Archive of Our Own ^beta

He barely feels it.

Maybe it’s the adrenaline; maybe it’s the power of the moment. Maybe it’s his Maybank constitution; maybe it’s just the fact that he’s been beat down his entire life. He takes his hits and just keeps going.

He doesn’t quit. He doesn’t stop.

He gives all he has until there’s nothing left.

So the blade of the machete? Glancing beneath his shirt in the heat of conflict?

It’s nothing.

The blade catches him, gouging deep. It’s long and heavy, but’s not sharp. The thunk against his flesh is meaty, enough to make him catch his breath but not take him down. His face contorts – a pain he doesn’t feel – and he lashes out, pushing away the attacker with everything he has.

He sees Kiara, leaned over the side of the ship. “John B!”

John B isn’t coming, though. Either is Pope or Cleo. The B team? Is on its own.

He staggers, just enough for the man to charge him again. Kiara moves back to intervene, throwing herself too close to the blade.

His own side throbs – something numb and distant. Enough to remind him why he’s fighting.

Because John B needs his girl back. Because Pope needs the cross. Because Kiara–

Well, she deserves to go on that surf trip.

With or without him.

He flings himself forward again, pulling the man off his attack of Kiara. The man growl, shoving him back. The elbow that catches him steals his breath, leaving him stunned.

And he turns, whirling hard and fast.

JJ barely sees the machete before it hits him, square in the temple.

It blinds him, dulling all his senses as his body goes heavy. He’s reelings, he’s falling.

Because JJ doesn’t stop, it’s true.

Until fate intervenes and stops him instead.

He hears Kiara scream as the air rushes past his ears. He worries about the others – about how they’re going to get out of this. He worries about Kiara, who may have to see the Souths without him.

And he’s unconscious before he hits the water.

-o-

In the rush of things, Kiara can barely track what’s happening. They weren’t even supposed to leave the shipping container.

But here they are.

Engaged in hand to hand combat.

With a guy holding a machete.

Who the hell needed a machete? On a boat no less?

She should know not to ask questions. Once you start believing that treasure is the answer to all your problems, logic has to take a back seat. The gold is what matters.

The people are what matter.

JJ is what matters.

She doesn’t have time to think about that. She doesn’t have a moment to consider what that means. The stakes are too high, the risks are too real. John B is nowhere to be found; Pope and Cleo are in the wind. She hears a meaty thud – a grunt and –

She turns, hard and fast, throwing herself at the man – machete or not – and when he swings at her, she sees it coming.

Ducking is easy. Her self preservation skills are refined.

JJ’s on the other hand–

He calls her name, eyes wide.

He doesn’t see it coming.

The machete hits him square on; she can almost feel the impact. For a second, she expects to see blood – but she realizes a beat later that it’s the back end of the machete.

Which means it doesn’t kill him.

But the impact is still hard enough.

JJ’s face goes blank, mouth open in shock as he reels. The force sends him stumbling backward, and it’s almost in slow motion as he hits the rail. He doesn’t look scared; he doesn’t look like he’s in pain.

Like he doesn’t see it coming.

She was wrong, after all. JJ doesn’t have the survival instincts of a cockroach. JJ has no survival instincts at all. Not for a second.

He turned himself in for a crime he didn’t commit – knowing full well he would get his ass kicked for it.

He stole money from a drug deal – just trying to do the right thing.

He took the keys to the Phantom – knowing full well his dad would never see that boat again.

JJ would kill himself a thousand times over for them. He’d do anything they asked – and he had. Throwing himself headlong into danger, and they all just shrug like none of them could possibly see it coming.

Like he hasn’t been doing it since they first became friends.

Like he won’t keep doing it until the day he dies.

But that won’t be today.

Even as he falls, headfirst over the railing, pinwheeling toward the water. She swear to herself: it won’t be today.

She hears the splash as she turns on the man. The blade of the machete glints in the sun but she pays it no heed. She kicks him – hard in the gut. And then doubles down with one last blow. He goes down, and she doesn’t wait to see.

She doesn’t need to knock him out.

She just needs a second to see–

“JJ!” she calls, gripping the railing as she looks over. The water is still churning, the whitewash from JJ’s fall fizzing out. He’s a few feet from the edge, drifting with the current.

Face down.

Blonde hair fanned out around his head, arms drifting up. She can tell he’s already starting to sink. He’s not moving. He’s not–

She clenches her jaw.

He’s not.

Because they’re going to find John B. They’re going to save Sarah. They’re going to get the cross and they’re going to fix everything. JJ won’t have to go back to his dad, and they’re going to be filthy rich. They’ll go on a surf trip, just the two of them, all the Souths, all of them.

The man stirs behind her. JJ’s body drifts further from the boat.

And Kiara Carrera is a girl who knows what she wants.

She doesn’t care what society tells her. She doesn’t care what her parents think. She doesn’t care if she kissed John B or slept with Pope. She gets up on the railing and holds her breath as she looks down. It’s a long way to fall.

But when she looks at JJ, jumping is the easiest thing in the world.

He fell; she jumps.

The flush of the water is cold, overwhelming her senses for a moment. She’s disoriented as she flails beneath the surface, but she kicks upward with the only determination she knows.

With her head above the water, she gulps for air. And: “JJ!”

She swims, kicking forward against the weight of the water pulling her down. Within several strokes, she’s next to him, rolling him to his back. “Jayj–”

He doesn’t fight, his body limp as she catches him. Holding him up – even with the buoyancy of the ocean – isn’t easy. He’s bigger than he is, and his boots are weighing them both down. It’s all she can do to tread her feet, keeping his head above the water by cradling it on her shoulder.

“Jayj,” she says again, panicking rising in her throat. He doesn’t respond, and she can see the streaks of blood from the wound on his head.

Her eyes sting – from the water, from the tears – it doesn’t matter.

She uses one hand to tap his cheek, turning his face toward her.

“Stay with me,” she begs, because he’s never said no to her. Never once. “Jayj, please.”

The water washes over them, the current making it hard to keep their heads above water as JJ’s slack limbs fan out around them. His mouth falls open, but his eyes stay shut. Lifeless. Like she’s already lost him.

Shit, she tells herself. It’s not like she’s ever had him.

Is that what this is? She doesn’t know.

Is that what she wants it to be? She doesn’t know.

She thinks he fell first, probably.

But here she is. Living proof that she fell harder.

So much harder.

And this JJ who gets arrested and steals money. This JJ would betray his dad and throw the first punch. This JJ who does anything they ask just because they ask it.

Does she love him? Could she love him? Could they be soulmates? Could this be happily ever after?

She wants the chance to find out.

She needs the chance to find out.

“Jayj, please,” she pleads again, trying to rouse him as the waves wash over them. Her legs are growing weary, her strength failing under his ways. “Please, stay with me.”

He doesn’t, though. He doesn’t respond. He doesn’t open his eyes and grin at her. He doesn’t come to with a joke and then ask if she’s okay. He doesn’t kick himself to the surface and prop her up, like he always does.

It’s too much. Everyone has their breaking points.

This can’t be his.

Kiara won’t let it be.

She swallows hard, salt water burning in her sinuses. “John B is coming, okay?” she says, grunting with effort as she keeps him from sinking. “John B’s coming.”

It has to be enough.

She holds JJ close, burying her face against them. She’ll keep them both afloat this time. She’ll give like JJ always has – with nothing held back.

And God help her, it’s going to be enough.

-o-

Somewhere, between the rush of hair and the sudden darkness, JJ knows he’s floating. He’s drifting, he’s lingering. His body is heavy, and the weight of it all will sink him. It is sinking him. And he can’t stop it, can he?

He can’t do anything.

JJ’s imagined the end.

He knows it’s not normal. He knows most people don’t think like that. He knows you’re supposed to think of other shit – graduating high school, going to college, buying a house, getting married. You’re supposed to think of having kids and being happy. You’re supposed to think of how your life will start.

Not how it will end.

It doesn’t feel fatalistic. I just feel inevitable. The natural progression of things. It’s that way for everyone, even if they don’t realize it. JJ’s just lived on the edge long enough that he knows he’s balancing on the precipice. He knows it takes one wrong move.

One drink too many. One pill too strong. One punch too heavy.

It’s funny.

He thought he’d be ready.

He always thought it’d be okay when it all ended. He never thought he’d fight it. He didn’t think he’d regret it.

But here he is.

Shit.

Just wishing he could stay.

For the treasure. For revenge.

For his friends.

For her.

He lets it take him. He gives himself up. He’s not sure if surrender is the same thing as giving up. He’s not sure if letting go is the same thing as giving in. He’s not what’s right or what’s wrong. But he could drift forever. He could sink to the bottom.

