Chapter Text
Chapter 1.
“God, I can’t believe anyone is actually obsessed with this nonsense,” the brunette wrinkles her nose as the heroine on the plasma TV screen screams at her ex-boyfriend that his Tessa doesn’t exist anymore. “Maybe we should put something else on?”
But receiving no answer, Kie wriggles slightly out of JJ’s embrace and notes with surprise the intense interest he seems to have in what’s happening on screen. The blond has fixed his lake-blue eyes on the unfolding drama and bites his lower lip, apparently worried about Tessa and Hardin—at least that’s what Kiara remembered the main characters of the drama were called.
“Seriously?” the girl can’t help an amused, incredulous smile.
Kie had always known that JJ Maybank was an extremely multifaceted person, but getting completely absorbed in a sappy teenage melodrama—even for him that seemed like a bit much. Though… in the year and a half they had been together, the blond had revealed so many unexpected sides of himself that she wouldn’t have been surprised even by this.
However, when the only response she gets to her question is a quiet “Shhh,” the ironic amusement on her face changes to stunned confusion. The girl frowns, grimaces, and glances again from the boy to the TV screen.
Nope. Still the same nonsense—suffering characters and their total inability to solve anything or meet each other halfway.
The brunette bites her lower lip as well—a stupid habit she had picked up from him—and keeps staring at the screen without really seeing it. The flickering images telling the story of the toxic relationship between two unstable teenagers do nothing to capture her attention, but she stubbornly keeps watching, trying to understand what exactly has JJ so captivated.
Honestly, she would’ve understood if he’d gotten this absorbed in an intimate scene—that would have been more his style—but this?
While she’s pondering it, she doesn’t notice the wide grin slowly spreading across Maybank’s face.
“Got you?” he finally says, bursting into loud, unrestrained laughter as he falls back against the soft cushions of the couch.
Realizing she has once again fallen for his trick, Kiara presses her lips together in mock offense, grabs the plush hippopotamus lying nearby—one of JJ’s gifts—and deftly launches it toward the giver’s head.
“JJ, I honestly thought you’d lost your mind and was already considering breaking up with you,” the brunette laughs as the toy flies past him and lands somewhere behind the couch.
“Liar.” Leaning closer, Maybank gathers her in with his strong, sun-tanned arms and pulls her to him like she weighs nothing. “You love me. You wouldn’t leave me even if I got hooked on Turkish soap operas with a billion episodes.”
Kiara opens her mouth in exaggerated horror and dramatically clutches her chest.
“Oh no, JJ. That would definitely be a red line you shouldn’t cross.”
“Woman, what about Cedric and Eva? Your hatred for Turkish dramas breaks my heart,” JJ plays along. “Where’s your romance and ...”
But he doesn’t get to finish his thought because Kie suddenly bursts into uncontrollable laughter.
She laughs so loudly and openly that Maybank can’t take his eyes off her.
He watches the way her ponytail bounces with her shaking shoulders, the way she wipes tears of laughter from the corners of her eyes. He notices the tiny creases forming beside them from her wide smile and thinks that in moments like this her eyes seem a little lighter, and a faint blush appears on her cheeks.
JJ keeps looking at the laughing Kiara and, for a moment, decides that none of this can possibly be real.
Not long ago he’d been a poor kid from the Cut, scraping by on odd jobs, getting into trouble with the police and enduring humiliation from his own father. Back then he’d had nothing except his friends—his lifeline that kept him afloat.
And now look at him.
He has his own house. A boat. A small water-transport business.
And the best girl in the world.
Does that even happen?
But Maybank knew one thing for certain.
Yes, it does.
And the best proof of that was currently laughing beside him in her amazing linen pajamas covered with tiny red hearts.
They both loved evenings like this at JJ’s house—quiet nights spent in front of the TV just like today. A bucket of popcorn, cans of cola—or beer, depending on the mood—tight embraces, silly movies, and inevitably a heated ending with passionate kisses and loud laughter.
Their friends—John B, Sarah, Pope, and Cleo—sometimes got annoyed that the two of them were choosing quiet nights together more and more often. But what could JJ do if watching Kie wander around his house as if she owned the place meant far more to him than spending time in a big group?
