to go after Groff myself – but if I can’t–”
It settled in his gut, hard and suddenly certain as the blood on his hands. Justice was a powerful motivator.
Revenge was even more so. “Then we can,” he said.
Luke’s face was pinched with worry. “Just be smart – and be careful,” Luke said. “These guys are serious.”
It was funny. At the start – all those years ago – he’d told JJ he didn’t care who was trying to kill them.
It was still true.
But it wasn’t that they had nothing to lose.
It was that they had everything to lose.
“And you’ll take care of him?” he asked, looking at Luke one more time.
Luke didn’t flinch. He didn’t flicker. “With all I have left.”
In the end, denial was a funny thing. It made you stupid. It made you desperate.
It made you take the worst chances.
Sometimes they didn’t pay off.
He looked at JJ, willing himself to believe.
Sometimes they did.
“Okay,” he said, rallying the others. “Let’s go.”
“But–” Sarah started, even as Cleo dragged her up.
“No,” Kiara protested. “I’m not leaving him!”
“Kiara, we have no choice,” Pope said.
“No!” she screamed.
“Screw this,” Rafe said, gritting his teeth as the voices closed in around them. He wrapped his arms around Kiara, hefting her up off the ground as she struggled. “I’ll get her. Who’s leading?”
“Come on,” Pope said. “I can get us out of here.”
And he started off, one last look at JJ. Cleo dragged Sarah behind them, and Rafe all but hauled Kiara over his shoulder while she sobbed. John B looked one more time at JJ – one more time at his best friend – and promised himself this wasn’t goodbye.
JJ was going to be okay.
JJ was going to come back to the OBX.
JJ was going to be the godfather to his baby. He was going to marry Kiara and run the charter and live happily ever after.
He was.
Because, as John B turned and ran, leaving JJ with Luke, denial was a powerful thing indeed.
Chapter 30: CHAPTER THIRTY
Notes:
The next chapter will be a shorter, sort of epilogue, but this is mostly it. The idea is to get it to a point where we set up what's coming next, so we know where everyone stands before the next fic and the speculative take on S5. A lot went into getting to this point, so I appreciate everyone sticking with me. I hope it's been a fun ride. I'd love to know your thoughts, predictions, all of it.
I'm on Tumblr, so say hi! You can find me at fayedartmouth.tumblr.com. I'm happy to answer questions, share snippets, and just talk nonsense.
To everyone who has reviewed this so far, Thank you. It means so much and it has been so much fun to share it with you. Let's start bringing this home!
Chapter Text
-o-
CHAPTER THIRTY
-o-
Shit, Luke should have thought this through.
It was the story of his life, wasn’t it? Always acting, not thinking. It’s how he ended up with this boy in the first place – it was how he lost this boy.
And now – God help them both – it was time to find him again.
With the others gone, the weight of it was even more real. It was just him and JJ.
He looked down and felt his stomach flip uncomfortably. He’d promised to save JJ, but what if it was too late? What if JJ was so broken that Luke couldn’t save him now? All those years he’d taken it for granted – taken him for granted. Every smile, every laugh.
Every breath.
Every beat of his heart.
“Shit,” he muttered, and he reached down a shaking hand, pressing it to the pulse point below JJ’s chin. His head lolled a little, but Luke held it firm, waiting and hoping and–
There.
Oh shit.
There.
He felt it, weak and uneven, thrumming at an irregular rate. He moved his hand, splaying it over JJ’s chest, waiting and waiting–
And he felt it there, too. The beat of his heart and the movement in his lungs. JJ was alive.
He looked down the length of JJ’s body, though, and felt anything but relief.
He was alive, but possibly not for long.
The Pogues had left the wound uncovered, and Luke could see it was bad. Bloody and red – overly inflamed. Groff hadn’t just been going for the kill – the line in the skin was deep, jagged, and yawning – he’d gone to make it painful. Luke had been around criminals enough; he’d seen more than he should. He knew what it looked like when you were trying to hurt something.
When you stuck the knife in and twisted.
As if the kid deserved that. To be abandoned – to be abused – just to have his father stab him? To twist the knife just to make sure it hurt?
The bastard.
But was he better? Hell, he’d beat that boy most of his life. He’d told him he was worthless. Groff put the knife in his gut, but Luke? He’d been twisting it all along?
Could he fix this now?
Was it too late to save JJ?
Was it too late to save himself?
He could hear it now – the sound of coming voices. Dalia and her men – what were left of them – were closing in. If they found JJ, they’d kill him. He looked at JJ’s face again, getting paler by the second while the blood started to collect on the ground. It had saturated his shirt, soaking his pants. The stain growing by the minute.
JJ could be as good as dead.
But he’d promised the Pogues.
More than that, he owed JJ.
For all the years–
He just–
Needed to make a choice.
And that choice had started with JJ.
What the hell, then? It probably ended with him, too.
Of course, the irony wasn’t lost on him. How many times had he seen JJ bloody on the ground? How many times had the little boy he took in been unconscious in front of him?
Too many. And too many of those times had been his fault.
Sure, JJ was a reckless little thing. He’d never had no sense, and he talked shit he couldn’t back up. He climbed too high and jumped too far. He picked fights he could never win just to be a little shit.
And Luke’s temper had been too violent. He couldn’t remember the first time he hit that child, and the alcohol and drugs blurred the rest. JJ was eight, sobbing on the ground with a bloody nose. JJ was twelve, trying to bandage his arm from where a beer bottle had sliced him deep. At fifteen, JJ was out cold on the floor of the kitchen, slumped against the cabinets, and Luke had stood there each time thinking, what did he do? How had he let it go this far?
He used to think maybe he should have taken JJ back to Groff on his own, just given back the money and been done with it. Sometimes, he thought he should write the old man and tell him that he had a grandson and let the chips fall where they may. Sometimes – God help him – he thought he should have never taken JJ in the first place and let the baby drown with Larissa on the Albatross that day.
Drinking made those thoughts go away. The pills made him forget everything, even the blood on his hands or the way his knuckles were sore and cracked at the end of the day.
This was different, though, wasn’t it?
This had to be different.
There was no alcohol to drown him. There were no pills to blur it out.
There was just him and JJ.
Him and his boy.
All the times he’d knocked JJ down, screw it. It was time to pick him up.
He stole a glance down the alleyway. The Pogues were long gone by now, and the bustle of the street was easy to hear. He could make out the faint sounds of Dalia and what was left of her team. If they caught him here, JJ was dead for sure.
But if he ran now – well, then he was cutting ties. It was over. His ticket out of here was gone, and he was probably making an enemy that would come back to bite him in the ass. Self preservation suggested that leaving JJ behind was the right thing to do.
That was stupid, though. Luke didn’t come all this way to save his own ass. If that was what he wanted, he’d still be with Barracuda Mike running small jobs and making nice with the crime rings back on the OBX. But Luke had made his choice, he’d cast his lot. That first day he’d told Groff he’d watch JJ – that was it.
He’d forgotten for a while, sure.
But looking at the boy, the blood pooling on the ground as the color leached from his skin, he remembered it now. The way JJ had cooed at him. The first smile, that first laugh. Watching him walk. Hearing him talk. The first time the boy had called him dada and Luke had realized he was more than he thought he could be.
All his mistakes, right?
Didn’t mean this one had to be a mistake.
JJ was still the baby he took in.
And Luke? Could still be the father he wanted to be.
“Come on,” he muttered, leaning down. He scooped JJ up, his body drooping limply as he was boneless in his grasp. His head dipped back, exposing his Adam’s apple, and his hair fell away from his forehead as Luke struggled with his weight. He muttered a curse and adjusted his grip, hoisting the boy up. “Come on, JJ.”
With a grunt, he got JJ up off the ground. He pulled him against his own body, and his knees protested as he got them both up off the ground. With a bouncing motion, he drew JJ back. The hot blood seeped into his shirt as he let JJ’s head rest against his shoulder, balancing it in the crook of his neck. One hand fell away, draping down to the ground, and Luke spared him one more look.
Pale and lifeless.
But not dead yet.
No way, no how. This boy? This child? Was stronger than that. He’d seen it in him since the day he first held him. And he’d known it since the day Chandler Groff left him at his house. Chandler Groff was still walking away from this little boy.
And Luke, against all odds, was the one left picking him up.
He carried him then, that tiny little baby.
He’ll carry him now, this full-grown man.
JJ still needed Luke, and Luke had the choice to walk away or step up.
“Come on,” he said again, panting as his breathing turned heavy from the exertion. “Come on, JJ.”
He moved as quickly as he dared, JJ’s weight heavy in his arms. His back ached and he heard the voices closer still. Frantic, he looked around and picked the first accessible doorway he found. He was lucky that it was open, and he turned his body, sliding inside with JJ still in his arms.
Inside, the room was clearly abandoned. It was small and skinny, and he could see straight through to the street. The door shut behind him, just as the voice rose on the other side.
“Where is he? I want that boy–”
“And Groff–”
“I want them both. I want them all,” Dalia seethed, so close that Luke didn’t trust himself to move. JJ was still in his arms. “I don’t know who is playing who – and who is doing what – but we need to intercept them before they get to Finch in Lisbon, yeah?”
There was a murmuring of agreement. The sound shuffled closer to the door, and he clutched JJ tight for a second. He could feel JJ’s breath - thin and hot – against his neck and he looked down. He still looked like the child he raised – the one he took in. Young and innocent and–
“We move,” Dalia said. “Come on!”
The footfalls moved away, and the voices dimmed again. Luke stood still for a few seconds longer, until he was sure they were gone. The shadows fell into stillness across the room, and soon all there was was the sound of his own heart, thrumming in his ears.
He looked down at JJ again, face lax and body loose. He was still bleeding – a lot. He was running out of time – JJ was running out of time.
He moved back to the door, opening it up. He poked his head out, and when it was clear, he took JJ back out and glanced up and down before stepping toward the street.
“Come on,” he muttered again, teeth gritted as he started to move faster. “Come on, son.”
-o-
JJ remembered.
His father’s touch.
The hand on his shoulder, firm and bracing.
(The fist against his jaw, hard enough to make him see stars)
Then the knife in his gut, plunged deep.
(The boot to his ribs, slamming once and twice and three times.)
And twisted.
(You’re nothing but a worthless piece of shit.)
JJ was a slow learner, that much was true. But he’d figured it out, right? That he wasn’t built like other people? Other people who got to be happy. Other people who had a future. Other people who could love and be loved.
It wasn’t meant to be for him, no way, no how.
So he didn’t mind, in the end. He didn’t mind how much it hurt. He didn’t mind the blood as it slipped out of his body. He didn’t mind the way his heart stuttered and breathing faded. He didn’t mind the way it all went slow, it all went dim, right before it shut down altogether.
He didn’t mind dying.
If anything, it felt like about damn time.
He hated to think of how it would hurt Kiara. He didn’t want to hurt the others.
But he’d hurt them too much already.
It was time to say goodbye.
It was time for JJ to finally end what should have never started.
He thought he could remember it, actually. The way his mother’s arms felt when she let him go. The way his real father hadn’t picked him up at all.
Darkness was all he had. Darkness was the only thing left to hold him.
Except–
He was being carried.
He could feel it, the arms holding him up. He was pressed tight against someone, head tipped into the crook of their neck. The grip was strong and steady and–
Familiar.
He gasped, consciousness returning with a suddenness he didn’t expect. He blinked, pain washing over him as he struggled for air. Everything felt weird – like he was strangely disconnected – and the heartbeat he heard wasn’t his own.
It was effort to move his eyes; more effort to get his eyes to focus, especially as the movement carried him forward. They were running; they were moving. JJ’s body couldn’t move – he couldn’t even lift his head – but these arms.
These arms.
He blinked a few more times, trying to fill his lungs with air. The pain was numbing him again, quicker than before. But he could see the figure that held him. The man.
Just as he looked down and made eye contact.
“I got you, J,” Luke said. “I’m going to take care of you, boy.”
He couldn’t form words; he could barely form thoughts.
But as everything dissipated again, he thought oh.
His dad was here.
And for a second – just for a second – JJ remembered sprained ankles and skinned knees. Steady, calloused hands brushing his tears away, fingers folded together as they said grace at the dinner table. The touch that carried him to bed when he stayed up too late, tucking him in with a brush on the forehead.
Before the alcohol. Before the pills. Before the pain.
JJ remembered what it was. What it might have been.
Then JJ remembered: it had never been his at all.
Right as the darkness took him again.
-o-
Panic was a luxury, when you got right down to it. When you lived paycheck to paycheck – when you couldn’t always keep food in the fridge – you just didn’t get that luxury. Panic was a different thing. Where most people felt it, all Luke used to feel was resignation.
Most of his life – when it all fell apart – it felt like staring down the barrel of a gun, thinking what the hell, as the universe twitched a finger on the trigger.
Whatever. You couldn’t stop it. There wasn’t nothing you could do about it.
So drink the next beer. Buy the next bottle of pills. Whatever
You didn’t panic.
But Luke Maybank was panicking now.
Because yeah – saving JJ had seemed like the right choice at the time. But he actually had to do it now – he was literally holding this kid’s life in his hands – and that was a mistake. It had been a mistake when Larissa trusted him. It had been a mistake when Groff chose him. It had been a mistake for him, most of all, to ever think he could do this right.
He couldn’t, for the record. He was too stupid, too poor. He had no safety net, and he made bets he couldn’t back up. He liked his beer – and he needed his pills – and all he’d ever done was hurt JJ.
Why would now be any different?
JJ was three the first time he spanked him. He was six the day he beat his ass raw after stealing from the neighbors. He was eight the first time he slapped him, and he closed his fist at the boy when he was 10. By 12, he’d knocked the boy out more than once, and he stopped keeping track when the boy turned 13.
If he couldn’t save JJ from his own demons, then what the hell was he thinking? Why was he here playing hero? Him?
Luke was the villain of this story – he was.
Or he should have been.
But he was the only one here to do this. This was it, his last chance. JJ’s last chance.
A second chance – for both of them.
