The tides between us.

by ChesscaCB

Summary:

Between loss and longing, Sarah and John B navigate a fragile space where words fall short and hearts speak in silence. Together, they face the uncertainty of what comes next, holding onto the fragile hope that some things don’t have to be defined to be real.
Part one and now posting part two.

Chapter 1: Part 1- The divide

Kildare Island never really slept. Even on the quietest nights, it breathed with the gentle lapping of waves against the docks, the hum of wind slipping through marsh reeds, the distant chime of boat bells swaying in time with the tide. But tonight wasn’t quiet.

Tonight, it was loud, way too loud.

The music pulsed like a heartbeat through the walls of the Cameron estate; a sprawling mansion perched on the edge of Figure Eight. Outside, a bonfire roared in the backyard like it had something to prove, flames clawing at a velvet sky laced with stars. Laughter drifted like smoke; sharp and careless — the kind that belonged to people who had never been told “no.” The kind that belonged to the Kooks.

17 year old Sarah Cameron stood near the edge of it all, clutching a half-empty red cup in one hand, her phone in the other. She wasn’t drunk. She wasn’t even happy. She was just tired.

Tired of the noise.

Tired of the posing.

Tired of the way Topper kept squeezing her waist like she might float away without permission.

His hand was there now; firm and possessive while he talked to some lacrosse guys she didn’t care about. His voice was too loud, his laugh a little too forced. She knew that tone. She knew him too well. He was doing that thing again where he was trying to show her off like a new car his Mommy had brought him. 

“You good?” he asked, not bothering to look at her.

Sarah didn’t answer right away. She watched the firelight flicker across the glassy surface of the pool, her reflection warping and shifting in the ripple of light. A distorted version of herself. One she barely recognized anymore.

“Yeah,” she said eventually, forcing a smile. “Totally good.”

He leaned in to kiss her cheek, and she turned her head at the last second, so it grazed her temple instead. He didn’t notice. Or pretended not to.

Across the garden, the party shifted. Heads turned. A beat dropped.

And then came the sound of trouble, a familiar whoop, loud and unbothered, followed by a sharp, mocking whistle. The kind of entrance only one person could pull off.

Sarah didn’t have to look to know who it was.

John B strolled in like he owned the place, sun-bleached, curled hair tousled from salt and wind, wearing a threadbare T-shirt with a tear across one sleeve and the smug grin of someone who knew exactly how unwelcome he was.

Behind him came JJ, shirtless and grinning, a half-eaten bag of chips under one arm and a stolen beer in the other. Pope trailed after them, already exasperated, phone out and checking the time like he was calculating how soon he could leave. Kiara followed last, arms crossed and visibly unimpressed, like even the party was beneath her, even if she did straddle both the Pogue and Kook worlds. 

Topper’s voice snapped beside her. “What the hell is he doing here?”

“Crashing,” Sarah said before she could stop herself, a smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth.

Topper glared, jaw tightening. “He thinks this is cute? Showing up here like this?”

Sarah didn’t answer. Her eyes had already found John B’s across the flames, shaking her head with a gentle smile, almost proud but disbelieving. 

He saw her instantly. Of course he did, he always did. His grin softened. He tilted his head slightly like a question, like ‘you okay’?

And just like that, like always, Sarah felt her shoulders loosen, just a little. Something unspoken passed between them, just something real. Old and familiar. Like the breeze shifting at the exact moment you needed it to.

He raised his bottle slightly in a lazy salute meant only for her.

She lifted her cup in response, giving the tiniest smile. Blink-and-you’d-miss-it.

Topper was already storming toward the group, shoulders tense, veins bulging, chest puffed like a rooster ready to fight.

JJ rolled his eyes. “Let’s get this over with,” he muttered, watching Topper approach like he was watching a storm roll in — annoying, inevitable, and mostly just in the way.

Topper got in John B’s face, lips curled in disgust. “You think this is funny?”

John B didn’t flinch. “Only a little,” he replied, sipping casually from his bottle. “Sarah’s got a nice house. Figured I’d stop by. Check on the landscaping.”

“You’re not invited.”

“You think that’s ever stopped me before?”

Topper’s fists clenched. Sarah moved quickly, grabbing his arm. “Hey. Let it go.”

He whipped around, eyes burning. “You’re taking his side?”

“I’m not taking anyone’s side,” she said, cool and steady, clearly lying.

“Just don’t give him what he wants.”

Topper scoffed. “You’re always sticking up for them. Always defending John B like he walks on water. It’s pathetic.”

Sarah stiffened. “I stick up for them because they’re good people. Because they’re real. More real than anyone else at this party.”

Topper laughed bitterly. “Yeah? Good people who drag you down. They don’t have money, Sarah. They don’t have futures. They’re not going anywhere.”

“And you think you are?” she said, stepping closer now. Her voice cut sharper than the wind off the water. “You think acting like some small-town tyrant makes you better?”

“You don’t get it,” he snapped. “You never have. You’re too busy pretending you’re one of them to remember who you actually are.”

For a beat, Sarah just stared at him. Heart pounding. Something inside her shifted and cracked open.

Then, slowly, she stepped back.

“No,” she said quietly. “I think I’m finally starting to remember who I am.”

And then she walked away.

John B, Kiara, Pope, and JJ brushed past Topper like he wasn’t even there. JJ gave him a hearty slap on the shoulder, smirking.

“Think you pissed off your girlfriend, man.”

Topper seethed but didn’t follow.

Sarah moved toward the dock at the back of the yard, the noise fading behind her like static. The planks creaked beneath her feet as she sat down at the edge, letting her legs dangle over the water. The air smelled like salt and cedar, heavy with memory.

A few minutes passed.

Then footsteps padded close.

“You okay?” John B’s voice was quiet now, stripped of bravado, but still with that familiar smirking edge.

She looked up at him, moonlight glistening her hair in shades of gold. “Define okay.”

He dropped beside her, shoulder brushing hers. “Still hate these parties?”

“Always.”

“I don’t know why you still have them…every. Single. Year.”

She turned to him, lips quirking into a smile. “So I can see the look on Topper’s face when you crash... every. Single. Year.”

John B laughed, low and genuine. “That’s kind of sadistic.”

“I know.”

Then John B leaned forward, resting his arms on his knees “You never look happy around him Princess…” She shook her head, almost to herself, they’d had this conversation before- multiple times “You know you don’t have to stay with him,” he said quietly. “You could walk away. Right now. No one’s holding you in that relationship apart from you”

Sarah’s eyes stayed on the horizon, distant and glassy.

“We both know it’s not that easy, John B.”

He shook his head slowly. “It should be.”

Silence again. The air between them stretched with something unspoken but understood.

Then John B gave her a sideways glance. “You remember what your mom used to say?”

Sarah’s lips tugged into a small, sad smile. “Yeah.”

He waited.

“She’d always say…” he prompted gently.

Sarah sighed, finally finishing the thought. “You’ll never find peace of mind until you listen...”

John B nodded. “...to your heart. You should try it sometime”

She leaned back slightly, the moonlight catching in her hair. The ache in her chest wasn’t as sharp anymore; just there, humming under the surface.

“I hear it,” she whispered. “I’m just not sure what it’s saying yet.”

John B didn’t push. He just sat beside her, solid and steady, like he’d be there when she figured it out. Most in things in their lives they’d figured out together- different sides of the island, brought together by a friendship that had withstood anything and everything thrown at it.

Chapter 2: Part 1- Always

The Cut woke up slower than the rest of the island.

The sun rose over weather-warped roofs, warming the dew off fishing nets and the peeling sides of boats tied too loosely to docks. A cicada buzzed somewhere in the trees. Wind rustled through a torn screen door.

Inside John B’s house, the day had already started — if you could call it starting when no one had really gone to sleep.

Sarah padded into the kitchen barefoot, her anklet jingling softly against the cool floorboards. Around her wrist, a strip of faded blue cloth was knotted loosely, a torn piece of John B’s old bandana, the one he proudly wore the same. She wore it the way some people wore lucky charms, he wore it as a reminder.

It was late afternoon, the air still warm but softening with the first hint of evening. The dock creaked beneath Sarah’s weight as she sits at the edge, her legs swinging, toes grazing the cool green water below as she absently gazed over Tanny hill. Her flip-flops lay abandoned a few planks back. She stared at the ripples, willing herself not to cry.

She’d just been told the news. Her mom was sick. The kind of sick people tiptoe around in conversation, their voices dipping low like that made it less real. Every word was still caught somewhere in her chest, tight and heavy.

The boards thud softly behind her. She doesn’t have to look to know it’s John B. Barefoot. Curls messy from the wind. Shirt collar stretched from being pulled on too quickly. He doesn’t say anything, just lowers himself onto the dock beside her, legs hanging over the edge so they match in quiet rhythm.

For a moment, all they hear is the water lapping against the pilings and the slow hum of a distant motorboat. “I know it sucks Princess” he broke the silence, and her eyes tracked hazily to his. She couldn’t respond, the fear of just breaking down there and then was too much, if she started she might never stop.

 Then he dug into the pocket of his cut-off shorts and pulled out a scrap of blue fabric, his bandana, faded from sun and salt, one corner fraying into loose threads.

He slowly worked at tearing of a jagged strip of material and the, without asking he took her wrist, warm fingers brushing her skin. He wrapped the strip around it twice and tied a knot, a little too loose, the ends uneven. His hands smell faintly of rope and sunscreen.

“It’s a promise,” he says simply, eyes flicking up to meet hers. “Whenever you need me, I’ll be there. No matter what. Something physical to remind you.”

Sarah swallowed hard, blinking against the burn behind her eyes. She didn’t say thank you, didn’t tell him how badly she needed to hear that. She just lets the knot sit there, secure enough to hold even when the dock shifts beneath them.

The sun dropped lower, gilding the water in gold. Neither of them moved. And the bandana stayed.

Years later, the bandana remained, still there as that physical reminder. But now other little pieces of John B had woven into her life too.

She wore a threadbare pair of his boxers and an old tank top she’d “borrowed” weeks ago and never returned. Her hair was piled into a loose knot, her face still soft with sleep. In one hand: her usual chipped mug, filled with warm orange juice she wasn’t entirely sure was still drinkable. She leaned against the counter like she’d done it a thousand times before.

Because she had.

JJ was sprawled upside-down on the couch in the adjoining room, arguing with the ceiling. “I’m just saying — if bananas weren’t meant to be weapons, why are they so aerodynamic?”

“They’re not,” Pope called from the table, surrounded by open books and a half-dismantled drone. “You’re just being stupid.”

Sarah took a long sip of juice she wasn’t even sure was drinkable, watching them with lazy amusement. “Is this really where the day is going?”

JJ flipped over dramatically. “You wound me.”

John B appeared in the back doorway, shirt damp with seawater, curls already sticking to his forehead from the brewing heat. He dropped a cooler next to the fridge and held up a bunch of bananas, a coconut, and a pineapple like an offering.

He peeled off one banana and handed it to Sarah without a word.

“Thanks,” she mumbled, taking it like it was the most natural thing in the world.

He gave her a soft look. She gave him one back. Neither said anything more. They didn’t need to.

Kiara strolled in a moment later, hair wet from a quick rinse, holding Sarah’s denim jacket in one hand.

“Left this on the porch again,” she said.

Sarah grinned. “You’re a lifesaver.”

Kie tossed it onto the hook by the door, where Sarah’s tote bag already hung — worn, patched, and clearly not new to the house.

“You need a drawer here or something,” Kiara added, grabbing a glass. “At this point, you’re more reliable than JJ.”

“Low bar,” Pope muttered.

JJ raised a middle finger without looking. “This is my home. I’m the raccoon that lives in the walls.”

“You sleep in the hammock out back when you’re mad at the TV,” Sarah said.

“Exactly.” JJ pointed dramatically. “Nature. Solitude. Zero bills. You guys should be thanking me for setting the standard.”

“Standard of what?” Pope asked. “Unemployment?”

Sarah peeled her banana, smiling as the others bickered. The same scene, over and over — and it never got old. This was the version of her life that felt real. The one where no one expected her to dress up or lie about how she was feeling. No champagne glasses. No tennis clubs. Just mismatched furniture, shared hoodies, and sand in everything.

John B flopped into the chair beside her, still radiating ocean air. He smelled like salt, sunblock, and the faint trace of gasoline.

Sarah offered him half her banana. He took it without hesitation.

“Hey, are you guys gonna help me clean out the boat later?” he asked, mouth half-full.

“Nope,” JJ said immediately.

“Yes,” Kiara corrected. “We are.”

Pope nodded. “Gotta replace that rigging before it eats someone’s fingers.”

Sarah looked at John B. “Want me to go with you this morning to the store?”

He nodded. “If you’re coming, bring that tide chart you left in my drawer. I wanna have a look over it”

“Oh, right.” She stood, stretching. “Thanks for not stealing it, by the way.”

“I thought about it,” he said, squinting up at her through the sunlight.

JJ flopped onto his stomach and called toward them, “You guys flirting or just talking about fishing again?” He frowned. “It’s hard to tell these days.”

Kiara grabbed a dish towel and lobbed it at him.

Sarah laughed and ducked into the back hallway.

One of her hoodies hung on the hook next to John B’s rain jacket. Her flip-flops were kicked under the stairs. She had a toothbrush in the bathroom, and a bottle of sun lotion with her name scrawled on the label tucked behind the mirror.

No one questioned it.
No one pointed it out.

Sarah stepped into the tiny bathroom, grabbing the tide chart from the drawer where John B kept all the things he was always losing; half-used batteries, rusted pocket knives, a broken compass he refused to throw away.

She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. Sleepy eyes. Sun-kissed shoulders. No mascara. No jewellery except the shell necklace Kie had made her last summer and the gold anklet her stepmother hated and of course the bandana.

She looked... like herself. For once.

Back in the kitchen, someone had turned the radio on — some scratchy old reggae station Pope swore had the best weather reports. Sarah stole a piece of pineapple from the pile John B had dumped next to the sink as she walked by.

JJ was now attempting a one-man reenactment of a pirate duel using a butter knife and a spatula. Kiara was ignoring him, refilling the water jug. Pope had finally gotten the drone to power on and was narrating its blinking lights like a Discovery Channel voiceover.

John B leaned against the open doorframe, watching it all like someone who didn’t want to admit how much he loved this chaos. His curls were drying quickly, already curling again at the edges. His hands were still faintly gritty with sand, and there was a new scrape along his forearm, probably from climbing something he wasn’t supposed to.

Sarah walked over and handed him the chart. “Here.”

He took it and gave her that half-smile again. “Appreciate the logistics.”

She leaned next to him, their arms brushing. “When are you gonna admit I’m the more organized one?”

“Never,” he said. “It would ruin my image.”

She laughed, then glanced over at him. “You sleep at all last night?”

“Eh.” He shrugged. “Couple hours. The wind was up, had the bowline flapping against the mast like a damn woodpecker.”

Sarah nodded. “Do you always find it easier to sleep on the boat?”

“Sometimes,” he said, more quietly this time.

She waited.

He didn’t always talk about himself, but when he did, she knew to just listen.

“My dad used to say the ocean’s the only place where things make sense. Like, it doesn’t care who your family is or what you’ve got. Just cares whether you can stay afloat.”

Sarah tilted her head. “You still think he’s out there?”

John B didn’t answer right away. “Some days,” he said. “Some days it feels like he could be. Then some days it just feels like... a story I keep telling myself, so I don’t forget the sound of his voice. But then I realise it’s been almost 2 years since he’s vanished, and I don’t think he could survive a storm that long…”

There was a pause. Not heavy. Just... real.

Sarah bumped his shoulder with hers. “For what it’s worth, I think you’re a better captain than he ever was.”

He smiled without looking at her. “That’s not a very high bar. He used to get lost on the way to the mainland.”

“Details.”

Behind them, JJ let out a victory yell as his butter knife disarmed the spatula, and Kiara immediately told him to go outside and play.

John B finally looked over at Sarah, his voice softer. “You’re happier here aren’t you?”

Sarah considered it for a moment, her eyes scanning the kitchen, the mess, the noise, the sunlight streaking across the floor. Then she nodded.

“It’s always been like this”

Chapter 3: Part 1 -Ghosts in the water

The tide rolled in lazy and rhythmic, like the ocean was breathing. From the shore, the waves seemed harmless; just endless curls of blue brushing the sand. But farther out, where the Pogues were carving through the morning swell, the water had teeth.

Sarah sat on her board, drifting. The salt stung in her hairline and on her lips, but it didn’t bother her. The sun was just starting to climb higher, casting the water in gold and silver light. Everything was glowing.

She closed her eyes, floating.

And without warning, she was somewhere else, lost in a memory that made her tummy flutter.

The beach had felt endless back then.

Sarah was six, John B seven — both sun-kissed and barefoot, sticky with melted popsicles and covered in salt. Their fingers were shriveled from digging moats and packing wet sand, their knees scraped and gritty.

Their castle stood lopsided near the tide line, complete with seaweed banners, a plastic cup turret, and a moat that was already filling with water.

“Dragon’s coming!” Sarah shrieked, twirling a broken palm frond like a sword.

John B leapt onto a low driftwood log they’d declared the battlement. “I’ll defend the wall! Save the Princess!”

“I am the Princess!” she shouted, giggling.

She tried to run to the other side of the sand fort, but her foot caught on a buried shell. She tumbled to her knees hard, the laughter stopping short. “Ow…”

John B jumped down instantly. “Sarah?”

She sat back, holding her scraped knee with both hands. “It’s fine,” she muttered. But her lip was trembling.

John B knelt beside her in the sand. He didn’t panic — just picked up a corner of his own damp shirt and gently wiped the dirt from her skin. “You're okay,” he said, quiet but certain, like he already knew how to take care of her.

She sniffled.

He leaned closer. “Don’t worry. I’ll rebuild the wall while you rest. Princesses don’t dig.”

“You just said I was a Princess so I wouldn’t cry,” she accused.

“Still counts.”

She smiled through the sting. “Okay. But I want extra shells in my tower. Shiny ones.”

“Deal.”

From a distance, Lizzie watched, hand resting on her hip, sandals dangling, smiling like she already knew that moment — where her daughter and the boy she trusted — would live in the corners of memory long after the castle washed away.

“Time for a break, you two!” she called, walking toward them.

“But the kingdom’s under siege!” John B shouted dramatically.

Sarah grabbed a seashell and held it to her ear. “I hear the mermaids surrendering!”

Lizzie crouched beside them, laughing softly, brushing wet hair out of Sarah’s eyes. “You two are sandy disasters.”

“We’re warriors,” Sarah said proudly.

Lizzie kissed the top of her head and offered a juice box. “Even warriors need hydration, little princess.”

John B took his and sat down cross-legged next to Sarah, their knees bumping. He looked out at the ocean, serious all of a sudden. “Can we come back tomorrow?”

“If you’re lucky,” Lizzie smiled. “And if you let me take one decent photo of you today.”

Sarah groaned. “Mamma—”

“No photos,” John B added quickly, scrunching his nose.

Lizzie rolled her eyes. “Artists. The pair of you.”

Sarah blinked back to the present as JJ shouted from the beach, applauding her.

“Nice ride, Sarah Cameron!” he called, throwing up a fist as she came gliding in on the last wave.

She coasted smoothly to shore, stepping off her board into ankle-deep water. Pope was already sitting on the sand, toweling off. John B came in behind her, pulling his board beside hers.

They both stood there a moment, saltwater running down their legs, boards under one arm, wind tugging gently at their shirts.

John B looked over at her. “You’ve got that far-off look again.”

She blinked, then smiled faintly, tilting her head to look at him.

“Sand forts,” she said. “We used to be incredibly good at building those with my mom when we were kids.”

He watched her, quietly. “I remember.”

“We had this whole system,” she went on, eyes unfocused. “Digging moats, finding seaweed for flags. She’d sit with us all afternoon, like she had nothing else in the world to do. Just... us, the ocean, and whatever kingdom we built that day.”

The wind shifted. A gull cried out in the distance.

John B’s voice was low. “She was good at making things feel real.”

Sarah nodded, throat tightening. “Yeah. She really was.”

As they walked back up the beach, Sarah paused, eyes drawn to a cluster of little kids near the dunes, barefoot and tangled-haired, squealing with joy. Two were dragging a piece of driftwood, the third trying to stack shells in a pile too small to survive the next wave.

One blonde girl turned and shouted something about dragons.

Sarah stopped, heart tugging. She bent down without thinking and picked up a shell near her feet, rubbing the ridges with her thumb.

John B looked back. “What is it?”

She smiled softly. “Just... déjà vu.”

“You always did have a thing for shiny things”

JJ had already dropped onto a towel, sun-soaked and half-asleep. Pope tossed Sarah a bottle of water without looking. Kiara arrived a few minutes later, throwing a shirt over her bikini.

None of them questioned why Sarah wasn’t dressed for the brunch she was supposed to be on her way to. Or why her phone was face-down on her towel next to her bag, still buzzing every few minutes.

Topper had already called four times.

He’d texted more.

Where the hell are you?
Are you ignoring me now?
You’re not even going to show up to brunch? Really?
If you’re with him, just say it.

The phone buzzed again, rattling slightly against the bottle of sunscreen. JJ glanced at it, then at her, raising a brow.

“You gonna answer that?” he asked, more observation than question.

Sarah didn’t move. “Nope.”

John B was watching her now too. His tone was quiet, familiar. “You know you’re gonna get in trouble for ignoring him.”

She exhaled, long and even. Her eyes drifted toward the ocean again.

“I don’t care,” she said finally. “I’m not his property.”

There was no dramatics in it. No fire. Just a calm certainty in her voice that made Pope look up and Kiara pause mid-sip. Her fingers traced the material around her wrist; it almost grounded her.

John B didn’t say anything at first. But he felt it, the shift in her. The part of her that was finally done pretending. Not running. Not yelling. Just done.

He didn’t say it out loud, but watching her sit there; quiet, strong and unbothered stirred something in him. Not pride. Not relief. Something deeper.

Like maybe this version of her, barefoot in the sand, clinking water bottles with JJ — was finally coming back to herself.

And maybe he was part of that.

JJ leaned back on his towel again, lifting the soda can. “To not being owned, then.”

Sarah gave a small, honest smile and clinked her water bottle gently against his.

The kids were still laughing down by the dunes. Their laughter a gentle reminder in the background of something changing.

Somewhere in the back of her mind, she was still six, sunburned and barefoot, building castles with John B while her mother smiled at them.

And for the first time in a long time, the ghosts in the water didn’t scare her. They just reminded her who she used to be and that maybe she could be that person again.

Chapter 4: Part 1 - The drift

The Wreck buzzed with the lazy hum of a Friday afternoon crowd, the kind that settled in slow, nursing beers and fried baskets under the soft, sinking sun. The wooden tables were worn to the grain, each one bearing scars of carved initials, spilled drinks, and too many late nights. Strings of dim bulbs cast a warm, tired glow. Outside, the salt air pressed through the screen doors, tangling with the smell of grease, ketchup, and cheap perfume.

Behind the bar, Kiara moved on autopilot. Polishing a glass. Stacking baskets. Smiling just enough.

But her thoughts had stopped moving the second she heard that voice.

Topper.

The name alone made her stomach clench.

She hadn’t meant to eavesdrop but the voices at the corner booth were impossible to miss.

“...he was down at the country club last night. Not with Sarah.”

Another voice laughed low, oily.

“Had some brunette all over him. Real familiar. Didn’t look like they were there for the shrimp cocktail if you know what I mean.”

Kiara’s hand froze mid-polish.

She blinked, heart thudding, and set the glass in the sink with a quiet clink. Dried her hands and glanced at the door. No one had noticed her leave.

Outside, the breeze had cooled, sweeping in from the water with the taste of salt and woodsmoke. John B stood against the wall of The Wreck, arms crossed, jaw clenched tight.

Nearby, JJ scuffed at the gravel with his shoe. Pope leaned on the railing, silent but alert.

They all looked up when Kiara stepped out, they were waiting for her to finish her shift and were surprised to see her before she’d said.

“Oh oh” Pope said “What happened?”

Her face said it before her mouth did.

“Kie?” JJ asked, voice low.

Kiara hesitated. “Topper was at the country club last night. With another girl.”

The words dropped like stones.

John B's hands balled into fists. The kind of still anger that only builds in people who've been forced to be quiet for too long.

Pope swore under his breath. JJ shook his head. “What a freaking cliché.”

John B pushed off the wall, eyes already distant. “I’m gonna talk to him.”

JJ stepped in. “Whoa, hold on. Talk how?”

“Calmly,” John B muttered.

Kiara gave him a look. “Yeah, because you’re the poster child for emotional regulation.”

He didn’t smile. “I just want him to know—if he’s screwing her over—he’s not walking away clean.”

"John B ..." kie sighed 

"What, Kie?" 

Pope spoke this time "Just be chill. Don't get doing something that's going to get you in trouble" 

He shrugged "Couldn't care less. No one. And I mean NO one messes with one of us. Especially Sarah"

---

Later, under the starting glow if the setting sun, Topper leaned against his Jeep, a cigarette dangling between his fingers. He wasn’t alone; some other Kooks stood a few feet away, laughing about something, loud and careless.

John B stepped out of the dark like a warning.

Topper noticed him immediately, straightening up with a sneer. “Well, well. Look who’s playing watchdog.”

“I’m not here to fight,” John B said flatly. “Just wanted to clear up a few things… if you’re cheating on Sarah, say it now. Because you don’t get to mess with her life and walk away like nothing happened. She’s been through enough”

Topper took a long drag. “You still hung up on her, huh? That’s cute.”

John B stepped closer. “I’m not here for your games. I’m here to tell you one thing—she deserves better. And if you’re lying to her, I’ll make sure she finds out.”

Topper exhaled smoke through his nose, flicking ash onto the pavement. “Keep dreaming, Pogue.”

John B stared at him a beat longer, then turned and walked off, not giving Topper the satisfaction of another word. Sarah hated when he fought. 

---

Back inside The Wreck, the mood had turned leaden. The Pogues sat around a table too scarred and stained to count the years. Nobody touched their drinks.

Sarah entered like a storm held barely at bay; wearing a sundress and sunglasses pushed up into her hair, backpack slung over one shoulder. She stopped just inside the door, brows furrowing at the tension in the room.

“Well,” she said, setting her bag down. “I see someone forgot to turn on the vibe.”

No one spoke.

She approached their table and folded her arms “Anyone wanna tell me what’s going on? JJ?” He looked down nervously into his drink “No? Pope?...Sancho?” John B looked away too. Sarah nodded slowly “Wow ok, if all three of you won’t say anything, it must be bad”

Kiara stood slowly. “If you guys won’t say it, I will. She deserves to know”

Sarah raised an eyebrow. “Say what?”

Kiara met her eyes, steady. “Topper was seen with someone else. Last night. Country club. They were... close.”

Silence.

Sarah let out a sharp, dry laugh. “Wow.”