Except the hands holding him up. The voice in his ear.

Stay with me, Jayj. Please. Stay with me.

And he does.

It’s all he can do, but he does.

-o-

Kiara doesn’t believe in God – necessarily – but when the dinghy comes around the boat, Kiara swears it’s an answer to her prayers. She doesn’t realize how close she is to going under until John B steers it to them, but her weary legs don’t bother her. The salt in her lungs doesn’t mean shit.

Instead, she pushes JJ to them first.

People have overlooked JJ all his life. Even the Pogues, most of the time. They take him for granted, assume he’s just a given. They don’t fight for him, not like he fights for them. Because he’s JJ.

But she’s seen him go over. She saw the light fade from his eyes. She’s held his lifeless body above the waves, and she knows she’s the only reason he’s still alive right now. She tries not to think about his body sinking, lost to the dark. She tries not to think about losing him at all.

Because she found him. She pulled him out.

And when John B scoops JJ up, grabbing him under the armpits, her own exhaustion sweeps over her.

There’s no time for a respite. Pope pulls her in, and she scrambles up the side. Wet as she is, she slips, barely getting herself steady as John B drags JJ limply over the edge, depositing him hastily between the seats. She half pushes Pope out of the way, climbing over Cleo, to get to JJ.

She doesn’t know if he’s breathing.

She doesn’t know if he’s alive.

“JJ?” she says, taking his face again. “JJ, please–”

“We need to get out of here!” Sarah cries over the melee.

“Cheese on bread,” Cleo mutters.

“Okay, okay,” John B mutters, starting up the engine again. “Hold on–”

The motor revs and the boat kicks into gear. The sudden forward momentum makes her brace herself, but she hardly notices. She’s still looking at JJ, for any sign of life.

“What happened?” Pope asks, leaning forward.

“Machete to the head,” she mutters, reaching up to tip his head toward her. The wound is garish, half-hidden behind his hairline, even as the blood starts to spread more visibly without the constant wash of the waves. “He’s out cold–”

Her fingers ghost down, beneath his chin. In the ocean, she hadn’t been able to check, not with the weight of keeping him up. Even now, her own heart is pounding so loud – the roar of the engine.

She’s not sure–

She not–

The beat overwhelms her, and she holds her fingers there another second while she lets herself believe it. Relieved, she drops her head down, half sobbing into his wet hair. “Thank God,” she says, swallowing as she lifts herself up again. Her hand splays over his chest, and she can feel the expanding of his lungs. “He’s breathing. He’s alive.”

The boat sputters a few times, lurching them forward. “We really have to go,” Sarah says, more urgently now. She sounds terrified, and Kiara knows there’s something to that. She’ll ask; she’ll be a good friend.

One JJ is awake.

Because a beating heart, working lungs – that’s a baseline.

She wants to see his blue eyes. She wants to see his smile. She wants him.

“He hasn’t been conscious?” Pope asks.

“Shit, can’t this piece of shit go faster,” John B mutters.

Kiara feels her throat tighten, looking at JJ’s slack features. He’s too pale. He’s too still. His body is slumped down against the side of the boat – still lifeless.

She thinks about head injuries. She thinks about skull fractures and concussions and brain damage.

She thinks about him never opening his eyes again.

And the panic sets in.

She’d been scared in the ocean, sure. But the sheer act of keeping them both afloat had kept here going. Now, on the dingy, she’s faced with the horrible reality that there’s countless ways to lose him. That maybe he’s been drowning all along.

That maybe she can’t get him back.

“JJ,” she says, giving him a small shake. “Hey, you need to get up now, okay?”

They’re pulling away now, finally getting some distance. Her heart thunders in her chest as JJ doesn’t respond.

“JJ, come on,” she says, her voice low. She shakes him again. “It’s time to wake up.”

“This isn’t fast enough,” Sarah says over the sound of the engine.

“Damn it,” Pope mutters. “The cross–”

John B coaxes the engine, jaw set locked. “Come on, come on, come on–”

She doesn’t care about the cross, though. She doesn’t care about the ship or Ward or Rafe or any of it. She doesn’t care about the whole damn Atlantic Ocean.

She cares about surf trips and P4L.

She cares about doing the right thing.

She cares about him.

Then, just like that – the engine cuts out. It sputters – and stops – and Kiara looks up, confused.

John B’s expression is stricken. “No, no, no, hey–”

“What’s going on?” she asks, glancing from JJ out across the water. She could just make out Rafe’s figure, pointing a gun at them.

It should terrify her. She knows what Rafe is capable of.

But the fear is spent. It’s already fixated.

And Rafe doesn’t come close.

“What’s happening?” Cleo asks, as if she’s questioning all her life choices.

“John B–” Sarah starts, her own voice hitching.

John B settles back at the engine, grabbing at the line. “We’re stalling out.”

He pulls once, twice – three times.

“Are you kidding?” Pope asks. “We’re sitting ducks!”

And the last thing she needs is for JJ to be shot. “We have to go!” she insists.

John B is flustered now, and she can hear it in his voice. The way his control is slipping, the way everything is slipping. “I know,” he says, trying again. “Backward or forward?”

Kiara keeps herself over JJ protective, even as Cleo mutters something under her breath. Pope looks apoplectic. Sarah just looks terrified.

“If everyone can just calm down,” John B says, more to himself than them.

“Come on, come on,” Pope says.

“Pretty sure going is the only option,” Cleo adds.

JJ would have a plan. JJ would know what to do.

JJ would jump out of the water and swim them to shore; that’s what JJ would do.

If he wasn’t lying there, sprawled limp. If he didn’t look more dead than alive.

“He’s pointing it at us!” Pope says.

Sarah sounds like she’s ready to cry. “Let’s go!”

And Kiara can only look at JJ. “Please, wake up.”

It’s a sob. It’s an invective. It’s a plea.

It’s all she has.

For him.

Just for him.

“I’m trying, okay?” John B says, pulling the line again.

Kiara presses her hand to JJ’s chest again. Whatever happens with the boat. Whatever happens with Rafe.

JJ is what matters.

JJ is all that matters.

“Wake – up!” she says.

And the engine sputters – and comes back to life.

“Go!” Sarah says.

“Go, go!” Cleo adds.

John B doesn’t need to be told. He’s already pushing them, spurring the boat on. They don’t know where they’re going – but they’re moving again.

Away from danger.

Together.

Except–

“J, please,” she said, feeling it all slip away. It’s been too long. He’s still so still. She can’t lose him like this. She can’t lose him at all. “Please!”

Once they’re out of range, John B finally looks back. He takes JJ by the other shoulder. “You got to wake up.”

She’s practically hitting him now. She knows it’s too much. She knows she’s lost control. She knows she’s making a scene, and she knows everyone can see it.

It doesn’t matter.

Without him.

Nothing matters.

“Please. Wake – up,” she says, even as her voice breaks and her body threatens to give out. It’s all she has. It’s the last of it.

And JJ?

Something twitches. Something distant and small. His lips part and water comes up – a little.

Then, a lot.

It spills down his chin as his eyelids flutter. His brows draw together in confusion, and more water comes up with enough force that he gags on it.

He’s confused. He’s terrified.

He’s alive.

“There you go,” John B says as JJ coughs, bringing up more salt water. “Cough it up, baby.”

He’s struggling, body convulsing with the effort – blue eyes wide and desperate as he struggles for air. All he gets is more water, and she reaches under him, leveraging his body upward as he splutters again. He hacks up seawater – wet and garbled – as they all lean forward expectantly.

“Hey, buddy!” Pope says, sounding obviously relieved. “There you go.”

Cleo smiles. Sarah laughs.

Kiara keeps her grip on JJ firm, bracing him as he brings up more seawater – his whole body shaking with the effort as his eyes go wide.

JJ settles back finally, chest still heaving and Kiara’s hand supporting him behind his head.

“Hey, buddy!” Pope grins. “Welcome to the land of the living, dude..”

John B pats him on the shoulder. “No CPR needed.”

They’re joking; they’re celebrating.

But all Kiara can do is remember how to breathe as he looks at her hand, still on his shoulder.

And then at her, perched right by his side.

She’s a mess, and she knows it. Her fear isn’t hidden; her feelings aren’t composed. The door she closed so many years ago.

It’s standing wide open now.

They look at each other through it, and something shifts. Something changes. Something’s there.

All she can say, all she has, is a breathless invitation. “Hi.”

“S’up?” he says, and just like that, the tension releases. The door swings wide and shuts again as they all laugh. The fear, the anxiety, the hollow pit at the bottom of her stomach. It fills back in, the pieces fit back into place, because JJ’s okay.

JJ’s okay.