So panic? Wasn’t going to get them anywhere.
The need for caution was real – Groff was probably long gone, but the mercenaries wouldn’t be. Showing his face would be a risk, especially with JJ. Sooner or later, they would know he picked a side – and they would know it wasn’t them.
But Luke wasn’t their priority right now. And Luke was used to taking risks. This one, he figured, he’d take for the right reasons.
He moved, darting from the back alleys to the main street. It was starting to fill up again after the storm. Normal commerce couldn’t start up just yet, but they were picking up – cleaning. There were people – enough for them to notice Luke–
Carrying a bloody kid through the streets.
Screaming for help.
“I need a hospital!” he said, the risks be damned. JJ was colorless – and he’d long since stopped moving. Honestly, with the movement, he couldn’t tell if JJ was still breathing. “I need a hospital now!”
Some people darted out of his way, shirking back into the shadows. A few ducked back inside their homes while others just gawked.
JJ’s arms swung limply, and Luke had to adjust his grip, hoisting JJ higher to keep his head cradled against his neck. “My son!” he yelled, because panic did that shit to you. It just did. “Someone please help my son!”
-o-
It didn’t mean anything.
All of it, everything. It was like the world had been sucked dry, stripped of its meaning. The colors drained from the sky; the air went vapid around her. The noise became dull, and the seconds moved in sluggish time.
It didn’t mean anything.
They ran through the streets, back the way they came. She could see the others – frantic and panicked – but she didn’t understand it. Rafe hauled her around several corners before he put her down, taking her by the shoulders and shaking her.
“Are you good? Are you good?” he demanded.
The question didn’t make sense. She blinked at him, unable to speak.
“Shit, Kiara,” Rafe said, shaking her again. “Are you good!”
He was practically screaming it now, spittle in her face, but that didn’t mean anything either. He could scream. He could shake her senseless, and what of it? What did it matter?
How could she be good?
When JJ wasn’t here.
It came back to her, sharp and sudden. The burst of reality like a record scratch, and the colors and the sounds came back to her with a gulp of air. She was still breathing; she was still alive. And JJ was–
“We have to go back,” she said. She blinked a few times, taking a ragged breath. She reached up, taking Rafe by the arms as he gripped her. “JJ – we have to go back–”
Rafe’s face contorted. “Shit,” he said. “Kiara, we can’t go back. You heard Maybank.”
She remembered it, dimly. She remembered Luke, swooping in like some savior. He promised to protect JJ, but that didn’t mean anything either. Luke had beat the shit out of JJ for years, before Groff came in to finish the job.
It didn’t mean anything.
“No,” she said, trying to pull away now. “We have to go back–”
She turned to leave, stumbling on numb legs back. Rafe hissed again, yanking her hard back toward him. “Kiara, if we go back, we’re going to get arrested – or worse,” he said. “Luke will take care of JJ.”
His fingers were tight around her arm, hard enough to hurt. She tried to twist free, but he didn’t let her. “I need to get to JJ–”
He swore again, deeply virulent as he glanced up the alley where the others were retreating. She could see it, the split second calculation he made, before he looked at her. Hard. “You saw him back there. You saw the blood. Heyward couldn’t find a pulse,” he said.
Her stomach went cold and her entire body trembled. She shook her head, willing him not to say it.
But this was Rafe Cameron. Of course he said it, eyes locked on hers.
“JJ’s dead,” he said, and it wasn’t mean. It wasn’t cruel. If anything, his eyes softened slightly as his grip lessened just a little. He understood grief; he understood loss. He understood this. “JJ’s dead, Kiara.”
The words felt real. The denial bubbled up, but she couldn’t hold it. It slipped through her with a finality that she didn’t so much understand as she felt.
She’d been there, right?
She’d held him when he went limp.
She’d watched the light fade from his eyes.
She’d heard his last words.
She’d been the one to hold him as he let go.
One last time.
All his years of fighting; all his years of surviving. The survival instincts of a cockroach, she’d said, but all the broken bits he could never keep together. All the mistakes he could never make right. All the bad habits he couldn’t break. All the hurt that never healed.
She’d seen him finally give in, surrender, let go.
He told her he got his wish. Like 18 months of happiness and acceptance and belonging were as much as he could ever hope for. Like that was it, the pinnacle of a life well lived.
And not the tragically short reality of a life that was never fair.
She’d fought so hard to get him to see a future for himself, but he was right. There wasn’t a future for him. There was just more pain and tragedy.
18 months. 20 years.
It didn’t mean anything.
JJ was dead.
JJ was dead.
Rafe swore again, shaking his head. “Come on,” he muttered, hauling her up again, forcibly taking her off her feet. “I’m sorry for this, but I think JJ would understand–”
He carried her, and she stopped fighting. She stopped resisting.
Because she couldn’t leave JJ.
When JJ had already left her, once and for all.
-o-
Luke knew they were a sight – him screaming and JJ bleeding – but it seemed to work, even despite the language barrier. He didn’t know the man who finally took them to a hospital, but he got them there in good time, careening around the corners and pulling through the old part of town and into the new development. When they pulled up outside the facility, the man screamed at him – something in French or Arabic, he didn’t know – and Luke thanked him as best he could before stumbling out of the car with JJ.
By now, he was starting to doubt it, too. He knew JJ’s friends thought he was probably dead – and given the amount of blood and the complete lack of movement from JJ – Luke wasn’t sure if it wasn’t true. How much time had passed? What if he was too late?
What if JJ had bled out without him noticing? What if he’d stopped breathing? What if his heart had stopped? What if Luke had missed it?
But he had, was the thing. He’d missed all of it. He’d been the one to raise JJ, and he still missed it. He missed how amazing his own kid was, and he’d taken it for granted. He’d missed all the parts where the little baby he took in became a man – a good man, a better man than him. All he’d ever done was beat the shit out of him, and he’d missed it.
The Carrera girl had called him on it, that day he left the OBX. She’d sat there and asked if he knew how special his son was.
He’d been too strung out, too desperate. Too stupid.
That was it, right?
Luke was the stupidest asshole there ever was.
He’d taken in the best kid in the world.
And he’d missed all of it.
He couldn’t go back. He couldn’t fix that.
But God help him – he had to fix this.
So he didn’t think about it. He chose to believe, just like he had way back when. He’d been an idiot kid back then. He hadn’t known shit about babies. But he’d told himself he could figure it out. He’d figured he could love this kid enough to make it work.
He could do it again.
He would.
He hoisted JJ up again, not taking the time to make sure he was comfortable. JJ’s body sagged, head falling back as the hair fell away from his face and his Adam’s apple was exposed. He ran now – moved as fast as he dared – pushing past people. A few people yelped as he made it inside.
The good news was that he didn’t need to speak the language for people to know what he wanted. The blood made sure nothing got lost in translation.
Someone appeared with a gurney, and a team of people were taking JJ, guiding him away from Luke. He was stretched out on the gurney – a rapid fire dialogue starting – and someone turned and asked Luke something.
“I don’t know,” Luke said. “He was stabbed. He was stabbed!”
The person frowned, and Luke ignored her, looking instead at JJ as they started to move him away. They were going to leave without him – but no way. He had sent all of JJ’s friends away – that was his effort to protect them for JJ.
He couldn’t leave JJ alone.
He’d already abandoned him once.
He wouldn’t do it again. Not when every other person already had.
“Hey,” he said, jogging to keep up. “That’s my son–”
No one seemed to listen, and the pace didn’t slow. JJ’s head rocked on the gurney as they made a turn, and someone braced him as they pushed through the doors to an exam room.
Someone tried to stop him – to hold him back – but Luke shook his head, pushing back. “That’s my son,” he said, louder now. “My son! My son!”
The person yielded – but only just – and only as the activity inside the room picked up. With the gurney in place, the wheels were locked and the sides were dropped. And the doctors seemed to be getting to work.
And only then did it occur to Luke: this wasn’t the end.
No, this was the start.
If JJ survived this, this was just the start.
What he’d been through – the stabbing – was one thing.
The fact that it was Groff? His own damn father?
This was going to be a long, long recovery.
Assuming JJ survived at all.
The doctors moved, quick and decisive, cutting away JJ’s clothes. They worked diligently until JJ’s upper body was exposed, the blood slicked planes of his abdomen laid bare under the lights of the exam table. Electrodes were attached to his chest, pressed down hard in the paling flesh. The wound looked worse like this, so exposed. It was gaping, cutting JJ open, cutting deep. The blood was everywhere, so much that Luke wondered how JJ had any left in his body at all.
Groff meant to kill him.
And Luke couldn’t pretend, standing there like that, seeing JJ like this – the bastard might have succeeded.
Because JJ’s skin was going gray, and his lips were almost translucent as a doctor leaned his head back and threaded a tube down his throat before attaching a bag to it, pumping air into his lungs. There was a pair of IVs – one with a clear liquid, the other red with blood – and another doctor probed the wound with a wince.
On the table, JJ didn’t move. He didn’t flinch.
For a second, he feared the worst – that maybe he was too late – but then he heard the sound of the heart monitor. His eyes flicked to the screen, and he could see the rapid cadence of JJ’s heart just as an alarm triggered.
The medical team responded – clearly alarmed. They barked orders out, going back and forth in another language, but Luke doubted he’d know what was happening even in English. Hospitals weren’t his game. He was used to making problems, not fixing them.
But it didn’t take much to figure out that it was bad.
It was really, really bad.
Another alarm triggered, and the action seemed to fall into place – like they were moving in tandem, dancing to a song Luke didn’t know.
One Luke didn’t want to know.
One of the nurses injected something into JJ’s IV, and a doctor barked out an order. Another mounted the gurney, arms straight as he lined himself up over JJ’s chest and started to press down. Hard, fast – repetitive motions.
CPR.
Shit, they were doing CPR.
His eyes flicked to the bank of monitors – but he couldn’t make any sense of them. The nurse was still squeezing the bag, pushing air into JJ’s lungs, and there was a litany of conversation, even more pressing than before.
And then, paddles. The man doing compressions stepped away, and the woman with the bag put it down. They were pressed down to JJ’s chest with an electrical whine and–
The jolt shook JJ.
Luke felt like it shook him, too. His whole body went cold, head going light. He remembered the time JJ fell out of a tree when he was five, just went limp and still. He could still remember, running to him, patting his cheek, shaking him to wake up, wake up, wake up.
JJ’s body fell back into stillness, and the team watched the monitors for a second before the woman picked up the bag again, pressing air in hard, even intervals. The man doing the compressions seemed even more vigorous than before, a violent, horrible motion that made JJ’s entire body jerk with every movement. He was still bleeding; his face was colorless.
He could remember other times, too. The time when JJ was 14 and he hit him just right. The boy had folded, head bouncing off one of the kitchen cabinets on his way down. He’d been still and limp for nearly six hours before he’d stirred, and Luke had sobered up at his bedside, praying to God for one more chance, just one more chance.
JJ had been fine. Pissing him off within a week.
Luke was drinking again by then.
Within two, he’d been to Barry’s for another round of pills.
The stuff that made him forget what it looked like.
The stuff that made this seem like nothing but a bad trip.
They yelled a few orders, and stopped again. The paddles were back in place and–
Luke closed his eyes and flinched as he heard the pulse. He heard the sound of JJ’s body thudding against the exam table. He could still remember the way the little thing had cried and cried and cried, screamed so loud that he couldn’t breathe. The cry caught in his chest, his little fists balled hard, until Luke picked him up and laid him against his chest, rubbing his back until the cry let loose, exhaling against him, little heart pounding rapidly against his own.
He could still hear himself cooing, ”You’re okay, you’re okay. You’re going to be okay.” Until the little body hiccuped and exhaled, shaky sobs tapering off and–
There was a loud pronouncement – and Luke didn’t know the words. He saw the man doing compressions pull back, sliding off the gurney. He feared the worst suddenly – but the woman was still pressing the bag. They were adjusting the IVs and covering up the wound. And on the heart monitor, this time Luke could recognize the heartbeat.
“Sir?” someone said, coming up to him. “Sir?”
“Is he okay?” Luke asked, watching as they pulled a sheet halfway up and raising the rails of JJ’s gurney. He tried to push by the man to get a better look, but the man braced him instead. “What the hell – is he okay?”
“He is alive – alive,” the man said, his English broken but clear.
Luke blinked dumbly as they unlocked the wheels.
“Surgery,” the man said, shaking Luke by the shoulders until he looked at him. “We take him to surgery.”
With that, the team was moving, taking JJ with them as they wheeled him to the hall. Luke went to move, but the man tightened his grip.
“Surgery,” he said again, as if that explained enough. Luke ground his teeth together, shaking his head.
“I have to be with him–”
“You wait,” the man said. “I show you waiting room. You wait.”
It was a horrible thing. To wait.
To wait for a paycheck that was never big enough. To wait for a high that was more fleeting by the second. To wait for a day when he had his shit together.
“Shit,” he said. He looked at the man, feeling the loss heavily all of a sudden as JJ disappeared down the hall. “Is he going to be okay?”
When the man seemed confused, Luke repeated himself.
“Is he okay?” he said again, louder and slower. “Is he okay!”
The man nodded rapidly, finally understanding. “Serious. It is serious,” he said. “He lost – blood. His heart – stopped.”
As if Luke needed the reminder.
“But alive,” the man said, and he smiled now. “You wait.”
All these years, all this time. Luke had had all the chances in the world to do it right.
Now he had to wait.
For one. Last. Chance.
-o-
The retreat was fast and furious. Feet slamming on the cobblestone, it took Pope several blocks to realize it was also blind.
They needed to think.
Why weren’t they thinking?
This new Pope – action Pope – he didn’t think. He had thought it was to save his friends, but–
The thought drew him up short.
They weren’t just running from the mercenaries, who probably thought they had the crown and probably weren’t thrilled with the damage done to their team.
They were running from JJ.
JJ’s body.
It caught him, the suddenness of the realization. He stopped entirely now, catching himself on the wall of the alley they were navigating. For a second, everything spun as the world tilted. He blinked hard as his stomach churned. His hand, where it braced the wall, was red with blood.