She sat down heavily, arms crossed. The weight of it didn’t hit all at once. It arrived slowly, like sinking in sand.

JJ scratched at his neck. “We weren’t sure if you’d want to know.”

Sarah didn’t look up. “Why wouldn’t I? He’s not exactly being subtle about it. Whole island probably knows by now.”

Kiara leaned forward. “Sarah, we’re just worried about you.”

“I’m fine,” she said. But her voice lacked conviction. And that alone was enough to make them uneasy. “Let’s eat ok? I’ll figure out that problem later.

---

Later that night, long after The Wreck had emptied out and the others had gone home, Sarah sat on John B’s porch.

Her legs were pulled tight to her chest. The sky stretched out in quiet ink above her, stars blinking behind thin clouds. Somewhere down the block, a dog barked once. Then silence.

John B came outside without a word, sitting down beside her.

“You okay?” he asked quietly.

She didn’t answer at first. Then spoke “Can I stay here tonight?” Her voice was soft. Not afraid. Just… tired.

John B glanced sideways. “Since when do you ask?”

She gave a half-smile, looking down. “I don’t know. Just feels like the kind of night I need to.”

He nodded once. “You never need a reason. Or permission.”

She exhaled, some of the weight leaving her shoulders. After a beat, she leaned into his side, head on his shoulder. The porch creaked under them and the crickets buzzed on.

And John B, who had grown up learning to survive in the absences people left behind, let the quiet settle without needing to fix it.

He just let her stay.

---

Morning crept in slowly, golden and quiet.

Sarah woke to the distant sound of gulls and the soft creak of floorboards under John B’s porch swing. The thin blanket draped over her shoulders smelled like salt and the cheap laundry detergent John B tried to use; and for a second, she forgot where she was.

Then it came back.

The Wreck.

Kiara’s voice.

Topper’s inability to keep himself away from other girls.

The weight dropped again but it didn’t crush her like last night.

She sat up slowly, brushing a strand of hair from her eyes. Her phone sat face-down on the porch table, the battery blinking red.

Six new messages. Two missed calls.

She didn’t check them, not yet.

Instead, she stood and stepped toward the edge of the porch. The air was warming already, the sky a hazy blue-gray, promising more than cloud by noon. From here, she could see the marsh stretching out toward the water, the tall grass swaying in the early spring breeze.

Inside, she heard the soft clink of dishes. John B was up.

She knocked lightly on the screen door.

He turned from the sink, still shirtless, a dish towel over one shoulder. “Hey. You want coffee?”

She hesitated. “Only if there’s sugar. I’m not a savage like JJ.”

He smiled faintly and grabbed a second mug.

They sat on the porch again, mugs in hand, watching the world wake up. Sarah tucked her legs under herself on the swing. She looked tired, but not fragile.

“Thanks for letting me crash,” she said, sipping. “Sorry if I hogged your blanket.”

“You’ve always hogged the blanket,” John B said without looking at her. “But I know you can’t sleep without one. Even in a heatwave”

She smiled. “You remember that?”

He shrugged. “Some things stick.”

A pause.

Sarah took a breath and finally flipped her phone over. She scrolled through the messages quickly, her thumb barely slowing.

Topper

“Can we talk?”

“You’re overreacting.”

“It’s not what it looked like.”

“I don’t deserve this treatment.”

“Pick up the phone.”

“You’re being dramatic.”

She locked the screen and set the phone aside.

John B watched her. “You gonna call him back?”

“I don’t know,” she admitted. “I’m... thinking about everything. I haven’t made any decisions yet.”

He gave a small nod, eyes on the marsh.

“I just... I keep thinking maybe I’m blowing it out of proportion. Like, yeah, he was with someone. But maybe it didn’t mean anything. Maybe he didn’t mean anything by it.”

“Or maybe he did,” John B said quietly. "you're worth more Princess..."

She didn’t answer.

“I’m just tired of pretending everything’s fine,” she finally whispered. “I’m tired of covering for him, but i don’t want things to change…it’s easy like this”

---

By noon, the porch was filled with the familiar, comforting mess of the Pogues.

Kiara arrived first, carrying two smoothies and a mood sharp enough to slice through steel. “Tell me we’re slashing his tyres,” she said instead of hello.

John B raised an eyebrow. “Tempting.”

Sarah gave a tired half-smile. “I haven’t even broken up with him.”

Kiara blinked. “You haven’t?”

“I’m considering it. I just... I need time to figure things out. It’s not that simple.”

JJ and Pope rolled up a few minutes later, cooler in tow, mid-argument about who was supposed to bring ice. JJ tossed himself onto the porch bench and cracked a soda, catching the tail end of Sarah’s sentence.

“Wait—you’re considering staying with him?”

Sarah bristled slightly. “It’s not black and white, JJ.”

He looked at her like she was growing a second head. “He’s messing around behind your back, and you’re still playing his defense attorney?”

“I’m not—I’m just... I’m trying to be fair.”

JJ sat up straighter. “You shouldn’t have to ‘be fair’ to a guy who cheats, Sarah. He doesn’t deserve that kind of grace.”

Pope gave a low whistle and tried to redirect. “Maybe it’s not our call, man—”

But JJ shook his head. “No. Someone needs to say it. You deserve better.”

The porch fell quiet. Sarah stared into her smoothie like it held answers.

After a beat, JJ looked over at John B and nudged him. “Have a word with her, man. She’s your best friend.”

John B didn’t look up right away. When he did, there was something a little sad in his smile.

“And I know better than to question her decisions,” he said. “She’ll do what she wants.”

Kiara gave him a look. “That doesn’t mean she doesn’t need support.”

“I’m supporting her,” he said simply. “That doesn’t mean controlling her.”

Sarah glanced at him, a little surprised by the gentleness in his tone. He didn’t flinch under her gaze.

Later, after the others had gone inside, Sarah lingered on the porch. The sun was low, turning the water gold, and her phone buzzed again.

She didn’t touch it.

Instead, she wandered toward the edge of the dock, barefoot, the boards warm beneath her skin. Her hair lifted in the breeze, and for the first time in days, she didn’t feel like she was holding her breath.

John B joined her, hands in his pockets, quiet as always.

“You don’t have to decide today,” he said.

“I know.”

“But if you’re waiting for him to become someone better... you might be waiting a long time.”

She looked at him, a little wounded, a little grateful. “I don’t know if I’m strong enough to leave.”

He met her eyes. “I think you are. I think you’ve just forgotten.” he dipped his head towards the material around her wrist "I'm always here...you know that" 

 

Chapter 5: Part 1 - The final straw

A few days later, rain pelted the beach house roof in a steady rhythm, a background hum to the pounding bass inside. The air smelled like wet sand and spilled beer. Sarah stood near the archway to the living room, arms crossed, the threads of her patience unravelling. Here she was again at yet another Kook party, alone and uncomfortable.

She hadn’t seen Topper in twenty minutes. He’d disappeared with a bottle of tequila and his usual entitlement. The crowd around her pulsed and laughed, but the joy felt distant. Forced.

She took a breath and turned the corner toward the hallway, then froze.

Topper was at the far end of the hallway, half-shielded by shadow. His arm was around someone. Some girl Sarah didn’t recognize. She was pressed up against the wall, her hand flat on his chest, laughing at something he whispered.

Then he leaned in.

Kissed her. Twice.

Sarah didn’t blink. Didn’t flinch. Just watched, jaw clenched, as something quietly shattered inside her.

Topper didn’t even see her leave.

---

Rain came down in sheets by the time she reached the Cut.

Her sneakers slapped against the gravel path to John B’s porch, hair stuck to her face, hoodie clinging to her arms like a second skin. Her breath came sharp, a tremble under her ribs, like if she let go for a second, she might not be able to bring herself back.

On the porch, JJ, Kiara, and Pope sat with mugs of something warm, a half-abandoned game of cards between them. The rain cast a soft silver light on their faces.

They saw her at the same time.

“Shit,” JJ muttered, standing.

Kiara rushed forward, already peeling off her jacket and reaching for a towel. “Sarah, what—”

“Don’t,” Sarah said quietly. Her voice was flat. Hollow. “Please don’t ask.”

She looked soaked straight through, eyes wide and vacant. Pope stepped back to let her pass without a word. She moved like she wasn’t fully in her body, as if something vital had been left behind in that hallway.

JJ handed her one of John B’s clean shirts and a pair of old sweatpants without a word.

She took them and disappeared into the bathroom.

Inside, Kiara stared down at her phone.

An Instagram story had popped up just minutes earlier.

Topper. Same girl that he was with in the wreck .

Same kiss.

Someone had posted it.

“oh shit.”

JJ leaned over, catching a glimpse and let out a low whistle “Too late now.”

Pope let out a slow breath. “She saw it with her own eyes this time.”

No one said what they were all thinking.

They didn’t need to.

When Sarah stepped back onto the porch, wrapped in John B’s clothes, her voice was small.

“Where’s John B?”

Kiara tilted her head toward the corner. “Hammock. Passed out a while ago.”

Sarah didn’t hesitate. Her feet were still bare, leaving faint water marks on the wood as she crossed to the hammock.

John B was curled up, shirt twisted, one arm above his head in his usual sleep position. His chest rose and fell steadily. His mouth twitched slightly, like he was dreaming.

She stood by him for a moment.

Then climbed in beside him, silent.

The hammock swayed beneath them, creaking softly. As soon as she settled, John B shifted instinctively, his body curling toward her. His arm moved to rest gently along her back.

He blinked awake, brow furrowed.

“Hey, Princess,” he mumbled, voice thick with sleep. “When’d you get here?”

Sarah didn’t answer.

She just let out a breath and began to cry.

It wasn’t loud. No sobs. Just tears slipping silently down her cheeks, her shoulders trembling against him. She pressed into his chest, her face buried in the fabric of his hoodie.

“Woah… hey. You’re okay.”

He looked over the edge of the hammock, eyebrow raised at the others in a silent question.

JJ mouthed, “Topper,” as Kiara tilted her phone to show him the video.

John B didn’t need to watch it. He didn’t want too either.

His arm tightened around Sarah. She pressed closer, and he rested his cheek against her damp hair.

The porch faded around them the voices, the rain, the ache of the night—all of it falling away.

He held her like it was the most natural thing in the world.

And it was.

For them, it always had been.

---

The rain had calmed by morning.

Soft light filtered through the clouds, a bluish haze over the porch. The sea air was damp and still. JJ sat on the steps, arms draped loosely over his knees, nursing a mug of lukewarm coffee.

Inside the hammock, John B stirred.

His eyes blinked open slowly, disoriented by the weight curled against him and the damp chill of morning. For a second, he didn’t move—just stared down at the girl nestled against his chest, her face tucked beneath his jaw.

Sarah.

Her breathing was slow. Steady. Still asleep. One hand fisted gently in the fabric of his hoodie.

He blinked again, trying to not to disturb her.

Then JJ’s voice cut through the stillness.

“She showed up whilst you were asleep. Soaked. Silent. Wouldn’t say anything.”

John B looked up. JJ didn’t turn, but his voice was low and serious.

“She saw him. Topper. With some girl. Full-on kiss at the party.”

John B’s jaw tightened. “Figured as much.”

He glanced back down at Sarah, how she clung to him like her body had known, even in sleep, where she’d be safe.

JJ kept talking. “Kie saw the video, too. But Sarah didn’t need proof. She already knew.”

John B didn’t answer.

He pulled the blanket back up over her shoulders, fingers brushing lightly down her spine. She shifted a little, a soft sigh escaping her lips.

A few minutes later, JJ stepped quietly back inside, leaving the two of them alone on the porch.

Eventually, Sarah stirred.

She blinked up at him, bleary-eyed. Her hair was a soft mess. Her cheeks were still puffy from the night before. But her voice had its usual dry edge.

“Are you staring at me while I sleep?”

John B exhaled a quiet laugh. “I’m plotting how I’m going to kill him.”

Sarah rolled her eyes and buried her face in his chest. “You need to behave.”

“I am behaving. I haven’t punched anyone. Yet. You know how hard that is for me?”

“That’s not exactly what I meant.”

He pulled back slightly, eyes on hers.

“But seriously,” he said softly. “He doesn’t get to treat you like that.”

Her mouth twisted into a tired half-smile. “I appreciate the sentiment.”

They lay there in silence, until Sarah whispered, “Thanks for not waking me.”

“You looked like you needed it.”

“I did.”

He brushed his thumb over her shoulder—a gesture so natural it didn’t need explanation.

And Sarah didn’t say anything.

But she stayed there.

Still.

---

She’d been at John B’s for three days now.

She hadn’t planned to stay. It had just... happened, like it always did.

Her mornings started with JJ handing her terrible coffee, and her nights ended with her falling asleep on the couch, John B’s hoodie bundled under her cheek. Her phone lay untouched in the corner. Her charger lived permanently in the outlet near the window.

On day three, she stared at herself in the bathroom mirror, eyes heavy, hair a mess from sleep and sea air.

“I think I should go home,” she muttered, walking into the kitchen where Pope and JJ were arguing over who’d burned the toast.

John B looked up from the porch. “You say that like it’s a threat.”

“I’m starting to morph into you,” Sarah deadpanned, sniffing her shirt. “I stink.”

JJ grinned. “You smell like sunshine and cheap detergent. Welcome to the Cut.”

“My dad’s probably hiring private investigators.”

“You think he’d be surprised to find you here?” Kiara asked, eyes still on her book.

Sarah paused. “No, he knows I come here. But I think he’d still pretend to be.”

John B stood up, brushing his hands on his shorts. “You coming back later?”

“Maybe.” She hesitated in the doorway. “Depends on if Rafe hasn’t burned the house down.”

John B nodded before giving her a knowing look “Call. If you want us. Or need us.”

“We’ll keep the hammock warm,” JJ called after her.

---

Her house was too quiet.

Too cold.

Too clean.

She stepped inside, barefoot on marble floors, the silence pressing against her ears.

She hadn’t made it to the stairs when a voice cut through the stillness.

“Well, look who finally remembered where she lives, crawling out of the Marsh again?”

Rafe.

He leaned against the kitchen doorway, sipping something definitely not juice.

“Don’t start,” Sarah said, already exhausted.

“Oh, so you get to disappear for days and waltz back in like nothing happened?”

“I needed space.”

“From what? Your life? Or Topper catching you playing house with the Pogues?”

She froze. “He cheated, Rafe.”

Rafe gave a dry laugh. “So what? You’re acting like it’s some world-ending betrayal.”

“It is when you’re supposed to trust someone.”

“Oh please.” He shook his head. “You’re so dramatic. Maybe if you weren’t so uptight, he wouldn’t have needed to—”

“What did you just say?”

“I said maybe if you’d just given him what he wanted—”

“Enough!”

The voice snapped like a whip.

Ward.

He stood in the hallway, face red, eyes stormy.

“Rafe, leave your sister alone.”

Rafe straightened. “I didn’t—”

“Now.”

Rafe slammed his glass into the sink and stormed off.

Sarah’s heart pounded. Her fists clenched at her sides.

Ward turned to her. “Where have you been?”

“With friends. You know—people who don’t make me feel like garbage.”

“I’ve been calling you.”

“I know.”

“Do you have any idea what this looks like? The daughter of Ward Cameron holed up on the Cut like some runaway—”

“Don’t.”

“You’ve been gone for days. You think I don’t hear what people are saying? What Topper’s parents are saying?”

She laughed bitterly. “So, it’s about the Camerons’ reputation now?”

“It’s always about this family.”

“Funny,” she said, voice sharp. “Because none of you act like a family.”

Ward took a step forward, jaw tight. “I don’t care about your teenage drama. But I do care that you’re making me look like I can’t control my own daughter.”

“You can’t.”

His fists balled at his sides, but he didn’t speak.

Sarah turned her back on him.

“I’m going to shower.”

Chapter 6: Part 1 - No one else gets it

John B watched the screen door ease shut behind Sarah. The spring creaked. The house settled. Then the silence came.

She was gone.

Three days she’d been here — floating around like she’d never left, barefoot on his porch, wrapped in his hoodie, fighting JJ for the last pancake like it was any other summer. She took up space without meaning to. Left some of her schoolwork sprawled on the table, her toothbrush next to his. It hadn’t been planned. But it had felt... familiar.

Now the air felt still again.

Too still.

He stepped outside, rope in hand, more for something to do than any real purpose. The sky had cleared, but the ground still held yesterday’s rain, damp and spongy beneath his feet. He wandered toward the dock, boots forgotten by the steps. His head buzzed, restless.

This wasn’t the first time Sarah had come here needing space. It wasn’t even the worst time. But it hit different now, maybe because she hadn’t said much. Not really. She’d just shown up with rain in her hair and a look in her eyes he hadn’t seen since her mom died three years ago.

He didn’t ask. She didn’t explain. That was how it always worked.

People didn’t really get it, not even the Pogues. How Sarah could straddle two worlds but never quite fit in either. How when things cracked open, she never went to her brother or her dad. She came here. To the Cut. To him.

Because this — this was safe.

JJ had pulled him aside that morning, when Sarah was brushing her teeth with her hair in a messy bun and John B’s hoodie swallowed over her hands.

“She’s not going back to him is she?” JJ had asked.

John B had just shrugged. “I don’t know, but I hope not. I don’t think she will.”

JJ narrowed his eyes.

“She’s just not very talkative JJ. Her future depends on that relationship.

He wasn’t going to push. Not with her. Sarah Cameron didn’t need saving. She needed space. And trust.

And John B had always given her both — no matter how much it cost him.

He sat on the edge of the dock, legs dangling over the water. The tide was low. A heron perched on the opposite bank, still as stone. The calm after the storm.

He thought about the way she curled into him without hesitation. How she’d cried so quietly, like she was trying not to break too loudly. How she hadn’t said a word all night but still chose to fall asleep in the hammock next to him.

People saw them and tried to name it. “Almost” or “Used to be” or “Complicated.”

But it was simpler than that.

Sarah had always been his person.

Even though they weren’t together, even when things got messy or quiet or distant, it was always her. It didn’t have to be romantic. It didn’t even have to be easy. It just was.

When the world tilted sideways, they found each other.

He ran a hand through his hair, letting the wind dry the sea spray off his skin. He wasn’t sure what she was walking back into. Ward. Rafe. A house full of sharp edges and too many closed doors.

But he knew this much: if she needed him — even if she didn’t say it — he’d be there.

Always had been.

Always would be.

 

 

Notes:

Maybe back later ❤️

Chapter 7: Part 1 - progression

Tanny hill was too clean.

Too quiet.

Too staged, like it belonged on the cover of Coastal Living instead of being lived in. The silence pressed against Sarah’s ribs as she walked the hallway to her room. Her fingers trailed along the polished railing, the echo of her own footsteps cold and hollow.

She closed the door behind her and leaned against it, exhaling.

Back on the Cut, everything had felt open, messy but real. Here, it was like every surface had been scrubbed clean of emotion.

Then, downstairs, the sound of the front door opening.

Voices.

Her father’s. And another one.

Topper.

Her chest went tight.

A knock followed. Three sharp taps.

“Sarah?” Ward’s voice. Measured. Calm in that practiced way of his. “He wants to talk.”

She stayed silent.

Another pause. Then he continued “I think you should hear him out.”

Sarah opened the door. Her voice was low. “Why?”

“He came all the way over here. He says he’s sorry. Says he wants to fix things.”

She blinked at him. “You think I owe him something?”

Ward’s jaw flexed. “I think you’ve been emotional. And if there’s a chance to work this out, it’s worth a conversation.”

She didn’t answer, but she stepped past him and down the stairs.

Topper was standing in the foyer with a massive bouquet of roses and that cocky, self-assured grin he always defaulted to. Like nothing had happened. Like everything could go back to normal if he smiled hard enough.

“There’s my beautiful girlfriend,” he said, holding out the flowers like a peace offering.

Sarah stopped a few feet away.

“Ex-girlfriend,” she said coolly.

Then she took the bouquet and threw it straight at his chest.

The stems hit with a dull thud, petals scattering across the tile floor.

Topper flinched. “What the hell, Sarah?”

“You cheated on me. Multiple times”

“It was a mistake—”

“No, it wasn’t,” she snapped. “It wasn’t just one time, one mistake. People see you out all the time, Topper. I’ve seen it. Twice. And guess what? The internet saw it too. Their faces are all over your stories, your friends’ stories. You didn’t even try to hide it. Thinking id just ignore it.”

He went quiet, lips parting like he had more to say, but nothing came out.

“We’re done,” Sarah said. “For real this time.”

Topper shook his head slowly, like he couldn’t quite believe she was serious. “You’ll regret this.”

Sarah didn’t blink.

“You know what, Topper? I don’t think I will.”

She turned and walked away before he could say anything else. Her footsteps didn’t falter. She didn’t look back.

Upstairs, she closed the door to her room, exhaled, and collapsed onto her bed. Her fingers fumbled for her phone. The screen lit up.

She didn’t hesitate to type out the message.

Just an FYI: I ended it with dickhead.

She hit send.

Simple. No overthinking. Just the facts.

She let the phone fall onto the mattress beside her and stared at the ceiling, her chest rising and falling, not with panic but with something closer to relief.

For once, she didn’t need to explain herself.

She just needed him to know.

John B was mid-way through untangling a fishing net when his phone buzzed twice on the porch railing beside him. He wiped his hands on the front of his shirt and picked it up, the screen glowing under the soft morning light.

Just an FYI: I ended it with dickhead.

His eyebrows lifted, and for a second he just stared at the message.

Short. Straightforward. Sarah.

He leaned back in the chair, thumbs hovering over the screen for a second before typing back.

Brave girl. You okay?

A few seconds passed.

Yeah. I think I am.

John B stared at her reply a beat longer than he needed to. Not because he didn’t believe her — but because he did. And somehow, that mattered more than he expected it to.

He didn’t know what to say after that. He didn’t want to say good job or finally or I told you so. That wasn’t them.

They never needed commentary. Just presence.

He slipped the phone back in his pocket, stood up, and tossed the net aside. The air smelled like salt and pine, thick with the humidity of an approaching storm. JJ and Pope were down by the dock arguing about engine grease and Kiara was curled in a chair reading, but he moved past them without a word.

In the kitchen, he opened the fridge, stared inside for a while, grabbed two cans of Coke, and then paused — almost without thinking — to pull her favorite hoodie from the back of the couch. The one she’d left behind last night- the one that actually belonged to him.

He smiled and folded it, putting it back on the sofa before joining the others on the dock.

---

The country club was exactly what John B expected—too white, too polished, too perfectly still. Waiters in pressed vests glided between tables like they were on rails, and the clink of cutlery was the loudest sound in the air.

He stood just inside the arched doorway, scanning the dining patio. Topper was easy to find. Always was. He sat near the center like he owned the place, back to the sun, a navy golf shirt crisp against his tan. His laugh—loud, confident, fake—carried over the quiet hum of conversation. Around him, a few of his buddies lounged with beers in hand, the kind of casual slouch that came from knowing no one here would ever call you out.

John B’s pulse kicked faster. His fingers curled into fists before he even realized it. He and Sarah had been broken up for literally two days and Topper was already flaunting a new girl around.

He started across the lawn, the trim green grass springy under his boots. A few heads turned. He didn’t slow down.

Topper saw him when he was only a few feet away. The smile faltered, confusion replacing it. “What the—”

John B didn’t give him the chance to finish.

His fist connected with Topper’s jaw in a clean, hard swing. The sound—solid, meaty—cut through the polite murmur of the patio. Topper’s chair skidded back, beer tipping over in slow motion, amber liquid soaking into the starched white tablecloth.

“That,” John B said, breath sharp in his chest, “is for Sarah.”

Topper blinked, jaw hanging open, one hand coming up to his face. “You—you’re insane, man!”

A ripple of whispers spread across the tables. Somewhere behind John B, someone barked, “Security!”

He didn’t bother to answer.

The first guard reached him in seconds, grabbing his arm in a firm grip. Another took the other side. Topper’s voice followed him as they walked him out—half insult, half shock—but John B didn’t turn around. His chest still buzzed with adrenaline, and for once, he didn’t regret a thing.

---

The sheriff’s station was too bright, all overhead fluorescents and dull beige walls. John B sat on a hard bench in the holding area, elbows on his knees, the faint scent of coffee and floor cleaner in the air.

The door creaked, and Sheriff Shoupe appeared, leaning in the doorway with that tired, knowing look.

“John B,” he said slowly, “I’d ask what you were thinking, but I’m not sure you were.”

Before John B could answer, another voice cut in “Visitor for you Sheriff”

Shoupe shut the door and walked out to find Sarah in the reception area “Could have guessed you’d show up to try save his sorry ass”

“Shoupe, come on,” Sarah said, stepping closer. Her hair was pulled back, her eyes sharp and clear. She looked… not angry exactly. More like determined. “You know Topper had it coming. And you know exactly why.”

Shoupe’s brows ticked up. “I know you two have a history. Doesn’t make punching him at the country club a smart move.”

Sarah stepped closer, lowering her voice but not softening it. “It wasn’t for him. He was protecting me. So if you’re gonna hold someone accountable, it’s me you should be blaming.”

He stared at her for a long beat, his mouth tugging into a reluctant smirk. “You two are gonna put me in an early grave.”

When the holding room door finally swung open, John B stepped out, rubbing at the faint red marks on his wrists. Sarah was waiting just outside, arms crossed, her expression unreadable.

“No charges,” Shoupe said from behind them. “Don’t make me regret this.”

John B nodded once. “Thanks.”

“Don’t thank me. Thank your girl”

John B rolled his eyes “Not my girl Shoupe”

“Who you kidding son?” he scoffed as he walked away .

As soon as Shoupe was out of earshot, Sarah moved in. For a second, she just stood there, eyes scanning his face like she was memorizing it. Then she leaned in and pressed a quick, warm kiss to his cheek.

“Thank you,” she murmured.

Before he could respond, her fist connected with his arm hard enough to make him grunt. “Ow!”

“That,” she said, “was a stupid move Sancho”

John B gave a half-smile. “That’s not saying much Princess...”

She shook her head and walked toward the door, sunlight spilling in from the parking lot beyond. “It really is.”

He followed a step behind, hands in his pockets, that faint, reckless smile still tugging at his mouth.

Because yeah—it was stupid.

And yeah—he’d do it again. Because it was her.

---

By the time they made it back to the Chateau, the sun was dipping lower, the heat giving way to that sticky, late-afternoon heaviness that meant the bugs would be out soon.

JJ was the first to spot them coming up the path. He leaned back in his chair on the porch, hands laced behind his head, wearing that grin that said he already knew something had gone down.

“Look who decided to grace us with his criminal presence,” JJ called out. “How was country club prison, JB? Did they feed you tiny sandwiches while you waited?”

John B ignored him, heading for the cooler by the steps. “Not funny.”

“It’s hilarious,” JJ said, standing up and trailing after him. “I heard you clocked Topper in front of like… thirty rich people eating lobster salad. Please tell me someone got it on video.”