Of course, it would be foolish to think their love for adventure, risk, and wild parties had disappeared. It absolutely hadn’t. They still met up as a group, went to parties, surfed, and hung out on the yacht.
But their lives had changed.
John B and Sarah were spending more and more time at their shop. It was doing great—after all, the Outer Banks was the kind of place where surfing ranked pretty high on the list of favorite pastimes. Pope was increasingly focused on preparing for admission to Columbia University, while Cleo had thrown herself fully into working at the greatly expanded Heyward’s Seafood after the El Dorado gold discovery.
“Thinking about something?” Kiara finally asks, breaking JJ’s train of thought once she finishes laughing.
Sky-blue eyes meet eyes the color of milk chocolate.
“I’m always thinking about one thing.”
“And that would be…?” the brunette asks, shooting him a playful glance.
But instead of answering, Kie suddenly feels his warm, strong body shove her back onto the couch in one swift movement, his arms closing around her waist like a steel ring. A mischievous grin spreads across Maybank’s lips.
“This.”
In the same instant, he finds Kiara’s lips and presses a burning kiss against them. Then, not giving her time to recover, he moves to one cheek, then the other, her chin, her nose—covering her face with kisses, teasing and tickling her.
The girl squirms beneath him, trying to escape his bear-like grip, laughing and squealing as she dodges his damp kisses.
“Stop! That tickles!”
“No way.”
They were clearly in very different weight classes, but Kie knew one thing: there was exactly one thing that JJ Maybank—bold, reckless, unstoppable JJ—was terrified of.
And cornered as she was, she had no choice but to use the forbidden move.
“AAAH—!”
A loud crash echoes through the room.
JJ, having fallen off the couch onto the floor, rubs his elbow and throws the brunette an offended look.
“That was dirty. You know I hate being tickled.”
“You didn’t leave me a choice,” Kie replies, stretching her lips into an innocent smile. Breathless and slightly disheveled after their playful fight, she jumps up from the couch. Pausing in the doorway between the living room and the kitchen, she asks again,
“So… should we watch something?”
“Sure,” the boy answers, pouting dramatically. But then he throws her a sly look. “But I pick the movie.”
“No problem. Just remember—if it’s the third After movie, we’re breaking up,” Kiara tosses back jokingly.
Then she turns and heads toward the kitchen, announcing that she’s going to make another batch of popcorn.
But before JJ even has a chance to get up from the floor, the white pajama set with little red hearts appears in the doorway again. Leaning against the doorframe and smiling widely, Kie remarks:
“By the way, you’re a pretty terrible expert on Turkish dramas. The main characters are named Serkan and Eda, not Cedric and Eva.”
But when she notices JJ giving her a sly look, clearly about to ask something, she quickly points an accusing finger at him and orders sternly,
“And don’t you dare ask me how I know that.”
Then, swaying her hips playfully, the girl disappears back into the kitchen, leaving the boy alone with a huge grin and the fading ache in his elbow.
***
JJ’s kitchen is a large, bright room with three windows facing the sunny side of the house. In the center stands a kitchen island with a white porcelain countertop streaked with dark gray veins, while the walls are lined with spotless white cabinets with chrome handles. Above the island hang three lamps that resemble electric candleholders inside glass shades.
Kie loves this place.
Especially in the mornings when she and JJ sit at the kitchen island on tall bar stools to have breakfast together.
They don’t get to share breakfast very often—Kie’s parents still don’t fully approve of their relationship. But whenever it does happen, she cooks with a pleasure she never expected from herself: a couple of fried eggs with bacon, coffee brewing on the counter, and sandwiches.
While JJ is in the shower, she sets the table, then climbs onto a stool, tucking one leg under herself—a luxury she could never allow herself at home. Kie’s mother considered sitting like that at the dining table the height of bad manners.
And when Maybank finally comes out of the shower, they eat together, chatting and laughing, each stealing the most appetizing bites from the other’s plate whenever the opportunity arises.
“Sweet or salty?” Kiara asks now, shaking two packets of popcorn at the Maybank who has appeared in the doorway.