JJ’s blood.
JJ was–
Cleo drew up next to him, a hand on his shoulder. “You okay?”
From behind him, John B and Sarah stopped, too – bringing Kiara with them – and Rafe finally stopped several paces ahead of them, turning back in obvious annoyance.
“We have to move,” Rafe hissed, stepping back toward them, face taut with a hard rage.
Pope blinked again, trying to make sense of it. He was right. They were supposed to run. The mercenaries would be after them. JJ–
For a second, everything went white. In his head, he could see it. The limpness of JJ’s body. The way his head lolled in John B’s hands. His pale skin, his cold hands. The way Kiara had cried. He hadn’t found a pulse.
JJ was dead.
“Hey,” Cleo said, nudging him now. “We probably shouldn’t stay.”
She said it soft, but there was urgency to it. He looked at her, brown eyes on him. Behind her, the others looked worried. They looked shell shocked.
Shit, none of them were thinking.
They were running blind, in a foreign city with no money or passports. They were being chased by mercenaries, and JJ was dead.
That was it. That was what Pope needed to process. That was the fact that mattered, the fact that defined everything they were doing, everything they were about to do. They’d come to Morocco to catch Groff, clear JJ’s name, and maybe find a treasure that could save them.
What they’d done, as it’d turned out, was find the treasure, lose the treasure, let Groff get away, and let JJ get murdered.
All while leaving behind his body with his abusive adoptive father.
It was bad.
But it could be worse.
He hated himself — he really did — but the reality hardened in the pit of his stomach. JJ hadn’t wanted to let Pope protect him, and for all the good it did them. But JJ was P4L. He would want Pope to protect the others.
“We have to think,” he said, and he straightened now, head clearing just enough to get his wits back. His next breath was steadier as he looked at Cleo. “We can’t run blind.”
Rafe had stepped even closer to them, grimacing. “But we do need to run.”
“I know,” Pope said, but he refused to yield his ground. For JJ’s sake – for JJ’s sacrifice. “But the last thing we need is an international trail.”
“What trail?” John B asked. “We just need to get out of here – and fast.”
“But we made a mess here,” Pope said, unable to keep his voice even. “I mean, even if we don’t get wanted for trespassing or robbery or defacing ancient relics – we literally were responsible for shootouts, damage to buildings. Who knows what else the mercenaries or Groff did – and all of that could roll back on us, if we’re not careful.”
Sarah pursed her lips, but seemed to be listening. “Maybe we shouldn’t have left JJ,” she said softly.
Kiara flinched. She closed her eyes.
John B, though, shook his head. “Luke is going to take care of him,” he said. When no one agreed, he scoffed. “You heard him.”
Pope had also felt the lack of a pulse. He’d seen the blood. He knew what death looked like, just as much as he knew what denial looked like. In his two best friends, no less. Honestly, Pope wasn’t sure which one was worse.
“We’ll have to circle back for Luke – and JJ – later,” he said. “But we still have a few loose ends.”
Rafe was looking truly annoyed by this point. “I swear to God, if you don’t hurry up, I’m leaving all of you behind,” he said.
Cleo sneered at him. “I have the key to the boat, jackass.”
“And I’m the only one here with a cent to my name,” he snapped back.
Pope shook his head. “There's a body.”
“A body?” Sarah asked, confused.
Cleo pressed her lips together knowingly.
“I killed someone,” Pope finally blurted. “They were coming after Cleo and me – and he was after all of us – and–”
The more he said it, the less certain he felt. The words felt rushed and forced and fake, and the color burned up his cheeks.
Kiara looked blank, and John B looked more confused than Sarah. Rafe simply looked exasperated. “You do what you have to do, Heyward,” he said. Then, he tipped his head to the side, inclining it slightly. “I admit, I’m impressed – but not sure how it’s a concern of mine.”
He wasn’t sure what would be worse – Rafe’s condescension or actual approval. He wished JJ was here to deck him again.
Shit, he just wished JJ was here.
Not the blood on John B’s hands.
Not that dead look in Kiara’s eyes.
Just – no.
“You’re in with us, whether any of us like it not,” Pope said, drawing himself up and staring Rafe down – hard. “That body? Is going to be a problem for all of us.”
“But what about JJ?” Sarah asked, and the words sounded almost broken.
“JJ was stabbed by his dad,” Kiara blurted, stronger and more sudden than anyone expected. The tone of her voice – brittle and broken – sucked the air out from the Morocco atmosphere, and Pope swallowed hard. “I watched him bleed out. JJ’s gone.”
It was such a final proclamation that for a second, none of them could speak. Sarah shut her mouth, and Cleo went hard. Pope did all he could not to lose his nerve, and Rafe said nothing.
John B’s nostrils flared. “Luke will get him help–”
“Do you hear yourself?” Kiara said with a scoff. “We’re counting on Luke?”
“Then we need to go back!” John B said, his voice matching Kiara’s now. The anger swelled in him and he stepped forward with vigor. His chest heaved, and Pope realized belatedly that his eyes were wet. He stepped back, deflating a little as he looked at them all. “Then we need to go back.”
It wasn’t going to work. John B was in denial. Kiara was numb. And Rafe was still a crazy person. Pope had picked up the gun; Pope had pulled the trigger.
This was his call now.
“Look,” he said, stepping between Kiara and John B and lifting a placating hand. “We can’t go back for JJ right now either way.”
He paused, looking hard at Rafe.
“And we can’t flee yet either,” he said. “We need time to regroup and actually think. All this running around, flying off the cuff – it’s been a disaster. And I think we’ve all had enough disasters for now.”
He didn’t have to clarify that.
The blood said enough.
He forced it down, though. The thought of JJ being dead. The thought of his best friend–
He exhaled. “We’re going to have a better time getting out of port without the mercenaries around anyway, and they’re going to be making a fast exit if they want to get a lead on Groff.”
“Which is what we need to do, too,” Rafe pointed out.
But Pope shook his head. “The only information we have is a date and time – a month from now,” he said. “Whether Groff has the crown – or the mercenaries – it doesn’t matter. We just have to get to that drop point and intercept the deal.”
It was a reasonable explanation. Logical, even. Rafe had no response – and the others certainly didn’t either.
“So, we need to take the time. We need to slow down and be careful if we want to have a shot at pulling this off,” he said.
“What if they take the boat before we get to it?” Sarah finally asked.
Cleo, though, shook her head. “Luke was right. These guys? They’re in a rush now. The boat will take days. A plane will get them to Lisbon that much faster.”
“Right, they want the crown – and probably Groff,” Pope said. “We don’t even know what we want.”
“Well, I know what I want–” Rafe started.
Kiara’s jaw locked tight and she looked away.
“So we think,” Pope said, and he reached up and tapped his finger to his temple. “We plan. For JJ.”
John B stepped back again, shuffling his feet slightly as he looked at the ground. “JJ hates thinking.”
“That’s why we’re supposed to do it for him,” Pope said, keeping his voice gentle. “We have to do this right–”
“Then let’s do it,” Kiara said, eyes up again. Hard like flint. “Let’s get this going.”
Pope looked around, and this time, they all nodded – except John B, who merely ducked his head in acquiescence.
“Okay,” Pope said, feeling the decision settle over him with a certainty that he wasn’t sure was reassuring – or terrifying. He looked at Cleo. “Do you remember where we left him?”
Cleo’s smile was dark. “Plain as day,” she said. She jerked her head down the alley. “This way.”
And they were off again.
With purpose. With direction.
(Without JJ.)
-o-
Luke had been poor his whole life. He’d spent most of his existence scraping by, clinging to whatever bits and pieces he could in this life. Life was long; life was hard. Beggars didn’t have the luxury of being choosers.
So the fact that JJ was whisked off to surgery – he knew that was bad. JJ wasn’t breathing on his own; he was bloody and pale. Just looking at the kid, he hardly looked like he had an ounce of life left in him, all the fight just gone.
But he was alive.
Groff had stabbed him in the gut, left him for dead twice.
And JJ – against all odds – was still alive.
That was the story of his life, it seemed. That boy of his survived when he had no rights to it. Between him and Groff, it was a miracle, really. A damn miracle.
Part of him wanted to hope that would be enough. That the universe hadn’t taken more than it had a right to where JJ was concerned. That he’d be okay; he’d survive this, just like he survived everything else.
Not that it was fair. Survival.
How many years had JJ survived?
When he should have lived?
The Heywards – they made sure their boy lived. He was a weird kid, but he was happy. And the Carreras were stuck-up bastards, but that girl of theirs looked alive when he saw her. And even John B. Big John Routledge was hardly ever around, but that boy knew he was loved. That boy knew how to be happy. That boy lived.
He tried to remember the last time he’d seen JJ smile. Like actually smile. A real smile, the kind that crinkled his eyes and made his face light up. Not one hooded by doubt; not one dimmed by fear. Not one learned after years and years of abuse.
And when had the kid laughed?
When had Luke stopped seeing him live?
Maybe it was when they stopped surfing together. Maybe it was their last fishing trip, before the drugs were too alluring and JJ made himself scarce. Parent-teacher conferences he stopped going to. Football games on TV he was too stoned to watch. Family barbecues he was no longer welcome to attend before he cussed too loud and JJ was just too bruised.
He’d seen him broken and bruised more than he’d seen him happy.
Shit.
Standing there, was bad enough. Then someone pulled his arm.
“Where is he?” he asked. “My son?”
He thought maybe they had an update; he thought maybe they’d show him another waiting room.
He thought maybe JJ was dead.
“Billing,” the man said, the syllables heavily accented but clear. He jerked his head back. “Billing.”
Well, shit. Some things were painfully universal. No matter where you were, they wanted to stick you with the bill. There was a time he would have made an excuse and run. He knew well enough how to dodge this shit. He’d been ducking bills for years.
But where was he going to go?
Without JJ?
He came all this way for JJ.
So he had to see this one through.
He got up, forcing his lips into something like a smile. He was led through the hallways to another desk. He didn’t recognize the signs, but the woman who worked there was the first person fluent in English.
Naturally.
“We need you to fill out some paperwork for your–” she started, checking the chart with a frown.
“Son,” Luke supplied. He flushed red, but straightened himself and nodded. “My son.”
Her smile in return was plaintive. She handed him a clipboard. “We need all the information please. Insurance information. Legal information. If you have your documents–”
He cleared his throat, shifting. “I don’t have it,” he blurted.
She eyed him with renewed suspicion.
And he quickly added, “Not on me. I – this was – not where I expected to be.”
He shrugged helplessly, because at least that much was true.
None of this – not a single bit of it – was expected.
Hell, he’d been making it up since the day Groff dropped off a baby on his doorstep.
It was about time he figured it out.
“I’ll get on this,” he said, hastily taking the clipboard and waving it at her. “As thorough as possible and get it right back to you.”
Her eyes were still narrowed as she nodded. “They are in English, for your convenience,” she said stiffly. “If you have any questions–”
He nodded back, waving her off as he retreated to a row of chairs, the paperwork in hand. He hardly thought about it, scrawling shitty answers as best he could in the most illegible scrawl imaginable. He spent more time on the medical history – the only part he thought might matter for JJ – and then wrote in nonsense for the medical insurance.
Relationship to patient.
That one made him hesitate.
What was he to JJ?
What could he possibly be?
He’d made a choice all those years ago.
He made a choice now.
Father.
That was all they needed to know, he decided, as he turned the paperwork back in and went back to the waiting room.
-o-
Sarah didn’t appreciate the irony.
She also couldn’t ignore it.
That she was here, pregnant with John B’s baby. Bursting at the seams with new life.
While surrounded by death.
This entire thing, all of it – was shrouded in darkness. From the dead body on the beach back in the OBX to the woman JJ was suspected of murdering – it haunted them. Even before that, down in South America. Their greatest achievement came with the biggest losses. Her father, John B’s father – it came with a price.
Every good and perfect thing came with a price.
She kept telling herself it was worth it.
She’d believed it.
Until now.
Until she was running through the streets of Morocco, exhausted and broken and lost and–
“You okay?” John B asked, turning around just long enough to glance at her. “You good?”
She barely nodded, focusing on her breathing as she forced herself to keep moving. If Kiara could do it, so could she.
But sparing a glance at Kiara, that notion was a little more vague. Kiara was moving, sure. But it wasn’t clear that she had any idea where she was at all. She oscillated between shock and despair; if she had any idea what they were really doing, she wouldn’t be with them at all.
They’d never had to make the choice before. The others had never been forced to choose. To hold one family was letting another go. They hadn’t left anyone behind before.
Sarah had. Sarah had left everyone she thought she loved behind. She’d left her home and her family and her life. She’d left behind an entire identity to be here – for this.
She didn’t regret it; not really. Sarah knew who she was. She was a Pogue by choice, and she had no regrets about that. She had chosen her family as much as they had chosen her.
But it wasn’t easy, was it?
Before seeing those two lines in the bathroom, there had been infinite possibilities. Treasure hunts and wild clues. Scheme and misadventures. Nothing to lose.
Her belly twinged, though. She couldn’t tell if that heaviness in her gut was from what had just happened or the fact that she was pregnant. Logically, she knew she couldn’t feel the baby yet. It was too small – just fluttering in there. Growing. Living.
That was the cruel irony, wasn’t it? Here she was, growing a new life.
When surrounded by so much death.
They were going back for one dead body.
And what about JJ?
She kept an eye on John B, who thought that JJ was alive. She could see it, his pure denial. His absolute insistence. He would never accept that JJ was gone, not without a body.
And he could be alive, she reminded herself. Just because they hadn’t found a pulse didn’t mean anything. They weren’t medical professionals, and the scene had been so chaotic. She hadn’t been thinking clearly – none of them had been. By the time Luke had showed up, the idea that he might be the miracle to save JJ had seemed possible.
Now that they were moving through the streets, though, Sarah had to concede how ridiculous it seemed. That Luke was there at all. That JJ could have survived that.