"Yes and it got sent to me" Sarah scoffed "How I knew he was arrested!"

Pope appeared from inside with a soda in hand, shaking his head. “You’re lucky Shoupe likes you. Anyone else would still be sitting in a cell.”

Sarah, already sinking into the porch swing, shot John B a sideways look. “Exactly what I told him.”

Kiara came around from the side of the house. “Wait, wait—back up. You punched Topper?”

“Yep,” JJ said before John B could answer. “Like a full-on haymaker. Boom.” He mimed the swing, complete with an exaggerated sound effect.

Kiara blinked, then smirked. “Not saying I approve of violence, but… nice aim.”

Sarah groaned. “Do not encourage him.”

JJ leaned against the railing, still grinning. “What’d he say? I bet he tried to act all shocked, like he didn’t see it coming.”

“He didn’t see it coming,” John B admitted, pulling a Coke from the cooler. The can hissed when he cracked it open.

Pope sat on the steps, elbows on his knees. “You know this means he’s gonna try something, right? You embarrassed him in public.”

John B shrugged. “Let him try.”

Sarah shot him a sharp glance, but he didn’t take it back.

JJ tipped his beer in John B’s direction. “Honestly, man… ten out of ten for style. You walked in, threw a punch, said your line, and bounced. That’s like… movie stuff.”

“It was stupid,” Sarah said flatly, though her voice didn’t have much bite. “Completely unnecessary.”

“Maybe,” John B said, meeting her eyes. “But worth it.”

For a moment, no one spoke. The cicadas buzzed in the trees, the air heavy and slow. Sarah looked away first, rolling her eyes, but the faintest curve of a smile tugged at her mouth.

JJ caught it, and his grin widened. “Oh yeah. Totally worth it.”

Sarah stood then, brushing off her shorts. “Well, now that the ‘Release John B’ project is officially over, I need to go home.”

She started down the steps, glancing back over her shoulder. “Behave, please. I’m not coming to save you from your poor decision making again, Sancho.”

John B smirked at the nickname, shaking his head as she walked away.

JJ called after her, “You’re the only one who can keep him in line!”

Sarah didn’t turn around. “Exactly why I’m leaving.”

Her footsteps faded down the sandy path, and the porch fell quiet for a moment before JJ broke it with a low whistle. “Man… she is something else”

John B didn’t answer, but the smile that tugged at his mouth said enough.

Chapter 8: Part 1 - Like muscle Memory

The afternoon sun hung low, warm and heavy over the Cut. Sarah let herself into the chateau without knocking, she didn’t need to. The screen door creaked on its hinges, swinging shut behind her with a familiar slam.

The place was empty.

JJ’s boots were by the door, and someone had left a cereal bowl in the sink, but the house itself was still. Quiet in the kind of way only a well-lived place could be.

Sarah dropped her bag by the couch and exhaled. The cramps that had started mid-morning were worse now, coiling sharp and low in her stomach. She hadn’t told anyone she wasn’t feeling right partly because she didn’t want to talk, and partly because she didn’t need to. The chateau was the one place she could be left alone without actually being alone.

She grabbed an old hoodie from the back of a chair and curled into the couch like she’d done a hundred times before. She didn’t even bother to take off her shoes. Just pulled the hoodie over herself and shut her eyes.

John B came home and hour later, sand still on his shoes and a few flecks of paint on his hands from the boat. He kicked the door open with his heel and tossed his keys into the bowl on the side table.

He froze halfway through the room.

Sarah was curled up on the couch, sound asleep. Her face was tucked into a pillow, one hand braced lightly against her stomach, her expression drawn tight in discomfort even in sleep.

He stepped closer quietly, setting his stuff down on the kitchen table.

Yeah. She didn’t look great.

And without needing to ask, he knew exactly what it was.

It was five Years ago but John B remembered it like it was last week.

He had biked the whole way to Tannyhill, sweat drying on his shirt and frustration riding high. He knocked once before letting himself in, a rule Sarah had made very clear: “You’re allowed to come in whenever, just don’t bring sand in with you, Mom will make us clean it up”

Lizzie Cameron looked up from the kitchen island, startled, but smiled when she saw him.

“Hi, sweetheart.”

“Hey, uh — is Sarah in?” he asked, ruffling his already messy hair. “We were supposed to meet at the dock. Half an hour ago.”

Lizzie gave him a gentle, knowing look. “She didn’t go to school today. Didn’t she text you?.” Lizzie smiled softly “She probably forgot”

“Oh.” John B shifted awkwardly. “Is she sick or something?”

Lizzie smiled a little wider, more amused than concerned. “I’m sure you remember our mildly awkward talk about the birds and the bees?”

His ears went red. “Uh… yeah. Vividly.”

“Well,” she said lightly, “then you’ll also remember me telling you one day you’d have to deal with girl hormones — when we get our periods?”

John B blinked. “Oh. Right.”

Then, after a beat, “Does she… like… need anything? Or am I better off leaving well alone?”

From upstairs, a groggy voice called out, “Chocolate wouldn’t go amiss!”

John B laughed, shaking his head.

Lizzie grinned. “Well, you heard her.”

“I’ll be back,” he said, already backing out the door. “Best friend duties call.”

Lizzie crossed the room and gave him a quick hug before he left. “You’re a good kid, John B.”

He blinked the memories away, bringing himself back to the present.

John B stood over the couch, watching Sarah shift slightly in her sleep, still curled up and quiet.

He padded into the kitchen, opened the drawer by the fridge, the one they all dumped their weird snacks in and pulled out a chocolate bar. Not just any chocolate. The same kind he’d brought her back then, years ago, when she’d yelled down the stairs like it was no big deal.

Back before everything had gotten so complicated. Back when she was just Sarah, and he was just John B, and their friendship had been the most solid thing in their lives.

He placed the chocolate bar gently on the coffee table next to the pain meds and ginger ale. Then he reached for the blanket and laid it over her shoulders.

She didn’t wake.

He gave her one last glance, a small smile tugging at his mouth and slipped out again, the screen door creaking shut behind him.

---

The sky was dimming into that hazy golden blue by the time he met JJ, Kie, and Pope down by the marina. JJ was balancing on a fence post, Kie stretched across the hood of Pope’s car, and Pope gnawed on a granola bar.

“Took you long enough,” JJ said.

John B lifted a hand. “Had to stop by the chateau.”

“Everything cool?” Pope asked.

“Yeah,” he nodded. “Sarah’s there.”

JJ perked up. “Nice. Let’s head back, then. She’s always up for a good time.”

John B shook his head. “Not today.”

JJ frowned. “What, why? she mad?”

“No. Just... not feeling great. Cramps, I think. She was asleep when I got there, so I left her some chocolate and Advil. Blanket too.”

JJ blinked. “Jesus, that’s like... textbook care package.”

Kie raised her brows, impressed. “It’s honestly scary how well you know her. And the fact that you don’t even get grossed out? Respect.”

John B shrugged, grabbing a bottle of water from the cooler. “She’s Sarah.”

And somehow, that said everything.

---

John B stepped through the front door of the chateau and paused.

It smelled warm. Not like the usual mix of salt air and damp laundry—but rich, sweet, familiar. Chocolate.

He walked slowly toward the kitchen, tugging off his hoodie, and found Sarah perched barefoot on the counter, pulling a tray of slightly lopsided brownies from the oven.

She looked up. “Hey.” She looked better than she had earlier.

He gave a soft laugh. “Have you made therapy brownies?”

“You had enough ingredients,” she said casually, setting the tray down with a clatter. “Seemed like the right move.”

He raised an eyebrow and leaned against the counter beside her. “Dare I ask why you made them?”

She shrugged. “Because I need the therapy. I’m hormonal. And…” she handed him a square from the edge, still steaming, “a thank you. I know you like them.”

He took it without hesitation, took a bite, and closed his eyes like it was divine. “Still the best brownies in the state.”

She grinned. “Don’t let JJ hear you say that. He thinks his strange, squashed cake thing is elite.”

John B smiled as he moved into the living room, brownie in hand. Sarah padded after him, curling onto the couch, knees tucked under her. Her hoodie—his hoodie technically—swallowed her, sleeves tugged over her hands.

“You feel better?”

She nodded “Yeah…I no longer feel like my uterus is being ripped out”

John B frowned “Nice visual, Princess”

Without asking, he picked up the remote and scrolled through the streaming apps. Hovered for half a second before pressing play.

The opening notes of Amélie floated from the speakers, all soft piano and whimsy.

Sarah blinked at the screen, then turned to him, smiling. “Seriously?”

He just shrugged, settling into the corner of the couch. “You’ve seen it a thousand times. What’s one more?”

“You don’t even like it that much.”

John B gave her a crooked grin.

“Yeah. But you do. It’s your comfort film. Today is a comfort day”

She didn’t say anything to that. Just rested her head on his shoulder and let the familiar, dreamy Parisian world unfold.

By the time Amélie was skipping stones in the canal, Sarah’s breathing had evened out. She’d gone still, face soft, hands curled loosely near his chest.

John B glanced down once.

And smiled.

She always fell asleep during the same scene.

He didn’t move. Just adjusted the blanket around her and watched as the world on screen flickered gently in front of them.

In that quiet space, sugar still lingering in the air, the movie humming like memory—he thought back to the first time she’d made him sit through it. Subtitles, odd narration, and all. She’d called it “French weirdness with a heart.”

He hadn’t understood it then.

But now?

He kind of did. Because it was her favourite and that had always been enough. 

Chapter 9: Part 1 - The other side of the island

It started with the argument about Topper, then several missed family dinners. Then ignored texts. Cancelled Kook parties. Slamming doors. Being out longer than expected. 

Sarah wasn’t keeping track of how many times she’d fought with her dad the last few weeks, but she knew each one left her feeling more like a ghost in her own house. The walls of her Figure 8 home—polished, pristine, staged like a catalogue had started to feel like a cage- she hadn't even got the reprieve of school anymore. Since her Mom died she'd been put back into Kook Academy, her Mom no longer there to fight her corner of going to Kildare high. 

Everything about her life was suffocating.

So, she stopped being in it. Stopped being at Tanny Hill and started being everywhere else.

Mainly on the Cut. Mostly at John B’s. Sometimes at Kiara’s. Occasionally at The Wreck.

Her clothes started showing up more often at the Chateau, a few hoodies “forgotten” on purpose, sneakers, some tops, her favourite cereal added to the pantry.

No one questioned it.

Not even her.

Not anymore.

She, Pope, and Kiara went to school. JJ and John B stayed home, working, scheming, avoiding life in their own special way. But by sundown, like clockwork, they’d all end up back at John B’s—their unofficial Pogue headquarters.

---

 “Hand me the wrench,” John B called from under the boat, voice echoing slightly from beneath the hull.

Sarah reached for the rusted tool and dropped it into his outstretched hand with a smirk.

“You’re going to owe me big for this. Grease is definitely not Figure 8-approved skincare.”

John B chuckled from the shadows. “You’re doing great, Princess.”

“Careful Sancho,” she warned. “I might start charging by the hour. You’re lucky this is how I’ve chosen to spend my precious Saturday.”

JJ snorted from where he lounged in a lawn chair nearby. “She’s already more useful than Pope.”

“Hey,” Pope protested, holding up a box of parts. “I’m literally the only one who knows what any of this is.”

“Doesn’t count if you can’t fix it,” Sarah teased, bumping his arm.

Laughter echoed across the backyard, mingling with the salty breeze and the creak of the dock. Sarah felt it in her chest—something easy and good. The kind of moment you don’t realize you’re missing until you’re living it.

---

A week later, she stood barefoot in John B’s kitchen, hair tied up messily, a spoon in one hand and a smudge of tomato sauce on her cheek. A pot of pasta simmered on the stove. The whole house smelled like comfort.

John B reached around her without warning, fingers inching toward the pan.

“Don’t even think about it,” she said, swatting his hand away without looking.

“Ow.” He recoiled, grinning. “Since when did you become kitchen security?”

“That’s what happens when you burn fish and stink up the house for a week. You lose privileges.”

JJ snorted from the couch. “She’s right, man. I still remember that carbon brick you called dinner.”

“No no, it was dubbed ‘charred rustic,’ apparently” Pope added, thumbing through a boat repair manual.

Sarah laughed softly, but as she turned back to the stove, a familiar flicker tugged at her chest.

The way John B’s hand had hovered near the pan. The way her reflex had kicked in instantly. Like she’d done it before.

Because she had.

Four summers ago, they were thirteen and fourteen. Sun-drenched. Sandy. Footprints tracked all through the Tannyhill kitchen.

Lizzie stood barefoot at the stove, hair braided, apron stained, humming as she stirred a bubbling pot. The air smelled like garlic and basil.

John B was perched on the counter, flipping a spoon in his hands. Sarah leaned against the fridge, cheeks flushed from the beach.

“Don’t even think about it,” Lizzie said, not turning around.

John B froze mid-reach.

“How do you do that?” he asked, wide-eyed.

“Eyes in the back of my head,” Lizzie replied, handing Sarah a bowl of olives. “Also, you’ve been trying to steal food since you were six. I know your tricks.”

He grinned sheepishly. “You expect me to wait?”

Sarah laughed, tossing an olive at him. “No self-control.”

Lizzie just smiled—watching them like she was seeing something bigger than dinner being made.

Sarah blinked hard. The sound of boiling water snapped her back.

“You used to be sneakier,” she said quietly, eyes still on the pot.

John B leaned in the doorway. “Thinking?”

“Yeah. My mom. You. This move, in the kitchen... It’s not new.”

He didn’t say anything, but she saw the memory flicker in his expression. He remembered too.

They didn’t have to explain it to the others. They never really did.

Kiara walked in just as Sarah elbowed John B aside with a muttered “in my way Sancho,” and grabbed the pasta strainer.

“You two are like an old married couple,” she teased.

“We were trained by Lizzie,” John B said with a small smile.

JJ was already setting out mismatched bowls. Pope filled mason jars with water. The air buzzed with the soft ease of belonging.

Sarah’s phone buzzed again on the counter. Dad.

She ignored it.

---

They were halfway through dinner on the porch when gravel crunched in the driveway.

JJ leaned forward. “Tell me that’s not—”

“It’s Ward,” John B said, already standing.

Sarah’s fork froze mid-air.

She didn’t say anything, just stood, set her plate down, and stepped off the porch before anyone could follow.

Ward Cameron looked out of place.

His shirt was pressed, his shoes spotless, like the island hadn’t dared touch him. His eyes swept across the house behind her before landing on Sarah.

“I figured you’d be here,” he said. “You haven’t been home in almost two weeks.”

“I know.”

“I’ve been worried.”

Sarah crossed her arms. “Why? Because I’m not home playing hostess with Rose or pretending I’m still with Topper?”

Ward didn’t argue. “What he did was wrong. I told him that. You didn’t deserve it.”

“No,” she said quietly. “I didn’t.”

“I’ve been calling.”

“I know.”

“Rafe’s worried too.”

She scoffed. “Rafe’s worried I’m embarrassing the family. Not the same thing.”

Ward sighed. “Sarah. I’m not here to fight.”

“I just... need space.”

He stilled.

“I can’t be around Rafe. Or Rose. Or the version of me that I have to be in that house.”

A pause.

Then he nodded once. “Okay. At least I know where you are. And that you’re safe.”

Sarah blinked, caught off guard. “That’s it?”

“You come home when you’re ready.”

She hesitated. “Thank you.”

He stepped forward, kissed her cheek, and left without another word.

---

Later that night, Sarah sat beside John B on the porch railing, legs swinging above the ground. He handed her a blanket without saying anything.

“Hey, stargazer. You okay?” he asked gently.

“I think so.” She tilted her head up to the sky. “That might’ve been the calmest fight I’ve ever had with my dad.”

“That’s growth,” he said, smirking.

Sarah let out a soft breath. “It just feels easier here. With you guys. Like I don’t have to try so hard.”

“You don’t,” John B said simply, bumping his shoulder against hers.

She leaned into him, just slightly. Familiar. Solid.

Behind them, her phone buzzed again on the kitchen counter.

She didn’t move.

She didn't want to. 

She didn't need too. 

This was where she belonged. 

Chapter 10: Part 1 - Shockwaves

The afternoon light bled gold through the windows of the chateau, soft and hazy but the air inside felt heavy, like a storm that hadn’t broken yet.

Sarah had just finished school, now curled on the couch in one of John B’s oversized shirts. Her bare legs were tucked beneath her, hunched over a mess of fabric squares in her lap. The makeshift quilt had started as a joke—Kiara teasing her for being “domestic” now—but lately, it was something Sarah returned to in the quiet moments, when her thoughts got too loud to ignore.

The hum of the sewing machine had broken a while ago. Now she stitched by hand in slow, slightly uneven lines. Focused. Detached.

From the back porch, John B stepped inside, shirt clinging to his chest, towel slung over his shoulder, hair damp from a rinse off the hose. He froze when he spotted her, hunched over the bundle of fabric, jaw tense, and her phone buzzing every few minutes on the table beside her—ignored again.

“You still ignoring that?” he asked, nodding toward the screen lighting up.

She didn’t look up. “You answer it if you’re so concerned.”

He raised an eyebrow, teasing by habit, but the moment he glanced at the name on the caller ID, the humor faded.

“It’s Rafe.”

Sarah didn’t even blink. Just gave the faintest shrug—an imitation of indifference, but John B knew better. He hesitated, then swiped to answer, stepping away as he spoke low.

“No it’s John B… yeah. She’s here.”

There was a long pause.

“No, absolutely not” John B said carefully. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. I’ll tell her. Yeah. Ok bye.”

He hung up and turned, the entire energy in the room shifting with him.

No more jokes. No more casual rhythm. Just a sudden stillness.

He crouched beside the couch.

“Hey… princess?”

She kept sewing.

“Sarah...baby” John B gently reached for her hand, stilling it, letting his words slip out before he realised. “Let’s stop that for a second.”

There was something in his voice, something she hadn’t heard in many years, that made Sarah look up.

He hesitated. “It’s your dad Princess...”

Her breath caught in her throat.

“There was a car accident this morning,” John B said softly. “Ward… he didn’t make it.”

For a moment, Sarah didn’t move. Didn’t speak.

Then she blinked. Once. “No.”

John B didn’t respond. He didn’t need to.

She shook her head, voice tight, cracking. “No, he’s fine. He always takes the same road. He’s careful—he always calls if he’s running late, he always—”

But her voice gave out mid-sentence, and suddenly she folded in on herself.

John B caught her immediately.

Her body crumpled into him like a wave folding into the shore no noise at first, just the heavy collapse of everything holding her up. And then the sobs came, deep and guttural, pulled from somewhere she hadn’t known existed.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered into her hair, over and over. “I’m so sorry.”

His hands stayed firm on her back, anchoring her, as she clung to him like it was the only thing keeping her from drowning.

Eventually, Kiara arrived silently, her face soft with heartbreak. She crouched beside them and gently rested a hand on Sarah’s shoulder.

“I’ve got her,” Kiara said, her voice quiet but certain. She gave him a look as if to say “Not the time for those feelings”

John B looked down at Sarah, who was still trembling in his arms. He nodded once, carefully transferring her into Kiara’s embrace, though his hands lingered a moment too long. He didn’t want to let go. But he did.

Sarah buried herself against Kiara, her cries muffled now. The room fell into thick silence.

None of them moved. None of them spoke.

It felt like time itself had cracked.

As the sky darkened, the storm finally broke.

Rain tapped steadily against the windows, cool air creeping in through the walls. Inside, Kiara sat on the couch beneath a blanket, Sarah curled into her side like a child. Her fingers idly stroked Sarah’s hair as the girl drifted in and out of sleep, too exhausted to do anything else.

JJ and Pope sat out on the porch, voices low, the occasional murmur of comfort or disbelief floating in through the screen door.

John B stayed inside. On the floor. Leaning against the base of the couch, knees drawn to his chest, eyes never leaving Sarah.

The rain fell harder. The house held its breath.

---

It was sometime after midnight when Sarah stirred.

The couch was dimly lit by the light of the porch. Kiara had fallen asleep, arm still resting over Sarah’s waist. Everything smelled like salt and cotton and grief.

Sarah slowly sat up, careful not to wake her. The house was quiet.

She walked barefoot down the hallway, the floorboards creaking softly under her steps. John B’s bedroom door was ajar, moonlight spilling in through the curtains like silver paint across the floor.

He was already in bed, turned toward the wall, but not fully asleep. His breathing was too controlled.

She paused in the doorway. Then crossed the room without a word and climbed into bed beside him.

He didn’t ask. Didn’t move away. Instead, like it was instinct, he shifted toward her and wrapped his arm around her waist, pulling her in with the kind of ease that only came from years of knowing.

And that’s when she started crying again.

No sound at first—just the tremble of her shoulders, the hitch in her breath. Her hand pressed to her mouth as if she could contain it, but the tears soaked silently into his shirt.

John B held her tighter.

“I know,” he whispered. “I know it hurts princess.”

His hand moved gently across her back.

“It’s going to really fucking hurt for a while,” he said. “But we’re here. I’m here.”

Sarah said nothing. Didn’t need to.

She just curled tighter into him, like he was the only solid thing left.

By morning, sunlight had crept through the blinds, painting quiet golden lines across the room.

Sarah was finally asleep.

She looked smaller somehow, curled beneath the blanket like she was still trying to hide from the world. Her tear-streaked face was turned toward the window, breathing soft and steady at last.

John B had barely moved all night.

When he was sure she was fully asleep, he gently slid away, replacing his warmth with the blanket. She didn’t stir.

He padded to the kitchen, rubbing at his tired eyes.

The house smelled like damp air and last night’s tears.

Kiara was still on the couch, curled into herself, watching the rain roll down the windows.

“Hey,” she said softly.

“Didn’t know you stayed,” John B replied, his voice raw.

Kie shrugged. “Didn’t feel right leaving.”

He nodded, then reached for the coffee tin, working silently.

“You know she’s really vulnerable right now,” Kie said, not unkindly.

John B didn’t turn around. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Kiara straightened. “Just be careful with her. There’s a line between being her best friend and being something more.”

He turned his head. “That line’s always been blurry. If it ever existed at all.”

“I know,” she admitted. “You two have always had this... thing. But I’m saying don’t let her fall if you’re not ready to catch her.”

“I am ready,” he said, firmer than before. “I always have been”.

Kie studied him. “Then just… don’t waver. She can’t take more instability right now…”

John B watched her “Spit it out Kie”

“She slept in your room John B… you know how that looks right?”

John B turned back to the counter, hands steady.

“If being in my room, next to me… helps her sleep,” he said quietly, “if it gives her even an ounce of peace—then I’ll do it. I don’t care what it means, or how it looks. I care about Sarah. I always have.”

Kiara held her hands up in surrender. “Okay. Just saying.”

They stood in mutual silence again, the kind old friends knew how to share.

He started the coffee maker. The machine sputtered and hissed.

“I’m gonna call the school,” he said. “Let them know she’s not coming in. And the Heywards—they’ll want to check in.”

“I’ll tell my parents,” Kie added. “Mom’ll probably send food. You know her.”

“Thanks.”

Soft footsteps signalled Pope’s entrance. He looked tired, his hair a mess.

“Mornin’,” he mumbled, grabbing a mug.

Another normal morning. In a world that wasn’t normal anymore.

And down the hall, behind a cracked door, Sarah slept on—wrapped in blankets and the ghost of a man she both loved and hated.

Wrapped in grief. Wrapped in the one place she trusted not to fall apart.

 

Chapter 11: Part 1 - Home is not a house

It had been a week since Ward Cameron’s death.

Sarah hadn’t stepped foot back on Figure Eight. Not once.

At the Chateau, life was far from polished. John B’s laundry lived in layered piles—some clean, some questionable. The sink always had something soaking. JJ’s wet towel mysteriously migrated to the floor no matter how many times someone threw it back over the hook.

And yet, for Sarah, the chaos had begun to feel like a strange kind of sanctuary. A space where no one expected her to smile. A space where her silence wasn’t awkward—just accepted.

She didn’t have to perform here. She could just be.

This morning was one of those humid, honey-slow Outer Banks mornings where the air clung to your skin and even the wind didn’t bother to move. The chirring of cicadas was steady outside, but the house inside was still.

Sarah sat curled on the hallway floor in one of John B’s threadbare hoodies, sleeves bunched at her wrists, phone pressed to her ear. Her bare feet were tucked under her, knee bouncing slightly with tension.

“I told you—I’m not coming back” she said, sharp but not raised. “I’m not hiding, I just... I can’t be there. I don't want to come back.”

A pause. The voice on the other end was clipped and smooth, clearly Rose.

“No, this isn’t about John B. This is about me. I need space. You want to be helpful? Stop calling me.”

She ended the call, thumb pressing a little too hard on the screen, and slumped forward until her forehead touched her knees. She stayed like that, folded into herself.

John B emerged from the kitchen with a spoon and a half-eaten yogurt. He stopped mid-bite when he spotted her.

“Let me guess. Rose again?”

Sarah didn’t answer immediately. Then she looked up, and the hollow look in her eyes was all the confirmation he needed.

“She thinks I’m... overstaying,” she muttered. “That I’m only here because I’m too scared to deal with everything. She told me you probably don’t even want me here.”

John B blinked, the spoon lowering. “That’s… not even remotely true.”

“She said I’m invading your space. That I should come home.”

“You are home,” he said without thinking.

Sarah looked at him then—really looked. Like she was trying to decide whether or not to believe him.

He sank down beside her, still holding the spoon, like none of this was out of the ordinary. “If you want more space, like real space, we can clear out the study. It’s just junk and fishing gear. We can make it yours. You can stay as long as you need. No expiration date.”

She huffed a soft breath, half laugh, half disbelief. “What if I never wanted to leave?”

John B smiled, slow and warm. “Then you stay. I’m good with that”

---

Two days later, the Pogues started to clear it out together.

It was chaotic in the way only they could be. JJ found an old BB gun and spent half an hour trying to shoot cans off the fence. Kiara got a splinter and swore like a sailor. Pope, as usual, took it too seriously—labelling boxes, color-coding sharpies, writing "RANDOM SHIT” in all caps even though the boxes were still mostly filled with old maps and cracked tackle boxes.

They didn’t stop there.

While Sarah wandered the beach alone that evening, Kiara, Pope, and JJ drove out to Figure Eight. They didn’t go inside; they didn’t need to. One of the house staff met them at the gate and passed over a duffel bag filled with her clothes, her makeup, a few books, a half-used perfume bottle, and the tiny cactus from her bedroom windowsill. It was yellowing slightly, but still alive.

When Sarah got back to the Chateau and saw it all waiting in her new room; fresh sheets, her sweatshirt folded on the bed, the cactus perched crookedly on the sill—she didn’t say much. Just hugged Kie for a long time, tight and wordless.

And from then on, the Chateau shifted to make space for her.

She and John B fell into a rhythm. She handed him tools when he was under the boat. He made her coffee before she even asked. They didn’t talk about it. They didn’t need to.