It’s a relief she can’t explain. It’s a relief she can’t fully conceptualize.

It’s a relief she feels in every fiber of her being, stronger than anything. It doesn’t matter if they lost the cross. It doesn’t matter if Ward and Rafe got away – again. It doesn’t matter if they’re adrift, lost at sea. None of it matters.

Because JJ is okay.

She pulls him close, wrapping her arms around him and burying her face in his hair. He twitches slightly beneath her touch, like he’s not sure about any of it, but she doesn’t care. She doesn’t let him go. She may never let him go.

“Just always looking for attention,” John B quips, but she can hear the relief in his voice, too.

She can feel it, the confusion rippling him, even as he doesn’t miss a bit. Like she hasn’t just pulled him, unconscious from the water. Like he hasn’t been dead to the world for 10 minutes.

“Whatever it takes,” he jokes back, but he’s reaching his hand up, shaky and tentative, to the gash on his temple. “What the hell happened?”

His fingers come away, glossed with blood and water.

“A machete,” is the answer she provides as she lets him go.

He pushes himself up a little, eyes brightening impossibly for a moment. “A machete?”

“The blunt end,” she tells him, because she can’t imagine the alternative.

Cleo snorts, like she can see what he’s thinking anyway. “Next time duck.”

That’s too easy for JJ. JJ, who does everything the hard way. JJ, with the survival instincts of a cockroach. JJ, who just wants to do the right thing. JJ, who she knows is so, so special.

JJ, who would travel the world with her.

He’s nobody’s b team, she knows.

Definitely not hers.

He sits himself up a little more, shakier still. “I’ll try to remember that next time,” he says. “Thanks.”

It’s then that they let themselves look back. Pope’s eyes are distant, locked on the ship they just left. “This isn’t over,” he says, voice dark.

It’s a threat, maybe. It’s a promise.

Or it’s just what they do. They fight for the impossible. They fight against the inevitable. They fight.

They don’t think about the consequences. They don’t stop down when it’s dangerous. They don’t let the risks hold them back, no matter how close they come. Kiara thought she understood that. Kiara thought she had a handle on that.

But seeing JJ face down in the water. Holding his body above the water. Begging him to wake up, take a breath, be here--

She’s not sure it’s that simple anymore.

She’s not sure it’s ever been that simple.

“We just have to regroup,” John B says, not missing a beat.

“We have to stop them,” Sarah agrees.

And JJ pushes himself up again, trying to lever himself up. She sees how weak he is. She sees how shaky he is.

She sees that he doesn’t care.

Not if Pope needs backup. Not if John B has a plan. Not if Sarah’s honor needs defending. Not if the Pogues still need him. “Well, we can turn it around,” he suggests, voice shaking just slightly as he takes a breath. “Take the fight back to them. We can–”

His voice catches. The next inhalation is short and pained. She looks at him and does a double take. The color has drained from his face even more; suddenly, he looks worse.

“We can–” JJ says again, even as the words slur a little. He shudders, face screwing shut. “Oh, shit–”

And then he’s down. He collapses back to the side of the raft, slumping down to the ground. His mouth is open – small, ragged breaths. His eyes are hooded suddenly, a little too glassy – like he can’t quite focus.

“JJ?” she asks, reaching for him.

“Dude–” John B says almost at the same time.

“Are you okay?” Sarah asks simultaneously.

“I–” JJ starts, gasping as he falters. “I don’t–”

And Kiara turns him back toward her just in time for his eyes to roll back in his head. His eyelids flutters as his body goes limp, and Kiara scrambles to catch him.

And that’s when she sees the blood.

The water had washed it away, and the dark bottom of the boat has obscured it. But the tacky puddle is suddenly impossible to miss, and her own breath catches. “JJ?”

“Shit,” John B says. “His head?”

JJ grimaces, eyes focusing for a second. “Not just the blunt end,” he murmurs, lifting his fingers shaking to his side – where a patch of red is spreading across his shirt.

And when she lifts it, she sees the streaks of blood. Thick rivulets. Streaming from a deep gouge, cut deep into his flank.

There’s blood everywhere she realizes. The floor of the dinghy isn’t just wet with salt water. It’s sloshing with blood, diluted by the water and obscured by the dark material. It’s a lot.

Her breathing catches like she’s the one drowning.

It’s too much.

“Okay – that’s–” Sarah starts.

“That’s a lot of blood,” Cleo finishes for her.

Pope is the first to react, moving forward and almost shoving John B out of the way while they bob across the water. “We need to put pressure on it.”

JJ blinks down, nose wrinkled as he looks at it. “It’s not that bad–”

He doesn’t get to finish. Pope is already fingering his side, touching all around the puncture in his flesh. JJ squirms in obvious agony. “Hold still,” Pope orders flatly.

He reaches his fingers inside, though. And JJ gasps, his whole body buck. “What the–” he starts, gasping in pain. “Are you trying to make it worse?”

Pope’s face is set and firm. “I need to see how bad it is.”

He doesn’t relent, and JJ stifles a sob, turning away from him. Kiara moves back toward him on instinct, her hand in his hair as she catches the tears he won’t let himself cry. It takes a moment – a long moment.

“Is he okay?” John B asks, voice pinched as he continues steering. He looks back at them anxiously. “Should we go back?”

It’s a desperate play. It’s something akin to suicide, to turn themselves back into the ship.

But they’d all do it, she realizes.

If it’s a difference between JJ living and dying – then it’s the only play to make.

Pope’s brows are drawn tersely. He pulls his hand back, fingers slicked with blood even as he finally shakes his head. “It’s deep – but not that deep,” he says, working his jaw. “I don’t think it’s broken through to his internal organs.”

JJ laughs, a wet mewling sound as he heaves for air against Kiara’s chest. “How do you manage to tell me it’s okay while making it sound worse?” he groan, dropping his head back to the raft with his face contorted.

Pope all but ignores him.

“It’s still bleeding,” Kiara says.

Pope is already looking – for something, anything. He pulls out JJ’s bandana, sticking out from his pocket. JJ yelps, but Pope ignores him, pressing it down – sudden and hard.

JJ screams, writhing so much that Kiara grabs onto him again. Behind her, Sarah gasps and Cleo seems to stiffen. John B bites his lip as he watches anxiously.

“How long were you in the water?” Pope asks.

JJ blinks at him, blank. He turns to Kie.

Her throat feels tight. “I don’t know,” she says. “It felt like forever. Maybe – 10 minutes?”

Pope’s expression goes tight. “The water would make it bleed more, but I don’t know,” he says. “If we can keep him awake and coherent–”

JJ shifts beneath his touch, but Kiara can feel him starting to shake. The fine tremors through his body, like he’s cold despite the pounding sunlight and the warm afternoon. “I’m fine,” he says again, as if he can will it into existence. As if it’s a script, and it’s the only one he knows. He inhales sharply, holding it as he works to keep his countenance steady. “Never better.”

He’s lying, Kiara knows.

Just like he was telling the truth, earlier. About the surf trip. She’s always known, she realizes. His bullshit from his truth. His bravado from his honesty. The kid who pulls guns is the same one who just wants to do the right thing. One’s the truth; the other is an act.

And none of them – not a single one of them – tries harder.

“How far are we until land?” Kiara asks, with an anxious glance at John B.

“We need to get him dry and bandage the wound,” Pope agrees.

“Nothing civilized for miles,” Cleo points out.

Sarah squints off to the horizon. “But those islands–”

“Will have to do,” John B says. He looks at JJ with an apologetic smile. “You just have to hold on.”

JJ smiles at him, something watery and weak. “I always do.”

Kiara inches closer, letting her warm press against him. “We’ll do it together.”

Because she jumped.

And she trusts him to stay.

Two sides of the same open door.

-o-

It’s not so hard, JJ tells himself.

Compared to what they’ve just been through, this shit is easy. They’re escaping, safe from Ward and Rafe. They’re going to get away, wherever they may land.

And JJ? All he has to do is stay awake.

This isn’t even B-team shit. This is straight up C-team work. Keep his eyes open. Stay. Awake.

But he’s cold, see? The goosebumps ripple across his skin, and he feels himself trembling. His teeth chatter despite himself, and it’s hard to breathe. The water in his lungs, he tells himself. He took on water. He’s okay–

“Hey,” Pope says, shaking him. JJ realizes belatedly he’s closed his eyes. “None of that, okay?”

JJ laughs, but the sound isn’t quite right. He shifts, feeling the renewed pain in his side as Pope doesn’t relent. “You could ease up.”

“And you could die,” Pope snaps back. He shakes his head. “Does this thing have a first aid kit?”

“It should,” Sarah says.

“We’ll look,” Cleo adds.

“I don’t know how much gas we have,” John B says. “How is he–?”