Because there had been a lot of blood. All over JJ, all over the ground. All over Kie and John B, too. She’d never seen someone bleed that much, and she’d never seen JJ so still before. It was a horrible thing to think about – to even consider. That JJ could be dead. That he could have been murdered – by his father, no less.
That all of JJ’s chances had just run out, just like that.
Sarah wasn’t naive. She wasn’t daddy’s little princess anymore. She knew that life was hard, and she knew that it wasn’t fair. But to take JJ–
To lose JJ.
Her footsteps slowed, the oppressive heat still taking its toll. The heavy clothing provided good protection from the sun, but she felt like she was roasting. It made her worry about the baby. She lifted her hand, touching her belly out of reflex, and John B slowed next to her. “Are you okay?”
She blinked up at him, feeling guilty. He was still reeling from what had happened to JJ. His hand on her arm – was still covered in JJ’s blood.
“Yeah,” she said, willing her voice to be steadier than she felt. “Yeah, just – kind of a lot.”
John B nodded, solemn. “We’ll take care of the body,” he said. “Cover our tracks. And we’ll make a plan – to get back to JJ.”
He was so earnest – so damn earnest – that she didn’t dare contradict him.
But over his shoulder, she saw the others look at them. Cleo and Pope crossed in front of them, faces drawn and somber. Rafe was still helping Kiara, who looked like she barely knew where she was. Rafe, though, met her gaze. He snorted derisively.
Sarah shook it away. “Right,” she said. “So we better get moving.”
John B was still watching her, clearly worried, so she brushed past him. To keep him moving, she had to keep moving. Whether JJ was alive or dead, John B needed her now more than ever. She’d depended on him to take care of her, and she would return that favor. She had to. For the man she loved? For the father of her child?
Losing JJ was hard. Losing John B was an impossibility. It wasn’t a contest, but it was a fact. Loss put it in perspective, at least. When you lose something you took for granted, you cling to the rest of it. JJ would understand that.
It was what JJ was all about. All his stupid shit – made sense when you understood him. He made the worst mistakes for all the right reasons. He loved with reckless abandon. He had loved with every fiber of his being, every last breath in his lungs.
Taking care of John B, that was what JJ would want. Alive – or dead – she had to look out for the others. John B–
She picked up her pace, catching up to Kiara and Rafe.
And Kie.
“Hey,” she said, falling in step with her as they wound their way after Pope and Cleo. She glanced at Rafe over Kie’s head, and he just shrugged. “How are you doing?”
Kiara didn’t stop, feet still moving. She didn’t look at Sarah either. “I’m – fine,” she said, words short and clipped. She took a breath, deep and ragged. “But JJ–”
She saw Kiara slow, looking back. Rafe was ready to intervene, but Sarah beat him to it. “Hey,” she said, taking Kiara by the hand as they kept moving forward. “JJ’s getting help. He’s getting help, okay?”
Kiara sobbed for a second, exhaling with a short, hysterical sound. “With Luke. Luke’s an asshole. Groff’s an asshole,” she said. “JJ deserves better.”
It was a painfully simple statement, hurting worse only because of how true it was. Sarah had had some bad breaks in life, this was true.
JJ had had nothing but bad breaks.
One right after another.
And if he died here – if he lost everything and it cost him his life – she didn’t know. She didn’t know how to reconcile that, how to face that tragedy. She swallowed, though, keeping herself focused.
“JJ has better,” she said, almost like a promise. Whether in this life – or the next – she had to believe it. “Kie–”
She drew to a stop, pulling Kiara with her. She waited until Kiara looked at her, eyes red and cheeks stained, breathing still off. She smiled for Kiara, reaching up a hand to sweep the tears away.
“Kie, it’s going to be okay,” she said.
Her expression wavered. “But we couldn’t find a pulse–”
She shook her head, refusing to entertain the thought. For Kiara’s sake. “He’s going to get help. We have to trust that.”
Kiara took a shaky breath as John B caught up with them. Rafe was stopped too, watching between them and where Cleo and Pope were leading them.
“Here,” Sarah said, reaching into her pocket. The necklace was there, the one she’d accidentally pulled loose while trying to expose JJ’s wound. “This came off when things got crazy.”
KIara looked at it, staring blankly.
Sarah reached out, opening up Kiara’s hand and folding it inside. “You can keep a hold of it,” she said, squeezing Kiara’s hand closed with a willful smile. “And you’ll give it back to him when we get back to him.”
Kiara stared at it, taking a tremulous breath. Whether she wanted to cry – or to argue – Sarah wasn’t sure. There wasn’t time for it anyway.
That was the worst part of it all.
All they’d accomplished – and all they’d lost.
And ultimately, everything they were leaving behind.
The decision to leave JJ felt wrong like this, pressed and rushed. He’d never leave them, except–
Well, except if he did.
If he’d bled out. If his heart had stopped. If the air wasn’t moving in his lungs. If they’d left him with Luke just to bury him alone.
Sarah swallowed the thought back – hard – and when Rafe pulled on Kiara’s arm, it triggered Sarah, too. John B nudged her, expectantly, and Sarah willed herself to keep moving. From up ahead, Cleo and Pope have come to a stop, looking back and waving wildly. “Hey, we’re here!” Pope said.
“We found it!” Cleo added.
Sarah followed John B with Rafe and Kiara bringing up the rear behind them. Pope was already turning into the building with Cleo holding the door – her arm still bandaged and red. She paused when she arrived, letting her fingers brush over it. She’d noticed it before – but she hadn’t stopped to ask. “Are you okay?”
Cleo snorted. “No choice but to be,” she said. “Good enough to keep going.”
Next to her, John B frowned. “You were shot?”
Cleo pursed her lips, shrugging as nonchalantly as one could given the circumstances. “All things considered, it clearly could have been worse.”
Sarah thought she was talking about JJ, who had bled so much it still made her stomach turn.
But when she blinked and turned, she realized Cleo was talking about this.
The room was small and drab, poorly adorned and dust-ladened. And on the floor–
There was a body.
For a second, she recognized him. The face of the man stalking them back in the Outer Banks. Lightner, she remembered dimly. His name was Lightner.
No, his name had been Lightner.
He was sprawled limply on the ground, limbs splayed out around him. His head was tilted toward them, eyes slightly open and blank. The bullet hole in his head was almost neat and round, a trickle of blood.
And behind him.
The back of his skull was gone, the matter from his brain all over the ground.
“Oh, my God–” she said, and she felt her stomach turn violently. With JJ, they had been looking desperately for a pulse. There was no reason to look for one now. The man was clearly dead.
“Shit,” John B said next to her.
Behind her, Kiara came in and made a noise, and Rafe exhaled with force. “Well, damn,” he said. “You weren’t kidding about the body.”
In front of them, Pope was on his knees, fingers ghosting over the body uncertainty. Cleo moved to touch him, and the body moved slightly – more brains falling out the back.
It was too much. Sarah gagged, her entire body revolting. She went weak at the knees as the room spun, and he heard John B call out to her as she collapsed.
She didn’t quite pass out, but everything went hazy, and when her vision cleared, he was cradling her. Rafe was standing over them, blocking her view of the body.
“She’s pregnant, man,” Rafe said, sounding angry. “And this is what you have her doing?”
“What else am I supposed to do?” John B snapped.
“Leave her home where she’s safe!” Rafe shot back.
“Thanks to your stupid Kooks, none of us are safe,” John B said.
“No, thanks to Maybank–”
It was the wrong thing to say. She felt John B stiffen as he held her, but before he could get to his feet, Kiara grabbed him around the collar and pulled – hard.
“Don’t you ever say his name,” she seethed. “All he ever wanted to do was the right thing. He spent his entire life giving everything he had to us–”
Her voice wavered, breaking on the emotion. The tears nearly drowned her as she shook him, so desperate, so terrified, that even Rafe had no response.
“We owe everything to JJ,” she said, tears streaming down her face again. “JJ–”
It was too much. Her hands fell away, and Rafe stood in stunned silence. He looked at Sarah – he looked at Kiara. “Shit,” he said. “I didn’t mean that. I mean, I know what it is to make mistakes. I didn’t mean–”
“It doesn’t matter,” John B said. “We have to take care of the body – fine.”
He spared a glance over toward Pope and Cleo.
“But Sarah can’t be here,” he said.
Rafe drew up a little, looking at Kie guiltily as she tried to get herself back together.
From her spot on the ground, Sarah got her breath enough to say, “I’m fine.”
“No, John B’s right,” Rafe said, marginally in check again. He swallowed, lips pressed into a fine line. “You two get somewhere safe, and take Kie with you–”
Sarah was busy getting herself seated again. John B hovered close, supporting her the entire time. Kiara straightened at her name, looking back at Rafe – face streaked with tears and determined. “No, I’m not going anywhere.”
Slowly getting to her feet – leaning heavily on John B – Sarah said, “It might not be a bad idea–”
She meant it as a suggestion; a way out.
But when Kiara looked at her, eyes bright, she could see that wasn’t what she wanted. In place of the brokenness they were all feeling, Kiara had pulled herself together. It was almost a ruthless sort of thing, the herding of her broken bits. Forged together because they had to be.
“No, I’m going to help clean this up,” she said. “The sooner we clean this up, the sooner we can go back for JJ.”
She said it with enough determination that no one had the heart to contradict her. That the scene might be too hot. That the mercenaries could be doubled back by now. That the cops could have taken control of the city. That maybe there was nothing to go back for.
“Fine,” John B said, as if he could decide it for all of them. “You all stay, get the body ready to move.”
He paused, looking at Sarah. “I’m going to take Sarah into the next room. When we’re ready to move.”
“We’ll get you,” Rafe said. He glanced at Sarah. “Don’t worry.”
It was silly advice; worry was all they had left, wasn’t it?
She didn’t argue, though, as John B eased her out, carefully keeping her out of view of the body. The rest of the house was equally small, and they passed through a kitchen to what seemed to be a small bedroom before they stopped.
He kept his hands steady on her, supporting her gently. She let herself take the support, leaning into it gratefully. For a moment, she pressed her hand to her belly with worry. She wished she could know for sure. That no matter what was going out here, that the baby was okay. A few days ago, she had believed nothing could stop them.
Now, here, she wasn’t so sure.
Looking up, she found John B watching her.
“We are going back for JJ, aren’t we?” she said.
John B blinked, momentarily dumbfounded. Then, his brow furrowed as if it were obvious. “Yeah, of course,” he said. “But you heard what Luke said. We have to wait for shit to settle down.”
“Luke also told us to get the hell out,” she said. “I mean. Are we really going to leave?”
He looked down now, as if facing the idea for the first time. “I guess we see how hot things are,” he said. “We bury the body, cover our tracks, and then we see. The boat from Luke is our backup plan.”
“And the first plan?” she asked, biting her lower lip.
This time, he didn’t flicker; he didn’t hesitate. “The first plan is to get JJ.”
He said it. Plain and simple.
As if he didn’t know–
As if he didn’t believe–
“John B,” she said, because she had to say it. She had to know. “Is JJ dead?”
John B’s face went blank again, almost entirely this time. She could see it, the way his mind shut it down, and she realized her mistake.
John B would do anything for her — he’d give her all he had.
But he couldn’t do this.
JJ and John B were brothers in so many ways, and their response to bad things often went the same. JJ’s ideas were more reckless, but John B could be equally impulsive. And, in the face of incontrovertible truth, denial was key.
After all, it was John B who had insisted against all evidence that his dad was alive. The fact that he’d been right didn’t make it any less crazy. JJ’s blood was literally on his hands, but there was only one answer John B had.
And it was the only answer he could give.
“JJ’s going to be fine,” he said, almost like he’d practiced it — even though that was impossible. It was such a base certainty, a desperate certainty. “Luke said so.”
She wet her lips, unable to stop herself. “But like you said, he’s not the most reliable source.”
John B’s brow furrowed at that one, and she watched him take a shaky breath. Regret flooded over her; she wanted to take it back.
She wanted to take all of it back, since the start. If she could change it, if she could make it right.
The whole thing was wrong, though. Looking back, she couldn’t pinpoint the moment it went off course. She couldn’t figure out the moment it slipped beyond the point of no return. But here she was, pregnant with nothing in Morocco. They were about to bury a dead body and JJ was–
The idea that he was dead was too much. The weight of the grief felt strong and sudden. She’d seen him, colorless on the ground. She’d seen how lifeless he looked. No one had found a pulse, and there was so much blood.
But it wasn’t about that.
It wasn’t about her.
In front of her, John B was on the verge of falling apart, and she couldn’t bring herself to make it worse. Losing JJ was a terrible thing, something she couldn’t fathom. It was a loss she’d never overcome, not really.
But losing John B wasn’t even an option.
He was her husband.
The love of her life.
And the father of her child.
Their child.
The one growing in her belly. The baby she hadn’t wished for but couldn’t live without. In the face of loss, it was suddenly acutely clear. She had to protect what was hers. Voraciously, if needed. Completely.
“Hey,” she said, voice softening. She reached up, cupping his face with her hands. “Of course he’s going to be fine. The fact that it’s Luke means he has to be.”
John B looked uncertain.
She smiled anyway. “He’s not good enough of a father to show up on a whim,” she reasoned, with a confidence she didn’t feel. “If he’s here, it can’t be bad. He’s already messed JJ up so much that I doubt he’d come all the way to Morocco just to do more.”
It wasn’t a logic she agreed with, but it didn’t matter. It didn’t matter if she thought Luke Maybank was trash. It didn’t matter if the idea of leaving him with JJ turned her stomach. She wasn’t stupid. She knew, psychologically speaking, Luke had broken JJ in so many terrible ways.
And Groff had shown up, apparently, just in time to finish the job.
She swallowed the thought back, not thinking of the torn flesh on JJ’s stomach. Not thinking of the blood they hadn’t been able to keep in his body. Not thinking of how their baby might not have a godfather after all.
But grief was a luxury.
One she couldn’t afford when the baby inside her needed her.
And not when the man in front of her needed her, too.