Sarah had her own bed now ( didn’t mean she used it though).

Most of the time when the grief crawled under her skin and refused to sleep, she found herself standing in the hallway, toes pressed to the wooden floor, hand brushing the half-open door to John B’s room.

And without a word, she’d slide into bed beside him. He never said no. Just pulled back the covers and let her in.

One night, as she slipped under the covers, lying stiff on her side, she paused mid-motion. Her breath caught.

“What are you even doing?” she whispered to herself.

She sat up, like she was going to leave.

But John B stirred, voice soft and low with sleep. “Stop overthinking.”

She didn’t move.

“If I didn’t want you here,” he added, eyes still closed, “I’d say so.”

She stared at him for a beat longer, then let out a breath and slowly lay back down. She faced away from him, but the warmth of him behind her was enough. He didn’t reach for her. He never did. But she didn’t need touch—his presence alone steadied her.

And for the first time in over a week, Sarah Cameron slept through the night.

---

The sun had dipped lower in the sky, turning the backyard of the Chateau gold and amber. Everything looked peaceful like nothing was wrong, like the world hadn’t shifted sideways. But it had.

Sarah sat on the back steps with her knees pulled up to her chest, her fingers absently tracing the edge of her water bottle. She was quiet, staring out toward the marsh with her eyes half-lidded, but not sleepy. Just distant.

JJ tossed a tennis ball from hand to hand nearby, restless energy pulsing through him like always. Pope sat cross-legged in the grass with his notebook, scribbling in it now and then but mostly just pretending to. Kiara was perched beside Sarah, leaning into her side gently.

They weren’t talking. No one really knew what to say anymore.

Sometimes silence was safer.

Sarah finally broke it. “I keep waiting for it to feel… real.”

Kiara looked over at her. “And?”

Sarah shrugged. “Still doesn’t.”

JJ sat down suddenly beside her on the step, tossing the ball aside. “Well… Ward Cameron always did seem too I don’t know… proud? to die.”

That earned the smallest breath of a laugh from Sarah. It was short, cracked at the edges, but real.

JJ gave a little smile and nudged her shoulder. “There it is.”

“I don’t know what I’m supposed to feel,” she admitted. “I really didn’t get on with him. He didn’t approve of my choices. I didn’t approve of his. But now that he’s gone…” Her voice faltered. “I feel empty. And guilty. And mad that I feel guilty.”

“Grief doesn’t follow logic,” Pope said gently, still scribbling. “It’s not math. It doesn’t add up.”

Sarah wiped at her cheek. “I keep thinking maybe if I go back to the house, it’ll hit me. Like walking through the front door will finally make it feel true.”

JJ snorted. “Yeah, or it’ll just give you trauma whiplash.”

“Probably both,” she said softly.

Just then, the sliding door creaked open behind them.

John B stepped out barefoot, phone in hand. His expression was tight, guarded. He walked over and crouched beside Sarah.

“It’s Rafe,” he said quietly. “He called again.”

Her stomach dropped. She didn’t say anything.

John B lowered his voice, careful. “They’ve set a date for the funeral Princess.”

Sarah’s lips parted like she might protest, but nothing came out.

Kiara gently squeezed her hand. “You don’t have to decide anything now.”

“I can’t face them,” Sarah said, barely audible. “Not Rafe. Not Rose. Not anyone. It’ll be like stepping back into a life I already outgrew.”

John B nodded, his voice steady. “Then don’t go for them. Go for you, you need closure.”

She looked at him, eyes wide. Vulnerable. “I don’t know if I can.”

“You don’t have to do it alone,” he said. “I’ll be right there. Front row. Or outside. Wherever you need me. We all will.”

Sarah looked down at the phone in his hand.

“I can’t talk to Rafe. Not right now,” she whispered. “Not after the last time.”

John B didn’t move, didn’t rush her. Just waited.

Sarah stared out at the marsh again. Then she reached for the phone with a shaky breath.

“Put it on speaker,” she said. “If I freeze, you step in.”

John B gave a nod and did as she asked, tapping the call button and placing the phone on the step between them.

The line rang twice.

“Sarah?”

His voice was immediately familiar—edgy, impatient, but more raw than she expected.

“Hey,” she said, voice barely steady.

There was a pause.

“I’ve been trying to reach you,” Rafe said. “I didn’t want to leave it like that last time.”

“I know.”

Another silence.

“They scheduled the service,” he added. “it’s week after next”

Sarah’s fingers curled tighter around the fabric of her hoodie.

“You should be there” he asked.

She hesitated. “I... don’t know yet.”

“You should,” Rafe said. But his voice had softened. “You’re still a Cameron. No matter what.”

Sarah swallowed. “I don’t know what I am anymore.”

Rafe didn’t respond to that.

John B glanced at her. She gave him a small shake of her head, don’t say anything yet.

“I’ll think about it,” she told Rafe finally.

“Okay,” he said. “That’s all I’m asking.”

The call ended without ceremony.

Sarah stared at the screen, then leaned her head on John B’s shoulder. “I hate this.”

“I know.”

“I don’t even know if I want to say goodbye.”

“We do what you need” he murmured. “Whatever that looks like.”

Notes:

Back later (hopefully) ❤️

Chapter 12: Part 1 - The Darkest moments

Three weeks after he died, Ward Cameron was buried.

The church was packed.

The air was thick with perfume, stale flowers, and the kind of formal sorrow that felt more like performance than grief. Every corner of Figure 8 had shown up; black suits, polished shoes, pearl earrings, pressed sympathy on polite faces. They came to honor Ward Cameron — or at least to be seen doing it.

The Pogues sat toward the back. Quiet. Not out of respect for the man being lowered into the ground, but for the girl seated between them.

Sarah.

She hadn’t let go of John B’s hand since they’d left the house that morning. Her grip wasn’t tight or desperate, just constant like she needed to anchor herself to something, someone, to keep from drifting under the weight of it all.

Her face stayed composed through most of the service, a mask of practiced stillness. But her eyes never left the casket.

She didn’t glance at her family. Not once.

Not at Rose, seated front and center in widow’s black. Not at Rafe, pacing along the side aisle like grief was something he could out-walk.

Kiara sat on Sarah’s other side, silently supportive. JJ and Pope stood a few rows back, awkward in the too-formal clothes they’d been guilted into wearing. They didn’t like being there, none of them did, but they showed up.

John B hadn’t said a word all morning. Just gave her hand the occasional, subtle squeeze, a quiet reminder: I’m here.

When the choir began to sing Amazing Grace, Sarah’s shoulders twitched. Once. Then again. Her breath caught and didn’t release.

John B leaned in, close enough that his arm pressed against hers.

She didn’t cry. Not yet.

But something inside her cracked , the hairline kind of fracture that deepens over time.

After the service, as guests stood and began to file out toward waiting black cars, Sarah remained seated.

It was John B who stood first. He reached down, kept his hand in hers, and gently guided her up.

Outside, the air was heavier somehow. The murmured condolences, the artificial warmth of handshakes and shoulder pats, the constant drone of “He was such a great man” — it all pressed down like humidity. Sarah’s eyes remained dry until the wind shifted and caught the edges of her control.

Suddenly, she folded.

Right there on the church steps, surrounded by stares and murmurs, Sarah pressed her face into John B’s chest and let go. Silent sobs shook through her. Her fists balled into the fabric of his shirt.

He didn’t care who was watching. He just wrapped both arms around her and held on.

When the guests began to drift toward the country club for the wake, John B whispered into her hair, “Let’s get you out of here.”

She nodded. Barely.

Back at the Château, the silence was different.

More honest.

Sarah stepped inside like someone walking out of a storm. She didn’t take off her shoes; she kicked them off without aim. The black blazer came off next, tossed aside like it burned to touch her.

Her hands moved to the buttons of her dress, mouth tight, breathing shallow.

“I feel like I can’t breathe in this,” she muttered, mostly to herself.

The buttons wouldn’t cooperate. Her fingers were shaking, jerking at the fabric until the dress peeled away in uneven motions. She stood there in just her bra and underwear, shoulders trembling, hands covering her face.

“It’s all so fucking suffocating.”

John B stood frozen for a second then moved.

Quiet, gentle. He shrugged off his jacket, stepped forward, and draped it around her bare shoulders. His hands lingered there, grounding her.

Sarah’s face crumpled.

The sobs came hard and sudden full-body, bone-deep. She collapsed into him like gravity gave out.

He didn’t flinch. He just held her tighter. Jacket and all.

She buried her face into his neck, fists clinging to his shirt like she could disappear inside him.

“I didn’t think it would hurt this bad,” she whispered.

John B’s voice was quiet, but steady. “Of course it hurts. He was your dad.”

Sarah didn’t reply. Just cried harder — really cried — the way you do when there’s no one left to be strong for.

And John B let her. For what felt like hours.

When she finally calmed, she mumbled into his chest, “Thank you. I mean it. I don’t think I could’ve gotten through today without you.” A pause. Then quieter: “Or the last few years, in all honesty I really do love you. .”

John B rested his chin on top of her head. “ You know I love you too Princess, I’ll always be there when you need me. Just me and you.”

He meant it. He always had.

They were barely teenagers; thirteen, maybe fourteen, when he threw his first punch for her.

It had been a Tuesday. Just a regular school day until it wasn’t. Some sophomore had been mouthing off near Sarah’s locker with loud, ugly comments he thought were funny.

He thought no one would step in.

He was wrong.

John B had seen red. He didn’t even think. Just turned and swung.

The guy dropped, bleeding from the mouth. Teachers came running. Sarah shouted his name.

The principal’s office buzzed with tension. John B’s dad wasn’t answering. The secretary made call after call, until Lizzie Cameron walked through the door.

“The emergency contact?” the secretary asked, raising an eyebrow.

Lizzie sighed. “Apparently so. His dad’s working offshore.”

Fifteen awkward minutes later, Lizzie led them both out of the school. Silent until they reached the car. Then she turned to John B, gave him a deadpan look, and said:

“Next time, aim lower. Gut’s softer. Bruises slower. Less immediate evidence.”

Sarah had laughed so hard she wheezed.

John B, knuckles still red, just smiled.

That moment stuck. Not because of the punch. But because Sarah had always felt like someone worth defending.

---

Later that night, Sarah stepped out of the shower and into clean pyjamas. She padded barefoot into the living room, still raw but calmer.

The blanket on the couch was already laid out. Her cactus that Pope rescued sat on the windowsill like a silent reminder of growth.

She dropped onto the couch, pulled the blanket over her lap, and exhaled.

John B sat across from her, elbows resting on his knees. Watching her. Not hovering, just... there.

She looked up at him with red-rimmed eyes, voice hoarse.

“Will this ever get better?”

John B didn’t lie.

“Yes. Not right now. Right now, it hurts like hell. But it will get better.”

Sarah nodded. She didn’t believe it yet. But maybe, just maybe, she wanted to.

She shifted sideways, stretched out across the cushions, and laid her head gently in his lap.

John B slowly brought his fingers to her hair, combing through it in slow, soft strokes.

Sarah let out a deep breath, almost a sigh.

“John B?”

He smiled faintly, gaze soft. “Princess.”

“Thank you.”

Chapter 13: Part 1 - ours

It had been almost a month since the funeral.

Time hadn’t healed anything really—time rarely did. But it had softened the sharpest edges. Grief no longer swallowed Sarah whole: it lingered instead, tucked into the corners of her voice, resting in the shadows beneath her eyes. She still startled at unexpected phone calls. Still didn’t sleep through the night. But she smiled more. Laughed when JJ did something reckless. Teased Pope about his playlists. Rested her feet in John B’s lap without thinking twice.

She hadn’t gone back to Figure 8. Not even once.

Her toothbrush lived permanently next to John B’s now. Her sandals by the door. Half her wardrobe had migrated into a messy pile in the corner of his room. She hadn’t slept anywhere else since the night her world cracked open. At some point, it had stopped feeling temporary. And no one questioned it anymore.

Well—almost no one.

That afternoon, the sun was unrelenting, glaring off the porch as they cleaned out the cooler from a beach run. Sarah was perched on the edge of the railing, sunglasses shoved into her hair, elbow-deep in melted ice and half-crushed cans. Kiara dropped down beside her with a sigh, peeling open a bag of chips.

A quiet moment passed.

Then, with classic Kie timing she spoke. “So… how long is this ‘just friends’ phase supposed to last?”

Sarah froze, hand still holding a can of Sprite. “What?”

“You and John B,” Kie said, casually tossing a chip into her mouth. “You two act like a married couple. Minus the sex. That I know of.”

Sarah blinked blushing “We’re not— It’s not like that.”

Kie arched an eyebrow. “No? You sure? To my knowledge, it’s uncommon for individuals who are ‘just friends’ to share a bed on a nightly basis.”

“It’s not like that,” Sarah repeated, more defensive this time.

Kie shrugged, unfazed. “Look, I’m not judging. Honestly, it’s kind of expected from you two. But maybe don’t kid yourself. Sparks like that? They don’t stay sparks forever. Sooner or later—something’s gonna catch fire.”

Sarah tried to laugh it off, but it came out thin. “It’s always been like this. Since we were kids.”

“Yeah,” Kie said, watching her closely. “But it feels different now, doesn’t it?”

---

That night, the house was quiet. JJ’s voice had long since faded, Pope’s laptop clicks silenced. Sarah stood barefoot in the hall, staring at the spare room. The bed was made. The room clean. Cold.

She stepped inside, pulled the blanket back, sat on the edge for exactly forty seconds.

Then padded back down the hall.

No knocking. She never knocked.

John B was brushing his teeth, half-asleep, shirt wrinkled and falling off one shoulder. He saw her reflection in the mirror and grinned, toothpaste foam at the corners of his mouth.

“Couldn’t hack it?” he said.

“Bed’s lumpy.”

He spat, rinsed. “Blame JJ. He used it as a wrestling mat for two summers straight.”

She smiled faintly and grabbed the oversized shirt she now claimed as hers. They changed without words, familiar with the quiet rhythm—Sarah tying up her hair, John B failing to hit the laundry basket with a toss.

And then they slid into bed.

For a few moments, they lay still. Separate. Just breathing.

Then his arm lifted.

Like a magnet, she drifted closer.

Head tucked beneath his chin. His hand curled gently at her lower back. It was instinct now. A pattern. But tonight felt… different.

Her fingers traced soft circles over the fabric of his shirt.

His breathing changed. Slowed.

“Do you think it’s weird?” she asked quietly.

“What?”

“This,” she said. “Us. Sleeping like this.”

A pause.

“It’s weird how not-weird it is,” John B murmured.

She breathed against his chest. “Yeah.”

“It doesn’t feel like you should be anywhere else”

They didn’t say more. Didn’t need to.

But something between them has shifted.

---

In the morning, John B was already gone.

His side of the bed was warm, the sheets tangled. The air smelled faintly of salt, sweat, and coffee. On the pillow beside her, in his messy scrawl:

“YOU’VE GOT THIS. KIE’S ON HER WAY.
GO KICK FIGURE 8 IN THE TEETH.
– JB

(PS: Coffee’s in the pot. Don’t burn it.)”

Sarah laughed softly, eyes squinted from sleep.

Her first day back at Kildare after nearly two months. Her stomach twisted with dread.

But she got up. Showered. Pulled on jeans and one of John B’s old flannels. When Kiara’s car pulled up outside, Sarah was already waiting on the porch, arms folded, fingers tight around her coffee mug.

The school hadn’t changed.

Still smelled like cleaner and money. Still echoed with footsteps too loud and voices too entitled.

But Sarah had.

She walked in taller. Straighter. And feeling a little more like herself.

And then she saw him.

Topper.

He was leaning against a locker, arms crossed, posture stiff. Their eyes met instantly.

He walked toward her.

Kiara tensed, ready. But Sarah lifted a hand subtly—I’ve got this.

“Hey,” Topper said, voice low. “I… heard about your dad. I’m sorry.”

Sarah studied him. His jaw was tight, his posture guarded.

“That all you’re sorry for?” she asked.

Topper blinked. “What?”

“Not sorry for anything else? The cheating. The rumors. The fact that you let Rafe come after me while you stood by. That within literally hours after I broke up with you, you had already moved on.”

He opened his mouth. Closed it again.

People had started watching. Sarah didn’t care.

In the end, Topper just looked down and said nothing.

She didn’t flinch as he walked away.

“You good?” Kiara asked.

Sarah let out a slow breath. “Yeah. I think I am.”

The house was quiet when she got home.

Her bag hit the floor. She collapsed face-first onto the couch, too exhausted to speak.

A few minutes later, the front door creaked open.

“Oh princess...” he begin a gentle undertone if laughter to his voice “That bad?”

She reached out a hand without looking “Save me”

John B dropped down beside her, their arms touching and he took her hand and gave it a squeeze.

“No casualties?” he asked.

“Just Topper’s ego.”

John B snorted. “Damn. Should’ve sold tickets.”

She gave a half-smile. Then, softer, “Thanks. For the note.”

“Always.”

---

That night, she stood at his doorway again.

No hesitation this time.

He was already in bed, half-asleep. One arm lifted without a word, and she curled into him.

After a few minutes, her voice broke the stillness.

“I don’t know what this is,” she whispered. “But I don’t want to mess it up.”

John B found her hand beneath the covers, laced their fingers.

“You’re not,” he said quietly. “Whatever this is… it’s ours.”

Chapter 14: Part 1 - The sense of peace

Outside, the air hung thick with salt and wet pine. Inside the house, the windows were cracked just enough to let the breeze stir through. The Pogues were halfway through what Sarah had declared a mandatory “life organization night.”

Which, predictably, meant she’d cornered JJ and John B into helping her clean out the guest room.

It had started as chaos, JJ and John B groaning dramatically while Sarah barked orders like a general—but somewhere along the way, the mood had shifted. The laughter had quieted. Movements slowed. Everything became more careful, more deliberate.

Now, boxes surrounded them in the soft amber glow of a desk lamp. Sarah sat cross-legged on the hardwood floor, hair twisted into a messy bun, flicking through old papers and relics of the past with curious, gentle hands.

“Technically,” she said, glancing up with a smirk, “this is supposed to be my room.”

John B, elbow-deep in a box labeled "Dad’s Shit: Do Not Touch", grinned without looking up. “You live here already. You just happen to crash in my room.”

Sarah laughed sheepishly. “And you still haven’t kicked me out.”

“You still refuse to sleep anywhere else.”

JJ walked past the open door with a lopsided grin, balancing a milk crate full of tangled cords. “Lovebirds are nesting. Somebody alert the press.”

Sarah lobbed a pencil at his head. Missed by an inch.

When JJ disappeared down the hall and silence crept back in, Sarah nudged a nearby box toward John B.

“What’s all this?”

He pulled out a faded roll of maps, the paper brittle with age. “Dad’s notes. His whole world.”

She leaned in, studying the scribbled margins, the red circles drawn with manic urgency. “These are real?”

He nodded. “Every wild idea he ever had started in one of these boxes. Coordinates. Theories. Dead ends…”

“Do they mean anything to you now?”

He paused. “They used to feel like magic. Now they just feel like memories.”

Sarah didn’t say anything—just let her fingers drift across the corner of a water-stained page.

A quiet moment settled between them.

“I haven’t really talked about him,” John B said eventually, his voice low. “Not like this. It’s easier not to.”

She turned to him slightly. “You can. If you want, I'm here to listen, to you know I love hearing about the parts of you that you Keep hidden.” her hand reached out and cupped his cheek for a few seconds. 

He exhaled. “He was obsessed. With the gold. The truth. Always chasing something bigger than himself. And I hated it sometimes—how it always came first.”

Sarah didn’t speak. Just inched a little closer.

“But he loved hard. Believed hard. He was… messy.”

He hesitated. Then smiled, a little crooked. “He liked you.”

Sarah blinked. “Me?”

“Yeah,” John B said. “Told me I was lucky to have you as a friend. He was right. I am lucky.”

A flush crept up her neck as she looked up at him through her lashes. “I think I’m the lucky one.”

He shook his head. “You’re so much like your mom, you know.”

“You’ve said that before.”

“I mean it.” His voice softened. “You look like her, yeah. But it’s more than that. You care about people. You remember the little things. You’re gentle, but you don’t take shit. You’re funny. Kind. Totally weird.”

Sarah laughed through her nose, her eyes glassy.

“I’m serious,” he said. “You hum when you’re distracted. You fold towels wrong. You live in your own little world half the time. And last week, you literally exploded tea in the microwave.”

“There was a spoon in it, okay?” she muttered.

“Exactly,” he said, grinning. “Your own world.”

Her smile lingered, even as she wiped at her eyes.

“And when things are bad…” His voice dropped. “You show up. You were there every single day when my dad went missing. You didn’t give up on me.”

He looked at her, heart tight in his chest.

“I think that’s what I miss most about your mom. The steadiness. The way she made me feel like family. She saw people. She saw me. And you’re the same.”

Sarah’s breath caught. “You really think so?”

“I know so.”

She wiped her cheek with the back of her hand. “You’re not supposed to make me cry during cleanout night.”

He grinned. “You started it.”

---

Meanwhile, out in the lounge, Kiara and Pope sat on the couch with a bowl of popcorn and an old surf magazine spread between them.

JJ slumped onto the cushion beside them, brushing dust from his shirt.

Pope glanced over. “Did Sarah yell at you already?”

JJ stretched. “Nope. They’re in there doing that weird best-friend thing where the rest of the world doesn’t exist, and they disappear into their own strange-but-somehow-perfect little universe.”

Kiara rolled her eyes with a smile. “Classic.”

Back in the study, Sarah leaned against the wall, John B beside her. Boxes surrounded them—layers of someone else’s past—but the warmth between them had nothing to do with treasure or secrets.

It was quieter than that. Softer.

It was just about being seen.

And being known.

---

Later that evening, the house had settled into a gentle kind of chaos.

A deck of playing cards was spread across the coffee table, half the Pogues crammed onto the couch and the other half on mismatched pillows and cushions on the floor. The windows were open again, letting in the smell of night air and the sound of distant waves crashing against the shore.

“JJ,” Pope said flatly, “you definitely just dealt yourself five queens.”

JJ leaned back, arms wide, wearing the world's most unconvincing innocent expression. “What can I say? It’s a gift.”

Kiara groaned. “You’re such a liar.”

“A strategic liar,” JJ corrected. “There’s a difference.”

Sarah laughed, pressing a fist against her mouth to stifle the sound. Her cheeks were pink from wine and warmth and something that felt suspiciously like joy. The kind she hadn’t felt in a long time. The kind that came from feeling full not of answers or plans or certainty but just… full of people.

Of this life.

JJ tossed a handful of chips onto the table like he was a high-stakes gambler. “Read ’em and weep, nerds.”

“You’re not even playing poker!” Kiara snapped, grabbing the cards and inspecting them. “You’ve created some kind of weird Frankenstein game and made up your own rules!”

JJ shrugged. “And yet, I’m winning.”

Sarah leaned against the arm of the couch, her legs folded beneath her, watching them all bicker with a smile that wouldn’t go away. The kind that settled deep in her chest and made her feel something she hadn’t felt in a long time—safe.

At one point, John B passed her a blanket without even asking. She didn’t say thank you. She just took it, let her fingers brush his, and smiled.

Eventually, the night began to wind down.

Kiara yawned first. Then Pope stood and stretched, announcing he had deliveries to make for his dad. JJ insisted on stealing the last of the chips before dramatically announcing his exit like he was leaving a stage.

One by one, they trickled out, leaving only Sarah and John B.

The house fell quiet again, soft and still in that way it only did when it was just the two of them.

The lamp near the couch cast a warm circle of light, and the deck of cards lay scattered, abandoned.

John B stood, giving a stretch and a yawn.

“I’m calling it a night,” he said, padding toward the hallway. His voice was casual, sleep-heavy, his t-shirt rumpled and his hair sticking up in every direction. He disappeared for a second, and she heard the sound of water running in the bathroom, the soft scrape of the toothbrush.

Then he came back, flicking off the lamp in the corner, casting the room in shadows.

He looked over at her, blanket still wrapped around her shoulders, legs curled up on the couch.

“You coming to bed?”

The question landed in the air like a pebble dropped into still water.

He hadn’t meant it to sound like anything. It was just what they did. What they’d been doing. But this time, it felt different like the moment had slowed, like something unnamed had passed between them.

Sarah hesitated.

Just for a second.

And then she nodded.

“Yeah,” she said quietly, standing and wrapping the blanket tighter around herself. “I’m coming.”

She followed him down the hallway, their steps soft on the worn wood floor.

Inside the room, the sheets were still warm, the fan turning overhead with a gentle hum. He pulled the covers back like always, and she climbed in beside him without a word.

He reached to turn off the bedside light.

Darkness settled over them.

Her hand found his beneath the blanket.

Neither of them said anything.

But in the silence, the closeness, the shared warmth of the small bed and the steady breathing; there was a kind of promise being made. Nothing dramatic. Nothing rushed.

Just… a quiet knowing.

Chapter 15: Part 1 - Everything changes

The dock was alive with the hum of golden hour.

JJ was halfway through an exaggerated reenactment of the time he nearly got swallowed by a rogue wave. Pope rolled his eyes while quietly correcting the actual story, and Kiara was perched on a cooler, sun-kissed and smirking as she tossed grapes into JJ’s open mouth. John B sat with his feet dangling over the water, flicking bottle caps into a plastic bucket.

Sarah leaned back against the side railing, the wood warm behind her. The breeze danced through her hair, and for a moment, the world felt still safe.

“I don’t remember the last time I felt this happy,” she murmured, half to herself.

John B glanced over, eyes crinkling.

“That’s ‘cause you’ve been living with me. Were legends.” 

She laughed, tossing a piece of fruit at him.

“More like chaos gremlins.”

“Tomato, tomahto,” JJ chimed in with a mock bow.

That’s when they heard the heels.

Sharp, fast, angry. A sound that didn’t belong here on the weather-worn dock, in their sun-soaked world.

Everyone turned as Rose appeared at the top of the ramp, her posture stiff, her face unreadable behind oversized sunglasses. She was dressed immaculately, of course—pressed slacks, silk blouse, and a handbag swinging with purpose.

“Sarah.”

The name cracked through the calm.

Sarah stood up straighter, instantly tense. John B noticed and moved beside her without a word.

“I’ve been trying to contact you,” Rose said, her voice cool and clipped.

“I know,” Sarah replied. “I didn’t want to talk. You’d think you would have taken the hint”

Rose’s jaw tightened. She reached into her handbag, pulled out a cream-colored envelope, and held it out.

“This is from Ward’s attorney. It outlines the inheritance. What you’ve been left.”

Sarah didn’t reach for it.

“Why bring it here?”

“Because you clearly weren’t going to come home to get it.”

Her voice was calm, polite even. But there was something sharp underneath, like the glint of a knife in sunlight.

“Your father would have wanted you to handle this with a little more... maturity.”