“I’m fine,” JJ growls, feeling his frustration get the better of him. “I just – I can’t–”

He shifts again, and it’s a movement too many. Things tilt as the world narrows, and it’s so dark and peaceful and warm that he just – considers letting go. Letting it be. Pope is saying something. John B, too. But JJ drifts. If he’s drowning, it’s not so bad. It’s okay–

“JJ!” Kiara’s voice cuts through the rest. “Please, stay with me.”

There it is again. Her voice.

The way it pitches. The way it drives.

Right to him.

He blinks his eyes open again, looking up at her with all he has left. He’s shaky and weak, the world hazy around the edges, but her face is clear.

“You’re still here?” he murmurs.

She looks like she’s going to laugh. Or cry.

Her hands are still clutching him. “Where else would I go?”

He thinks: anywhere. She should go anywhere.

But she’s always had that choice.

And she’s still here, isn’t she? She’s still here.

Her fingers move up, brushing his hair back. He can’t feel Pope’s hands on his side anymore. He can’t feel the movement of the boat or the thrumming of his pulse throughout his body. The shivering stills, and his eyes focus.

On her. Only on her.

It’s not so hard at all, JJ decides.

-o-

Kiara is aware, to some degree, that she hasn’t let JJ go. Ever since he went overboard, she’s been keeping him afloat, holding him up.

At this point, she’s not sure who she thinks is drowning: him or herself.

Honestly, looking at him now, his body pressed against hers, it feels like both of them. They’ll go down together. Or they’ll make it to shore together.

Together.

It seems like a done deal, a partnership. Something.

Maybe everything.

“Hey,” she says, not for the first time as she jostles him. “Stay awake.”

“Hm?” he says, half mumbling as his eyes flutter open in an act of sheer desperation. “I’m fine.”

It’s his reflex, a rote response.

Kiara looks to Pope, the worry settling in the pit of her stomach. The panic is gone; in its wake, she feels the nagging doubt that something’s not okay.

“Is it blood loss?” she asks.

Pope frowns a little, adjusting his grip on JJ’s side. He hesitates, pulling away the bandana for a minute as he looks closer.

Kiara can see it, too. JJ, dazed as he is, drops his head over to look as well. “Shit,” he says. “Dude took a chunk out of my side.”

Pope fingers the area again, and JJ winces – a long shudder up and down his body.

“I have a first aid kit!” Sarah cries, handing it over.

Cleo intercepts it and pops it open. “Not bad,” she says with a nod of approval. “Antispectic. Plenty of bandages.”

“Bandages,” Pope says, holding his hand out. His fingers are still stained with JJ’s blood. “And the antiseptic is a good place to start.”

“Dude,” JJ says, rolling his head back. “I’m fine.”

His eyes pass over the sky before settling on Kie. His brows furrow.

“Really,” he says. “I’m fine.”

His skin is still chilled against her, and he’s still far too pale. The fact that he hasn’t sat himself up to help John B steer is enough evidence of how not fine he is.

“Just take it easy, Jayj,” she says lightly, brushing his wet bangs back. “We’ve got this.”

His brows pull tighter. “You’re putting me on the B-team again?”

“We’re still there together,” she soothes.

“I don’t think it’s blood loss,” Pope announces as he looks at the antiseptic to read the label.

“You sure?” John B asks. He spares a glance down. “It’s all over the floor of the boat.”

“Dude,” JJ says, as if he’s just noticed. “That shit can’t be sanitary.”

Pope is already shaking his head, popping open the bottle. “The water makes it look like more than it is,” he explains. “The bleeding is slowing significantly. I think he’s lucky, as long as we can keep it clean and free from infection.”

JJ huffs. “Your definition of luck sucks, man.”

Pope gives him a pointed look. “Would you rather your internal organs be hanging out?”

JJ turns his head away, sulking.

Kiara lets him, shielding him protectively. “But why is he still out of it? He’s having trouble staying awake.”

JJ groans again. “I’m fine.”

Everyone ignores him now, the sounds of the water and the engine almost drowning him out.

“He did take a machete to the head,” Pope reminds them, as if Kiara can forget.

“I don’t have a concussion,” JJ protests as he tries to sit up. “Concussions make me hurl, man, and–”

His face goes blank, glassy eyes widening. She catches him before he falls and Pope is there on the other side as JJ’s complexion grays out.

“Oh, shit–” JJ says, the words twisted and cut off as his stomach turns violently. Kiara supports him, even as the hot bile lands between them. He gags, straining for air, and she makes sure he stays up right, even as his body shakes violently for another round of heaving.

Pope rubs at his back. “Get it out,” he says.

JJ spits obediently, trembling for a second before he collapses back against Kiara in obvious defeat.

Pope’s expression is plaintive. “You were saying.”

JJ is meek now. “I possibly have a concussion,” he concedes.

“We’ll clean that next,” Pope tells him. “After we clean your side.”

JJ is too miserable to argue. He slumps a little more in defeat. “I’m fine,” he says again, the words almost lost now as she shushes him gently.

He’s not looking when Pope uses fresh gauze to clean the wound – but Kiara is. She catches sight of the torn flesh – ragged and bloody – and winces. There’s no time to question Pope’s assessment as the gauze touches JJ’s flesh–

And he immediately reacts.

Weak as he is, his entire body contorts. His scream is squeezed out of his lung through gritted teeth. “Oh, shit–” he seethes, fingers grappling blindly at Pope. Cleo reaches over to intervene, holding him back, and JJ shudders violently. “It didn’t feel this bad before – stop. I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine,” Pope tells him flatly, and this time when he goes at the wound, it’s more decisive, brushing against the raw and ruined flesh with some vigor. It’s not unkind; it’s not cruel.

But it is torture.

JJ catches on a sob that he tries – and fails to choke back, and Kiara doesn’t stop.

She’s still jumping in. Feet first and ready to swim.

“Just breathe,” she says, arms circling him again. “Just hold on.”

He resists, but only for a second as Pope goes deeper. This time, the sob breaks free, and as he tries to hide it, she draws him in. She absorbs it, his breath hot and wet against her as he shakes – body strung taut against the pain while Pope works.

She holds him, as the boat skips over the water and John B steers. She holds him as Cleo holds out the bandages and Sarah anxiously watches the horizon. She holds him as Pope finishes cleaning the wound before packing it and wrapping it as tight as JJ can bear – and then some.

She holds him fast, she holds him steady.

“We’re almost there, Jayj,” she promises, and it has nothing to do with the approaching shoreline and she knows it. She bows her head and plants a kiss to the top of his head. “We’re almost there.”

-o-

JJ knows that almost is a relative term. Hope is just as matter of degrees, something that lets you hold on while worst goes to bad again. He’s not scared of drowning.

If only because he believes he’s not that lucky.

Usually, the respite is an ice pack at the Chateau and a beer with his dad when he’s sobered up. Sometimes, there’s a half-ass apology, laden with justifications about why. JJ looks like his mama; he runs his mouth. Work is hard; money is scarce.

Like it’s JJ’s fault for the water that surrounds him.

And maybe it is. He’s accepted that for what it is.

The idea that other people get happy endings and beautiful futures, even when he doesn’t.

He doesn't think his friends understand.

In fact, lying there while they dote on him, he’s pretty sure they don’t. Sarah looks so sorry, whispering constant apologies like it’s her fault her family’s crazy. Cleo pats his leg, grinning at him, telling him he’s a rockstar. Pope is careful and studious as he tends the wound, and JJ’s never had a wound so properly treated in his whole damn life. John B is steady as ever, a constant litany of promises, we’ll get you there, bub. We’ll get you there.

And Kiara holds him, her arms around him. She catches him when he falls; she holds him up, like it’s going to make a difference.

He feels a little guilty about it, honestly. All the fuss, all the mess. It’s not like he’s been an important part of anything here. It’s not like he’s been anything but a problem.

He didn’t come up with the plan. He didn’t do any of the hardwork. All he did was get his lights knocked out and cause a problem. There’s a reason his old man up and left for the Yucatan – and it’s not just because he’s running.

It’s because there’s nothing to stay for.

No one.

That hurts.

That hurts.

“Okay,” Pope says, swallowing hard as he pulls back. His brow is furrowed as he looks down, and JJ spared a glance down as well. “I think that’s as good as we’re going to get.”

The bandage is clean and secure, although Pope’s had to get creative to keep the bandage in place with JJ’s wet skin. It’s a little impressive.

“We’ve got enough gauze for a few days,” Cleo says, packing up the rest of the first aid kit.

“And maybe we’ll find a place,” Sarah says. “Someone to help us, something–”

Her voice trails off, catching a little. Cleo reaches over with a supportive hand.