“Let’s go with salty.”
Tossing the packet into the microwave and setting the timer, the girl glances back at JJ.
In a white T-shirt and loose gray lounge pants, he pads barefoot across the floor toward the refrigerator standing in the corner of the room.
“What do you want?” he asks.
“Cherry,” the girl replies with a smile, unable to hide the slight shiver that runs through her when she sees JJ walking barefoot across the cool floor.
Kie—though far from delicate—was definitely a warm-blooded creature and absolutely hated walking barefoot on cold floors. Her grandfather had told her when she was little that feet should always be kept warm, so even in the hottest weather she wore light socks around the house.
JJ, on the other hand, loved walking barefoot. Whenever Kie gave him a puzzled look, he would simply say that he had a warm heart.
And the brunette couldn’t really argue with that.
The sudden ring of the doorbell, accompanied by the beep of the microwave, pulls Kie out of her thoughts.
“John B?” Kiara asks, glancing at the boy in surprise.
“Maybe,” the blond shrugs, nodding toward the door. “Will you get it? I’ll deal with the popcorn here.”
Walking down the sparsely furnished hallway toward the front door, Kiara feels a silly smile spreading across her face. It might seem like a small thing, but it makes her incredibly happy that she feels at home here.
Actually—if she’s being honest—even more at home than in her own house.
She knows exactly which floorboard in the entryway creaks a little when you step on it. She remembers the cactus on the windowsill hidden behind the dark curtains that JJ always forgets to water. She feels like the mistress of the place, and that’s why she automatically gives the doorknob a small tug before opening the door—she knows the lock tends to stick otherwise.
“Good evening. Does JJ Maybank live here?”
Kie hears the question the moment she swings the door open.
Standing on the wide porch are three men in dark blue uniforms. The one who spoke to her is tall and broad-shouldered, radiating confidence and authority. Kiara instantly assumes he’s the one in charge.
She suddenly has the urge to hide from his steady gaze, but the quiet dread that replaces her foolish smile freezes her in place, not allowing her to move. The man raises a hand and wipes a bead of sweat from his temple—the evening air is heavy and humid—but he doesn’t take his eyes off her, waiting for an answer.
Kiara can only glance from one visitor to another.
Two more men stand behind the first. They are slightly younger, but the same air of self-assuredness already shows in them. Kie knows this type of person well—they always go to the end, never doubting that they are right. And she usually prefers to stay far away from people like that.
The men look strikingly similar: the same uniforms—short-sleeved shirts, regulation trousers, caps with rounded visors. Police badges are pinned above the left breast pockets of their shirts, and their belts carry holsters, batons, and handcuffs.
“Kie, who is it?”
JJ’s voice comes from behind her, and when she finally tears her gaze away from the unexpected visitors, she sees him stepping into the hallway.
The moment the blond appears, the man Kie has already mentally labeled as the leader noticeably perks up. He straightens, standing taller, and suddenly seems even more imposing. The two men behind him tense slightly, and for some reason Kie thinks of panthers—ready to leap at any second.
Not fully understanding the reason for the dread wrapping around her chest, she instinctively steps between the men and JJ.
Somehow she knows.
They came for him.
“JJ Maybank?” one of the officers asks again.
Kie hears JJ take a step closer behind her, approaching the door, and silently begs him to stop—to stay where he is, to finally feel the danger coming from the cops.
But Maybank either doesn’t notice it or deliberately ignores it. He steps closer and answers calmly,
“Yeah, that’s me. What’s going on?”
“Deputy Sheriff of Onslow County—Jacksonville, Jeremy Branner,” the man introduces himself. Then, nodding toward the two officers behind him, he continues, “Lieutenants of the Onslow County Sheriff’s Office—Jacksonville: Mark Wendell and Newt Grimes.”
The officer’s overly formal, almost mechanical voice sends a chill through Kie’s body. Her mind screams warnings about the trouble that’s coming, but she can’t move. She can only watch the officer’s lips moving, hearing his words as if through a wall of water.