The others remained quiet, but their presence was solid and protective. Pope subtly shifted forward. JJ narrowed his eyes. Kiara was already standing.

Reluctantly, Sarah took the envelope and stared at it like it was something about to explode.

Rose folded her arms.

“You need to think about your future, Sarah. You can’t live like this forever. It’s unsustainable.”

“Like what?” Sarah asked, voice rising. “Around people who actually give a shit about me?”

Rose blinked slowly.

“This isn’t your life. This is some... extended vacation. John B is using your grief—”

“Don’t,” Sarah cut her off. “Don’t you dare come down here and insult the people I love, who have done nothing but help me. You didn’t even notice when things were falling apart. And now, what? You want to play concerned stepmother because of a few dollar signs?”

“You’re being emotional.”

“I’m being honest.”

“I know you’re hurting, but—”

“No,” Sarah snapped. Her voice trembled, but she didn’t stop. “You're not going to stand here and pretend like this is about me hurting. You didn’t care when Topper cheated. You told me to ‘be smart.’ You didn’t care when Rafe screamed at me in the hallway. And you sure as hell didn’t care when Ward—” Her voice cracked. “When he died".

Rose didn’t flinch. She just adjusted her sunglasses.

“You want me to come back to Tannyhill so you can control the narrative. So it doesn’t look like I’ve run away. But guess what? I did. And I’m not sorry. That is not my home.”

John B stayed beside her, silent but steady.

Kiara stepped forward, arms crossed.

“Maybe it’s time you left.”

Rose turned a cold glance her way.

“This is a family matter.”

“We are her family,” Pope said, voice steady.

Rose’s eyes returned to Sarah.

“You’ll regret this.”

“No,” Sarah said softly. “I won’t.”

Rose turned and walked briskly back down the dock, heels clacking like a countdown.

Silence followed until the sound faded completely.

JJ whistled low.

“That was... something.”

Sarah looked down at the envelope.

“I don’t even care what’s in this.”

John B gently took it from her hands and set it on the bench.

“You don’t have to read it now.”

“I’m tired,” she murmured.

“Come on,” he said. “Let’s get inside.”

---

The house had settled into a familiar nighttime hum. Porch lights buzzed softly, and somewhere in the distance, cicadas chirped beneath a sliver of moon. Inside, the living room was still scattered with the aftermath of the day, shoes kicked off, an open bag of chips on the table, JJ’s hoodie draped over the back of a chair.

John B was rinsing out two mugs when Sarah padded in quietly, barefoot, the envelope now back in her hand.

He turned.

“Hey. You okay?”

She nodded vaguely.

“I think I’m ready to open it.”

“You want me to stay?”

“Yeah,” she said, settling onto the couch. “I do.”

John B joined her, not too close, but close enough. Sarah exhaled, broke the seal, and unfolded the papers.

Silence. Just the rustle of paper, and the kitchen clock ticking.

After a while, she handed the first page to him.

Ward Cameron leaves the bulk of his remaining assets to his daughter Sarah Elizabeth Cameron, including the Figure 8 property, a trust fund set to unlock at eighteen, and an investment account already accessible.

“Of course he did” Sarah muttered. “It’s all about ownership with him. Even in death.”

“He left you everything?”

“Everything that mattered to him. Property. Control. A neat little pile to make sure I keep the name in good standing.”

“You don’t have to take it.”

“I know.” She looked at him, weary. “But it’s complicated, right? I mean... it’s my name too. Whether I want it or not.”

“You don’t have to decide anything tonight.”

She gave him a soft smile.

“I know that too. I just... don’t know what I want.”

“You want space,” he said. “You want freedom. And people who show up.”

“You think I’m running?”

“No,” he said. “I think you’ve already stopped.”

Sarah blinked.

“You’ve been standing your ground. Every day since you showed up on this porch. That’s not running.”

She looked down at the will again.

“If I accept this—the money, the house—it makes it real. Like... he’s really gone.”

John B reached over and gently took the letter from her lap.

“He’s gone either way. But what you do next? That’s yours. All of it.”

Sarah leaned into him.

“What would you do?”

“Honestly?” He hesitated. “Not a clue”

“Thanks Sancho, that’s so helpful.” she said rolling her eyes.

“You’ve got options now. More than most people our age ever will. But whatever you decide—whether you want to walk away from all of it or use it for something bigger—you don’t have to do it alone.”

She looked at him for a long moment.

“You always know what to say.”

“No, I just say what I mean.”

Sarah slowly gathered the papers and slid them back into the envelope.

“I don’t want to make a decision tonight. I just want... a minute.”

John B stood, held out a hand.

“Come on.”

“Where?”

“Hammock. Stars. Quiet.”

She hesitated, then slipped her hand into his.

---

The night air was cooler now, a soft wind sweeping over the marsh, rustling the trees like whispers. The sky was littered with stars, clear and endless.

Sarah curled into the crook of John B’s side. The hammock swayed beneath them, ropes creaking with the rhythm of breath. His arm draped over her shoulders, loose and easy like it had always belonged there.

They didn’t speak for a long time.

Then softly, Sarah said “I don’t want Tannyhill.”

“You sure?”

“I hated that house, since Mom died it was never a home. It’s too big, too cold. It wasn’t mine. Just a place to hide the mess behind expensive walls.”

He nodded, just listening.

“I’m gonna sell it. Give some of the money away, somewhere it matters. The shelter downtown maybe or that reading program Pope’s mom runs. The rest… I’ll keep. I’ll probably need it one day, for the future. We can use it? I mean if you were ok with that, maybe fix this place up a little”

She said it like a confession. But John B only nodded.

“That sounds like a good plan.”

She turned her face to look at him.

“I can still stay here can’t I?”

He blinked.

“Why wouldn’t you?”

She exhaled. Her lips trembled just slightly.

“Everything changes now, John B.”

He looked at her, eyes steady.

“Not everything.”

He gently leaned in placing a soft kiss to her cheek, this was usual, normal for them, but now the meaning felt different and Sarah wasn’t sure if she wanted that kiss to be in her cheek or to have been planted just a few inches lower to her lips.

Chapter 16: Part 1 - The climax

The bedroom was sweltering.

The fan on the dresser groaned like it was dying, barely moving the thick, humid air. Sheets clung to their skin. Sweat traced lines down Sarah’s spine. From the cracked window, storm clouds hung heavy—bruised and swollen, ready to break. Mid spring had brought with it a heatwave.

Sarah lay sprawled on her stomach, head buried in the crook of her arm.

“This might actually be the hottest I’ve ever been,” she mumbled.

John B lay beside her; one arm flung across his chest in surrender.

“Not to brag, but same.”

She let out a sleepy laugh. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

He turned toward her, smiling faintly. “I meant the weather. But sure, twist my words.”

Sarah’s smile lingered. But her eyelids fluttered.

“Mmhm,” she hummed, her voice already slipping toward sleep. After a moment, barely audible, she murmured, “Good night John B. I love you.”

It was soft. Automatic. Maybe even unconscious.

But John B stilled.

She didn’t notice. Already half-asleep, her breathing slowing.

He lay there for a long moment, staring up at the ceiling, the fan squeaking in the background like it was mocking him. His chest felt tight, not in a bad way, but in the kind of way that made you feel like you couldn’t move without changing something forever.

Quietly, he slipped out of bed, grabbed his pillow, and walked out the door.

“Too damn hot,” he muttered, to no one in particular.

The door clicked shut behind him.

Sarah stirred slightly, her hand reaching for the empty space he left behind.

---

The next morning, the storm hadn’t broken yet—but it pressed down on the Outer Banks like a warning. The clouds dimmed the light, and the Chateau creaked under the weight of rising wind. Inside, the tension was just as thick.

Sarah stood at the kitchen counter, slicing fruit harder than she needed to.

John B sat nearby with a screwdriver in hand, half-heartedly trying to fix an extra desk fan. But his eyes kept drifting to her. Something was simmering in the silence.

“You’re mad,” he said finally.

She didn’t look up. “I’m not.”

“You are.” He dropped the screwdriver. “You haven’t looked at me since you woke up.”

Still, she kept slicing.

“You’re imagining things.”

He let out a breath.

“Is it because I slept on the couch last night?”

That stopped her. The knife hovered in midair. She didn’t answer.

He leaned forward, elbows on his knees.

“It is, isn’t it?”

Silence.

He scrubbed a hand through his hair.

“Sarah, come on. It wasn’t some kinda statement. I couldn’t sleep. It was hot.”

She set the knife down slowly but didn’t turn around.

“Was it because I said I loved you?”

John B blinked. “What?”

Now she turned to face him, arms crossed tight across her chest, like she needed to hold herself in.

“Last night. I said I loved you. I was half-asleep, but I remember it. And then you left.”

He stood up, unsure whether to step closer or not.

“Sarah…”

“We’ve said it before,” she rushed out. “We always say it. It doesn’t have to mean anything big or scary. I just... I just said it like always.”

“I know,” he said gently. “That’s not why I left.”

“Then why did it feel like it was this time?”

“Because everything feels louder right now,” he said. “Everything feels like more. And I didn’t know if it meant something this time. I didn’t want to assume.”

“So, you just... left?”

“To cool off,” he said. “To give myself a minute. It wasn’t a punishment, and I was really fucking hot”

Sarah’s voice dropped to something fragile.

“Feels like I’ve been taking up too much space.”

“That’s not true.”

“Rose thinks I’m overstaying. That I’ve made myself at home somewhere I shouldn’t.”

“Rose doesn’t know anything,” John B said, voice hardening. “This is your home, too. You know that.”

She shook her head, eyes glassy now.

“I climb into your bed like a ghost every night. I don’t even ask anymore. And then you—” Her voice cracked a little. “—then you sleep on the couch, and I just feel so... stupid. Like I made something up in my head that was never real, pretending I belong here.”

“You do.”

“Then why did it feel like I didn’t last night?”

“Because we’re scared,” he said, stepping forward. “Because you matter. And I didn’t want to cross some invisible line and mess this up. Not when you’re still figuring things out.”

Sarah stood still, breathing shakily.

“I don’t need a safety net. I need to be wanted. Even when I’m not easy.”

John B’s expression broke a little.

“I want you. Even when you're difficult. Especially then.”

She turned away before he could say more. Reached for her hoodie.

“I need some space…I’m going kayaking.”

He sighed heavily, here comes the reckless decision making that happened when she was emotional. “Sarah, no. There's a storm coming.”

“I saw.”

“Don’t go just because you’re mad.”

“Why not? I’m just the dumb girl who catches feelings and ruins things, right?”

“Jesus, no! That’s not what this is.”

“Then what is it?”

He grabbed the doorframe, voice thick.

“It’s me, trying not to lose the one person who makes me feel like I can breathe. It’s me, not knowing how to hold onto you without breaking something. It's me saying I love you too.”

She stared at him. Tense. Quiet.

“I’m still going.”

“You’re being stubborn.”

“And you’re not?” she shot back.

She brushed past him, and he didn’t stop her this time.

“Just come back before dark,” he said softly. “Please…”

She didn’t answer.

She walked to the dock, grabbed the paddle, slid the kayak into the still marsh, and pushed off—toward a sky that was growing darker by the minute.

And John B stood in the doorway, the weight of her words still pressing against his chest, heavier than the storm clouds above.

 

Chapter 17: Part 1 - The storm

The storm rolled in slow, low, and angry—wind rattling tree limbs and sending bursts of salt air through the creaking boards of the porch. John B sat on the steps, elbows on his knees, eyes locked on the sound of water slapping the dock. His heartbeat unevenly, anxious as the tide pulling at the shore.

Pope stepped out, quietly handing him a soda. He dropped onto the step beside him, wordless for a long moment. Pope had been there and heard the row that morning.

Finally, he said, “You okay?”

John B shook his head without looking up. “Not really.”

They sat in silence as thunder rumbled closer, the air thick and charged.

John B broke it again, voice low. “She’s really mad this time isn’t she?”

“Definitely,” Pope said flatly, then softened, a hand briefly resting on John B’s shoulder. “But she’s not gone. She just needs to breathe.”

John B let out a humorless chuckle. “What if I pushed too far? What if I wrecked it?”

Pope tilted his head, eyes serious. “You two don’t really have a ‘too far,’ man. That’s the thing. You and Sarah? You’ve never been normal. Not since the beginning.”

John B glanced sideways, confused. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means,” Pope said, shifting to face him fully, “the rest of us? We have boundaries. Lines between friends, relationships, fights, makeups… You and Sarah? It’s always been something else. Like there’s this invisible tie wrapping you around each other no matter what. Even when you don’t talk. Even when you pretend you’re just friends.”

John B looked down, fingers tapping lightly against the can, the rhythm matching the storm’s distant growl.

“She needs you, John B. And you—” Pope paused, searching his friend’s eyes. “It’s like you don’t function right when she’s not around. You ever notice that?”

John B opened his mouth, then closed it again. His throat tightened, and he looked away.

Pope leaned back against the railing. “Remember that summer? When she went to Charleston with her mom for two weeks?”

A flicker of recognition passed across John B’s face.

John B was sprawled on the couch, surrounded by snack wrappers, surfboard wax, and a pair of board shorts he hadn’t bothered to fold. The fan buzzed in the corner, wheezing in the stifling heat. He stared at the ceiling like it owed him something.

JJ came in and dropped a towel over his face. “You’re disgusting, man. Get up.”

“Don’t want to,” John B muttered.

Pope appeared in the doorway, arms crossed. “You’ve been like this for three days.”

JJ narrowed his eyes. “Are you sick?”

“No.”

“Heartbroken?”

John B sighed. “She’s not answering my texts. Probably doesn’t have service or whatever.”

JJ blinked. “Wait—Sarah’s just on vacation, dude.”

John B grumbled, “Exactly. And I’m here...”

Pope rolled his eyes. “He’s in a slump because his emotional support Kook is out of town.”

JJ laughed. “You’re pathetic.”

“I know.”

Pope took a sip from his soda. “You were wrecked, man. And she was just gone for like, what, ten days?”

John B rubbed the back of his neck, the memory heavier than he expected. “I guess I just didn’t like being without her.”

“Yeah,” Pope said. “Because even when you say you’re ‘just friends,’ your whole world bends around her. And hers does the same around you.”

John B swallowed hard, the truth settling deep.

“I didn’t mean to make her feel unwanted. I just… it was hot. I couldn’t sleep. Figured she wouldn’t even notice.”

“She noticed,” Pope said. “Because she’s scared. You both are. You know this is more than friendship, but neither of you want to say it out loud. So, when something shifts; like you sleeping on the couch, it feels like a signal. Even if it’s not.”

John B’s foot tapped nervously against the porch boards. “I don’t know how to be with her without… ruining it.”

“You already are with her,” Pope said simply. “It just doesn’t have a label yet. But everything you do; the way you look at her, hold her hand without thinking, sleep beside her every night—it’s not casual. Not for her. Not for you.”

Thunder cracked overhead, sharp and sudden. The air felt electric, ready to break open.

“She’s scared you’ll stop needing her,” Pope said gently. “That one day, she won’t belong here anymore...this place and You John B...are all she feels like are hers. So yeah, maybe she overreacted. But maybe you need to stop pretending it’s just her dealing with those fears.”

John B blinked slowly, swallowing the weight of it all.

Then he stood.

“I need to find her,” he said.

Pope nodded, staying seated. “She’s probably watching the storm roll in. She always liked the way it looked just before it hit.”

“Yeah,” John B said quietly. “She says the sky feels honest right before a storm.”

He grabbed his hoodie and disappeared down the dock path, each step steady, purpose clear.

---

The kayak drifted quietly across the water, each stroke pulling Sarah farther from land, from the house, from the argument.

Her skin prickled with moisture; the humid air clung to her like a heavy blanket. Clouds above swelled, thick and bruised, the smell of ozone sharp on the breeze. The wind tugged hard at her, sharp gusts rocking the kayak off balance. She bit her lip, jaw set, eyes fixed on the horizon as if distance could untangle the knot in her chest.

She shouldn’t have snapped at him. But he got under her skin, the way only he ever could.

Of course, it was more than the bed. It was what the bed had started to mean. To her. To him.

---

The water grew choppy, cold spray misting her face. Her hands gripped the paddle tight enough to whiten knuckles. A sudden gust slammed the side of the kayak, tipping it sharply, she managed to stop it tipping up completely. Her breath caught, heart hammering as she fought to steady it.

It wasn’t just wind anymore. The storm was moving fast.

She turned the kayak toward shore—but the current had changed. Stronger. Her strokes barely made progress. The marsh grasses blurred, the house a shadow in the gray haze of rain.

“Shit,” she muttered, breath quickening. “Sarah what have you done”.

The kayak rocked again, sharper now. Thunder rolled low and close.

She paddled harder.

Nothing.

It was like trying to outrun the tide.

---

The wind had turned fierce, whipping the rain into his face as John B stood on the dock, eyes locked on the dark water. The storm had swallowed the sky, swallowing the last of the daylight too. Sarah was still out there somewhere, alone in the kayak.

Without hesitation, he grabbed the boat keys from his pocket and climbed aboard. The engine growled to life, the boat lurching as the waves tossed it like a toy. His hands clenched the wheel, knuckles white, every muscle taut.

Then, through the spray, he spotted her—her kayak pinned against the reeds, tipped dangerously to one side, water seeping in.

She was hunched over the paddle, drenched, hair plastered to her face, battling the wind.

“Sarah!” His voice cut sharp through the storm.

She looked up, startled, eyes wide and wild.

“are you insane?” he barked, pulling alongside her. “What the hell we’re you thinking?”

“I’m fine!” she shouted, her voice trembling. “I didn’t want you to come rescue me”

“Didn’t ask if I could. You could have been swept into the inlet. Do you realize that?”

With shaky hands, she caught the rope he tossed her. The boat rocked as she climbed aboard, slipping once. John B caught her arm before she fell, pulling her up with a harsh tug.

She landed on the deck, soaked and shivering, chest rising and falling fast.

“You don’t get to yell at me,” she snapped, shoving his hand away. “I didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Going out alone in a storm isn’t ‘nothing wrong.’”

She crossed her arms, voice low and bitter. “Maybe I needed to be alone.”

John B’s jaw tightened, frustration and worry battling inside him. “Is this still about last night?”

She looked away, her eyes dark, unreadable. Silence hung between them, heavier than the storm.

“I slept on the couch,” he continued, softer now. “I didn’t mean to push you away.”

“Maybe you did, like subconsciously” she said quietly. “Maybe I shouldn’t even be there in the first place”

The words hit him like a physical blow. She was unraveling, and he felt helpless to stop it.

Sarah’s gaze drifted toward the churning water beyond the boat, the wind tangling her wet hair across her face.

"Sarah..."

“I don’t know what this is anymore,” she whispered. “Us. The house. The bed. I’m just… floating. Like I don’t belong.”

“You do belong” John B took a slow step closer, his voice barely more than a breath. “You belong here. With me.”

She didn’t meet his eyes.

His hands shook. He wanted to say more, to fix this, but the words caught in his throat.

So, he kissed her.

It wasn’t gentle or sweet. It was raw, desperate, like they were both drowning and this was the only anchor.

She froze for a heartbeat, then clung to him, fingers digging into his hoodie like a lifeline.

Their lips collided again, harder, breath ragged and uneven, soaked by rain and doubt.

When they finally pulled apart, the silence was louder than the storm.

Her eyes searched his face for answers he didn’t have.

His hand hovered near hers, hesitant, but he didn’t reach out. She didn’t offer.

The wind howled, pulling them back to the moment.

John B started the engine without a word.

Sarah sank down beside him, quiet, trembling.

The storm raged around them, but the space between them felt even colder.

Whatever this was, it wasn’t over—not by a long shot.

---

The engine’s steady hum was the only sound as they cut through the restless water, the storm roaring behind them like a living thing. Rain lashed sideways now, drumming on the boat’s roof and slicking the seats beneath them.

John B kept his eyes forward, jaw clenched, but his grip on the wheel loosened just a fraction as the shoreline came into view, dark and shadowed beneath the angry sky.

Sarah stayed seated, shoulders tense, arms crossed over her chest as if trying to hold herself together against the cold and the weight of everything unsaid. Her wet hair clung to her face, and she blinked hard to clear the water or maybe the thoughts threatening to spill over.

The dock lights flickered on as they pulled alongside, casting a pale glow that barely cut through the storm’s gloom.

John B killed the engine and reached for the rope, securing the boat before turning toward her.

The boat bumped against the dock with a harsh scrape. Sarah exhaled, the sound sharp in the tense silence.

As they stepped onto the slick boards, Sarah’s voice broke through first.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have gone out there.”

John B didn’t look at her. He walked past, his footsteps heavy and deliberate.

The words hung between them like a weight.

Sarah bit her lip, trying to hold onto some kind of composure, but her hands trembled slightly at her sides.

John B’s jaw tightened as he paused at the porch steps, glancing back just long enough to catch the unease in her eyes.

"it was a really stupid thing to do. You could have drowned." 

"I just needed space..."

John B shook his head "And the marsh in the middle of a storm was that for you was it?" 

She looked down "No...not really...you didn't need to come after me" 

"When are you going to realise that I will always save you Sarah? You are my world" 

"John B..." 

"no let's just go inside" 

Sarah lingered a moment on the dock, rain dripping from her hair, the chill sinking deep. "I'm sorry...it was stupid" 

“Well,” he said without turning, voice dry and low, “at least we agree on something.”

The storm wasn’t just outside anymore.

It was between them.

Chapter 18: Part 1 - The fragile night

The house was mostly dark, the storm outside fading to a distant rumble over the water. Everything was still—except Sarah’s restless thoughts.

She lay on what was supposed to be her bed, staring at the ceiling, eyes wide in the dim glow of the hallway light spilling under the door. Her fingers twisted the hem of her sleep shirt, nerves buzzing sharp through her chest. The fan hummed quietly, but the air felt heavy, suffocating.

She rolled over, shifted beneath the covers, but the silence pressed until she couldn’t stand it anymore.

Finally, she sat up, tears already burning in her eyes. Barefoot, she padded to the door and pressed her fingertips to the wood, her heart thudding hard enough to hurt. A soft knock—once, twice.

“John B?” Her voice barely carried.

From inside, his reply came low and gentle.

“Come in.”

She slipped inside.

John B flicked on the lamp, soft light spilling across his face. His eyes found hers immediately, and something eased in his shoulders.

“Princess,” he murmured, “you look like you’re about to shatter.”

Sarah’s gaze dropped. “I can’t sleep.”

His smile was faint, tender, the kind that always softened her. “Yeah, I figured. You’re not in your bed, are you?”

She gave him a look, but his smile lingered soft and gentle.

“I mean in here. With me. This has been your bed for a while too... You don’t have to do this alone.”

Her lip caught between her teeth. “I wasn’t sure if I should… after earlier.”

His expression softened, something open in his eyes. “We probably should talk about that,” he admitted. “But you look like you need me more than answers right now.”

Her arms crossed loosely over her chest, holding herself tight. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Then we won’t.” His voice was steady, coaxing. “We can just… sit. Be.”

Sarah’s eyes flicked up to him, torn between running and staying.

“Not everything has to make sense tonight Princess ,” he added quietly.

Her shoulders eased a little. She sank onto the edge of the bed, careful not to touch him but close enough to feel the warmth between them.

The silence hummed. Fragile.

“You can tell me anything when you’re ready,” John B said softly. “Even if it’s just ‘I can’t sleep.’”

Her lips curved faintly, but her eyes filled before she could stop it. She blinked, looking away.

John B tilted his head, his voice low. “Sarah… are you crying?”

Her breath hitched, and tears slid hot down her cheeks. She pressed a hand to her face, shaking her head. “I’m sorry— I don’t know why—”

“Hey.” He moved closer, gently taking her hand from her face. “No, don’t do that...Don’t hide from me. We don't hide from eachother”

The moment his hand wrapped around hers, the dam broke. She folded forward into him, tears spilling harder as her voice cracked.

“I’m sorry... I just— I'm so scared I’m going to lose you.”

John B pulled her into his chest without hesitation, holding her tight, one hand stroking her back, the other cradling the back of her head.

“Sarah,” he whispered into her hair, steady as the tide, “you’re not going to lose me.”

She sobbed against his shirt, clutching him like he might slip away. “You don’t know that—everything keeps falling apart, and every time I think—”

He pulled back just enough to see her face, brushing a tear from her cheek with his thumb. His voice was firm but tender.

“Look at me. I’m here. And I’m not going anywhere. Not from you. Not ever.”

Her breath shuddered, eyes searching his, wide and wet.

“But this is such a mess”

“You don’t have to believe anything else,” he said softly. “Just believe that I’m here and I’m staying.”

For a moment, something settled in her chest. But then her gaze dropped again, words tumbling out raw.

“If we talk about what happened,” she whispered, “then we have to admit what it was. And I think I already know.”

He held her eyes, patient. “What do you think it was?”

Her laugh was weak and slightly bitter. “Adrenaline? You pulling me out of another disaster. Heat of the moment. Relief, guilt—take your pick.”

John B’s gaze didn’t waver. “Is that what you want it to be?”

Her head jerked up, startled. “I- I don’t...”

“If calling it nothing makes this less scary for you, I’ll let you,” he said softly. “But I’m not going to lie. It meant something to me.”

Her tears stung fresh. She shook her head, voice breaking. “I don’t know what this is. I just know everything feels… different now.”

His hand found hers again, steadying. “Yeah. It does.”

She curled her knees beneath her, restless, her words trembling. “I keep thinking if we say too much, put a name to it—we’ll ruin it.”

John B studied her for a long moment, his voice quiet but certain.

“Sarah, I’d rather break it being honest than protect it by pretending.”

The silence that followed was heavy, but lighter than before. Not final—just fragile, waiting.

Sarah leaned back against the pillows, close enough that their shoulders brushed. Her eyes softened as she whispered, “I don’t think I can go back to before.”

John B shifted closer, brushing a kiss across her hair. “Then don’t. We move forward. Together.”

Her tears slowed, her body loosening into his side. And for the first time all night, she let herself believe she wasn’t going to lose him.

He adjusted, pulling the blanket over them both. She curled into him without thinking, her head resting against his chest. His arm stayed draped around her, protective and steady, his thumb brushing absent circles against her arm as her breathing slowed.

The storm outside had passed, the night finally still.

Sarah’s lashes grew heavy, her fingers clutching lightly at his shirt even as sleep tugged at her.

“I’ve got you,” John B whispered into the quiet, a promise as steady as his heartbeat beneath her ear.

Her lips curved faintly, her grip loosening as sleep claimed her. He pressed another soft kiss to her hair, letting his eyes close too.

No confessions. No labels. Just the fragile, undeniable truth that everything had changed—

And they fell asleep holding on to it.

Chapter 19: Part 1 - The undefined

The next morning, sunlight filtered soft and warm through the slatted blinds of the chateau. John B was still asleep when Sarah slipped out of his room, pulling the door closed behind her. She felt the echo of last night like a tide rolling just under her skin. They hadn’t said anything final, hadn’t put a name to it. But something had shifted.