“You don’t have to worry about me,” he assures her, though he suspects his confidence is undermined by, well – everything.

John B shakes his head, correcting their steering slightly. “One thing at a time,” he says. “We need to get to shore and regroup. Then we’ll worry about the next step.”

“These islands are bigger than they look,” Cleo notes. “Most of them are empty, but they’ve got food. Water. Everything we need.”

“Well, JJ could use a real doctor,” Pope says, pulling JJ’s his back down with a sigh. He looks at JJ seriously. “You have to keep that clean.”

JJ musters up a weak smile, pushing himself up. It hurts – too much to fully hide. He winces – but this time, he doesn’t stop. He gets himself upright. His equilibrium falters for a second while everything goes hazy white, but he holds onto it this time. He holds onto himself with a breath forced out, hot and fast, sucked back in again as he lets his brain clear.

It helps that Kiara’s still there.

She hasn’t let go.

She’s still there.

Like she might never leave.

“Keep it clean,” he repeats, like he’s paying attention. “Check.”

Pope frowns at him. “Also, you have a concussion–”

“So no more machete fights,” JJ retorts weakly. He smiles a lopsided grin at him. “Got it.”

“Hey,” Kiara says, nudging him a little. “Does it hurt? I think we have some pain meds.”

He looks at her – and it’s not like the rest of them. Or – it is.

And it’s not.

It’s more.

He wets his lips, and he realizes he’s smiling.

“Are you brain damaged?” she asks, only half joking as she stares back at him. “Seriously, Jayj. You’re still freaking me out.”

“I’m fine,” he says, blinking a few times.

Her eyebrows go up. “You keep saying that–”

And it’s not so much a lie as it is just – what the truth has to be. He is fine.

He’s better than fine.

He’s here, with them.

He’s here, with her.

More than he’s ever deserved. All he’s ever wanted.

Yeah, his side hurts. Yes, his head throbs.

But honest to God, he barely feels it.

What he does feel is her fingers on his skin. Her arm around his shoulders. Her fingers on his side, his arm, his face.

He feels her breath on his skin.

He feels the way his heart flutters when she looks at him.

So, when she says it’s okay. When she says he’ll be okay.

He believes.

All evidence. All reason. All of it be damned.

He believes her.

“It’s true,” he promises finally. Because beaten and bruised, concussed and stabbed, he’s never felt better. The ocean bobs beneath him and he’s never felt lighter. “I swear, Kie.”

And the crazy part of everything is?

Kiara believes him, too

-o-

John B keeps the boat moving, pushing the engine as fast as it can go. The closest island is still too far away, but the boat recedes behind them. No one is chasing them, at least.

Of course, she’s not sure what awaits them.

A deserted island in the Caribbean.

Too far from home.

Too far from everything.

Her parents are going to be so pissed.

She won’t fully blame him. It’s all surreal, what they’re doing. To be this far from home. To be stranded without nothing. To have no plan of getting back.

It’s bad. She knows it’s bad.

But JJ’s breathing. Now that Pope is done with his wound, his color is retruning a little. He’s still weak – pressed against the side of the raft – but he’s upright, he’s alert.

The warm is coming back to his skin.

And somehow it doesn’t seem that bad at all.

He’s quieter than normal, and when she moves closer, he doesn’t pull away.

“Okay,” John B says, once they’re close enough to cut engine speed and navigate the shallows. “We should lighten her up so we can get her to shore.”

Cleo is already getting up, Sarah after her.

“Let’s let the girl jump out,” Pope suggests. “You can swim to shore, and we’ll get the boat the rest of the way in.”

Kiara could argue about the inherent sexism of it, but that’s not even her main concern. “I should stay with JJ,” she says instead.

He sits up, only wobbly for a moment. Enough for her to see, though. “No, he’s right,” he says. “We’ll split the weight.”

“And this thing is heavier than it looks,” John B says, letting the engine idle. “We’re going to have to drag her a ways.”

Kiara still wants to protest, but JJ looks at her.

She hates how weak it makes her. The way her chest almost caves in, her will power evaporating. She had been willing to drown for him, honestly.

She doesn’t know how to deny him this. “Are you sure?”

He smiles. “No machetes anywhere – blunt end or otherwise,” he jokes. “I’m–”

She narrows her eyes at him.

He catches himself. “--doing better.”

That’s a point she has to concede.

“Come on,” Cleo says, catching her arm. “We should move.”

There’s no more argument, at least. And for the second time that day, Kiara jumps off a ship. The water here is shallow, at least. She can feel the sandy bottom with her toes, and the sun has baked it better than the deeps where the Coastal Venture had been. They’re all strong swimmers, moving quickly up onto the sand toward the beach.

Behind them, she sees John B sliding the boat up farther, moving carefully to avoid scraping the bottom. The boat isn’t much, but it’s all they have.

Well, not all. Cleo and Sarah are next to her as they trudge up the way. And in the boat, she sees John B and Pope working to get the boat safely ashore. And JJ–

JJ holds steady.

JJ does what JJ does.

He holds true.

It’s far enough to leave her winded by the time they come up, dripping from the surf. The humidity is wild, already making her hair frizzy, and Sarah groans as she wrings her hair out. “This day is the worst.”

“This day is not what I expected,” Cleo agrees with some bemusement. “But I mean, present company isn’t so bad.”

Sarah sighs tiredly. “You were probably the only woman on that ship.”

“Ah,” Cleo says with a shrug. “There was another one who worked the controls.”

“Sounds amazing; you must have loved it,” Sarah quips.

“Nah, it’s perspective. This isn’t so bad,” Cleo says, turning back to watch the boys continue their path inland.

Sarah sits down heavily. “Right, I’m free from my crazy family,” she remarks wryly. “It’s great.”

Kiara sits down, too. “We’re alive.”

Her eyes go up, out to where the boys are finally pulling up into the shallows. She sees JJ brace himself slightly as he gets out, but find his footing in the surf.

“Aiming low,” Cleo says dryly.

“And still missing the mark,” Sarah jokes – but there’s no humor in her voice.

They’re quiet after that, the half-baked jokes falling weakly between them. They’re tired; they’re worn. They’re bloody and beaten.

All their grand plans and ambitions – have amounted to nothing.

All hopes of justice and revenge – have failed.

Any chance of getting home – seem slim to none.

They’ve lost families. They’ve lost safety. They’ve given up security. There is no treasure left for them. They have nothing.

There’s no way to spin that, and with the adrenaline gone, Kiara has to face that.

They have each other, at least.

She swallows around that truth, eyes burning as the boys finally kill the engine and hop out. John B fast and sure. Pope steady and strong. JJ wavering – but not hesitating.

“That’s good,” John B mutters.

“A little farther so she’s safe from the tide,” Pope suggests.

“Later,” JJ moans.

Kiara’s voice seems caught in her chest, like she can’t push it out of her throat.

Sarah manages a weary sigh. “Good job, guys!”

JJ wavers again, this time more visibly. “Whoa–”

Her heart flutters, but John B is quick to steady him. “JJ, you alright there, buddy?”

“Yeah,” JJ says, with more confidence than he’s due. He holds the ruined bandana to his head, still favoring his side. “Still a little dizzy.”

That seems like an understatement, but there’s no reason to call him on it now.

Not when there are much bigger problems for the moment.

JJ pulls up as the boys straggle up the beach, and he squints up and down the coast. “Does anybody know where we’re at?”

John B is sitting down already, next to Sarah protectively. Pope’s face is set grimly. “Deserted beach. Unknown island.”

The clinical assessment isn’t wrong.

But it still feels heavy as Pope sits down, almost in defeat.

JJ makes a face, wincing as he sighs. “I’ll take that as a no,” he says. “Plan A, Pope. That went well.”

That’s also an understatement.

They got Sarah, that’s true. But Rafe and Ward got away. They have the cross.

And now they’re stranded in the middle of nowhere. With nothing.

Pope shakes his head, and he says what they’re all thinking. “This is the lowest we can go,” he says, and the incredulity is suddenly too much for him. “We literally have nothing else to lose.”

The refrain is familiar by now. It’s usually the starting point for all the best – and worst – plans.

“The cross, gone,” Pope says.

Sarah’s shoulders slump in defeat. “The gold, gone.”

Pope flops back dejectedly.

JJ leans against a tree, fiddling with the pocketknife in his pocket. “Seriously, if I had a nickel for every time we got beat up, I’d say were’ at least at a dollar fifty.”

It’s not funny. For all the reasons.

Kiara nods in commiseration, watching as JJ carves the tip of the blade in the tree. “That’s more than I got on me.”

Pope levers himself up again, frustration bubbling.