“He has to be okay,” John B said, voice wavering. His countenance trembled. “He’s always okay.”
There were things she didn’t know, things she could only assume from watching those two together. The bond they shared was deeper somehow. They knew each other's secrets. No doubt, John B had patched JJ up before. He’d cleaned up the mess JJ left behind more than any of them.
Sometimes it was JJ’s own fault.
Sometimes it wasn’t.
And even when it was, everyone knew who Luke Maybank was.
She knew who Chandler Groff was too.
JJ had never stood a chance, not without John B.
But most people missed it. That the reverse was also true.
John B didn’t stand a chance without JJ. Not even a little.
She kissed him, steadying them both. “Of course he will,” she assured him. “Of course.”
Relationships were like that, two-way streets.
“Hey,” she said, pressing her lips into a smile. “Help me sit?”
Because it was her idea, he seemed ready to agree, helping her ease down to the ground as he took a spot next to her. She leaned against him, letting her body relax enough until she felt him unfurl, too. Just a little.
She took his hand, pressing it to her stomach, her own covering it.
A shudder passed over John B. Something hard to explain, but impossible to deny. “JJ’s going to love this baby.”
It hurt to think about it. She almost couldn’t bear it. But she smiled. For John B – for JJ – she smiled. “And the baby will love JJ.”
Even if JJ never came home – even if he was dead – that much, she swore to herself – would never be in doubt.
-o-
Kiara wondered what her parents would say if they saw her like this.
Smuggled into another country. Cleaning up a crime scene.
She sure showed them she knew what she was doing. Covered in her boyfriend’s blood, no less.
The thought of JJ was too much. She took a shaky breath, and focused on what was in front of her. Lightner’s dead body was better than JJ like that.
It still haunted her, the way JJ’s body had gone slack. The way his eyes had fluttered shut as he just – slipped away. The boy who never stopped fighting.
And she’d been there when he quit.
When it had finally been too much. When he’d finally accepted the inevitable.
She shook herself back to the moment.
“We can’t just carry him,” Pope was reasoning.
Cleo looked perturbed. “What else do you think we’re going to do? We can’t bury him here.”
Pope’s brow creased. “We have to – I don’t know,” he said, plainly flustered. “Put him in something.
From the far side of the room, Rafe looked back. “Whatever you do, do it fast,” he hissed. “We don’t have much time before someone sees us.”
Kiara blinked between them, then looked at the man on the ground. The amount of blood on the ground.
Her own hands were still smeared with JJ’s blood.
He’d bled so much; he’d bled so fast. She hadn’t known what to do. Nothing had been enough. He just kept bleeding.
“We need a bag – a blanket,” Pope said, flailing a bit now.
Cleo raised her eyebrows, eyes lighting. “A carpet?”
“What?” Pope said with a frown.
Cleo ducked forward into the next room. Her one arm was still cradled close to her, but she came back, dragging a rug with her. Dirty and faded – but large.
“Yeah,” Pope said. “That could work.”
“Help me with it,” Cleo grunted, and Pope came up, helping her bring the carpet through. Together, they laid it out next to the body.
Pope stopped, wincing as he leaned to pick up the body.
“We knew what we were doing when we came back,” Cleo reminded him.
Pope took a long, slow breath. “I know,” he said – and faltered. “It’s just–”
“Any time now,” Rafe said, voice low and pressed.
“Oh, come on,” Kiara snapped finally, getting up from her spot. “We just need to do this, okay?”
They looked between each other and back at her.
Kiara shook her head, reaching down. Looking at Lightner’s dead sightless eyes made her stomach do a little flip, but it was easier to look at him than it was to think about JJ.
The way his body had just flopped in Luke’s arms. Entirely lifeless.
Gone.
“Whatever,” she muttered, all in a rush as she reached down. She pushed him over, rolling him toward the carpet. His limbs flailed, the open part of his skull leaking something unsettling as she rolled him again, until he was positioned on top of the carpet.
It was macabre, to say the least. Her stomach churned uneasily. “Shit,” she said, making a face. She winced as she looked up at Pope. “Did you really do this?”
Pope stiffened, clearly defensive. “I didn’t want to,” he said, almost in protest. “It was in self-defense.”
Almost in response, Cleo added, “He did it for me. He saved me.”
Kiara was numb, but she wasn’t blind. Cleo was protecting Pope. As if somehow she could make murder more palatable.
But it was a black and white thing. Good and evil, life and death. You couldn’t always work with shades of gray when life offered you stark contrast.
This was the starkest contrast she knew. Life with JJ; life without JJ. There was no in between, and all she had was the blood on her hands – and the growing, empty chasm in her chest. He’d been so pale; there’d been so much blood; he hadn’t been moving–
She took a shaky breath, finding her repose. She looked at Pope again, who was suddenly more stricken than before. “Kie–”
She thought he might apologize. As if he owed her an explanation.
He was wrong.
She wasn’t doubting him.
She was finally understanding him.
“We do what we have to do,” she said flatly. She folded the carpet one more time, covering the man’s face.
Lightner had been his name. He’d been a person, Kiara reminded herself. Probably with a family and people who might miss him. Maybe he had hobbies or interests. He could have had plans. Someone would notice when he never came home.
And Kiara didn’t care at all.
Because JJ had been a person, too. He’d had a family who loved him – who missed him more than they could express. JJ had had hobbies and interests – and plans. He was never coming home again, and Kiara didn’t know how to go home without him.
She didn’t know how to be.
So what if she buried this man?
He’d helped bury JJ, in his own way.
And in that, he had buried her, too.
“Come on,” she said, getting to her feet. “I’m not sure how we’re going to get him out of the city without attracting attention.”
Cleo was quick to follow her lead, taking the body up on the other end. “The storm has kept a lot of people inside.”
“And the back alleys should work,” Pope suggested, but his voice sounded strangely hollow.
As hollow as she felt.
He moved into place, though, supporting the body as best he could. Between the three of them, the body was heavy and unwieldy. It wasn’t going to be fun or easy – but she’d just watched JJ bleed to death, so – fun and easy weren’t really on the table anyway.
“Kie?” Pope asked.
And she realized she’d gone still and silent. Her breathing hitched and the emotions threatened to flood her. “Maybe we should go back,” she said, low and halting. “We left him behind–”
“You heard Luke–” Cleo tried to interject.
“We can’t trust Luke,” Kiara said. She shook her head, head starting to spin. “We can’t leave him with Luke?”
Pope went very, very pale. “Kiara, JJ didn’t have a pulse,” he said, as if trying to enunciate the words.
“Then we should be burying his body, not this asshole,” she snapped, laughing almost incredulously as she looked at the carpet she was carrying. “Shit, Pope. Do we need to go bury JJ?”
She tried to think about it. Wrapping JJ in this carpet. Carrying his dead weight out of the city. Digging a shallow grave in the sand. Leaving him here, in the desert. Alone and abandoned forever without a home. With no one to check on him.
In their hurry – in their shock – they hadn’t thought.
They hadn’t thought about any of it.
Now the fall out from it – the actual reality of it – was impossible to handle.
“Kie,” Pope said, suddenly quieter. Next to them, Cleo had gone still, almost holding her breath when Pope finally softened. “No, of course not. Luke’s got JJ. If he came all this way, it’s got to be for a reason, right?”
He was trying too hard. To be hopeful. To be optimistic.
“What if it’s a bad reason?” she asked, because that was JJ’s luck. One father who beat him. Another who stabbed him and left him for dead. And not a mother to be found.
“Well, what choice do we have?” Pope said, settling back on the practical inevitability of it.
That much, at least, Kiara could appreciate.
She had just stood there while JJ was stabbed.
She’d done nothing when he bled out.
She’d just sat there and cried when the light left his eyes and the life left his body.
Practical inevitability, then.
JJ would appreciate the denial of it all.
“Fine,” she said. She adjusted her grip on the body, lifting it up again as she inhaled and exhaled, long and slow and final. “This whole revenge thing is new for you.”
Pope looked momentarily sheepish.
Kiara didn’t let it last. “It works,” she said, because it seemed simple like this. Right and wrong. Black and white. Sin and – justice. All her causes; all her social justice; and it really was just eye for an eye, blood for blood. “I think it works.”
Pope swallowed, but Kiara didn’t waver now. She looked from Pope to Cleo, who seemed to know what this was. There are many ways to die, after all. You can put a bullet in someone’s brain. You can plunge a knife in their gut.
Or you could take everything you thought you knew about someone, and rip it all to shreds. You could pull yourself apart, bit by bit, until the only thing left is a poor estimation of the person you used to be. When you stripped away the good intention. When you stopped worrying about the motives. When it was simple cause and effect.
The universe didn’t care.
(The universe was winning.)
So why the hell should she?
(It was time to fight back.)
At the doorway, Rafe peeked back in. He looked at them – he looked at the carpet. “Shit,” he said, almost laughing. “Really?”
“You got a better idea?” Kiara asked sharply. She had never had time for Rafe; she had less of it now.
Rafe looked at her, plain and incredulous. “You think we’re just going to lug a dead body around.”
“It’s in a carpet,” Pope said.
Rafe was wholly unimpressed. “And it looks like a dead body in a carpet.”
Cleo sighed in exasperation. “We can’t just leave it here,” she argued. “So, we’re best if we just hurry this along.”
Rafe shook his head, looking like he might still protest.
“What?” Kiara asked, letting her words get sharp. Like a short knife, wielded to kill. “You can pull the trigger but you can’t clean up after yourself?”
She sunk it deep, as deep as it would go.
Rafe’s face went momentarily blank.
“Your daddy’s not here to clean this up,” she told him.
Giving it a twist, just to make sure it took.
His jaw went rigid and he blinked. Hard.
“So keep a lookout, asshole,” Kiara said, hefting the body forward as Pope and Cleo followed in the rear. “Or go the hell back to the OBX without us.”
Chapter 31: CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Notes:
Okay. So. This is it. LOL, after everything, I feel like this has been a letdown, but this is where I was hoping to end up. If only because it sets up an alternative version of the show that I hope is more interesting to explore than what canon is promising. I can't watch S5 -- will not watch S5 -- and creating my own version has been an essential means to keep myself going in this fandom. The fallout from here has a lot to it -- and the Pogues will have a lot to overcome in order to get back together, to get back to the OBX, and ultimately to get back to some version of happy.
More notes at the end, as I close out this chapter of the verse.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
-o-
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
-o-
For JJ, life had never been a sure thing. The stuff most people took for granted, he found uncertain. Things like food and a warm bed. Clothes for school and a parent who loved you. JJ understood instability. He knew that life was a series of chances, and that all you could do was hold on.
That was what he’d been doing.
For almost 20 years.
He’d been holding on.
He knew how other people saw him. He knew that his friends thought he was all about seizing the moment, squeezing every moment out of life. They thought he lived with pure, unabashed joy and nothing held back.
But JJ had never lived, not like most people.
JJ had survived.
Every joy was a desperate gamble. He gave everything he had because there was no other way to get anything. He took the risk – there was no other way to get anything from a life that gave him nothing. Unabashed was just his way of getting something.
Even in Poguelandia, those blessed 18 months, part of him had known it could never last. He’d been waiting for it to all crash down. The only sure thing for JJ was that nothing good ever stayed, and happy endings were written for other people.
And 20 years was a long time to survive. JJ had packed it in as best he could. He’d loved; he’d worked. He’d gambled and lost more than he’d won. He’d been a good friend – the best friend – and he would do all of that again, in a heartbeat, no questions asked.
But JJ was tired.
No, JJ was exhausted.
The pain had cut too deep. The loss had taken more than he could afford to give up. He’d been going too long and for too little, and he was spent. He’d taken his chances and come up with nothing. He’d laid down his life for his friends again and again and again and this time – this time – he couldn’t pick it back up again.
He couldn’t do it.
For 20 years, JJ had held on and fought like hell for every moment.
Now, after everything he’d lost, after everything he’d given up, after everything he’d done wrong, it was time to let go.
It was finally time to just let go.
-o-
People had it wrong when it came to tragedy. People who heard Cleo’s story, they always acted like she was strong. Like she was some remarkable person. Like they were impressed.
It wasn’t strength.
It had nothing to do with being strong.
It was a lack of choices. The acceptance that she didn’t have a say in it. She could either keep going – or not. That wasn’t strong. It felt weak, cowed to the circumstances around her. Stuck in a game with someone else’s rules. Playing a part in a story she didn’t write. That wasn’t strength at all. It was just survival.
You just – kept going.
One foot in front of another.
One breath, another breath.
If your heart was beating, that was all.
JJ’s heart probably wasn’t beating, not after all that blood.
But Cleo’s was.
So she kept going.
JJ of all people would appreciate that.
Making a run for it, mercenaries still swarming the city. Carrying a dead body in a carpet – cheese on bread. It was a thing, wasn’t it? Running for their lives – whatever was left of them. Pope had killed a man. Kiara was in shock. John B wasn’t saying anything, and Sarah couldn’t stop crying. She and Rafe took turns with the body, because at least they understood that much.
“I think this way,” Pope said, navigating them around a corner.
Right into the market.
“Shit,” he hissed.
“We should go back,” John B said.
“I don’t give a shit about the market,” Kiara said almost right at the same time.
Cleo could strip it back to practicality. Everyone else, though, seemed to be sinking into their own forms of denial. That was a problem, she figured. Because getting the hell out of here was going to be a trick, given the chaos they’d just caused.
And the dead body they were carrying.
“We can’t just stand here,” Rafe muttered, shifting his grip while Lightner’s body shifted.
“Oy,” Cleo said, jerking her head. “Back streets. Getting out of here quickly doesn’t mean shit if they catch us.”
Pope looked at her – he looked at the body.
And he nodded. “This way,” he said, pulling them down a back corridor.
“But this is faster,” Kiara argued, even as Sarah pulled her along.
“And it’s all bullshit anyway,” John B said, bringing up the rear. “JJ–”
“I swear, if you say Maybank’s name again–” Rafe started.
John B yanked him. Hard.