In the kitchen, Kiara was already perched at the counter, sleeves pulled over her hands as she ate cereal. She looked up, eyes landing on Sarah’s sleep-mussed hair and rumpled shirt. The corner of her mouth tugged upward, knowing.

Sarah narrowed her eyes. “Don’t say it.”

Kiara grinned. “Didn’t say a word.”

“You didn’t have to,” Sarah muttered, pouring herself a coffee. “You’ve got that smug face on.”

“Look, I’m just the girl who makes breakfast and minds her business.” Kie lifted her spoon. “But for the record—you look a lot less haunted today. Kinda glowing, actually.”

Sarah blew across the surface of her mug, trying not to smile. “We just talked.”

“Uh-huh.” Kie’s grin widened. “You do a lot of that in his bed lately.”

Before Sarah could shoot back, the front door creaked open and JJ wandered in, tugging his shirt over his head. His grin spread the second he saw them.

“Oh good, you’re alive,” he said to Sarah. “So, John B saved you from your suicide mission then? What I wanna know is—did you finally hook up or what?”

Sarah groaned, turning on her heel. “JJ—”

John B walked in right behind him, rubbing sleep from his eyes. “What did I miss?”

JJ didn’t hesitate. “Your wife just stormed off.”

John B froze halfway to the counter. “Why? What did you do?”

JJ pointed smugly. “See? He doesn’t even deny it anymore.”

Kiara nearly choked on her cereal laughing. “Honestly, it’s impressive you two are still claiming ‘just friends.’”

John B ignored them, grabbing a mug and glancing toward the porch where Sarah had disappeared. There was a tug in his chest he couldn’t shake, one that had only grown stronger since that night on the water.

“She good?” he asked quietly.

Kie’s expression softened. “Yeah. Just needed a minute. You know her.”

He did. God, he did.

---

Later, he found her out on the dock, knees tucked to her chest, the wind teasing strands of hair across her face. She didn’t turn when he sat beside her, just handed him the mug of cold coffee she hadn’t touched.

“Thanks,” he said, taking a sip. He winced. “Deliciously bitter.”

She cracked a smile. “Matches the mood.”

They sat in silence, water lapping softly against the posts.

After a moment, Sarah’s voice slipped out, quiet. “Why does it feel like everything’s either too much… or not enough lately?”

He stared out over the water. “Because we’re in the middle of something we don’t have words for yet.”

She glanced sideways. “And you’re okay with that?”

John B gave a small shrug. “Not exactly. But I’d rather sit in the unknown with you than be certain anywhere else.”

Her lips twitched, caught between a smile and a sigh. “You really don’t care what everyone thinks, do you?”

“I care about you,” he said simply. “That’s it. You know I love you.”

Her throat tightened. She twisted the edge of her sleeve between her fingers. “I just don’t want to screw this up.”

John B bumped her shoulder gently, easing the tension. “Then don’t. Let’s stop trying to ignore what this is and just… live it.”

She looked at him then, eyes glassy but steady.

The dock creaked beneath them, the sky painted in soft peach and gold as the sun fully rose into the morning. Sarah rested her chin on her knees. John B sat close, barefoot and thoughtful, the space between them humming.

Finally, he shifted, turning toward her. “There’s something I’ve been holding onto. I think… now’s the time to tell you.”

Her chest tightened. “Okay…”

He rubbed his palm against his shorts, eyes flicking down before he met hers again. His voice gentled.

“It was a while ago. Before your mom died. When she got sick, I spent a lot of time at your house—more than I even realized back then.”

Sarah’s breath hitched, her gaze fixed on him.

“One night… you’d fallen asleep on the sofa. You were leaning against me, like you always used to. You fit perfectly under my arm, like it was the most natural thing in the world. Still do, really.”

Her throat burned. She didn’t dare interrupt.

“Your mom sat down across from us. She just watched for a while. Then she said…” John B’s voice softened even more, “one day, I’d tell you how I felt. She said she already knew. That she’d seen it before I ever did—how much you meant to me.”

Sarah’s eyes blurred, tears spilling before she could stop them.

“She said she couldn’t imagine you with anyone else. That there was this… way you looked at me, even when you didn’t notice it yourself.” He paused, letting the words hang in the golden air. “I didn’t get it then. Not completely. But I do now.”

Her tears slipped faster.

“I love you, Sarah,” he said simply. No drama. No pressure. Just truth. “I always have. And I’m done pretending otherwise.”

She turned fully to him, stripped bare of walls. Her lip trembled as she whispered, “I think some part of me always knew.”

John B smiled gently.

“Being your best friend has been the best thing in my life,” he said. “But somewhere along the way… it became more. We became more. And I don’t want to keep acting like we’re not.”

Her breath caught. “So… what are you saying?”

“I’m saying I want all of it. To be yours—for real. Not just as your best friend. Your boyfriend. Your partner. One day, your husband. I want forever with you.”

Sarah’s hand lifted, brushing at her damp cheek. When his hand reached up, she leaned into it, his thumb stroking softly across her skin.

Her voice broke but her smile was real. “I want that too. Always have.”

For a heartbeat, neither of them moved. The world narrowed to the waves lapping at the dock, the glow of the sinking sun, and the breathless space between them.

John B’s eyes searched hers, waiting—always waiting, giving her the chance to pull away. But Sarah didn’t. She leaned in, closing the distance, her lips brushing his in the softest, most certain kiss.

It wasn’t rushed, wasn’t wild. It was slow and steady, a promise wrapped in something that had been building for years. Her hand slid to his jaw; his fingers tightened around hers as if anchoring himself to the moment.

When they finally pulled back, their foreheads rested together, breaths mingling, eyes closed. Neither of them spoke—there were no words big enough for it.

Just the quiet truth that hung between them, undeniable now.

 

 

Notes:

I might be back later 🫢 With the last chapter (of this part) it's my favourite chapter too !

Chapter 20: Part 1 - The first time

Summary:

*Warning* expect sexual content of *HOT* levels here

The day had been quiet for once.

No chaos, no yelling across docks, no climbing over fences or running from problems. Just sunlight and sea breeze. The kind of golden evening where the hours slow down, stretch out like a sigh.

Sarah had spent most of it with John B helping him patch the window screen in the porch, lazily tossing chips to the seagulls, watching JJ and Pope fail at fixing the outboard motor. By the time the sun dipped low, it was just the two of them again.

Inside the house, they moved together in a rhythm that was second nature. Sarah took the dishes, John B dried them. She bumped his hip with hers when he lingered too long. He grinned, flicked a towel at her. Stole kisses as they moved around. It was light. Easy. But under it, something simmered.

Later, they ended up back on the couch again, curled under Sarah’s still half-finished blanket, a movie neither of them cared about playing low.

 Sarah was tucked into John B’s side like she belonged there. His hand absentmindedly traced slow circles on her shoulder, fingers brushing the exact spot where her sweater had slipped the night she came to him years ago. The same spot he’d kissed first.

Her heart was beating fast. And not because of the movie.

The tension had been building for days, and all day had felt like a tease.

“Hey,” she murmured, shifting just slightly so she could look up at him.

John B glanced down, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “Hey...you ok?”

“Yeah... just...” She hesitated, her fingers fidgeting with the hem of his shirt. “Can we… take this to the bedroom?”

He blinked, then nodded with a gentle smirk. “Yeah,” he said, voice soft, without a trace of surprise. “Of course.”

They didn’t rush. They didn’t speak, either. He stood and held out his hand. She took it.

In his room, the light was low. The air warmer. The night humming faintly through the cracked window, carrying the briny scent of the tide.

For a moment, Sarah just stood there, her arms crossed lightly over her stomach. “It’s been a long time since we…”

His gaze softened, hand brushing her waist and just like that the memory came flooding back, like her body had remembered the feeling his touch incited.

It had been just after midnight when she knocked, hair damp from the mist, sweater sleeves pulled over her hands. Her eyes were red-rimmed, her breathing shallow like she’d been holding herself together for hours and finally let go.

The night air had been heavy with salt and the faint sweetness of honeysuckle from the dunes. John B had opened the door, and the porch light haloed around him. He took one look at her and stepped aside without a word.

Inside, the air was warm and smelled faintly of cedar and the ocean. She’d stood there, still gripping her sleeves like armor. “What do you need?” he’d asked, voice careful, almost afraid to break her.

Her answer had been instant. “You. I just… need you.”

He’d pulled her in, holding her so tight she could feel his heart through his shirt. His T-shirt was soft, worn, and smelled like sun-dried saltwater. She’d stayed pressed against him, her cheek to his chest, until the shaking eased.

 Somewhere between the comfort and the quiet, she’d tilted her head up and kissed him. It was soft at first, testing the waters, but when he didn’t pull away, she deepened it, clinging like she might float away if she let go.

When she whispered that she wanted him, really wanted him, his brows had drawn together in a pained sort of tenderness. “Princess… you just lost your mom. I don’t want to take advantage of you right now.”

She’d shaken her head, eyes glassy but certain. “You’re not. I’m asking. Please. I need something good to hold on to tonight. Just one thing that doesn’t hurt. I need…want you”

He’d searched her face like he needed to be absolutely sure, then kissed her again, slower this time. “You’ll be the death of me Princess…”

John B lifted her gently, looping her legs around him as he carried her to the bedroom, opening the door and moving them both inside. Sarah glanced around his room after he lowered her to the floor and began to clear up a few things, trying to make his room presentable. What caught her attention was a photo frame on a shelf above his desk. She walked over to it and picked it up. It was a picture of them both. Sarah had a copy of this photo too. She was surprised that John B had it framed.

“I love that picture... You look really happy in it and I like the fact my arm is around your shoulders.” He said, his arms winding around her waist.

“I like it too...” she whispered. “How old were we?” She couldn't remember how long ago it was.

“It was only last year…Just before.”

Her eyes filled with tears “Before Mom got ill”

He leaned down gently kissing her forehead “sorry…this isn’t what you asked”

Sarah sighed and put down the photo on his desk. She turned to face him, “Start what I did ask…please” she asked as she put her arms around his neck, stepping closer to him.

He lowered his head and kissed her softly, pulling her forwards as he walked backwards to his bed. Both of them deepening the kiss and then they stopped next to his bed, both of them slightly short of breath and staring at each other. “Are you sure this is what you want, Sarah?” She nodded. “I need to hear you tell me Princess...”

“I want this, John B. I want you...” She said, holding his gaze and let him see the truth in her eyes. “This wasn't what I thought id ask when I came over here, but I don't regret this. I want to feel…I want something…She admitted, “I want you...” she told him softly.

“This will change things between us” he said.

“It won't”

“It might change how I feel about you...” he admitted.

“How so...?” she asked, biting her lip.

“It's going to make it harder to not keep crossing that fading line princess...” He told her, pressing his mouth against hers.

She pushed his chest, and he sat on the edge of the bed. He watched her as she climbed back onto his lap again and she put her arms around his neck. “You're going to have to talk me through this, John B... I have no idea what I'm doing here.” She whispered to him.

“I think you know much more than you think you do...” he told her softly.

“John B, I'm serious... this is a little overwhelming.” A blush rose at her admission but she continued looking into his eyes.

“I'll look after you, Princess.” He told her softly.

“So what do we do first?” she asked, feeling her stomach flip-flop slightly from his last words.

“How about we take off some of these clothes...” he asked her gently. She froze on his lap, staring at him like the proverbial rabbit in headlights. “We don't have to do this if you don't want to... You can change your mind at any time. There's no pressure...” He lifted his hand and brushed her hair back, tucking it behind her ear.

“No. Carry on… I want this” she whispered.

“Stand up Princess...” he said softly, helping her to her feet as she slid off his lap. He stood behind her, “Do you want me to undress you?” he whispered in her ear. She gasped softly, feeling her heart falter slightly and she nodded.

 He started at her shorts, slowly lowering the zip and letting them slip to the floor. She heard his sharp intake of breath and then his hands settled on her hips and brushed over her skin. “Is this okay?” she asked softly.

“Do you know how beautiful you are?” he asked her gently.

Her face flushed again and she turned to face him. “I'm nothing special “ she whispered.

“To me, you are...” she rolled her eyes “Just telling the truth...” he said with a shake of his head. His hands moved to her sweater and pulled that over her head and then to her bralette underneath and she bit her lip, “Do you want me to stop?” he asked before his hand slid over her shoulder, she shook her head. He paused “Let’s even the score”.

John B quickly shed his clothes and stood in his underwear. She stepped close to him and pressed her lips against his chest, directly above his heart and she felt the rate of his heart increase dramatically. She glanced up at his face and was surprised to see the intensity on it. She swallowed quickly. He smiled at her softly.

“We don't have to rush this…” he whispered. “We can take as long as it takes...” He took her hand in his and pulled her to follow him as he climbed onto his bed. Sarah lay facing him, staring into his eyes. He couldn't wait any longer, he leant forward and kissed her, pressing her back slightly into the bed as he hovered over her. His hand ran over her body, rising up and cupping a breast. He pulled his mouth from hers and stared into her eyes, breathing deeply as he brushed his thumb over the peak of her bra.

“Take it off...” she murmured. He didn't hesitate to follow her instruction, reaching beneath her and undoing the bralette with ease. He pulled the straps down her arms and then pushed it to the floor, his eyes fixed on what he'd revealed. She gasped at his touch.

He lifted his head and kissed her lips softly, “You okay?”

Sarah nodded.

John B stared at her face, moving her leg so it was resting on top of his. His hand brushed across her hip, dragging her knickers off. His boxers were next to go. They both spent the next few minutes experimentally touching each other as they measured how each other reacted to what they were doing.

“John B... I want you...” she told him softly, staring into his eyes.

“Are you absolutely sure?” he asked again. She nodded her head. John B kissed her gently, leaning over her and pressing his body against hers. She pulled away from him slightly as she felt him reaching past her.

“What are you doing?” she immediately began to panic

“Protection...” he said as he leaned into his bedside table and moved back towards her. He passed her the foil square as he lay beside her. Sarah looked at it then glanced at John B. She reached over him and put the condom on table nearest her “Princess? It’s ok we can stop…”

She kissed him, her hand caressing the side of his face. “I said I wanted you…Just you. I want it to be just us, John B...” she whispered. He stared at her, a shocked expression on his face, “I know you don’t sleep around. You’re my best friend…I’m hurting and don't care about the consequences today...I can take plan B tomorrow. I know in my heart it's got to be just us... so I want to do this... unless you don't want to.”

“It’s a big risk Sarah...”

She began moving away from him feeling humiliated by what she’d said, but his hand caught her gently “I’m not saying no princess. You just surprised me, that's all.” He sighed softly and stayed quiet for a few seconds, before pushing her hair from her face. “You're sure?” he whispered. She nodded “I’m always safe. Have always used protection…”

“I trust you”

He moved again, his body almost pressing her into the mattress now. John B looked up at her face and saw the hesitation there. “You okay?” he asked.

“A bit scared...” she whispered. “Will it hurt?” she asked him softly.

“A little, maybe...I'll go slow” he told her. “Are you sure this is what you want?”

“More than anything “ She said, smiling at him.

John B pulled her against him again, kissing her repeatedly, distracting her slightly from what he was about to do. His fingers found her opening and he stroked her softly, feeling her moan into his mouth. He moved so he was now lying on top of her, and he eased the tip of his length to her. He lifted his head and stared into her eyes intently, seeing the slight nod from her, telling him to go ahead.

 He eased into her slowly, feeling her tighten around him and seeing her eyes screw shut and her bite her lip until he was fully seated within her.

 “You okay?” he asked her softly.

Sarah opened her eyes and looked up into John B's, “Feels so good...” she whispered. “Only hurt a little...” she told him.

He leant down and kissed her, “Good...” he breathed against her mouth. “It only gets better from here, Princess, I promise...” he said.

That night, he gave her what she’d asked for—not hurried, not careless, but with a reverence that made her chest ache. His hands were gentle, his touch grounding, his voice a low reassurance in the quiet. After, she’d fallen asleep curled against him, the sound of the ocean drifting through the open window. Feeling wanted and loved. 

The memory bled back into the present, the air between them thick with something unspoken.

John B’s eyes flickered over her face with a soft smirk. “You do remember that then?”

Her mouth curved into something bittersweet. “Of course I remember. Just because we pretended it didn’t happen and denied it into inexistence… doesn’t mean I don’t remember it. It was my first time. You made it perfect. I'll never forget it.”

His throat worked like he was swallowing words. “No one knows.”

“No one,” she confirmed. “It was ours. Just ours. And then we went back to being best friends, like it never happened.”

“Until now,” he murmured.

She stepped closer, her fingers finding the hem of his shirt again. “Until now.”

She kissed him—slowly. A kiss that said I remember, and I still want this.

"Now you're really mine". 

They undressed each other with the same care as before, only now there was a shared knowing, a layer of memory beneath every touch. The way his hands lingered at her waist, the way she smiled against his lips like she’d been waiting all day for this.

That night, they made love like it was theirs alone. Not perfect, not practiced—but beautiful. Honest. Intimate in the quietest of ways. They whispered each other’s names like prayers.

Afterward, wrapped in the stillness of the night, Sarah lay curled into him, her head on his bare chest, fingers tracing patterns along his ribs.

“Still perfect,” she murmured, almost to herself.

He kissed the top of her head. “Always.”

She smiled, half-asleep, fully at peace.

So was he.

 

Notes:

Were we expecting that? After all of this...they've slept together years ago ?

Chapter 21: Part 2 - About time

Notes:

Welcome to part two ♥️ we've seen most of their history, so let this part focus more on their present (Still with a little history) enjoy 🫶🏼

The morning sun spilled lazily across the wooden floorboards, catching dust motes in golden beams. The house was quiet, almost suspiciously so but the smell of coffee wafted through from the kitchen.

Sarah sat on the counter, John B standing between her knees, one hand on her thigh, the other on the edge of the counter. She was still in one of his old T-shirts, her hair half-brushed, skin warm from sleep and other…activities.

They were supposed to be making breakfast.

Instead, Sarah was grinning at him, lips still tasting like cinnamon toast.

“You’re distracting,” John B muttered, voice low and smiling as he leaned in again.

Sarah hummed against his lips, arms looping lazily around his neck. “You keep saying that, but I’m not hearing any complaints.”

He kissed her again, longer this time, thumb brushing against her knee. It was different now, gentler, but bolder. They weren’t unsure anymore.

The kiss deepened until Sarah pulled back slightly, breathless, laughing softly. “We’re gonna burn the toast.”

John B smirked. “Not if we never actually put any in.”

She was about to answer when he leaned in kissing her again.

“Jesus Christ. Sorry…I didn’t see anything…well I did but I can pretend I didn’t”

JJ’s voice exploded from the doorway.

Sarah let out a startled squeak and half-jumped off the counter, using John B as a shield as JJ strolled into the kitchen, eyebrows raised so high they were practically floating off his face.

John B groaned and dropped his head to Sarah’s shoulder. “Can we have one morning?”

JJ pointed a dramatic finger. “I knew it. I freaking knew it! I’ve known it since you two couldn’t sit on opposite ends of the hammock without falling asleep tangled like noodles.”

“We were not tangled,” Sarah protested, face flushed.

“Uh-huh,” JJ said smugly, pouring himself coffee like he hadn’t just walked in on his friends mid-makeout session. “I’ll leave you to your… counter-based activities. But just know you’re terrible at hiding it. And...about time ”

John B scrubbed a hand over his face. “Great.”

JJ gave them both a look as he backed out of the room, smug as hell. With that, he was gone and the silence that followed was filled with a shared laugh.

Sarah leaned her head on John B’s chest. “So… we’re terrible at being subtle.”

“Absolutely awful,” John B confirmed.

“You okay with that?”

He looked down at her, smile softening. “Yeah. I think I’m tired of pretending we’re just best friends who share everything except the obvious.”

Sarah slid her hands around his waist, looking up at him with quiet affection. “Good. Because I really like kissing you.”

“Just the kissing?” He dipped his head, kissing her again, gentle this time. Familiar.

“Amongst other things” Sarah smirked against his mouth.

And from the Porch “I can still hear you!”

They laughed.

But even as they pulled apart and finally moved to make breakfast, something had shifted. The ease between them had only deepened. This new version of them wasn’t awkward or forced. It felt inevitable. It had always been there—just waiting to be acknowledged.

---

John B found JJ leaning against the porch railing, sipping his coffee like he hadn’t just blown up their morning.

“JJ,” John B started, stepping out onto the porch.

JJ glanced at him with a grin. “Morning to you too, lover boy.”

John B sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Look… can you not say anything? We’re still… figuring it out.”

JJ smirked. “Figuring it out, huh? That what the kids are calling it these days? You two have been figuring it out for years”

“JJ, I’m serious,” John B pressed, leaning on the railing beside him. “It’s… new. And complex. We don’t want everyone in our business yet.”

JJ shrugged easily. “Fine. I won’t say anything. But, dude… no one’s gonna be surprised. Or bothered.”

John B raised an eyebrow.

“I mean it,” JJ said, a little softer. “We’ve all been waiting years for you two to do something about it. Kie, Pope, me… we’ve had bets going.”

John B groaned. “Bets?”

JJ grinned. “They owe me twenty bucks. I said it’d happen before summer ended; Summers not even started.”

John B shook his head, but JJ’s smirk faded into something warmer. “For real, though… you’re good for her, man. You always have been. And she’s good for you. Just… don’t overthink it.”

John B looked back toward the kitchen window, where Sarah was moving around making coffee, hair messy, humming to herself. That soft, familiar ache in his chest tugged hard.

“Yeah,” he said quietly. “I know.”

Chapter 22: Part 2- The turning point

The house was still, the early evening light spilling across the worn floorboards. The Pogues had all drifted off somewhere, leaving Sarah and John B sprawled together on the old sofa.

Sarah had been at school all day, stayed late for extra classes so she could graduate with her class in a little under a month.

She was curled up against his side, her bare feet tucked under a blanket, his arm draped lazily around her shoulders.

John B let out a slow breath, the kind you take when you realize the world has finally gone quiet. “Are you happy?” he asked, his voice low and careful, like he didn’t want to break the moment.

Sarah tilted her head, her eyes meeting his for a beat before she smiled. “Yeah,” she said simply. “I am. I'm really truly happy” 

"Good. That's all I've ever wanted". 

For a moment, they just stayed like that. Then she shifted slightly, her tone changing. “Rose bought Tannyhill from me.”

John B’s head snapped toward her. “Wait—what? When did this happen”

Sarah looked a little shy “couple of weeks ago...Day of the storm”

John B laughed a little “Ah, so your meltdown wasn’t really anything to do with me sleeping on the couch”

“Maybe wasn’t the catalyst” she said as a soft blush reached her cheeks “Look, it just added to my feelings, and I felt abandoned...”

His arm tightened around her as he sighed “Should have just told me Princess, would have saved the drama of me rescuing your pretty butt from the marsh in the middle of said storm.” He kissed her temple “So what happened, I didn’t even know you were thinking of doing that.”

Sarah shook her head, her mouth curling in something between disbelief and relief. “I wasn’t. I didn’t do anything. Just… got a call from her solicitor asking if I was selling it a little after I got the will. I said yes and next thing I know, it’s done. She’s got it.”

John B frowned. “How do you feel about that?”

Sarah leaned back into the cushions, thinking. “Honestly? Relieved. Feels like… I’m not connected to them anymore. Not really.”

She let out a small laugh. “It’s crazy. I’m probably one of the richest people on the island now. But I’ve never been happier than I am right here with you. I don't need money.”

He gave her a small, soft smile, but before he could speak, she added, “Would you be mad if I said I wanted to buy this place… so it’s actually in your name?”

John B blinked. “Why?”

Sarah’s gaze didn’t waver. “Because I love you. And… I’ll do it in both our names if it makes you feel less weird about it. But I don’t want you to have to keep paying rent or living paycheck to paycheck. This is your home—” she hesitated, “—and mine, I guess. It’s full of memories, and it hurts to think one day it might be taken from you.” Her voice softened, almost breaking. “Haven’t we lost enough already?”

John B looked at her for a long moment, his throat tight. She wasn’t talking about money, not really. She was talking about keeping what mattered, safe. Keeping them safe.

Sarah shifted on the sofa, so she was facing him more fully, one leg tucked beneath her. “I’m not trying to throw money around, John B. This isn’t about me… splashing cash just because I can. We wouldn’t have to tell anyone; it could just be between us. But this place…” She glanced around the living room, her eyes soft. “It’s your dad, was my sanctuary for years, and it’s us. I don’t want it hanging over you, wondering if the landlord’s gonna hike the rent or sell it off one day. I want it safe.”

John B’s lips twitched, like he wanted to interrupt, but she kept going, her hands gesturing in that animated way she got when she was passionate about something. “I know it’s not exactly glamorous or anything, but it’s ours—”

He leaned forward suddenly and kissed her, cutting her off mid-sentence. It wasn’t a heated kiss, just firm and sure, his hands framing her face. When he pulled back, his voice was low. “I don’t think it’s a bad idea.”

Her eyebrows shot up. “You don’t?”

“No,” he said simply. “I get it, Sarah. I do. And I think it’s smart.” He smiled faintly, thumb brushing her cheek. “But if we do this—it’s both of our names on it. Not just mine. It’s always been your home too.”

Her lips curved into a small, almost shy smile. “Really?”

“Really.”

She exhaled slowly, her forehead resting against his for a moment. “Okay. But I’m still not doing it to splash cash or make a statement. It’s just…”

“I know,” he murmured. “It’s because you love me.”

Her cheeks flushed, but she didn’t deny it. “Exactly.”

Sarah grinned, pulling back just enough to see his face. “I’ll make some calls tomorrow, start the ball rolling. Feels… good, you know? Like we’re actually building something. A future. With you.”

John B’s eyes softened, but then that familiar teasing spark lit up in them. “A future, huh? Look at you, all grown up and responsible.”

She smirked. “Don’t get used to it.”

He chuckled, leaning back into the cushions, pulling her with him so she was practically in his lap. Her hand rested lightly on his chest, fingers toying with the edge of his shirt.

“Although…” she started, tracing little circles against his skin.

“Uh-oh,” he said, grinning. “That tone usually means trouble.”

She leaned in, lips brushing his jaw. “Not trouble. Just… possibilities.”

He groaned, head falling back. “I swear…” His eyes flicked to hers, half amused, half something else entirely. “We have sex, like, a handful of times and you’re already always searching out more.”

Sarah’s grin turned wicked. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

He caught her face in his hands, pulling her in for a kiss that started slow but deepened fast. Her fingers curled into his shirt, his hands sliding to her hips, anchoring her to him.

When they broke apart, both a little breathless, he murmured, “Not a bad thing at all.”

Chapter 23: Part 2: Ours

Clothes ended up on the floor in slow, lazy stages, each piece tugged away between kisses and quiet laughter. The couch creaked beneath them, the old springs giving their usual protest, but neither of them cared.