Sarah sinks back, though, more depressed than ever. “That doesn’t make me feel better.”

It’s John B who rallies, as only John B can. “Yeah, you’re right,” he says. And he shrugs, almost innocent. “We’ve had some good stuff happen.”

Pope scoffs – loudly. “Name one.”

“Uh,” John B starts, looking them over. His eyes land on Cleo. “The boiler room?”

Kiara doesn’t know about the boiler room, but she can see Cleo’s smile.

John B shrugs. “I mean, if the boiler hadn’t exploded, I wouldn’t have gotten away from Rafe. I wouldn’t have gotten the Zodiac to get us out of there.”

Cleo is grinning now. “That wasn’t luck. That thing was going to blow the minute I stopped feeding it.”

John B blushes. “Stealing my thunder, Cleo.”

JJ watches, still cutting at the bark. Kiara lets her eyes go to him and stay there, making sure he’s there, he’s safe.

He’s still there.

“Okay, Pope,” John B says next, more decisively now. “You’re related to Denmark Tanny.”

Pope leans forward seriously. “And I lost all his inheritance.”

JJ winces at that one, Kiara sees it. The way he braces against the true, like that one might hurt.

Like everything still hurts.

But John B can’t be swayed. He gets up again, gesturing down the beat. “Guy, this is it. This is the Pogue life,” he says with conviction. The kind of conviction that led them on hunt after hunt. Chasing risk after risk. “We are in the Caribbean, our own little slice of paradise. With my best friends, with my family.”

It’s a point, Kiara knows. She looks at JJ again.

With him.

“I don’t know,” John B says finally. “I wouldn’t want to do it with anyone else.”

He looks at them each in turn, long and steady. Before he smiles.

“Look, while you guys are complaining about every little thing,” he says, and he crosses to JJ. “JJ?”

JJ puts the knife in the tree and smiles, like he already knows what’s coming. “Hm?”

He probably does.

Because JJ?

He can’t see a machete coming straight at his head.

But he can see this.

John B’s future. John B’s dream.

The Pogues.

It’s never been about having nothing to lose.

It’s been about having everything to gain.

And everyone you want to share it with.

It’s why JJ fell. It’s why Kiara jumped.

It’s why they’re both still here in the end.

“I was looking at those burly lefts,” John B says, pointing out at the water with a salacious look.

JJ follows his gaze, like he hasn’t just nearly drowned.

Like it doesn’t matter.

Like no matter how many times he went under.

He would always come back up.

He grins. “There’s some slab out there.”

“Just a few,” John B agrees.

He turns back around, coming over to her. “Kie, you see that? You want to get out there.”

She doesn’t want to smile. She doesn’t want to admit it. “No boards–”

As if that matters.

“Well, we can body surf until we make some boards,” he argues.

She rolls her eyes. “Lame.”

John B isn’t deterred. “Pope?”

Even Pope relents. “They do look pretty tasty.”

“Oh, yes, they do,” John B says, confidence brimming now.

It feels good.

It feels right.

She looks at JJ, standing and sure. He’s not quite steady, but he’s here. He’s still here.

And that?

Feels like hope.

“There’s nobody around,” Pope says as he gets to his feet. “We could squat for a bit.”

As if they have any other choice.

They have nothing to work with, maybe.

But that’s never stopped them before.

“Kind of belongs to us now, doesn’t it?” Pope posits.

John B nods. “You have a point.”

“Six-way split?” Pope asks, like this is the treasure. Washed up, shipwrecked, lost at sea. And it’s their treasure

The handshake seals it.

And JJ joins in, as only JJ can. “Poguelandia,” he announces, voice lilted with a silly British flair. “I claim thee Poguelandia.”

John B turns toward him, and Kiara looks up, doing her best not to smile.

“I like the ring of it,” JJ says. “I’m going to make a flag. And it’s going to have a chicken on it, with a coconut bra, smoking a J. In crocs.”

It’s ridiculous, right? As stupid as anything.

Not fitting for what they’ve been through. Not an accurate reflection of what they’ve just done.

What they’ve lost.

She swallows back the laugh as she looks at JJ.

What they almost lost.

“I could use a J,” she admits instead, because that’s an easy thing to say.

Easier than the rest of it.

Sarah laughs softly next to her. “Can we have a vote?”

It’s decided, though. Maybe it’s because the options are so few. Maybe it’s because they’re all Pogues. Maybe it’s because it’s right.

It just is.

They all found each other, pair by pair, and here they are. John B fought for Sarah. Pope found Cleo where he wasn’t looking. And Kiara?

She’s still treading water, hoping to see JJ look at her.

“Shall we get to work?” Pope says, for all of them now.

John B nods, the certainty on his face making it shine. “Let’s get to work.”

Because Pogues aren’t lazy. Pogues aren’t entitled. Pogues know good things don’t just happen.

Pogues know that you work for it. Pogues know that you make it yourself. Pogues know that happy endings are the things you build for yourself. There’s no silver spoons. There are no inheritances. As it turns out, there’s not even a treasure.

It’s just what they started with: each other.

And a dream.

This is what her parents have forgotten. This is why she’s never hesitated to pick her friends first. John B’s belief. Sarah’s spirit. Pope’s drive. Cleo’s tenacity.

And JJ?

JJ’s heart. It’s still beating, she’s made sure of that. She’ll always make sure of that.

“We’ll gather some provisions,” Pope says.

“Set up shop,” John B adds, like it’s just that easy. Like they haven’t been beat to hell. Like they haven’t lost it all. Like they’re not in the middle of nowhere.

He crosses over to Sarah anyway, leaning down.

“Sarah,” he says, eyes twinkling.

They never looked at her like that, she realizes.

And she never looked at him–

Her eyes dart to JJ–

Like that.

“Till death do us part?” John B asks.

Sarah – despite everything she’s been through. Kidnapping and attempted murder and separation from her family.

She still smiles.

Soft. But sure.

“Till death do us part,” she vows, and Kiara feels her chest clench.

She’s not jealous, not really. She doesn’t love John B. She doesn’t love Sarah. Not like that.

But what they have.

Their happily ever after.

Her eyes flick to JJ.

And she wonders.

He leaves the knife in the tree, next to the rough etching. P4L.

Their eyes meet.

Falling; jumping. Swimming; sinking.

She can do it all – with him.

She can do it all – for him.

John B offers Sarah his hand, and she takes it. “Welcome back to the Pogue life,” he says. “Full Pogue.”

She lets him get her up. “Full Pogue,” she agrees.

Next to them, Pope offers Cleo a hand too. “Welcome to the Pogues.”

Cleo levers herself up. “What’s a Pogue?”

That’s a story, then.

A long story.

JJ turns to her last, but it doesn’t feel least. It doesn’t feel like an afterthought.

He offers her his hand.

And it feels like a lot more than that.

“Going full Pogue,” he concludes as she gets up, shaking her head at it all.

JJ stumbles after her as John B catches him, taking his arm and slinging it over his shoulder. Kiara slows her pace to keep with them, step by step down the beach.

She wants to hold him. She wants to keep hold of his hand.

She wants a lot of things, it seems.

She’s not sure why he’s done jumping, and it feels like she can’t stop falling.

-o-

Honestly, he’s excited about the idea of it. Poguelandia, their Pogue paradise. He knows his friends dream about treasure and riches. They dream about going full Kook and proving everyone wrong.

JJ’s never wanted that, not really.

JJ’s never cared about it. He’s never really known what it looks like, him with a future.

But this? Them?

That’s the only thing that’s ever made sense.

In that regard, this is fine. This is more than fine. He’s fine.

It’s just – his body has other ideas.

For all their talk of the swells, the rest of the day is nothing but setting up camp. They gather supplies and start a fire. They start a shelter and find food, water – the basic shit, you know. The stuff that means they won’t die.

JJ does okay; he really does. He’s slower than usual. He’s sore. His head spins when he gets up and down, and his side throbs enough to make him stop a few times. By the time it’s dark and they’re settled in – with coconuts, water, and a fire big enough to keep them warm – he’s exhausted. He all but collapses, too tired to fight as Pope cleans his wounds with a scowl and a frown.

“This isn’t looking good,” Pope mutters as he cleans out his side again. Somehow, it hurts worse than before, and JJ’s toes curl in his boots as he tries not to show it.

“It was a machete,” he grits out. “I’m not sure how it would look good.”

Kiara is hovering.

Which, that’s a thing.

She hovers now. Like she’s afraid of something.

He can’t figure out what, though. He feels guilty all the same.

Pope flattens his lips as he roughly finishes cleaning it, reaching for a fresh bandage. “We don’t have antibiotics, JJ. An infection could kill you out here.”