Hard enough that they nearly dropped the body between them. Cleo yelped as Rafe stumbled to a stop, the look of incredulity on his face making it plain that this was going well.
Because of course, JJ had been stabbed. They’d lost the crown. Groff got away, and the entire city was probably on the lookout for them – not to mention mercenaries on their trail.
And Kiara was losing her damn mind while Sarah kept crying. And Pope was acting like it was totally normal that he put a bullet in someone’s head.
So of course John B and Rafe wanted to fight now.
She knew JJ would understand, she did.
At this point, though, she didn’t know if she did.
Honestly, she was getting dangerously close to that second option. Instead of doing it, she might just not. She might give up, she might give in. She might put her cards on the table and let the universe do with her as it may. Whatever had happened in the last 30 minutes had changed them – all of them.
And she was pretty sure it wasn’t for the better.
“Not now,” she said, almost begging now. “If you want to kill each other, wait until we’ve dug the grave at least, yeah? It’ll be easier that way.”
John B gave first, letting go of Rafe and deflating.
Rafe looked uncertain – still ready to fight.
But even Rafe saw the inevitability.
“We have to keep going,” Cleo said, jerking her head toward where Pope was leading them. “Unless you’d like to stay behind?”
Because it was never about being strong.
It was always, always the lesser of two evils.
“Let’s go,” John B muttered, taking Sarah by the hand and ducking his head as he followed after Pope and Kiara.
Rafe looked at her with a shrug as he readjusted his grip. “I just want to get the hell out of here.”
“Don’t we all,” she murmured, as they started up again.
-o-
John B knew this wasn’t the first grave he’d dug.
That wasn’t a source of pride.
It was just – well. What was it? A skill he didn’t want to have? An experience he didn’t want to get used to? The two bodies in the marsh. Ward Cameron. His own father.
He had always justified it. He’d always made it parse.
He wasn’t sure he could anymore.
He wasn’t sure he could stand here and pretend like it was worth it.
They had killed this man, after all. They had put the bullet in his brain, and they were dumping him in an anonymous grave with nothing. They did what they could to respect the body.
But respect wasn’t an unmarked grave and a carpet in the desert.
This was a bad man. It was self-defense.
And it still felt wrong.
“We shouldn’t do this,” he muttered.
Next to him, Sarah’s face was pale. “What else can we do?”
He exhaled heavily. “Not this,” he muttered. “We can’t just drag a dead body out of the city and bury him here. I mean, he was still a person–”
Pope got up from where he had been cleaning up the body. Cleo was silent, nursing her wound while Rafe started to dig.
Kiara was still and silent, like maybe she’d forgotten she was there at all.
“He was going to kill Cleo,” Pope said flatly, wiping his hands on his pants.
“And those mercs would still kill us all,” Cleo said. “We can’t give them the body.”
“This is the most respectful option,” Sarah said softly. “It’s something.”
It wasn’t something. Or it was worse than something.
It was the wrong thing. He shook his head. “We should go back for JJ anyway. I still think this is wrong.”
“We have a limited window for Groff–” Cleo started.
“And he’s our only chance for the crown–” Pope added.
He couldn’t take it. “I don’t care about Groff or the crown!” he said, his voice rising as his tension exploded. He threw his hands up. “It doesn’t matter if we’re not together.”
He looks from Pop to Cleo.
Then to Sarah and Kiara.
“Kie, we should go get JJ,” he said, almost pleading now. “We can’t leave JJ behind.”
Kiara looked down, her expression pained.
John B turned back, looking desperately at Sarah. “We need to go back for JJ.”
“Enough, John B!” Pope snapped.
John B turned toward him, face darkening. “We can clean up your mess another time,” he said, voice cutting as Pope flinched. “JJ–”
He didn’t see it coming. When Pope snapped, he snapped hard, and he took a menacing step toward John B, face twisted with rage. “JJ’s dead,” he said, harsh and vitriolic. So hard and fast that John B couldn’t speak. “He’s dead, and we can’t go back and change that. We waited it out, John B. And he’s dead!”
It hit. Like a punch.
And when the shock wore off, the anger set in. He felt it, coiling in his chest. Too much to fight.
He could forgive a lot. He could overlook a lot.
But this?
Now?
He threw himself forward, his fist raking across Pope’s face. It hit with a crack and Pope stumbled back. He charged forward, catching him, until Pope dug in his heels and fought back.
It was a fast exchange of punches, but John B barely felt it. Sarah screamed, and Cleo grappled at him, but he pushed past her.
Pope didn’t stop either.
It was only Rafe that pulled them apart, throwing John B to the ground and restraining Pope. Both bleeding, both breathing heavily.
Both fighting for something they couldn’t win.
Both fighting for something they’d already lost.
The weight of it hit him, then.
They were burying a body. Groff had stabbed JJ. Luke was the only hope they had of ever seeing JJ again.
JJ was–
JJ couldn’t be–
He broke then, the sob coming on suddenly. He shook with it, burying his head in his hands. Sarah flung herself forward, pulling him into a hug, and for a moment that was all there was.
The horrible truth.
Pope was right.
All of John B’s waiting.
And there might not be anything left to save.
“Look,” Rafe said finally, breaking the silence. “We can’t stop now. We need to bury this body.”
John B sniffled, wiping his face. Sarah was still holding him as he looked at Rafe. Behind him, Pope looked deflated, arms hanging at his sides with his nose bloody. Cleo was holding his arm, watching John B cautiously. Kiara hadn’t moved, still standing impassively as she watched.
“Then, we can talk about JJ,” Rafe continued, looking at John B. Then he looked at Pope. “And Groff.”
No one said anything, the tension still thick.
Rafe pursed his lips, clearly annoyed. “Okay?”
John B didn’t have the words. But Pope finally nodded.
Rafe huffed, shaking his head. “Fine,” he said. “Now the faster we do this, the faster we can decide.”
He moved back to the grave as Sarah helped John B get back to his feet.
“Stupid Pogues,” Rafe muttered, grabbing the shovel again.
John B looked at Pope tentatively. “I know it was self-defense,” he said finally.
“And I know you were there for JJ,” Pope returned. “We all know that.”
John B took a breath, trying not to blink as tears burned. “I just can’t leave him,” he admitted softly. “It can’t be too late.”
After a lifetime of struggle.
After the things he’d said.
After all JJ had lost.
It couldn’t be over.
It couldn’t be.
Pope's expression wasn’t angry anymore. It was tinged with grief. “But what if it is?”
The impossible question.
With an answer he couldn’t accept.
They could hurt a body.
But until he buried JJ, he couldn’t accept it at all.
-o-
These assholes owed him.
A lot.
Rafe had lost money on this venture – for sure. Even if they did find the crown by this point, he was probably going to be hard-pressed to break even. And even if he did, what about his time? What about the risks he was taking?
They had him digging graves.
And he didn’t even shoot the bastard.
If it weren’t for Maybank, he wouldn’t have bothered. But the shock of it all was too much. These Pogues were too sentimental. Rafe considered it a weakness, but he reminded himself why he was here at all.
For sentiment.
For absolution.
He wanted to make things right.
One shovelful at a time.
He glanced at them, quiet once more. John B was aching to fight; Pope was ready to give it to him. Without Maybank, those two were at each other. And the girls – well, they were worse. Cleo looked like she got it at least, that Maybank was dead. Kiara was in shock, somewhere between denial and grief. And Sarah–
Well, this couldn’t be good for Sarah.
Or the baby.
If Rafe was all in, then he was all in.
He would help them see this bullshit through. They had always been idiots – and Maybank had been the dumbest of them all. Without him, though?
Well, they were likely to come apart at the seams. He could already see it. The fractures that were showing. The way they were all just ready to shatter.
This was redemption, then. Fixing it for them could fix it for him.
Rafe wasn’t naive. He wasn’t dumb.
He knew he couldn’t save them.
But he could bury this problem.
And maybe – just maybe – could make sure they didn’t bury themselves in the meantime.
-o-
Kiara was numb.
The kind of numbness that was pervasive, like surfing too long on a cold day. When the emotion was leached out of you, a void settling over you. It took you over, mind, body, and soul.
The others fought. They cried.
But Kiara just sat there. Numb to all of it.
She couldn’t feel. Not the cool air or the sand still clinging to her skin. She couldn’t think.
Not about this. Not about JJ.
Not about anything.
They were burying Lightner, she knew that. The body in the carpet wasn’t anyone to her, anyone at all.
Why did it feel like she was burying JJ?
Why did she run her fingers over his shark tooth necklace like he was the one going in the ground?
Maybe because it was supposed to be.
Maybe because she needed that closure.
He didn’t have a pulse. The blood had been everywhere. She’d felt him leave.
She’d watched it, the way the life left him.
She was there.
She had seen it.
She knew.
She knew.
This was Lightner’s grave, maybe. But it was JJ’s wake.
Here above the city. Lost among the dunes.
The fire burned.
And threatened to turn them all to ash.
She wasn’t sure what would be left in the morning. She wasn’t sure she wanted to find out.
She turned the necklace in her fingers again, her fingers against the point. She could hold onto this, at least.
As everything else slipped away from her entirely.
-o-
It was done, at least. Lightner had been buried. They’d covered their trail.
She knew how that sounded. She knew how it felt.
Like killing this man – disposing of his body – didn’t mean anything.
But there was too much at stake. And she knew it could be worse.
They could be burying each other.
She tried not to think about it. How they might still.
Because JJ–
The thought of JJ made her insides turn. She was queasy and uneasy; it had nothing to do with hormones now. She hadn’t looked at Lightner’s body. But she’d seen JJ.
The blood.
So much blood.
People couldn’t bleed that much. JJ couldn’t bleed that much.
She’d watched her father die; she’d seen Big John slip through John B’s fingers. She knew what death looked like.
And it had looked like that.
JJ’s pale face; his limp body. His lifeless features. The way his head had lolled and his chest had been still. There had been blood everywhere.
Pope knew it. Cleo knew it.
Even Kiara knew it.
But as she watched John B, sitting quietly around the fire while the others settled down to sleep, she knew he couldn’t accept it. She knew he would never accept it.
After fighting with Pope, he had been quiet. Placid, sort of. Only half responsive. Sometimes he spoke – responding like he was supposed to.
Other times, he just seemed gone and vacant. Too numb to even muster a denial anymore.
He had struggled losing his father. He had struggled a lot.
She didn’t know if he’d survive losing JJ.
She looked out across the desert and sighed. She didn’t know if any of them would survive. She wasn't sure she wanted to.
She looked down, massaging her stomach gently.
She didn’t have a choice, though. Not really, did she?
She had to keep going.
Her eyes flitted to John B, and she eased herself down next to him, letting her head drop to his shoulder.
She had to make sure he kept going, too.
If not for himself. If not for each other.
Then for this baby.
JJ had died saving this baby.
That sacrifice, she resolved, would not be in vain.
“You okay?” she asked.
John B didn’t look at her; he barely flinched. “No.”
The candor was – well, what was it? It wasn’t surprising. It couldn’t hurt more than things already did.
She nodded her head against his shoulder. “Yeah,” she agreed quietly. “Me neither.”
The fire burned, and Rafe finished covering the grave. Cleo and Pope clung to each other, while Kiara sat idly by herself. Sarah pulled closer to John B, wishing it could be enough.
Even while absence defined everything around them.
-o-
The fire burned, flickering across the desert. The close of a day brought a sense of finality to it. An inevitability.
It would have been doable, John B thought, if JJ were here.
But JJ wasn’t here.
JJ wasn’t.
And facing that – contending with that – it was the hardest thing John B had ever done. Harder than losing his dad. Harder than burying his dad.
Because this time, he was the one calling the shots.
This time, he was the one driving things.
He knew JJ had been all-in on this. But if he’d listened to JJ all those years ago – if he’d stopped.
The what-ifs were impossible to fully weigh out. He couldn’t pretend like they didn’t matter now.
Something had to matter now. He just wasn’t sure what anymore.
Rafe came back around, after patting Lightner’s grave flat. He looked agitated; he looked focused. John B felt so numb that it was hard to be pressed by it like he normally would.
Even when Rafe came around and gave them a hard, decisive look across the fire. “Groff said he was going to Lisbon,” he announced. He nodded a few times, letting it sink in. “I don’t know, but if it were my friend, I’d probably go after the guy who killed him.”
Everything John B had come into this knowing – was wrong.
He’d been wrong, plain and simple.
He’d been wrong about Groff. He’d been wrong about JJ. He’d been wrong about treasure hunting, all of it. John B never should have left JJ alone with Groff. John B never should have waited for JJ to crash and burn. John B never should have looked for treasure in the first place, not when everything he ever wanted had been right in front of him.
Back in the OBX, anyway.
Here–
It was John B and Sarah. Pope and Cleo. Kiara and–
Rafe.
And a grave. A body buried they couldn’t bring back. Decisions made they couldn’t undo.
John B had been wrong about everything.
What if he was wrong about this, too?
What if JJ was dead?
What if this was it?
He closed his eyes, legs stiff as he faced the fire.
From nearby, he could hear Pope’s voice, hard and cutting. “Shut up, Rafe.”
He exhaled, letting his eyes open. Across the fire, he could see fresh tears still streaking down Sarah’s face. Cleo looked exhausted. Kiara, though–
Looked empty.
Her jaw moved, and he could see the coldness in her eyes. “He’s not wrong,” she said, softly contradicting Pope with a hard finality none of them could possibly argue. She stared at the fire, lips curling slightly. “Do you think JJ would sit here if it were one of us?”
The question was hard – and yet so damn easy.
JJ would never accept it. JJ would never just let it be.
JJ never would have left them behind in the first place, he wouldn’t.
His entire life had been dedicated to them.
Calling JJ selfish was easy when he did dumb-ass stuff. Because he did so much dumb-ass stuff.
But when you knew why.
When you really let yourself think about why.
JJ didn’t have a selfish bone in his body.
JJ would do anything for them.
JJ had done anything for them.