By the time they collapsed together again, skin warm against skin, the sunlight had shifted, painting them in the soft gold of late afternoon. John B’s arm was looped loosely around her waist, her face tucked under his chin. He brushed his fingers up and down her arm in a slow rhythm that made her feel impossibly safe.

The front door creaked.

“Hey, you guys—” Pope’s voice froze mid-sentence, followed by a sharp intake of breath.

Kiara, right behind him, caught sight of the scene; Sarah sprawled over John B, a blanket barely covering them, the scatter of clothes all over the floor—and bit down hard on her lip to keep from laughing. She turned on her heel, shoving Pope back toward the door.

“Oh my god,” she muttered under her breath, smirking all the way outside.

In the yard, JJ was sitting on the porch steps, sipping a soda. “What’s up with you two?”

“They finally got their shit together,” Pope said flatly, still looking a little stunned “Think I’m blind now”.

JJ smirked like he’d been waiting for this moment forever. “Yeah, I know. Caught them in the kitchen few weeks ago”

Kiara whipped her head toward him. “And you didn’t tell us?”

JJ just shrugged. “Didn’t need to. I’ve been saying for years they were basically married. Guess now they’re just… getting the benefits. You both owe me twenty bucks”

Kiara groaned and shoved him playfully, but she was still grinning. “I’m just glad it finally happened. Maybe now the weird tension in the air will go away.”

JJ tipped his soda can toward the house. “You really think that’s gonna happen? This is John B and Sarah. Drama is practically their love language. They’ve been friends for almost 15 years, and it’s taken until now for them to get their act together.”

---

From the couch, Sarah could hear muffled voices outside, a low murmur broken by occasional bursts of laughter. She groaned, pulling the blanket higher over her chest.

“They saw us,” she muttered into John B’s shoulder.

John B smirked, brushing his lips against her hair. “Yep- They did. Pretty sure Pope’s face went through all five stages of grief in about three seconds.”

Sarah snorted, hiding her face in his neck. “God, this is so embarrassing.”

“Why?” he asked, his voice warm and teasing. “They all knew anyway. JJ’s probably already telling them he ‘called it’ years ago.”

“Because I wanted to keep it just ours for a little longer,” she said quietly. “I liked having it to ourselves, no comments, no jokes, no… audience.”

John B tilted his head, catching her chin so she’d look at him. “We still have it to ourselves. Them walking in just means we have to live with a few smug faces for a while. Doesn’t change anything.”

Sarah studied him for a beat, then relaxed against him with a sigh. “I guess not. Still…” she trailed off, a small smile tugging at her lips, “I hope JJ doesn’t say something completely inappropriate.”

John B chuckled. “Sarah, that’s like hoping the ocean’s not wet.”

They stayed like that for a while longer, the blanket pulled snug around them, listening to the muted sounds of the others outside. And when John B finally reached over to grab his shirt from the floor, Sarah caught his wrist.

“Five more minutes,” she whispered, her eyes soft.

He grinned. “Deal.”

---

It turned out that being together, really together, wasn’t hard at all.

They’d spent years orbiting each other, skirting around feelings they didn’t want to name. Now that the truth was out, there was no awkwardness, no weird gap to close. It just… fit.

The Pogues didn’t say much, though their expressions said plenty. Kiara had a smug smile the first time she caught Sarah tucked under John B’s arm on the dock. Pope’s knowing glance was paired with a small nod, like he’d been waiting for this for years. JJ’s only comment was, “Knew it,” before going back to cleaning his fishing gear.

It wasn’t flashy or dramatic. It was just… them. And somehow, that felt bigger than anything.

That evening, they were out back at the Chateau, trying to fix the garden hose when John B flicked the nozzle toward Sarah and splashed her arm. She yelped, narrowing her eyes.

“Oh, it’s on,” she warned.

Within seconds, it was a full-blown water fight. She chased him around the yard, both of them laughing so hard they could barely breathe. They burst through the kitchen door, soaked to the skin, dripping water all over the floor as Sarah lunged for the sink sprayer to get her revenge.

But before she could, a memory came rushing back so vividly it made her pause.

She and John B were fifteen, standing in the Tannyhill kitchen, both drenched from head to toe after turning the garden hose on each other. The marble floor was slick with water, and muddy footprints trailed from the back door.

Ward stormed in, face thunderous.

“What the hell is this? Do you have any idea what this mess is going to do to the floor?”

Sarah bit her lip hard, shoulders shaking—not from fear, but from the effort of not bursting out laughing. Beside her, John B’s eyes glinted, his lips twitching as if he was trying to swallow down a grin. The more she fought to keep a straight face, the harder it got.

“It’s my fault, Mr. Cameron,” he said, voice strained from holding back a chuckle. “I started it.”

Ward’s glare sharpened. “And you thought dragging my daughter into it was smart?”

“She’s not made of glass,” John B said, a small, cheeky smirk slipping through. Sarah nudged him with her elbow, but she was dangerously close to losing it too.

From the doorway, Lizzie appeared, taking in the scene with raised brows but smiling. “Really, Ward? They’re kids, not vandals.” She crossed the kitchen, grabbed two fluffy towels from the counter, and tossed them toward Sarah and John B. “Go upstairs, get changed, then come back down and clean this up before someone breaks their neck.”

Ward muttered something under his breath, Lizzie placed her hand on his shoulder “Let her have some fun, she’s not dealing with this well” She said “John B is good for her…takes her mind off making sure I’m ok and hospitals and…”

“I get it” he nodded before stalking off out of the kitchen.

The moment he was out of sight, Sarah pressed her face into the towel to muffle her laughter. John B was already grinning at her, shaking his head.

As they padded toward the staircase, dripping water onto the rug, Sarah glanced sideways at him.

“Thanks,” she murmured. “For… you know. Sticking up for me.”

John B smiled, water still dripping from the ends of his hair. “What’s a little trouble when we have so much fun?”

Sarah laughed for real this time, and for a second, the whole world had felt warm and safe.

Now, standing in the Chateau kitchen with water dripping down her neck, Sarah shook the memory away, a small, wistful smile tugging at her lips.

John B noticed. “What?”

“Nothing,” she said, shaking her head. “Just… remembering.”

He grinned. “Good memory?”

She met his eyes, feeling the truth of it settle deep in her chest. “Yeah. One of the best.” She leaned in kissing him “I really love you John B”

A small smile reached his lips “Love you too Princess”

Chapter 24: Part 2- Building a home

Summary:

I could be persuaded to post again later ❤️❤️

The Pogues had gone all out—string lights zigzagged above the dock, an old cooler served as a drink station, and the hammock in the corner had been piled with extra blankets in case the night air turned cool. Sarah was laughing when John B handed her a steaming mug of hot chocolate, but the smile softened as she took it.

“Eighteen,” he said, leaning against the post beside her. “How does it feel?”

She hesitated. “Weird.”

John B arched a brow.

“It’s the first birthday I’ve had without either of my parents,” she admitted quietly. “Nearly three years without Mom. And now… nothing with Dad either. Some days it still hits me—hard—that I don’t have either of them.”

John B’s expression softened. “You’ve handled all of it with so much grace, Sarah.”

She huffed a humorless laugh. “Better than Ward did. He was remarried and moved the new wife in within three months.” The bitterness in her voice was sharp, but it faded just as quickly as it had come.

For a while, they didn’t say anything. The laughter from the others carried over from the dock, mixing with the sound of water lapping against the posts.

“You always know how to make me feel less… alone,” she murmured after a moment.

“That’s probably because I hate being without you,” he replied, smiling faintly. “Makes it easy to know what you need.”

She tilted her head at him, lips quirking. “You’re not going to get all sappy on me, are you?”

“Me? Never.”

She stared at him for a beat, the porch light catching in his hair. “I like sappy sometimes,” she said softly.

His hand came up to her jaw, thumb brushing her cheek as he leaned in. The first kiss was gentle, testing; the second deeper, his hand sliding to her waist. She curled her fingers in his shirt, pulling him closer until the world outside them fell away—no party, no grief, no weight of the years behind them.

When they finally pulled back, foreheads resting together, he asked, “Even with the bad parts… this is still a good birthday?”

Her smile was small but sure. “Especially with the bad parts. Because I’m ending it like this.”

They stayed in the hammock, trading slow, unhurried kisses as the stars blinked to life above them, the night wrapping around them like another blanket. Neither suggested going inside. Not yet. Not when being right there, tangled up together, felt exactly like home.

---

Graduation was behind them now, the caps and gowns stuffed in closets, and the future—a strange mix of wide-open and uncertain—loomed ahead. But for the moment, life felt good. Steady. The Chateau was still the same weather-beaten little house it had always been, but over the last few weeks, it had started to feel more like theirs.

It was nothing major—just small changes that made the place warmer, lighter. They’d sanded the porch rail and slapped on fresh paint, replaced the wobbly kitchen table with one Sarah had found secondhand and proudly declared “a steal.” And now, the biggest project so far: the bedroom.

John B stood in the doorway, arms folded, watching Sarah turn in a slow circle as she admired the transformation. The cracked blinds had been replaced with airy curtains that swayed when the breeze came through the open window. They’d painted the walls a soft, sandy color. A new wardrobe stood neatly against the wall, its doors gleaming. And the bed—once an unmade heap of mismatched blankets—was now a carefully arranged nest of fresh linen and what seemed like far too many cushions.

John B’s mouth curved. “How are we meant to sleep in there? There’s no room with all the cushions.”

Without looking at him, Sarah plucked one of the decorative pillows from the pile and lobbed it at his chest. “You’ll sleep on the couch if you carry on—then there’ll be plenty of room.”

He caught it easily, laughing. “Oh, so that’s the plan? Fix up the place, make it all pretty, then banish me to the couch?”

She smirked, tossing her hair over her shoulder. “Only if you complain about my cushions again.”

He stepped inside, closing the distance between them in two long strides, still holding the pillow she’d thrown. “Guess I’ll just have to keep my opinions to myself then.”

Sarah’s smile softened. She looked around the room once more, then back at him. “It feels different now,” she said quietly.

John B glanced around too. “Yeah. Feels like home.”

She reached for his hand, giving it a squeeze. “It already was. But now it’s our home.”

Chapter 25: Part 2 - In the quiet hours

The sharp, earthy scent of wet ground and leaves drifted faintly through the cracked window, carried on a cooling breeze. Outside, the world was cloaked in twilight shadows, and leaves that rattled softly against the glass. Inside the bedroom, the air felt heavy with the onset of night and the hum of a gentle breeze.

The room was draped in darkness, save for the faint silver glow of the moon slicing through the half-closed blinds in sharp, cold stripes.

 A thin shiver crawled down Sarah’s spine as the cool light brushed over her skin beneath the blankets. Beside her, John B lay curled in peaceful sleep, his steady breath the only sound filling the stillness.

But Sarah was restless. Her body twisted beneath the covers, tangled and uneasy. She bit her lip, pressing a trembling hand to her abdomen, a dull ache blossoming beneath her ribs.

“Princess… can you just like keep still a little?” John B murmured, eyes half-lidded, voice thick with sleep and comfort.

She exhaled a shaky sigh, willing herself to calm, but the strange sensation gnawed at her. “I can’t. I feel… weird,” she whispered, the words sounding fragile in the quiet.

“It’s probably all the ice-cream you ate” John B’s eyelids fluttered, heavy with drowsiness. “Go to sleep. You’ll feel better,” he said softly, the low timbre of his voice wrapped in a foggy calm, unaware of the growing tension in her frame.

Sarah sighed again, reluctantly slipping free from the warmth of the bed. Her bare feet met the cool wooden floor, the chill biting through her thin pyjamas and sending another shiver rippling through her. She moved quietly, careful not to wake John B, and padded toward the bathroom at the end of the hall. The door clicked softly behind her.

Minutes dragged by, stretching long and silent. The bedroom felt emptier now, shadows pooling in the corners. John B’s breathing grew uneven, his rest disturbed. He blinked open his eyes fully and turned to the empty space beside him, brow furrowing.

“Sarah?” His voice cracked slightly, laced with worry now. “You okay?”

No answer.

He swung his legs off the bed, the wooden floor cool beneath his feet, and rose. His steps were quiet but urgent as he crossed the hall. When he reached the bathroom door, it stood ajar—just a sliver open.

He pushed it gently, and his breath caught cold in his throat.

There, crouched on the cold tile floor, was Sarah, her face pale and drawn, eyes wide and glassy with pain. She clutched her stomach tightly, trembling as dark, ominous spots stained the white toilet paper and the floor beneath her. She took a towel, pressing it between her legs.

John B’s heart slammed violently against his ribs. “Sarah? What’s going on?” His voice was sharp with alarm.

She looked up at him, fear and agony swimming in her eyes. “John B… you need to take me to the hospital.”

John B’s mind raced, heart pounding like a drum in his chest. He moved to her side, crouching down carefully so as not to startle her. His hand hovered for a moment before gently resting on her trembling shoulder.

“Okay, okay, we’re going,” he said, his voice steadier than he felt. “I’m right here.”

Sarah nodded weakly, biting her lip to hold back a moan. Her breaths came in shallow, uneven gasps as she tried to steady herself. The ache in her abdomen hadn’t lessened, it seemed to pulse beneath her skin, relentless and cruel.

“Can you stand?”

Sarah pushed up from the floor, swaying slightly. John B caught her before she could fall. He helped her upright, wrapping an arm around her waist to support her as she leaned on him.

“I’ve got you, ok? Just keep breathing” he murmured, feeling the fragile weight of her body against his. “Just hold on a little longer.”

Outside, the wind picked up, rattling the windowpane and carrying with it the faint crunch of dried leaves skittering across the pavement. The world felt cold and distant compared to the tight, raw moment they shared inside the quiet bathroom.

John B guided her carefully back down the hall and into the bedroom. He moved quickly to grab her hoodie and shoes, then opened the front door to the night.

The glow of the porch lamp cast long, soft shadows across the yard. He helped Sarah down the steps, wrapping her hoodie more tightly around her slight frame as they headed to the van parked up.

Inside the van, the radio hummed softly, a sharp contrast to the cold dread settling in John B’s chest.

“We’ll get you checked out,” he whispered, gripping the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles whitened. “I won’t let anything happen to you. You’re going to be ok”

“What’s happening to me?” she was slightly breathless now “This is how it started with mom...the bleeding”

“You aren’t dying. Not on my watch”.

As he started the engine and pulled onto the empty road, the moon hung low and heavy in the sky—a silent witness to the night’s unfolding crisis.

John B’s hands gripped the steering wheel tightly, knuckles pale as his eyes darted between the road and Sarah beside him. She was unusually still, her head resting against the glass, eyes shut, brows furrowed in pain.

“Hey, Princess… can you talk to me?” he asked gently, voice low but urgent.

She blinked slowly, struggling to focus. “I… I don’t feel good,” she whispered, voice barely audible. Her hand reached up to her mouth, pressing tightly against her lips.

Before John B could respond, Sarah’s body convulsed suddenly, and she leaned forward, retching into the passenger-side floor. The sound was raw and terrifying in the quiet of the car.

John B’s heart jumped. “Hey, hey, it’s okay, I’m here,” he said, reaching over to steady her. “Just breathe.”

Sarah pulled back, pale and trembling, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. “I feel like I’m going to pass out,” she murmured, voice weak and shaky.

John B’s grip on the wheel tightened. “Hold on, okay? We’re almost there. Just keep talking to me.”

She nodded faintly but her eyelids fluttered, heavy and slow. Her body slumped toward him, limp and fragile.

“Sarah?” John B’s voice rose with panic. “Stay with me Princess! Don’t—don’t pass out.”

He reached over, gripping her shoulder firmly, trying to anchor her back to the moment as the car sped through the dark, leaf-strewn streets toward the hospital. The night seemed colder than ever, shadows flickering in the passing streetlights like ominous warnings.

Inside the car, time stretched thin, each second weighted with fear. John B refused to lose her; not now, not ever.

Chapter 26: Part 2- Reality

The hospital’s harsh fluorescent lights cut through the night like cold knives as John B pulled the car into the nearly empty emergency lot. The steady beep of distant monitors and the muted rush of footsteps echoed faintly in the air outside the sliding glass doors.

John B hurriedly killed the engine and turned toward Sarah, who was still pale and weak, her body slumped against the passenger door. He opened it gently and reached for her, supporting her weight as she staggered out.

“Almost there, just a little more,” he murmured, his voice thick with urgency and something tighter—fear.

They moved quickly through the automatic doors, the sterile scent of antiseptic washing over them. Sarah’s legs trembled as John B wrapped his arm tightly around her waist, guiding her toward the reception desk.

“Emergency,” he said, breathless, eyes scanning the waiting room. “My girlfriend—she needs help. Now.”

The receptionist’s eyes widened, and she immediately pressed a button under the desk. Moments later, a nurse appeared, her expression serious but calm.

“Let’s get her on a gurney,” the nurse said, stepping forward to assist. John B carefully eased Sarah onto the wheeled stretcher, his hands never leaving her.

As they wheeled her down the brightly lit corridor, Sarah’s breathing was shallow, her face drawn with pain and exhaustion. John B’s heart hammered in his chest with every step.

“I’m here baby,” he whispered, brushing a stray lock of hair from her sweaty forehead. “You’re going to be okay.”

The double doors of the emergency room swung open, swallowing them into a flurry of activity—voices, footsteps, the distant ringing of phones. But for John B and Sarah, time seemed to slow, held captive by the fragile thread between fear and hope that this wasn’t anything as bad as it seemed.

---

The emergency room was a whirlwind of motion and noise—nurses and doctors moving with practiced urgency, monitors beeping steadily, and the sharp scent of antiseptic thick in the air. John B stood close as medical staff surrounded Sarah, their faces professional but kind.

A young doctor approached, tablet in hand, eyes scanning Sarah quickly before locking onto John B. “My name is Dr Miller, can you tell me what happened?”

John B swallowed hard, his voice tight but clear. “She was in bed, said she felt weird. Then she got up, and I found her in the bathroom… bleeding and in pain. She started vomiting in the car and said she felt like she was going to pass out.”

The doctor turned her attention to Sarah. “Sarah, can you describe what you’re feeling? Any dizziness, headache, nausea, cramping?”

Sarah blinked, trying to focus despite the haze clouding her mind. “All of the above.” She was beginning to drift in and out of consciousness. “My mom...” she began.

John B swallowed “Her mom died a few years ago cervical cancer...”

Dr Miller nodded thoughtfully. “Ok honey...right now I don’t think that’s what we’re dealing with. Do you know if your pregnant?”

Sarah’s eyes opened slightly, shaking her head. “I don’t think so.”

The doctor’s gaze softened, but her tone remained cautious. “There’s still a chance, though?”

Sarah hesitated, then gave a slow, reluctant nod still only half conscious.

“Alright,” the doctor said, tapping notes into the tablet. “We’re going to do an ultrasound to get a clearer picture.” She turned to one of the nurses “Let’s get the usual bloods, check HCG levels and I want the ultrasound in here stat.”

John B squeezed Sarah’s hand gently. “You’re going to be ok Princess.” he whispered, the weight of the unknown pressing down on them both.

Dr Miller pulled up a chair beside Sarah’s bed, her tone calm but serious as she looked at both of them. “Sarah, given your symptoms; the cramping, bleeding, dizziness—and the possibility of pregnancy, there are a few things we need to consider here...”

John B leaned forward, eyes fixed on the doctor, gripping Sarah’s hand tightly.

“Do I have what Mom had?”

Again the doctor shook her head “Sweetheart, Cervical cancer doesn’t show these type of symptoms...not in this way at least, I think there’s a chance this could be an early pregnancy complication,” the doctor continued carefully. “It might be a threatened miscarriage, which means there’s bleeding and cramping, but the pregnancy could still be viable. We also need to rule out ectopic pregnancy.

“What does that mean?” John B asked

Sarah’s eyes widened too, the words unfamiliar and heavy. The doctor noticed and softened her voice. “An ectopic pregnancy happens when a fertilized egg implants outside the uterus, usually in a fallopian tube. It can cause severe pain and bleeding and can be life-threatening if not treated promptly.”

“How do you fix that?” John B’s grip on Sarah’s hand tightened. “What happens now?”

“The ultrasound we’re about to do will help us see what’s going on inside. It will tell us if Sarah is pregnant and if she is, that the pregnancy is where it’s supposed to be, if it’s still viable, or if there’s any other issue causing your symptoms Sarah,” the doctor explained. “Until we have those results, it’s important you rest and try to stay calm, once we know we can find a solution.”

Sarah nodded slowly, absorbing the weight of the situation. John B brushed a comforting hand through her hair. “It’s ok, you’re going to be fine…”

Dr Miller smiled gently. “That’s the right attitude. Let’s get started with the ultrasound shall we?”

The examination room was quiet except for the soft beeping of the ultrasound machine. Sarah lay back on the table, clutching John B’s hand tightly as the technician prepared the probe.

“We need to do an internal ultrasound, Sarah, okay? This might feel a little uncomfortable,” the doctor said kindly before gently inserting it.

Sarah winced but stayed still, her grip on John B’s hand tightening. His thumb traced slow, grounding circles over her skin.

“Deep breath, princess…” he murmured.

The screen flickered to life—ghostly shapes swimming into focus. The doctor leaned in, eyes narrowing.

“There,” she said softly, pointing to a small dark sac inside the uterus. “That’s what we call a gestational sac. You’re definitely pregnant.”

Silence fell so suddenly it was almost deafening.

Sarah blinked rapidly, her lips parting. “No… no, that’s… I would’ve known.”

John B’s head snapped toward the doctor. “Wait—pregnant? Are you absolutely sure? I mean, you can tell from that?” He gestured at the hazy image like it was some kind of illusion.

“It’s right there,” the doctor said evenly, pointing again. “The location means it’s an intrauterine pregnancy. So no ectopic.”

Sarah shook her head slightly, still staring. “This doesn’t make sense. I wasn’t even—” She broke off, swallowing hard.

John B’s eyes darted between her face and the monitor. “Sarah…” His voice was low, caught between awe and panic.

Dr Miller adjusted the probe again, her brow creasing. “I’d like to have someone from OBGYN come take a look.”

Sarah’s chest tightened. “Why? What’s wrong?”

“Let’s just have them check,” the doctor said, calm but unreadable.

"John B..."

"it's ok Princess. Everything is going to fine ...all fine" 

Chapter 27: Part 2- Tiny things

Notes:

*Chapter warning of sensitive topic*

The minutes stretched painfully, the only sound the low hum of the machine and the faint buzz of fluorescent lights overhead. John B’s thumb had stopped moving against her hand, his earlier attempts at reassurance now stilled. His other hand curled into a fist against his leg, knuckles bone-white. He sat stiffly, staring toward the door as if willing someone to come in and give them answers.

Finally, the OBGYN entered, her white coat brushing against her knees as she crossed the room. “I’m Dr. Reed,” she said, slipping on a pair of gloves with a practiced snap. Her tone was brisk, efficient, but her eyes were not unkind. “Sarah, I need you to keep very still for me, alright?”

Sarah nodded mutely, her throat dry.

She inserted the probe again, pressing it a little deeper than the first time, and Sarah clenched her jaw against the discomfort. The nurse shifted closer, offering a faint smile that didn’t reach her eyes. John B’s jaw tightened, his body flinching almost in sync with Sarah’s. The room felt colder, heavier, as if the walls themselves were listening.

“There’s a lot of blood here,” Dr. Reed murmured, her words half to herself, half to the screen.

Sarah’s voice cracked instantly. “What does that mean?”

The doctor’s eyes flicked across the grainy black-and-white image, her expression unreadable. “Nothing definitive yet. Let’s just take our time.”

The seconds dragged on. She adjusted the angle, then again, and again, her eyes darting back and forth. Sarah’s stomach roiled. “I’m going to be sick...” She turned sharply, retching into the bowl the nurse slid beneath her chin.

“Easy princess…” John B’s hand ran gently over her back as she vomited.

“Sarah, breathe,” Dr. Reed said softly, though her attention stayed on the monitor. “I know it’s not nice…”

Sarah wiped her mouth with the tissue the nurse handed her. “I’m fine,” she lied.

“Just a little longer,” the doctor assured her, steady and calm.

John B leaned forward in his chair, unable to sit still. His voice was tight, cracking at the edges. “Do you… see something? Or nothing?”

Dr. Reed’s hand slowed. She tilted the probe once more, pressing down gently on Sarah’s lover abdomen too, her brow furrowing. The silence stretched into something unbearable.

Finally, she exhaled, her shoulders lowering slightly. She gently removed the probe, both John B and Sarah flinched at the blood on it. “Sarah…” She turned her head at last, her voice quieter, measured. “I’m not finding a heartbeat.”

Sarah blinked hard, as though she hadn’t heard her right. “What do you mean, no heartbeat? Maybe—it’s too early? Or maybe the angle’s wrong—”

“I’ve checked from every possible angle,” Dr. Reed said, her voice careful but firm. She glanced back at the screen, then at Sarah. “At this stage, we should see cardiac activity. We don’t.”

John B’s grip on her hand clamped down, his thumb digging into her skin without realizing. His mouth opened, then closed again, no words coming out.

Sarah shook her head rapidly, tears springing to her eyes. “So… what are you saying?”

The doctor’s features softened with compassion. She pulled her stool closer, lowering her voice. “Given your bleeding, the cramping you’ve described, and the absence of a heartbeat, this is most likely a miscarriage.”

The words landed with a crushing weight. Sarah let out a strangled sound, part sob, part protest. “No. No, I didn’t even know until now—It can’t just be…” Her voice cracked as her whole body trembled.

John B pressed his forehead against her temple, whispering hoarsely, “I’m here, Sarah. I’m not going anywhere.” His eyes were wide, glassy, fixed on the monitor as though hoping something might flicker to life if he just stared long enough.

Dr. Reed waited, giving them space before continuing. “I know this is not what you wanted to hear. I wish I could tell you otherwise. We’ll take some blood tests to confirm, and we’ll monitor closely. But right now, the signs all point to pregnancy loss.”

Sarah gripped the edge of the blanket, her fingers twisting the fabric until her knuckles blanched. “I don’t understand,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “I didn’t—” Her words dissolved into a sob, and she buried her face against John B’s shoulder. He held her tight against him, not knowing what else to do or say. Nothing was going to make this better.

The doctor’s voice stayed low, steady. “I want you to know, this isn’t your fault. Nothing you did caused this. Nothing you could have done would have changed it.” She peeled off her gloves with a quiet snap and set them aside. “For now, rest. Let your body guide you, and we’ll talk through next steps together.”

The nurse adjusted the blanket over Sarah’s lap with quiet care before retreating, leaving another sick bowl on the counter.

When the door clicked softly shut, silence swallowed the room. The monitor had gone dark, a black mirror reflecting their hollow faces back at them.