JJ huffs awkwardly. “That’s a pleasant thought, thank you.”

“I’m just saying–” Pope starts.

“Be careful,” JJ says before he gets the lecture. “I got it.”

He smiles weakly at Pope.

“I’m fine,” he says, as emphatically as he can.

Pope sits back, though he doesn’t look convinced.

Kiara comes over, sitting down next to them. “I’ll watch him tonight.”

JJ looks at her, surprised. “I don’t need a babysitter.”

“He definitely needs a babysitter,” Pope says. “But I mean, I can do it–”

“You’ve been nonstop,” Kiara says. “Everyone has. Let me do it.”

The way she says it is weird, though. Something JJ can’t place.

Like Pope’s the one doing her the favor.

Pope looks – from JJ to Kiara and back again.

Like he sees something there.

And maybe it’s a thing, JJ reminds himself. Between them.

He knows they kissed; he knows they slept together.

He knows Kiara sees it, how perfect Pope is.

He knows Pope has to see it, how Kiara is the most perfect girl in the whole damn world.

Open doors, closed doors. Doors he’s never been meant to knock on.

“Guys, really,” he says, mustering up what he can. “I’m fine.”

Closed doors aren’t bad, after all.

It’s the best way to make sure no one sees you hurt.

He sinks back to the sand with a sigh. “Things will be better in the morning anyway,” he promises, letting his eyes close. “I know they will.”

-o-

The night falls.

And honestly, that’s the problem.

The others are exhausted, falling almost immediately to sleep as the fire starts to burn lower. John B and Sarah are curled together, finding respite in each other’s arms, and Cleo and Pope are angled toward each other, nestled in some fronds on the beach.

Even JJ – beaten and bloodied as he is – falls asleep easier than normal. In fact, he’s the first one out – his voice trailing off mid-story as the stars shine above them.

JJ has promised her things will be better in the morning.

She just doesn’t know how to get there.

It’s not that she’s not tired – she is. Her legs feel rubbery from all her time in the ocean, and the strain in her muscles seems to ache for JJ’s weight all over again. She doesn’t remember how many days they’ve been going, going, going – but the weariness of it all won’t let her escape.

Because every time she closes her eyes, she’s falling.

It’s too fast – and too slow – all at the same time. She can’t get her bearings, she can’t control her descent, she can’t right herself.

And JJ–

She wakes up, pulled from a near sleep with his name stuck in the back of her throat. JJ.

Her heart is pounding as she turns to look for him, and she’s reaching for him without thinking.

But he’s still there. Right where she left him. Slack-jawed on his back, arm curled protectively over his injured side. His head has slipped to the side, revealing the reddening wound with the deepening bruising around it, extending across his temple and down his cheek a little.

She watches him for a moment, just to make sure he’s breathing. A steady rise and fall of his chest as the air grates a little in the back of his sinuses.

Pope said he needed to rest, more than anything else. Keep it clean, keep him hydrated, let him rest. That was all they could do, this far from civilization.

Kiara tries to find solace in it, that at least it’s something.

It doesn’t feel like enough.

It feels like JJ’s still going under.

And Kiara thinks she might be going with him.

The panic claws at the inside of her chest, even though she knows it’s irrational. She can’t shake it this time, and she lets out a shaky breath to calm herself. When that doesn’t work, she sits up. She looks across the fire at her friends and tells herself she’s being stupid. She just needs to calm down. She’s fine. Everyone’s fine.

JJ’s fine.

She moves closer to him, getting up and padding barefoot across the sand. She hesitates, feeling conspicuous, but there’s no reason to hide it. If she could jump into the Atlantic after him, she could do this.

Lips pursed, she sits down next to him, close enough to feel the warmth of his body as he remains out cold on the sand next to her. He’s oblivious.

She reaches out, flitting her fingers through the fringe of his bangs.

He doesn’t stir. Not even a little.

Sighing, she gives into it and lays herself down next to him. The sand is warmer here; or maybe he’s warmer.

She doesn’t think about it.

She takes a few breaths, eyes on the sky, before she finally reaches out. Her hands snakes over to him, her pinking lacing around his own. He still doesn’t move, the sound of his breathing steady and sure.

It’s enough, then. To lull her to sleep.

Because when he falls.

She’s still jumping after.

-o-

JJ knows – the second he wakes up – things are not better in the morning.

In fact, everything is worse.

He knows that’s not not normal. Shit hurts worse the second day; you feel it in your muscles. The bruises, the swelling – that all takes time. Once your body gets over the shock, it has no idea what to do.

But the second he opens his eyes, he knows this isn’t going to be easy. He can’t bounce back. He can’t subvert their questions of concern with a smile. His jokes won’t be enough to hide just how much he hurts.

He’s not even sure he can get up right now.

He can feel the pain, lingering with a latent power as he breathes. Even tenses his muscles in anticipation of getting up is too much. On his back, he hasn’t even licked his lips and, honest to God, he’s not sure he can do this.

He just wants to lay here. He never wants to get up.

But Kiara sits up next to him, closer than he remembers. She blinks, bleary-eyed as she tucks her hair behind her ear. “JJ?”

The pain threatens to eclipse his senses, but he smiles for her anyway. “Yeah.”

She notices that something’s wrong before he has the chance to deflect. “Are you okay?” she asks, eyes flicking up and down his body. Her fingers lift to his head in an increasingly familiar motion. “Your head?”

Her touch is gentle. Her touch is warm.

Before he can stop himself, he dips his head to her fingers, humming slightly.

She frowns, though. “You’re a little hot.”

That one’s too easy. “About time you noticed.”

Her look is plaintive. “JJ–”

“Not my head,” he says. “My side.”

She looks down, reaching for his shirt, but he pushes her hand away. “It’s not so bad.”

The doubt on her face is easy to read, and she hesitates for a moment before her eyes meet his. And this time, she smiles. “Can you get up?”

He’s not sure he can, really. He’s been lying here, thinking of any excuse to stay flat on his ass as long as he can.

But she shifts, getting to her knees and reaching for him. She lifts him until he’s sitting up. The blur of motion makes his breath catch, but her grip is steady, and when she’s on her feet, pulling him up, he has no choice but to follow.

He doesn’t think about what he should do. He doesn’t think about what he can do. He doesn’t think about machetes, blunt ends, or container ships in the Atlantic. He doesn’t think about his dad in the Yucatan or the 25 grand he owes in restitution. He doesn’t even think about Pope kissing her like she might be the one.

Maybe it’s the concussion. Maybe it’s the gouge in his side. Maybe it’s the fall.

Maybe it’s taking his first breath on dry land and seeing her, like she’s been here all along. Like the door’s been open a lot longer than either of them realized.

He’s not sure he can get up, it’s true.

But for her?

Well, he thinks he can do anything.

-o-

There’s a lot to do, Kiara knows. They don’t have jobs; there’s no school. There are no parents or societal expectations.

But survival is a full-time job. Food and water don’t come from a fridge here. The shelter doesn’t build itself, and firewood has to be collected.

They’ve been living on the edge so long, that it’s not that hard. They build tools. The craft supplies. They organize a stockpile. Within a few hours, it looks less like a beach and more like a home. It looks more like a deserted island.

And more like a home.

It’s a lot of work, and they’re on the go all morning. Plenty of heavy lifting as they ransack the dingy and look for anything they can use. Pocket knives to sharpen sticks. Rocks knocked together to form points. Rainwater collection, a plan to replant coconuts to maintain their harvest. Fishing in the shallows.

They divvy up the work without effort, and no one thinks twice about assigning JJ easy tasks close to camp. If he notices that they’re babying him, he doesn’t say anything.

That’s more worrying to her than anything else.

If he’s letting them baby him–

Well, then he’s bad enough not to notice.

Or bad enough not to care.

She volunteers to help him at camp, and Sarah gives her a funny look. “But you were going to help me with the coconuts.”

Kiara flattens her lips, and gives Sarah a look.

Sarah wrinkles her nose, a little confused. “You don’t want to help with the coconuts.”

She jerks her head toward where JJ is half-heartedly sorting firewood – from dry to damp.

Sarah looks at him, still guarding his side and woozy.

She looks at Kie.

“Oh,” she says. “You want to stay at camp.”

Kiara rolls her eyes.

“I can stay,” John B offers. “Keep an eye on JJ.”

Sarah tugs his arm. Hard. “I need you,” she says. “For coconuts.”

John B looks confused, like he thinks this could be a suggestive euphemism.

Sarah sighs. “I don’t want to be alone anyway,” she says. “And neither does Kie.”

John B looks at Kiara, then.

Then, he looks at JJ.

He tilts his head to the side, looking back at Kiara like he may ask the question.