“JJ Maybank, under the laws of the State of North Carolina and pursuant to Section 14-27.22, you are charged with second-degree rape and are under arrest.”
BAM.
Kie’s heart slams against her ribcage so violently that for a moment she thinks her legs might give out beneath her.
She forgets how to breathe as the man begins reciting the Miranda warning, gripping the doorframe so tightly that her fingers start to ache.
“You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to have an attorney present during questioning. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be provided for you by the state. Do you understand these rights?”
“That’s bullshit.”
Kie has never heard JJ’s voice tremble before.
Turning toward him, Kiara catches his worried gaze.
“What the hell? That’s impossible.”
The confusion that had frozen her when the officer announced the reason for the arrest disappears the moment she sees the lost expression on JJ’s face.
JJ—scared. Had she ever seen him like that before?
He looks at her with eyes as bright as a cloudless sky, confused and frightened, and Kie suddenly knows with absolute certainty:
He cannot be guilty of what they’re accusing him of.
She rushes to him, wrapping her arms around him, shielding him—placing herself like a wall between him and the officers.
They won’t take him from her.
“JJ…”
Strangely, hearing the accusation doesn’t scare JJ for himself. He knows it’s a mistake, and that the truth will come out.
What matters to him is something else entirely—that Kie, the one who has always been by his side, believes him. Believes that he could never do something like this.
He sees her eyes—wide, frightened, filled with shock and confusion—and fears her reaction.
Those few seconds when she stands there silently, doing nothing, feel like an eternity.
The officer’s words about his right to remain silent reach him as if through meters of concrete, but Maybank doesn’t care.
He just waits.
Waits for the words that will either give him hope—or destroy him.
And only when he feels Kiara’s arms around his neck does he realize he hasn’t been breathing during those long moments.
He feels the frantic pounding of her heart. Feels how tightly she clutches his T-shirt like a lifeline.
He realizes she’s crying when drops of salty tears fall onto his neck.
He whispers something stupid—something like “Calm down,” or “It’s okay.”
But how could that possibly comfort her now?
Out of the corner of his eye, the young man notices the officers stepping inside the house. He gently pulls away from the girl and, switching places with her, says quietly,
“Call John B.”
Kie watches as the lead officer unclips a pair of metal handcuffs from his belt. Their smooth chrome surface catches the last rays of the setting sun, scattering small flashes of light across the pale walls of the hallway.
The moment feels unreal—like it can’t possibly be happening.
But when the second cop—a bulky man a head taller than Maybank and at least twenty pounds heavier—grabs JJ’s arms and twists them behind his back, forcing a pained grimace from him, the illusion shatters. With a sharp metallic click that rings in Kiara’s ears like a hammer striking an anvil, the handcuffs snap shut around the blond’s wrists.
And Kiara understands.
This is real.
Cruel, merciless reality—one that shatters not only him, but the entire world she knows.
She doesn’t hear what JJ and the officers are saying. She doesn’t know what she should do. She only watches, numb and detached, as the police lead Maybank toward their car.
He walks slightly hunched, pushed forward by the bulky officer. But just before climbing into the car, JJ twists around and throws one last look at Kie.
She’s standing alone in the doorway of his house, still wearing her beautiful linen pajamas covered in little red hearts.
***
Kiara doesn’t know how long she stood there in JJ’s doorway, staring blankly at the place where the police car had disappeared.
She can’t process what has just happened.
Just a short while ago they had been sitting on the couch together, teasing each other and stealing the kisses they both needed so badly.
And now everything has changed.
JJ is in police custody, and she has no idea what she’s supposed to do.
Rape?
Who could accuse him of something like that?
Why?
For what?
Questions pile up in her mind one after another, burying her like an avalanche of snow.
Kie leans her back against the doorframe and slowly slides down until she’s sitting on the floor. She hides her face in her hands, trying to collect herself, trying to understand what she should do next.
But the moment she closes her eyes, JJ’s face appears in her mind.
He’s smiling at her with that slightly crooked grin—the one he always wore when he was about to pull some prank or planning another reckless adventure.
The brunette’s heart begins racing wildly, unevenly, driving her nearly mad with panic and helplessness.