Sarah stared at it, her breath coming in shuddering pulls. The emptiness on the screen echoed inside her chest, her body aching with loss she hadn’t been prepared for.

John B’s hand was still wrapped around hers, his thumb now moving in slow, uneven circles. His eyes were rimmed red, his lips pressed tight, as though he were holding himself together by the thinnest thread.

Finally, he spoke, his voice cracked and raw. “I don’t know how we’re supposed to process this.”

Sarah gave a hollow, broken laugh that quickly unraveled into sobs. “Me neither.” She pressed her fist to her mouth, trying to hold it in, but the tears spilled freely anyway.

John B pulled her closer again, his chin resting against the top of her head. “We’ll figure it out,” he whispered, though the words shook, fragile against the enormity of the silence left behind.

They sat like that, clinging to each other in the too-quiet room, the weight of grief settling heavy between them. The hum of the machine still lingered faintly in the background, a cruel reminder of the tiny heartbeat that should have been there but wasn’t.

---

They kept Sarah for observation, checking her vitals, monitoring the bleeding, and running blood tests. Neither she nor John B slept. Every time the nurse came in, Sarah’s eyes flicked open; every time the monitor beeped, John B sat up straighter, shoulders tense. They were locked in a state of fight or flight—scared, restless, and hollowed out by waiting.

By morning, the bleeding had slowed, though Sarah still felt weak and cold, her body heavy with exhaustion. The air in the room was too bright now, the early sun spilling in through the blinds, sharp and unforgiving.

Dr. Reed came in again, her face calm but serious. She pulled a chair close to the bed, her voice gentle but direct.

“The bloodwork confirms what we saw on the ultrasound,” she said. “I’m so sorry, Sarah. This is a pregnancy loss.”

The words rang in Sarah’s ears even though she already knew them. She turned her face toward the wall, staring at the sterile white paint until it blurred. She didn’t want to see anyone’s face.

Dr. Reed explained the next steps, laying them out clearly: there might be more bleeding in the days ahead, her body would need rest, she needed to come back in a week for a follow-up. If anything changed suddenly, she had to return immediately. “Please remember—you didn’t cause this. This is not your fault,” she said gently before leaving them in the heavy quiet.

When it was finally time to go, they walked slowly out to the van. The early morning air was sharp in Sarah’s lungs, almost painful. John B had come out earlier to scrub the seats clean. He’d managed to get most of the blood out, though faint stains remained. He hated them, hated the reminder, but there was nothing more he could do.

Inside the van, they sat for a long moment without starting the engine. Sarah hunched forward, her arms wrapped tightly around herself, her hands locked together in her lap. She stared down at her fingers, pale against her hoodie.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, her voice hoarse. “This is all such a mess.”

John B turned to her, reaching over carefully to tilt her chin up. “Hey. Don’t. Don’t apologize. This isn’t your fault.”

She jerked her chin out of his hand, tears spilling faster. “Of course it’s my fault! You should be mad at me, John B.” Her voice cracked, the words tumbling out in a rush. “If I’d realized sooner—if I’d known I was pregnant—I could’ve done something. I could’ve stopped drinking caffeine, stopped pushing myself so hard, I could’ve—” Her voice broke into a sob. “Maybe this wouldn’t have happened.”

John B shook his head sharply, his voice rough. “No. Don’t do that. Don’t you dare blame yourself.” He reached for her hand, gripping it tight. “This isn’t because of you. Not knowing, not realizing—none of that caused this.”

Sarah let out a broken laugh that wasn’t really a laugh. “How can you say that? I should’ve known. I should’ve paid attention. I was so stupid—”

“You weren’t stupid,” John B cut in, his voice fierce now. “You were living your normal life. This…” He shook his head, swallowing hard. “This just happens sometimes, Sarah. To women who know from the start, to women who do everything right. It still happens. And it’s not on you.”

Her whole body trembled, her voice small and desperate. “But what if it is? What if I killed the only good thing I had left without even knowing?”

"Baby..." John B slid closer, pulling her against him. His arms locked around her as she collapsed into his chest, sobbing so hard her shoulders shook. He pressed his cheek against her hair, his voice low and steady even though it cracked at the edges.

“Listen to me, princess. You didn’t kill anything. You didn’t fail anyone. This is not your fault. I swear to you, it’s not. I wish I could take this from you, I wish I could make it different—but don’t carry blame that doesn’t belong to you. Not for this.”

She shook her head against him, the words muffled in his shirt. “You should hate me. You should be angry.”

“I could never hate you,” he whispered fiercely. “Not for this. Not for anything.” He pulled back enough to look at her, his thumb brushing away a tear though more kept falling. “You’re the one person I’ll never be mad at. Do you hear me? Never.”

They sat like that for a long time, the van silent except for her ragged sobs and his uneven breathing. Finally, John B started the engine, the low rumble filling the heavy quiet as they pulled out of the hospital lot.

Sarah leaned her forehead against the cool glass of the window, her breath fogging it faintly. Her hands stayed clenched in her lap, empty, as if she didn’t know what to do with them.

The silence stretched, broken only by the hum of tires on asphalt. Then Sarah’s voice came out barely above a whisper. “I thought eighteen would feel different. I thought I’d still have some control. That something in my life would be safe.”

John B let out a shaky breath, half sigh. “Yeah. Me too.”

She turned slightly toward him, her eyes swollen and raw. “It feels like it’s ruining everything.”

“Princess, it’s not ruining anything,” he said firmly, glancing at her before turning back to the road. “It hurts, yeah. It’s tearing us up. But it doesn’t ruin us. It doesn’t ruin what we’ve got. We’ll carry this together.”

Her throat tightened, her words catching. “I just don’t want to lose anything else. I don’t want to keep losing pieces of myself.”

John B reached over, squeezing her knee gently, his eyes still fixed ahead. “Then we hold on to each other. That’s what we don’t let go of. You and me, no matter what.”

The van rolled on toward home, the rising sun spilling gold across the dashboard. Sarah sat in silence, her face pressed against the glass, her tears drying slowly. Her hands stayed locked together in her lap, clinging to themselves because there was nothing else left to hold.

Chapter 28: Part 2- Fragments of the soul

They pulled up in front of the Chateau just as the morning sun climbed higher. John B killed the engine and reached over, opening Sarah’s door gently.

“Let me help you,” he said softly, his voice low and steady.

She nodded, her hands clenched in her lap. Her legs felt heavy, unsteady, but with his steadying hand on her back, she managed to step out of the van.

Inside, the house was quiet—too quiet. No JJ, no Kiara, no Pope. The silence pressed around her, a reminder that the world was carrying on somewhere else, while she felt like hers had collapsed overnight.

John B held the door for her and ushered her in. The familiar scent of old wood and faint lavender drifted toward them. Sarah took a shaky breath, her chest tight.

“I should clean up,” she murmured, voice fragile.

John B nodded. “Yeah. Do you want to take a bath, or—”

She shook her head quickly. “No. I just want to get out of these clothes and go to bed.”

She walked toward the bathroom, her hand brushing the wall for balance. But the moment she pushed the door open, her stomach twisted. Towels from the night before were still on the floor, blood-stained and crumpled. There were streaks across the sink, tissues discarded hastily in the rush of fear.

Her breath caught, her chest tightening until she could barely speak. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, tears pricking her eyes.

John B appeared behind her instantly, wrapping an arm around her waist, pulling her close against him. “Hey,” he said gently, steady as ever. “Don’t apologize. I’ll sort this out. You just focus on you.”

Sarah leaned into him, resting her forehead against his chest. The steady thud of his heartbeat beneath her ear was a small comfort amid the chaos. She closed her eyes, letting herself breathe in time with him.

After a moment, she pulled back, wiping at her damp cheeks. She sat down on the toilet and tugged at her waistband, glancing down. “I’m still bleeding… not as much though.”

John B crouched in front of her, brushing a loose strand of hair from her face. “That’s normal. It’ll take a little time.”

“Can you pass me a pad? In the bottom drawer?”

John B crouched, pulling open the drawer with a soft click and handing her a sanitary pad wrapped in its paper. Sarah took it, her hands trembling.

He knelt beside her, helping her clean up with gentle, practiced movements. When she wobbled, he caught her wrist, steadying her with a careful grip.

Her throat tightened. “It feels like proof,” she whispered, voice breaking. “Proof that it’s gone…that I failed.”

John B’s face shifted, pain flashing across his features. He shook his head firmly. “No, Princess... It’s not proof of anything except that your body’s been through hell. This isn’t because of you.”

Sarah shook her head, her whole body trembling. “But I feel like I failed. I didn’t even get the chance to try, and I already failed.”

He reached for her, pressing his lips to her forehead, leaving them there longer than needed in the hope it portrayed just a little of how he was feeling.

He slipped away briefly and returned with one of his old, oversized T-shirts—soft, worn, familiar.

“Here,” he said, holding it out with a faint smile. “You always used to steal this one anyway.”

Sarah managed a watery smile, slipping it over her head. The fabric smelled faintly of him, warm and safe. She leaned into his side, eyes closing.

John B kissed her temple softly, then her forehead. “You’re gonna be okay,” he murmured. “We’re gonna be okay. Not today, not tomorrow, maybe not even next month, but we will be ok.”

He guided her back to bed, easing her down onto the rumpled blankets. Sarah shifted immediately toward him, curling into his chest like she was afraid to let go.

John B wrapped his arms around her, holding her close as she trembled. “Do you want anything? Water? Something to eat?” he asked softly.

She shook her head. “No. Just… this.”

He squeezed her gently. “Alright. Rest. I’m just going to clean up the bathroom, and I’ll be right back okay?”

Her eyes were already heavy with exhaustion. She nodded faintly. “Okay.”

John B kissed her forehead once more, then slipped from the room. The sound of running water and quiet scrubbing filtered through the house as he tidied up the traces of the night before, while Sarah lay curled beneath the blankets, drifting in and out of a restless sleep, the ache of loss still raw in her chest.

---

John B stood at the bathroom sink, the fluorescent light buzzing overhead, washing his hands for the third time, maybe the fourth. The water had already run pink, then pale, but he still scrubbed, like maybe if he kept going, the memory of the night would come off with it. The metallic smell clung stubbornly to his skin.

The floorboards creaked, and he looked up to see JJ, Kie, and Pope filling the doorway. None of them said anything right away. They just stared at him, at the stains on his wrists, at the mess of towels still piled in the corner.

Kie was the first to break the silence. “John B…” Her voice was soft, careful, but it held a tremor.

“What happened?” Pope asked quietly, voice rough.

“Where’s Sarah?” Kiara frowned

John B turned off the faucet, drying his hands on a rag that was already ruined, leaving faint streaks behind. “She’s in bed. Resting.” His voice came out low, flat. “Or at least trying too…”

JJ’s eyes flicked to the towels, his jaw tightening. “How bad is it?”

John B leaned against the counter, pressing his palms into the cool surface as if it could steady him. “Bad enough. We were in the hospital since 2am, got in about 15 minutes ago.” He swallowed hard. “They couldn’t find a heartbeat.”

The words landed like stones. Kie’s hands flew to her mouth, her eyes filling instantly. Pope shifted his weight, crossing his arms tightly across his chest, like he was bracing himself against it. JJ just stared, the usual spark behind his eyes dimmed completely.

“Sarah’s pregnant?” Pope asked quietly, almost like he didn’t want to say the word out loud.

John B shook his head. “Was. She was pregnant Pope. We didn’t even know until…” He trailed off, his voice cracking, and shook his head. “Until she was already bleeding.”

Kie stepped inside, slow and tentative, her voice thick. “Oh my god. John B… I’m so sorry.”

He forced a breath out, scrubbing at his face with the back of his hand. “They couldn’t find a heartbeat; told us she was miscarrying. She keeps saying it’s her fault. That if she’d known sooner, maybe it wouldn’t have happened.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “She actually thinks I should be mad at her.”

“No,” Kie said firmly, her voice breaking at the edges. “That’s not on her. That’s not on either of you.”

Pope finally spoke, his words clipped but steady. “What did the doctors say?”

John B shrugged, a helpless, bitter motion. “Not much. Says there wasn’t much we could do. Just to monitor things. Sarah’s in a bit of pain, still bleeding a little.”

JJ let out a slow breath, dragging a hand over his face. “Shit.” His eyes softened as he looked back at John B. “Man, I don’t even know what to say.”

“You don’t have to,” John B murmured. “Just… be here. For her. Don’t treat her like she’s broken, even if she feels like it right now.”

The three of them nodded, the weight of unspoken promises hanging heavy in the air.

Kie reached out, resting a hand on John B’s arm. “You’re not alone in this. Neither of you. Okay?”

He gave the faintest nod, his lips pressing tight, eyes glassy. “Thanks.”

The silence stretched until JJ finally cleared his throat. “We’ll give you space. But if you need anything—anything—just call.”

One by one, they slipped back out, the door closing softly behind them. The house was quiet again, the only sound the low hum of the washer as John B tossed in the bloodied towels.

When the load started to churn, he stood still for a moment, staring at the machine, before dragging a hand down his tired face and heading for the bedroom.

He pushed the door open gently. Sarah lay curled on her side, her face pale against the pillow, eyes half-closed but not asleep.

“Hey,” she whispered, her voice raw.

John B sat beside her, brushing a strand of hair from her cheek. “Hey, princess. How you feeling?”

Her lips trembled. “Like it’s still my fault.”

His chest ached. He shook his head, his hand cupping her face. “Princess…”

She blinked, tears spilling down her temples. “If I’d realized sooner—”

“Nothing would’ve changed,” he cut in gently, but firmly. “You didn’t cause this. You couldn’t have stopped it. Don’t put that weight on yourself.”

Her breathing hitched, her body trembling as the sobs finally came. John B gathered her into his arms, holding her close as her tears soaked his shirt. He kissed the top of her head, rocking her gently.

“I’ve got you,” he whispered against her hair. “I’m not going anywhere. We’ll get through this. Together.”

And he held her until exhaustion dragged her under, his own eyes fixed on the ceiling, wide awake, carrying the weight of both their grief.

Chapter 29: Part 2 - a game of old and new

The soft glow of the bedside lamp cast a warm pool of light over the small room as both John B and Sarah drifted off to sleep, tangled together beneath the thin covers. Their breaths found a slow, even rhythm in the quiet, a fragile peace settling after the storm of the night.

John B was the first to stir, the weight of the room heavy but softer now. He shifted slightly, careful not to wake her.

Minutes later, Sarah’s eyelids fluttered open. She blinked against the dim light and sat up slowly, a cautious look on her face. “I want to go check,” she whispered, voice still thick with sleep.

John B nodded, his eyes gentle but alert. “I’ll be right here.”

She slipped out of bed and padded softly toward the bathroom. The cool floor sent a shiver through her as she closed the door behind her. After a moment, she returned, a confused look on her face.

“Not bleeding much now,” she said quietly. “That’s not normal…Dr Reed Said to expect more bleeding…”

John B reached out, pulling her gently back into the warmth of the bed. He pressed a soft kiss to her temple. “She did Princess, but she also said it might be a couple of days before…” He swallowed.

She leaned into him, resting her head against his chest, the steady beat of his heart soothing. “I know. I guess I just, still don’t want to believe it’s happening. It doesn't feel like it's happening”

“I know baby. I know.” He sighed heavily and reached for the pack of cards on the nightstand. “How about we play some cards?”

“You trying to distract me?”

“No…just something to pass the time”

Sarah looked down at the worn packet, her smile tinged with sadness. “These cards have seen some things, haven’t they?”

John B nodded roughly “Yeah. Just about as much as us, hey?”

“Princess…” Sarah was on her feet and in his awaiting arms the second he burst through the waiting room doors. “I came as soon as I got your message. What happened?”

Sarah pulled back and wiped her eyes, curling herself back into the awful beaten sofa of the waiting room at St Olives. Her eyes were red and swollen from hours of worry. “She was on the floor in the kitchen; we couldn’t wake her up.”

He sat next to her pulling her close to him “Lizzie is strong, she’ll be ok” his own fear rose, and he blinked back tears too.

Sarah shook her head “Not this time John B. The treatment isn’t working and she’s getting worse”

John B sat just holding her- he didn’t know what else to say just yet. “Where’s your Dad and Rafe?”

“Dad is with Mom; Rafe is god knows where” She sniffed

“And they left you here alone?”

Sarah shrugged “Only one person is allowed in”

“Still…That’s not right princess, he shouldn’t have left you alone” he dug into his backpack and brought out a can of soda, a chocolate bar, tissues and a pack of playing cards. Sarah laughed a little “Princess rescue kit…” John B bumped her shoulder, the deck of cards in his hands a shadow of pain in his eyes too “I’m not going anywhere,” he said firmly.

He began to deal the cards between them. “Want to learn a new game? Might take your mind off things.”

Sarah gave a tired smile, watching his hands. “Trying to distract me?”

John B shrugged, a soft, sad smile pulling at his lips. “Yeah… just a little.”

They played in silence for a while, the clatter of cards a small, fragile rhythm against the background noise of the hospital.

“Why are cards always a distraction for you?” Sarah said softly, watching as John b dealt her another card.

John B shrugged “I’m not great with words Princess, I guess this just gives me something physical; tangible to focus on”.

“I think you’re better with words than you know” They played in silence for a little while when Sarah raised her eyebrow “I also remember cards being your apology strategy at one point…” she lay a card down on the bed.

John B picked up the card and placed on of his own down “oh you do, do you?” Sarah hummed “Fishing accident?”

“Accident?” again her eyebrow raised “John B that was no accident. That day was pure dumbness on yours and JJ’s part”

John B sat slouched in a stiff plastic chair, a rough bandage wrapped awkwardly around his torso. He winced slightly, shifting as the dull ache from the cut pulsed beneath the dressing Sarah had haphazardly applied.

She stood nearby, arms crossed, her jaw tight with frustration. She’d left a date with Topper to rush John B here after he and JJ had gotten tangled up in some reckless fishing wire mess out in the marsh.

John B caught her glare and tried a sheepish grin. “I’m so bored.”

Sarah shot him a sharp look. “You wouldn’t be bored if you and JJ weren’t so stupid and kept doing dumb shit.”

John B winced again. “It’s just a cut.”

Sarah’s eyes narrowed. “It’s a damn cut to your torso that needs stitches. So, it isn’t ‘just a cut’ is it?”

John B reached awkwardly into his back pocket “I got cards” He shuffled the cards with one hand, then set them down on the chair next to him “Apology game of Go Fish?”

Sarah raised an eyebrow. “Was that supposed to be funny?”

“Kind of...”

She rolled her eyes, shaking her head but sat in the chair, cards between them. “Fine. Deal the cards”

John B dealt the cards, a small grin tugging at his lips despite the discomfort. The emergency room buzzed faintly around them, but for a moment, the chaos felt a little further away.

They continued to play, each taking it in turns to pick up and discard cards. After a while Sarah paused and placed all her cards down, she wiped her eyes and looked at John B.

“Princess? You ok?”

She gently shook her head “are we going to be alright?”

He placed his hand down too and moved to be closer to her “What do you mean?”

“I mean, I’m here again bringing problems to your life, like it’s down to you to fix them. I couldn’t even do this right.”

“Sarah…” He gently tilted her face to look at him “Hey, baby look at me… this is not a problem you created Princess. It might not be easy right now and I know your scared, because I am too. But we will get through this.” Sarah nodded as he leaned in to kiss her “But for the record you have always been mine to help fix…right from the start.”

Notes:

I'll be back later as I won't be able to post on Saturday! Xx

Chapter 30: Part 2- Shadows of the past

The morning light spilled softly through the cracked blinds of the small room, casting thin stripes over the rumpled sheets. Fifteen-year-old Sarah and John B lay side by side on the bed tangled in a quiet, hesitant peace. The night before, something had shifted between them — something they barely understood but knew they couldn’t speak aloud.

Sarah traced the pattern of the wooden floor with her eyes and glanced over at John B. His eyes were closed; face relaxed like a boy who hadn’t yet realized how complicated feelings could be. She watched him, biting her lip with a gentle smile. She moved to lean up on her elbow propping herself to see him closer. She wasn’t sure how she felt. She was confused. Hurt with grief but also in a strange state of bliss and ease that came from the night before. He’d done what she’d asked. He’d slept with her. She asked and he’d given. He’d been so thoughtful, gentle and made her first time the best experience she could have hoped for.

Ever since she was younger, she always knew it was going to be John B. Maybe she hadn’t admitted to herself why that was, she trusted him, she loved him, and he loved her.

John B groaned sleepily and blinked sleep out of his eyes as he woke. He stretched and rolled over colliding with Sarah who was watching him. “Hi…Princess.”

“Hi Sancho…” they lay facing each other now, faces just inches apart.

It wasn’t awkward- it should have been. Hell, they both should have been running to put on clothes and get the heck out of there. But they didn’t.

John B was the first to make a move, he reached forward and brushed her hair off her face. “You sleep ok?”

She nodded “yeah…I was tired.” She stared at him “Thank you for... Y’know”

“It wasn’t a hard job” He smiled “Anyway, when do I ever say no to you Princess?”

“We don’t talk about last night again, okay?” she whispered, voice small but firm.

 “Promise. It’s just our secret.”

“Just us,” she agreed, her breath catching slightly. “We’re still friends. Best friends.”

He nodded, and for a moment, the weight of what they’d done hung between them — a delicate thread neither dared pull.

“Do things feel any better today?” He asked tentatively “You came here to feel something other than loss and pain…I hope you got that”

“I did” Sarah shifted, suddenly quieter, and after a pause said, “I’m scared, John B.”

He frowned, brows knitting. “Scared of what?”

“Of what life’s gonna be like now… without Mom.” Her voice cracked, but she held it steady.

John B swallowed, his usual jokes and bravado slipping away. “I know it’s Scary Princess.”

“She was always there, for both of us…like, she always knew how to get me through life, she knew what she wanted and did it.”

“What do you want then? Like... what do you want from life?”

She blinked, surprised at the question, then smiled a little the kind of smile that’s both hopeful and fragile. “I want to be like my mom. You know? Have a family, a couple of kids, a dog. A nice house. A nice job… like a florist or something like that. Something simple.”

John B looked at her with new respect, admiration in his eyes. “That sounds pretty good. You know whatever it is you do she’s going to be proud of you don’t you?”

Sarah shrugged, resting her head on her folded arms. “I hope so”.

He reached out, brushing a stray hair from her forehead again. “Whatever happens, we’ll figure it out. Together.”

She smiled again, eyes shining. “Together.”

---

It had been a week since Sarah and John B had learned about the miscarriage. Seven long days of fragile recovery, of processing loss, and of holding onto hope that her body was going to be ok.

Now they were back at the hospital, expecting nothing more than a routine checkup to ensure everything was ok. The sterile smell clung to the air, mingling with the distant hum of machines and quiet footsteps. Sarah perched on the edge of the plastic exam table, fingers twisting the bandana around her wrist. Her eyes were tired, rimmed red from sleepless nights.

John B sat close, his hand resting lightly over hers. He tried to keep calm, but his knuckles whitened as he gripped her fingers. “We’re just checking to make sure everything’s ok for you, Princess, that there’s no complications” he said softly. “Nothing more.”

Sarah nodded, though her stomach churned. “I know… but it’s been a rough week. I just want all this to be over with.”

“Soon,” he whispered, threading his fingers through hers, grounding them both.

Dr. Reed entered, her calm presence a small comfort. “Sarah, John B. How are we feeling today?”

Sarah exhaled softly. “Broken, I… still feeling nauseous, and a bit crampy. Scared that something else has gone wrong.”

“That’s understandable,” Dr. Reed said, giving a reassuring smile. “We’re going to do a routine checkup, I’ll run some more bloods again, and then I’ll start with an abdominal ultrasound. It’s simple, and it will give us a good view of your uterus and ovaries, to make sure everything is happening the way it should.”

Sarah lay back as cold gel was spread over her stomach. The probe pressed gently against her skin, and the screen flickered with faint, swirling shapes.

Dr. Reed’s brow furrowed slightly. “Hmm… okay… that’s interesting. Can I ask you something, Sarah?”

Sarah nodded, heart thudding.

“Have you had anymore bleeding, since last week?”

Sarah shook her head “Not really, not like I was expecting to…”

“Right, I’d like to do an internal ultrasound as well,” Dr. Reed said gently. “I know it’s uncomfortable, but I need to check on something more closely.”

Sarah swallowed, gripping John B’s hand tightly. “Okay… I trust you.”

The internal ultrasound began. The room was quiet except for the faint hum of the machine. Dr. Reed’s eyes scanned the screen carefully, adjusting the probe slightly.

Then, she paused. Her finger hovered over a button, and a steady, rhythmic sound filled the room.

Sarah gasped, clutching John B’s hand. “What is that…What are we hearing?”

Dr. Reed’s eyes widened, a mixture of astonishment and warmth on her face. “Your baby’s heartbeat.” She smiled amazed “You’re still pregnant Sarah; your baby is still here. Whatever god you pray to has just worked a miracle.”

Tears welled in Sarah’s eyes. “I don’t understand… I thought—”

“Sometimes, when it’s very early, a heartbeat can’t always be heard clearly,” Dr. Reed explained. “And with the previous bleeding, the sound may have been muffled. We should have picked something up on the first ultrasound, You had quite a bleed before, so we couldn’t really see much. But look… there it is. Strong and steady. That’s why we do these check ups.”

John B’s hand tightened around hers as he leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead. “Sarah…” He looked at the screen “That’s…it’s their heartbeat”

Sarah’s tears spilled freely, but now they were mixed with joy and disbelief. “Hi baby…” she whispered to the screen.

Dr. Reed smiled softly. “Everything looks good, Sarah. The baby measures about 6 weeks, and the heartbeat is strong, it would have been hard to see this a week ago. This is exactly what we want to see now.”

Sarah wiped her cheeks, trembling as she held John B’s hand. “Thank you… and everything is ok?”

“It seems that way. You haven’t had any more bleeding, your uterus looks healthy, and I see and hear a good heartbeat. It’s all very promising,” Dr. Reed said. “What you experienced was likely a subchorionic hematoma—a small collection of blood between the uterine lining and the membranes. It can cause early bleeding, but in most cases, it resolves on its own and doesn’t affect the pregnancy.”

Sarah let out a shaky breath. “So… it’s not dangerous?”

“Not usually,” Dr. Reed assured her. “We’ll continue monitoring you, but right now your baby is healthy and strong. Just keep taking it easy, avoid strenuous activity, and stay hydrated. You’re young and healthy, Sarah. There’s no reason why this pregnancy can’t continue safely.”

John B pressed a tender kiss to her temple. “See? We’re going to be okay.”

Sarah managed a small, shaky smile. “Yeah… I think we are.”

Dr. Reed handed them an ultrasound image of their baby and scheduled the next appointment for when Sarah reached 8 weeks so they could check in again.

“What the hell just happened?”

Notes:

Thought I'd leave you with a happy ending before I disappear for a few days ♥️