Kiara’s jaw hardened, her chin lifting. “Do you think he’d do nothing?”
It was a damning thing. Kiara said it at herself. She said it at all of them.
Because that was what they’d done. Ever since JJ learned the truth about his father, they’d done nothing. They hadn’t gone with him to Goat Island. They hadn’t helped him work out his feelings about Groff or Luke. They hadn’t asked him about his mother.
They hadn’t stopped him from drinking.
They hadn’t intervened when he was clearly suicidal.
They hadn’t stayed when he was bleeding out and dying.
They hadn’t done anything.
Except blame him. Rake him across the coals.
And leave him behind the second things got too hard.
JJ was the best friend they’d ever had.
And what were they?
What the hell were they?
It was so damning. Stronger than his denial. That failure stronger than anything. “We all know what JJ would do,” he said, the regret bitter on his tongue and thick in his throat. “He’d get even.”
Because even in his desperation, JJ had put them first. Even in his desolation, JJ had come back and rallied for them. He’d said he’d take the hit, and he did.
He did.
He always did.
Kiara drew herself up, firm and steady. “Revenge.”
No one disagreed; not even John B.
Because he knew better, he did.
But tonight, here, in this place – without JJ – he didn’t know anything at all.
-o-
It was a kick in the pants, that was all. All those years he’d avoided hospitals. He’d told JJ so many times to toughen up, get his shit together. They didn’t need a doctor poking and prodding. Asking questions.
He’d been covering his own ass, of course. He’d been worried about the bills he couldn’t pay and the broken bones they’d find on JJ’s X-rays.
And yet, here he was. Sitting in the hospital waiting room. Playing a good father.
He felt out of place, to say the least.
Truth be told, he was out of place.
As the minutes – the hours ticked by – it was plainly obvious that he was the only American in the place. People gave him long, wary looks, and at first he thought it was because he was white. But then he remembered, he was covered with blood, too.
You could be any damn color you pleased. They all bled the same.
And JJ had bled more than his share – too much.
Eventually, a nurse gave him a pair of scrubs and kindly showed him the bathroom. He was half inclined to decline out of habit, but it was as much for everyone else as it was for him.
Because in the mirror, he was a site. Sobriety was good on him, but the last 12 hours had been hell. From thinking he lost JJ – to almost seeing the boy bleed to death – his skin was sallow and funny looking, the stubble from his beard thick and grayer than he remembered.
His blue eyes looked weary, and even after washing, the blood seemed to be everywhere.
The clean scrubs helped, but it just made him feel fake. Like this was an act.
But then, maybe that was okay. This wasn’t about him.
This time, it was about JJ.
After all these years, he had to let it be about JJ.
He made the choice, back at the start to be a father. And it mattered. It did.
He’d lost his way – sure. He knew that; wouldn’t try to hide it.
But it was still a choice.
He was making it again.
Right here, right now. He was going to be JJ’s father. The father he needed. Hell, the father he deserved.
And it was a thing, wasn’t it? Seeing JJ so vulnerable. So stripped down and exposed, with nothing to help himself. He’d taken it for granted, all these years. How much work JJ did to survive. Luke had done that to him.
But Groff had done this.
Left JJ totally defenseless.
Unable to help himself.
He closed his eyes and braced himself on the sink as he breathed. The weight of it was something he knew. It was just like JJ was a baby again, that first time he took him out of the carseat and asked him how things were going, JJ had cooed and drooled, fist in his mouth. He’d watched, wide-eyed and innocent, while Luke prepared him that first bottle, and he’d stared at him the whole time, sucking down gulp after gulp under he finally fell asleep.
He opened his eyes again, looking at himself in the mirror. Sobriety was hell, wasn’t it? He remembered every mistake, every time he crossed the line. He remembered every obscenity, every time he’d made the kid bleed. He wasn’t the one who put that knife in JJ’s gut.
But he was still the reason JJ was here.
He hadn’t been a father at the start, but he’d done it.
He wasn’t a father now, but he could do it again.
Because JJ was his little boy. The one he’d raised. The one he’d loved.
More damning – that was the boy who loved him.
There was no way to earn it, but it was about damn time Luke lived up to it. Face set with determination, he made his way back out to the waiting room.
-o-
The decision was made, at least. Cleo tried to take solace in that.
They were going after Groff. They were going to get the crown; they were going to get revenge.
Don’t get sad. Get even.
In theory, it was her kind of plan.
But as they settled down for the night, Cleo couldn’t pretend she wasn’t at ill ease. Something about it – felt wrong. The dead look in Kiara’s eyes. The unwilling agreement in John B’s voice. The hardness in Pope’s face.
Something had changed.
Everything had changed.
They were coming apart.
It wasn’t like Cleo was new to this. She’d seen it, the way people fall apart. She knew bonds could be broken, even the strongest ones.
Pogues weren’t impenetrable.
They just weren’t.
They talked big, she knew that. They had grand ideas, and even grander promises. This idea of Poguelandia. This family they all swore themselves to.
It was fallible, yeah? It was vulnerable.
It had been a mistake to get soft. It had been her fault for letting herself be vulnerable. She would have been safer if she kept them out. She wouldn’t have been hurt if she just never let herself believe in any of it.
She knew family didn’t last. She knew good things slipped through her fingers.
She knew that.
But she’d given in. She’d broken all her own rules.
And even now, she didn’t want to let them go.
She curled over, and clung to Pope, they’d already taken her in – mind, body, and soul. All the walls she’d erected to protect herself had been torn apart. She was vulnerable; she had no out.
She just had them.
Imperfect. Uncertain. Broken.
She had come this far.
They would save each other.
Or crash and burn together.
She had found her hill to die on. She had found the people worth dying for. She had chosen her family.
And no matter what that looked like come morning, she would see it through.
-o-
There was no way to sleep. There just wasn’t.
John B laid down like he was supposed to. He let Sarah curl up next to him, wrapping his arm around her. Sometimes, he closed his eyes, but rest never came. Respite wasn’t a thing.
How could it be?
After all this.
How could it be?
It felt like an act; a farce. Like a game of make believe. Like he was 16, trying to convince Sue Peterkin that he wasn’t an abandoned child, that Uncle Teddy was 100% still in charge.
Right.
They could bury a body. Rafe could talk about Groff’s next move. Kiara could declare revenge.
But John B was struck by it. In the stillness, the absence was glaring. They all wanted to sit here and act like that was JJ’s grave. They all wanted to sit here and talk like it was JJ’s body in the carpet. They all wanted to plot their next steps like it mattered.
They talked about what JJ would do.
When it was bullshit.
JJ would do what he needed to do, yes. He would never sit idle, 100%.
But that wasn’t revenge. Getting Groff wasn’t even the first step.
He’d go back.
No Pogue left behind.
When morning came, he knew what he had to do, then. No more grief. No more revenge.
No, John B had to do what John B should have been doing all along, from the first moment JJ confessed the truth about his parentage. He needed to put JJ first.
He needed to be there for his best friend.
He let his eyes skim across the camp, over the dwindling flames. Rafe was asleep, dozing by himself. Cleo was turned in toward Pope, who had his head tucked against her. Kiara was by herself, still awake and looking vacantly across the landscape. And next to him, Sarah snuffled softly, turning closer to him still.
He needed to do what was right for JJ.
No matter what.
-o-
The sun was down now but the night seemed to drag on. Honestly, the day felt like it had gone on forever. Sitting there, around the fire, it seemed like it would never end.
Part of him needed it to end, needed to put it behind him.
But then–
If it was over–
If it was over–
There were consequences he wasn’t sure he could deal with. Realities he wasn’t sure he could face. It was easier to focus on the here and now, a steady stream of tasks. A checklist.
Get out of the city – check.
Reconvene at a safe distance – check.
Bury the body and hide evidence of his crime – check.
Move on without JJ–
That one made him stop.
That one made everything.
One thing at a time. Strip out the emotion. Keep it to the facts, logic. They’d cleared out of the city; they’d secured their position. They’d buried Lightner. The forward progress he wanted to believe in felt hollow, though. Looking out at his friends, he felt hollow.
They sat, tending the fire, licking their wounds. No one talking about what had just happened.
No one talking about what they had to do next.
Because Pope knew that was the thing. In the end, that was the point. They had to move forward. What had happened in the city – that was a mess. They hadn’t just screwed things up a little; they’d screwed it up a lot. Every time they tried to fix something, they ended up in deeper shit. There was some logical argument to be made for quitting while they were behind, but not like this.
There was nothing to salvage right now. They had to press on – for something.
That was the only logical course of action. They had to adjust expectations and realign their priorities. They had to stay safe, first and foremost. And then they had to clear JJ’s name.
At this point, Pope wasn’t even thinking about the rest. Poguelandia? Didn’t mean shit if he was in prison. It didn’t mean shit if JJ was–
Well, since JJ was–
He exhaled and forced himself to think it. Logically, he had no choice.
Since JJ was dead.
JJ was dead.
That was the practical reality of it. They weren’t saving him. They weren’t going to keep him out of prison. Best case scenario, they could clear his name, bring Groff to justice, and hopefully – maybe – circle back and bring JJ’s body home. JJ deserved that.
And hell, if they did save Poguelandia? They could bury JJ there, the only place he’d ever been happy.
But that was emotion. That was sentiment.
Right now, Pope needed logic. Cold hard facts.
It bothered him, sitting around the campfire, watching each of them grapple with what had happened. To find the crown – and lose it. To get everything – and lose JJ.
John B was lost in denial, Pope could see it already. Just like when his dad had been lost at sea, unable to cope. He tended the fire bleakly, doing anything he could not to face it.
Kiara looked numb, too, but not like that. It was like she’d shut something off, like part of her had died, too. She hadn’t cried since they left the streets. Her fingers clutched over JJ’s necklace, passing over it in even time, like saying a prayer with a rosary, her own broken homage to the man she’d loved.
Sarah sat between them, not sure who needed her more. It had been hard, at first, to imagine her as a mother. Now, though, he could see it. Anticipating the needs of others before her own. He doubted she’d let herself grieve, either.
She understood it, like he did. Grief was a luxury.
You had to fix the problem.
Then you could think. Then you could feel.
Then you could feel.
Next to him, Cleo sighed, resting her hand on his arm. He looked at her, and she smiled faintly. He didn’t smile back.
Instead, he watched as Rafe came back, throwing more firewood next to their flame. He threw on a log and was quiet. He was the first one to speak.
“So, that’s done,” he said, tersely. He looked at them each, even though John B didn’t look up and Kiara’s expression remained blank. He let his look linger on Pope. “You’re welcome.”
Pope pursed his lips, skin crawling. He still hated the guy, but he wasn’t wrong. He could feel his restlessness, his need to act.
Rafe was looking for his own form of revenge.
But there was no reason to split hairs now. They were truly all in this together, and at least Rafe had the guts to say it.
“We need a plan,” Pope said.
That elicited looks from the others. Kiara’s impassive eyes, and Sarah’s eyes widened. Even John B looked up as Cleo pressed her hand more firmly against his back.
“In the morning,” Pope said with a nod. “We have to do something.”
Rafe looked pleased with that and he sat down. “I agree. Groff–”
But John B was already shaking his head. “No, screw Groff,” he said. “We need to go back into the city and find JJ.”
Pope’s stomach turned. It wasn’t that he didn’t understand it – it wasn’t that he hadn’t thought about it – it was just that he didn’t know if they could.
Sarah’s face was pained. “But John B, you heard Luke–”
“Luke’s a bastard, and I don’t trust him,” John B shot back. The certainty in his voice was almost impossible to fight against. “I don’t give a shit what he said. We have to go back for JJ.”
Almost impossible.
Pope knew that was what they would have done.
Before.
And honestly, were the facts different.
Were the outcomes still in play.
Pope shook his head. “Luke was right, though. It’s not safe.”
John B’s eyes darkened – surprise and betrayal – as he looked at Pope.
Pope didn’t have enough in him to feel guilty. “The Corsairs are in too deep. They’re not going to leave the city unattended if there’s a chance they think we have the crown,” he said.
“Even if they want Groff for revenge, the crown is their priority,” Cleo reasoned quietly next to him. “Do they know we have it?”
“They saw us get it,” Kiara said, her voice toneless over the fire. “They all saw him get it.”
Pope tried not to think about it, not with emotion. The idea of JJ accomplishing everything he’d set out to accomplish – just for a split second having everything he wanted–
Was too hard.
He couldn’t.
“I’m not scared of them,” John B said, chest puffing up defiantly.
Rafe snorted. “You should be,” he said. “They’re not afraid of the body count.”
“I care about JJ,” John B snapped, and he turned angry eyes from Rafe to the rest of them. “Guys, we can’t leave JJ behind. We can’t.”
He was pleading with them. And it wasn’t unreasonable, was it? To go back for your best friend.
Sarah sighed next to John B. “But we also made a total mess of the town,” she said softly. “I mean, there will be cops, right?”
She looked to the rest of them for confirmation.
“No doubt,” Cleo agreed grimly. She shook her head. “I wouldn’t be surprised if the military got involved. This is an ancient city.”
“You all are already wanted on one continent,” Rafe said with an indifferent shrug. “If you get wanted on another, I will cut you loose and not look back.”
John B’s frustration exploded, and he got up with a huff, pulling away from Sarah. He paced a few times in front of the fire, running his hand through his hair. “So you just want to leave him,” he said, almost spitting the words. “We’re just going to leave him?”
The emotion.
Too much emotion.
Pope needed facts. The cold, hard, immutable facts. Facts didn’t care about your feelings. Facts didn’t care about sentiment. Pope would have been better off to remember that. He wouldn’t be here. All his sacrifice to save JJ.
Just to lose JJ.
No. No emotion.
Hold the gun steady, pull the trigger.
Do it.
“There’s nothing to go back for, John B,” Pope blurted out, voice more jagged than he intended.
John B went still, painfully so, eyes wide and blank as he looked at Pope, mouth hanging open. No one else moved. Cleo and Sarah watched, braced and ready. Rafe had his eyebrows up. Kiara wouldn’t look at anyone.