But she knows she has no right to break down now.
Taking a deep breath, Kie shakes her head, pushing away the image of the man she loves and forcing her mind back into focus.
And suddenly, the words Maybank spoke earlier echo in her head.
Those words help her pull herself together.
Struggling to her feet, Kie leaves the door open and walks back into the room.
“Call John B,” JJ had told her.
***
The Onslow County–Jacksonville police station was a large two-story red-brick building badly in need of repairs. The paving stones around the station were cracked in places, the bushes surrounding the building had grown wild and unkempt, and the plaque bearing the coat of arms of the state of North Carolina, fixed to one of the walls, had long since faded.
Even under ordinary circumstances the place had a suffocating, oppressive atmosphere. And given the reality Kiara had been forced to face today, it made her whole body tremble uncontrollably.
The girl nervously shifted from foot to foot outside the station, waiting for her friends and not daring to go inside alone. Following Maybank’s advice, she had briefly told John B over the phone what had happened, thrown on the first shorts and T-shirt she could find, tied her hair into a tight ponytail on the top of her head, and rushed out of the house, arranging to meet him outside the station.
When she spotted the Twinkie pulling up to the building, Kie felt the unwanted sting of tears rising in her eyes again. Since Maybank’s arrest her emotions had been swinging wildly every few minutes. One moment she was filled with fierce determination, ready to fight anyone to prove the blond’s innocence; the next she felt so helpless and weak that she wanted nothing more than to crawl into a corner and cry until she lost her mind.
But she knew JJ needed her strong.
So she bit her lip until it hurt, dug her fingernails into her palms, took deep breaths, and forced herself back together, trying to use the time before the next emotional wave as productively as possible.
“Kie…”
Sarah, jumping out of the passenger seat, rushed to her first and wrapped her in a tight hug.
Enclosed in her friend’s warm arms, Kiara felt a tight knot forming deep inside her chest again, somewhere close to her heart. Her hands began to tremble.
She knew that feeling meant trouble.
So reluctantly she pulled away from Cameron’s embrace, refusing to let weakness take over.
John B, Pope, and Cleo hurried up to them and immediately began bombarding her with questions.
“Rape? What the hell? What kind of nonsense is that?”
Kie wished she could explain, wished she could clear things up for them—but all she knew came down to a single, helpless sentence.
“They didn’t say anything. They just showed up, put handcuffs on him, and took him away.”
Sarah’s loud outrage, Pope’s quiet attempts to reason things out, Cleo’s sympathetic look—none of it helped.
Kie didn’t want pity.
She wanted action.
She needed to get JJ out.
Right now she needed her friends to be pragmatic, not sympathetic.
Fortunately, John B seemed to feel the same way. Instead of pointless lamenting, he decided to get straight to the point.
“Alright, we won’t find anything out standing here,” Routledge concluded. Taking a deep breath, he headed toward the entrance of the police station. The others followed.
Kie climbed the steps leading to the building, feeling her legs shake harder with every step and her heart pound violently against her ribs.
Suddenly she felt a slightly damp hand touch her left one.
Turning her head, she saw Sarah smiling kindly at her.
“I’m with you,” the blonde whispered.
Hand in hand, they stepped inside the bright lobby of the police station.
Inside, the Onslow County–Jacksonville sheriff’s office looked like the kind of ordinary office often shown in movies and TV shows. Desks piled high with folders and paperwork filled the room, computers humming while officers moved busily between them.
Around the perimeter stood tiny glass-partitioned cubicles where uniformed staff bustled about like ants in a jar.
Stacks of boxes filled with more paperwork—interrogation reports, witness statements, and other police nonsense, as Kie thought of it—sat in messy piles here and there.
No one paid the slightest attention to the young people entering the building, so after looking around, John B walked up to a dark-skinned woman sitting behind a desk not far from the entrance.
“Hello,” he said.
Hearing the greeting, the officer looked up from the information on her monitor and directed a careful gaze—her dark eyes framed by surprisingly long, thick eyelashes—toward the group.
“Could you please tell me who we should speak to about someone who’s been detained?”
“Name of the detainee?”