He could stop; he could take it back.
But the first time you pulled a trigger, it was hard.
The next time? It got easier. It got easier, and easier, and easier.
“JJ’s dead, John B,” he said finally. “He was dead when we left him.”
John B staggered a step, like Pope might have hit him. He shook his head weakly. “Luke was going to get him help.”
“Luke can’t do anything but bury JJ’s body,” he said. “JJ’s dead.”
John B turned away, shaking his head violently as he stalked angrily back a few paces. “No–”
“If he has any legal standing, he could go to the embassy,” Pope reasoned. “Repatriate the body–”
John B turned, face contorted with a rage he hadn’t seen before. “The body?” he asked, voice breaking. His eyes were burning bright across the fire. “You mean JJ? Your best friend?”
His voice died in his throat, the words shriveling up on his tongue.
John B snorted wetly. “You can’t even say his name,” he said, shaking his head helplessly as his arms fell limp at his sides. “Like somehow if he’s not still JJ, we can just move on. Get the crown and go back home.”
“That’s what we have to do,” Pope said softly.
“No,” John B said, shaking his head. “Because none of it means shit without JJ!”
Logic only went so far.
And it was a fallacy. The human condition didn’t exist with logic. Emotion always simmered beneath the surface. Always.
The sign of advanced thought was the ability to control.
But sometimes–
Sometimes you couldn’t–
This time, Pope thought as it churned through him. JJ’s blood, the coolness of his skin. The stillness of his chest, the emptiness of his chest–
All of it, for nothing. Every sacrifice, every choice – for nothing.
He’d thrown away his future for JJ’s second chance, and it was already spent, all of it. Gone.
The blood on his hands meant nothing.
“I know that!” Pope said, getting to his feet. The emotion eclipsed him for a moment, blinding him. His heart thundered loudly and his throat burned. “You think I don’t know that? But JJ’s dead, John B. Groff stabbed him, Groff murdered him, and we were too late to stop it, okay? We were too late, and we lost JJ. We lost JJ.”
His voice pitched loudly over the desert, echoing off the sand dunes as no one dared speak. John B’s face went blank, and then broke. Visibly shaking, he crashed back down to his seat, head down and shoulders trembling.
Sarah reached over to rub his back, but he stiffened at her touch.
Pope felt his emotion deflate, dissipating just as quickly as it’d come.
Regret wasn’t logical.
But it was human.
“John B,” he said, quieter now. “I’m – I’m sorry.”
He wasn’t sure what he was apologizing for. The outburst? For not being fast enough to save JJ? For saying what they all knew?
“We were too late,” he continued helplessly.
There was quiet, the sound of the wind settling over the sound and the crackling fire. Then, John B lifted his head. His cheeks were wet, and his eyes were hard. He wet his lips, looking at Pope for a long moment before looking out at the others.
“Is that what the rest of you think?” he said. “You all think JJ is dead?”
It wasn’t like he could deny it, even if he wanted to. The impulse to protect John B was real, but it didn’t mean anything anymore. What was there to protect? They’d already failed JJ in every way imaginable. They had to face that. They had to live with that.
Next to him, Cleo sighed. She shrugged, almost as if she was sorry. “We all saw him,” she said. “I’ve never seen that boy so empty. We didn’t find a pulse.”
John B looked crestfallen as she said it, almost on the verge of collapse. He looked around, eyes passing wildly over them all again, before he settled on Sarah – almost in desperation.
Sarah’s expression was pained. “John B,” she said, her voice small. She shrugged, too, even more helplessly than Cleo. “I don’t know. There was so much blood, and he was so still. Lifeless. I don’t know–”
It was the only way she could say it without saying it. Pope could see it; she knew it, too.
But it killed her to tell John B.
John B’s breathing caught, his knees going weak, before Kiara finally spoke. “It doesn’t matter now, does it?” she said, voice sharp and hard. It cut like glass, slicing its way between them with a decisiveness that hurt. When her eyes settled on John B, they were almost devoid of emotion. “We have to find Groff, and we have to stop him. That’s it.”
“But if he’s alive–” John B started.
“Then he’d be here,” Kiara said. “Is JJ here, John B? Do you see him?”
John B didn’t have an answer. Pope watched him as he stood there, almost dumbfounded by the question. After all these years, he’d hit the wall.
He’d run out of answers.
He had run out of everything, it seemed.
Kiara shook her head. “All we have is his blood on our hands and a trail on Groff,” she said.
The logic was one thing. But Pope wondered if he could really make it so simple.
Like that was all it was. Like that really was the only option. Because John B was wrong about JJ being alive.
But he wasn’t wrong about JJ’s life.
He didn’t know, if he was being honest, if JJ wanted any of this.
For JJ, this hadn’t been selfish ambition. JJ had been doing this for them, as much as anything. Pope knew how guilty he felt, because they’d all made sure he understood the cost. They’d all held him to scrupulous account for his mistakes.
Risking everything was all JJ had left. It was his only play to buy back a portion of what he’d cost them.
It had been so easy to place the blame on JJ, mostly because he took it so willingly.
He’d taken it like a knife to the gut until he couldn’t get up again.
John B couldn’t argue because he knew he’d failed JJ countless times over the last week. They all had.
All this talk, all this posturing – all this shit about JJ things, and John B had left his best friend behind just like the rest of them. That was the real truth, the hard reality, the one John B couldn’t argue his way out of it.
The one Pope could logically circumvent.
The facts were hard. The facts were real.
There was no way around them, not anymore.
Rafe stepped between them all, like some twisted voice of reason. “None of it matters. Alive or dead – we can’t go back for him now, can we?” he said. “So we do what’s best for us. We go after Groff and get the crown.”
It was simple; it was effective.
Pope took a step back, watching as John B deflated. He wouldn’t assent – Pope knew that – but he also wouldn’t argue. For years, they’d been buoyed by John B’s leadership. He’d been the one driving this hunt, his passion, his insight, him.
It was a role he’d crafted for himself.
A role he’d forfeited when JJ bled out in a Moroccan alley on his watch.
It wasn’t his call, anymore. It wasn’t his say.
They knew it.
And John B knew it, too.
It didn’t have to be nice. It didn’t have to feel good.
They just had to do it.
“Good,” Rafe said, with a nod. “Then, let’s do this shit.”
They nodded in agreement, each of them falling in line as logic won out in the end. To avenge JJ. To leave him behind in Morocco once and for all. To finish what they’d started at any cost.
At every cost.
-o-
Exhaustion was a hell of a thing, making you so tired that you didn’t quite feel it. Luke dozed almost despite himself, worn down by the relentless push of the last 24 hours – the last week, honestly. Ever since he’d walked out of that courthouse, he hadn’t stopped, not once.
And here he was.
Not sure if he’d accomplished shit.
Consciousness left him in fleeting burst, head tipped on his hand and propped up on the arm of the chairs in the waiting room. He startled as people came and went, looking up at attention whenever someone approached, but they weren’t there for him.
He wouldn’t call it restful, but he wouldn’t call it anything. Means to an end. He tried to take solace in the fact that if no one was here to tell him otherwise, JJ was still alive – and that was something.
He’d played this game long enough; you took what you could get. Sometimes not getting bad news was the best news you could hope for.
Except – there’d been so much blood.
JJ had been so pale.
His heart had stopped–
He agonized over it, what he could have done. If he’d been faster. If he hadn’t signed the papers about the house. If he’d told JJ the truth years ago. If he hadn’t been an addict. If he’d loved that boy the way he was supposed to.
Did second chances really exist?
Would Luke deserve one?
He wouldn’t, he knew that. But JJ did.
God help him, JJ did.
He was dozing off again, when there was suddenly someone in front of him. Luke startled, doing a double take. When he realized the woman in scrubs was there for him, he got up. “JJ?” he asked. “Is JJ okay?”
She blinked at him, slow and deliberate. Luke’s stomach twisted, but he quickly realized she was struggling with his English. Instead, she nodded finally, a careful smile on her face. “Your son,” the woman said, her English choppy and stunted. “See your son?”
Shit. “Yes,” Luke said, his heart skipping a beat as his chest constricted. The thoughts fell over each other, each one less coherent than the last. “I can see him? He’s okay?”
She continued to smile, strained and polite. “You see your son.”
She clearly didn’t know what else to say, but what the hell? What else did Luke need to know for now? If JJ was alive–
Well, then JJ was alive.
And this wasn’t over yet.
Groff hadn’t won yet. He could leave JJ behind as many times as he wanted, and shit. Luke would keep picking him up until the boy was able to stand up on his own.
He swore.
He vowed.
With all he had.
-o-
She didn’t speak much English, but she smiled a lot. Nervous, anxious, polite – Luke didn’t give a shit, and he stopped smiling back fast enough. It felt awkward as hell, and really – he didn’t know what to think of it. He knew JJ was alive, but that wasn’t much to go on.
They went up a floor, and the signs weren’t in English, but he made it out pretty quick that this was a controlled ward. The ICU, he supposed. Which was – not unexpected, he guessed.
He just hadn’t thought about it.
Which was about right.
Luke hadn’t thought about a lot of things. His whole approach to parenting had been to start with good intentions and lose control. So, he was right on course.
She took him through a series of halls, each one the same as the last. And when she got to one of the cubicles, she stopped and turned.
Naturally, she smiled. She pointed. “Your son.”
Luke tried to peek around, but couldn’t see much. “My son’s in there?”
She nodded, and her smile faltered for a second, brow furrowing seriously. “Critical condition,” she told him, as if carefully enunciating the words. She’d been practicing that shit. “Very hurt.”
That was detail, at least. Not much, but something. “But he’s okay?” he asked.
She made a face. He was pretty sure she understood, but she seemed unable to formulate a sensible answer in English. “He needs rest. Don’t touch.”
It seemed like shitty advice, but Luke had no idea what was lost in translation.
Her smile came back, a little sad now. She pointed to her side. “Serious wound,” she said and she nodded emphatically. “Very serious.”
That seemed like an understatement. Luke had seen it, after all.
“You go,” she said, pointing to the door. She smiled one more time. “You go to your son.”
He had questions, but they didn’t much matter. Luke had never been a details guy – just didn’t need them. The big picture. The broad strokes. You got shit done or you didn’t.
What he needed now – the only thing he needed – was to see that his boy was alive. That JJ had survived.
The rest? Well, he’d deal with that. One way or another.
“Okay, then,” he said, letting himself in the door. “I’ll go.”
He let himself inside, trying not to wince as her too-sympathetic eyes watched him go. Her gaze was constricting, and for a split second, closing the door behind him was a relief.
But once he was inside, the reality hit him.
And it hit him hard.
Because there JJ was. His son.
Laid up in an ICU bed, thousands of miles away in Morocco. Alone and abandoned. Barely alive.
To say it was unsettling was an understatement. It felt like a punch to the gut, taking his breath away and leaving him cowed. JJ’s helplessness brought out his own, and his knees felt weak by the time he made it to JJ’s side.
The whole thing was a mess. JJ was a mess.
Lost under the tubes and wires, JJ was colorless and devoid of life. There was something wrong with his complexion, like his skin had sunken in too deep and lost all its vitality. His eyes were closed and his bangs swept to the side in a mess of sweat and grime, and the tube snaking out of his mouth was taped down, providing a steady stream of oxygen.
Groff had done that. He’d taken everything from JJ, left him broken and defenseless. He couldn’t even breathe.
The sudden surge of fury died as quickly as it came, put out by the futility of it all. It didn’t matter what Groff had done; what mattered was JJ and helping him through this.
He took another breath, eyes sweeping the kid up and down again. He was covered in a blanket, but it was easy to see the bulk of the bandages around his midsection. He was bound tightly, like he was barely held together, and the pair of IVs were dripping saline and blood, as if Groff had bled him dry.
It was hard standing there, and Luke felt his resolve waver. The boy used to like it when Luke held him, used to come right up to him to be held. That was before – before the black eyes and bruises. Before JJ started flinching every time he approached.
It made him hesitate now. He wanted to touch him, to take his hand. To provide some comfort – and get some for himself. He wanted JJ to know he wasn’t alone. He wanted JJ to know he never had to be alone.
Finger shaking, he reached down. He brushed his fingertips against the back of JJ’s hand, and he felt his chest seize up for a second before everything just melted. He couldn’t stop it then, as he scooped up JJ’s limp fingers. He tucked them into his hand and exhaled heavily.
“It’s okay,” he said, voice low over the sound of the machine. “I swear, J. It’s going to be okay.”
He was scared, to be honest. Scared that he was a liar, in the end. Scared that even this would be too much for JJ’s delicate state. How long had it been, anyway? Since his touch had been gentle and not hard? Since he’d healed and not hurt?
What if it was too late?
Too late for Luke.
Too late for JJ.
He swallowed it all back, as hard as he could. He twisted his lips and blinked hard, nodding a few times as he watched the rise and fall of JJ’s chest beneath the machines.
“I’m staying right here,” he promised, for whatever it was worth. “I’m staying right here.”
Notes:
Thank you to everyone who has been part of the ride. woudsohfiv, this exists because of you. It's really your idea, at its heart, and I hope I did it justice. PrincessOfNothingCharming, your cheerleading, readership, reviews, and constant handholding have kept me going even when I'v been insufferable and whiny.
And to everyone else who has read or left kudos or talked to me over on Tumblr -- thank you. This fic took a lot out of me, and I have a lot more to write, so getting any feedback makes me positively giddy. I'd love to hear your thoughts about how this ends -- and what comes next. I'm on Tumblr fayedartmouth.tumblr.com, so come over and say hi! The next fic is 110k in the making. (The one after that is 100k in the making.). So there's definitely fic written to follow this up, but I need to keep myself going for the long haul.
Ultimately, keeping JJ alive is an act of denial, I know that. But I loved this show and these characters too much, so when they took my comfort character from me, it was either denial or walking away. LOL, I'm sure some of you think I should have just walked away, but here I am. JJ deserved better. We deserved better. So this is all I have to offer!