“Maybank. JJ Maybank.”
The woman typed the name into her keyboard and looked back at John B.
“I’m sorry—what is your relationship to him?”
“A friend.”
Leaning back in her chair, the officer shook her head.
“I’m sorry, but I can’t help you in that case. Information about detainees can only be provided to family members or to officials upon formal request.”
Kie felt the air leave her lungs as if she had been struck. Leaning against the desk, she said hoarsely,
“He doesn’t have a family. He only has us.”
The officer looked at her with what seemed to be sympathy—but remained firm.
“I’m sorry. There’s nothing I can do.”
Despairing, Kie stepped away from the desk and turned toward the officers moving around the room.
She could hear Pope trying to persuade the woman to meet them halfway. Sarah asking her to understand their situation. John B asking to speak with the officer directly responsible for JJ’s case.
Meanwhile, the rest of the officers continued with their work, ignoring them completely—as if someone’s life wasn’t falling apart because of their actions.
Watching it all, Kie felt anger growing in her chest like a rolling snowball.
“What the hell is going on here?!” she suddenly shouted, slamming her fists down on the counter.
“Don’t you understand? They’ll put him in prison if you don’t help us! This whole thing—” she gestured wildly around the office “—is a damn mistake!”
Her voice echoed through the room, drawing the attention of every officer nearby while her friends tried unsuccessfully to calm her down.
“Tell me—who filed the report against him? Who’s in charge of this?!”
Kie didn’t even notice when she had started crying.
She was shouting, tears streaming down her cheeks, splashing against the counter and breaking into tiny droplets.
“He has no one,” she repeated more quietly as her anger gave way to despair. “Only us.”
She didn’t hear the officers behind her telling her friends to calm her down before she got herself arrested.
She didn’t hear the quiet “I’m sorry” from the woman at the desk.
She didn’t hear Cleo and Sarah’s desperate attempts to soothe her.
All she felt was the dam holding back her emotions finally breaking.
Despair, frustration, and grief crashed over her, drowning her completely.
Turning away from the desk, she leaned against it—and lost her balance, collapsing to the floor, her knees striking painfully against the tiles.
At that moment, all restraint vanished.
The hysteria burst out of her in loud sobs and cries that sounded almost like a howl.
Her friends rushed to her immediately. Lifting her under the arms like a limp doll, they guided her toward the exit, accompanied by sympathetic looks from the usually stone-faced officers.
Outside, Pope and John B sat Kiara down on the steps leading to the station entrance.
She gulped for air, slowly recovering from the emotional storm that had overtaken her.
The day that had split her life into a before and after was coming to an end.
The sun had already dipped below the horizon, and soft shades of violet and blue were replacing the bright oranges and purples in the sky.
The cool evening air soothed her skin and dried the burning tracks of tears on her cheeks.
Sarah sat beside her and wrapped her arms around her shoulders.
Needing the comfort and no longer afraid of appearing weak, Kie gratefully leaned against her.
“We’ll figure something out,” John B said, striking the railing with his palm in frustration. “We’ll find a way to get JJ out.”
Suddenly Sarah straightened, clearly remembering something.
Pulling Kie back at arm’s length, she looked her straight in the eyes.
“Rose has connections at the sheriff’s office,” she said.
Kie noticed the restrained smiles passing between the others at Sarah’s words—and hope flickered inside her again.
“I promise, I’ll call her tonight,” Sarah continued. “We’ll help JJ. I swear.”
Tears welled up in Kiara’s eyes again—but for the first time that day, they were tears of relief.
“Hey,” the blonde murmured softly, brushing the salty tracks from Kie’s cheeks with her thumbs. “Don’t. Everything’s going to be okay.”
Having settled on a plan, Sarah stood up decisively and held out her hand.
“Come on. There’s nothing more we can do here tonight.”
Exhausted from crying, Kie took her hand and struggled to her feet, her legs still trembling.
Luckily, John B and Pope were right beside her as always.
They walked alongside her, supporting her by the arms, while Sarah added in a firm tone that left no room for argument:
“Tonight you’re staying with us. You can’t be alone.”