Kiara’s face reddens, but Sarah pulls John B’s arm again. “You’re never leaving me alone again,” she says, pulling him close. “Okay?”

John B gives Kie one last look before he drops his head to Sarah’s head and nods. “Never again,” he promises as they make their way down the beach.

She watches, the two of them hand in hand, side by side. Cl eaves together, like they were meant to be. They pass by where Pope and Cleo are engineering the rainwater device, clapping hands in success. The smile on Pope’s face is one she hasn’t seen in awhile.

It’s one he never gave to her.

They had done things his way, the two of them. Slow and calculated.

It hadn’t been bad; but it hadn’t felt right.

Cleo matches him, though. Logic for passion; holding on and letting go. Kiara wonders about that.

She looks back at JJ.

The boy who helped his father abandoned him. The kid who gave them everything he had with nothing held back for himself. JJ would give them his last breath.

And nothing scared her more.

She wonders about that, too.

Moving back to his side, she’s going someplace new.

Someplace that feels familiar.

Someplace she may never want to leave.

-o-

JJ is aware that he’s not at full capacity. But then, that’s pretty normal. He’s rarely firing on all cylinders; he’s used to that.

This is just – not good.

Even when he keeps to easy tasks around camp, the wear on his body is a lot. He feels dizzy every time he lifts a piece of wood. And the pain rips through his side every time he turns around. Or gets up. Or gets down. Or breathes.

So everything.

His side hurts always.

John B and Sarah are joined at the hip; they barely notice. Pope and Cleo are bonding over whatever geeky stuff they’re bonding over. Which means it’s just him and Kie.

It’s funny, how many times Kie has been there.

She’s seen him at his worst.

The hot tub. Stealing the keys to the Phantom. Getting Luke off the island.

Losing a fight with a machete.

It’s humiliating, honestly. He should be used to it.

He’s not.

“You okay?” she asks.

Her voice makes him stop, breathing in through his nose. “I’m fine.”

He isn’t trying ot put her off. Except that he is.

“JJ–”

He finally turns back toward her, somehow managing to keep his feet beneath him. “Why wouldn’t I be okay?”

He’s trying to be effortless in his deflection, but he’s trying awfully hard for that. Kiara sees through him instantly. “Oh, gee, I don’t know,” she says, because she’s either better than he thinks or he’s slipping. Or both. “Maybe because you went head to head with a machete – and lost. Twice.”

He’s definitely slipping. “Hey, I’m still here, aren’t I?”

She gives him a look. “What hurts more now – your side or your head?”

JJ grimaces. “I didn’t realize it was a contest.”

He struggles to keep collecting the wood, even as he grimaces at the effort. “You should just rest.”

“We’re stranded here,” he says. “We all have to pull our weight to survive.”

“Yeah, but you’re injured,” she argues, reaching to swipe the next log from him. “Like – realy.”

He frowns, looking at her. “I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine–”

“Kiara–”

“JJ–” she snaps, the sound of his name clipped in a way that makes him stop as he moves to shift the next piece of wood into the right pile. She’s startled by it, even more than he is, and her breath stutters, as she shakes her head. “JJ, you’re not fine.”

Her voice is too raw, something pained in it. He closes his mouth instead of replying.

She takes another breath, something measured and small. It barely seems to help.

“How much do you remember?” she finally asks.

Her eyes are soft on his, but the weight of her gaze is heavy. He flinches under it. “Not much,” he admits. “I barely felt the machete. I was out before I hit the water.”

He shrugs, almost helpless in the admission.

“Then I just remember waking up on the boat,” he says.

The lost time hasn’t bothered JJ, not until right now. With his dad – with the fights at the boneyard – he’s been knocked out more than once. He knows what it is to wake up, missing seconds, missing minutes, missing hours. It’s just how things are, sometimes.

With his dad, there’s never any mystery. He always felt bad for knocking him out, or he was too out of it to notice. With Kooks who laid him flat either brought him around to make sure he wasn’t dead or enjoyed their victory so much to wallow. He always ended up back at the Chateau. It was a given.

There are no more givens.

Not here; not like this.

He’s not crashing on the couch at the Chateau, burning through John B’s Tylenol and beer.

If he went headfirst into the water.

He blinks as he almost comes to the conclusion.

“You went over, like you said,” she tells him. Something flickers in her expression, and he watches as her throat tightens. “Like you said, you were out before you hit the water.”

His stomach starts to churn, and it’s definitely not the concussion this time. His breathing starts to quicken, and he can’t see a damn machete coming at him – but he sees this.

“You were face down, JJ,” she tells him, the words punctuated by something that sounds like fear. “You were unconscious and face down in the water.”

He doesn’t know what to do with that. He doesn’t know what it means. He doesn’t know anything.

“You were going to drown,” she says, like she can still see it. Like she’s standing here with him, safe on this island, but part of her is still back on the boat. “You were drowning.”

And it’s just – yeah. He thinks he’s been drowning for years. Barely keeping his head up. No one has ever noticed before. No one has ever cared before. No one has ever jumped in after him.

“There was nothing I could do,” she says. “I kicked the guy and I–”

She stops short, licking her lips as her eyes study his face.

“And I jumped in after you.”

He knows he’s slow; he always has been. The last of them to learn anything. The one who fails all his classes. No one is sitting around wringing their hands about JJ’s lost potential, because he’s never had it.

So he’s used to it, being late on the uptake.

This, though. Still hits him.

Like – well. A machete to the head.

Sudden and hard. Incapacitating.

Only this time, he doesn’t have the luxury of passing out.

“You jumped in after me?” he concludes, almost like he can’t believe it. He tries to envision it, her up on deck. Him in the water. The impossible distance that she crosses just like that. Like walking through a door.

Like kicking it down.

Kiara looks at him like he might be crazy.

Which, to be fair. JJ feels pretty crazy right now.

“Well, yeah,” she says, as if this is a matter-of-fact, foregone conclusion. “You were out cold.”

He understands this. He can put together the chain of events.

He just can’t fully comprehend the conclusion. His logic doesn’t come to the same point, and he’s not sure how to reconcile that. “But–” he says, chest staggering for air. He licks his lips. “Why?”

The question is incredulous.

Her response is more so.

“What was I going to do?” she returns. “Let you drown.”

The answer yes seems wrong, but no other answer comes out.

She scoffs. “Of course I was going to jump in after you. Of course I was going to keep you afloat. Of course I was.”

She says it with such clarity, such certainty.

No hesitation. No doubt.

She takes a breath, lips pursed as she shrugs. “It was you,” she tells him. “JJ, you were face down in the water. It was you.”

It’s a truth he doesn’t know how to accept, it’s truth. It’s also a truth he certainly can’t argue. He doesn’t know what to do. It’s like standing on the outside of a door, swung wide open.

And knowing you’re scared shitless to walk through.

Knowing you probably shouldn’t because you don’t belong on the other side.

Once you cross the threshold, you can’t come back.

It comes over him, a rush of panic. He blinks hardly, reaching for the next piece of wood almost in desperation. He can’t do this, after all. He can’t talk like this. He can’t let her talk like this.

He’s taken too much. He’s been too much.

He can’t–

“I’m sorry,” he says, all in a flush now. His face burns and his ears ring. “I should have thought–”

He should have been careful. He should have been smart. He should have been ready.

He should have been a lot of things.

“Jayj–” she starts, but he’s not listening now.

“I was stupid,” he says, shaking his head as he reaches down, grasping for another piece of wood. “I’m just – I shouldn’t–”

He falters as everything spins.

Belatedly, he realizes it’s not the emotion. It’s not the shock. It’s not any of that.

No, his body is failing.

The burning in his cheeks? That’s a fever.

The ringing in his ears? That’s him about to pass out.

Oh shit, he thinks. His breathing catches. “Kie–” he starts, but he can’t finish.

He can’t do anything.

Everything tips and spins, and the air that rushes by his ears is unsettlingly familiar.

He’s falling again.

Or maybe he’s been falling all along.

Only this time – this time there’s someone there to catch him.

That’s a comfort, he thinks.

Even as everything goes dark.

-o-

It’s unsettling, just how familiar it is.

All their lives, she’s been watching JJ fall.

And all she can do is keeping jumping after him.

She sees it coming this time, the way his eyes roll up, the way his face goes blank. She’s close enough to reach for him. She’s close enough to catch him.

She’s close enough.

“Oh, shit,” she says, scrambling forward to grab him. “Jayj–”

He’s skinny – but heavier than he looks. There’s no water weight dragging them down this time, but gravity is enough. His body is listless with unwieldy limbs, and his graceless fall is hard to counteract.

His downward momentum is enough to take her down, too, and she can practically hear her father’s voice, telling her I told you so.

She doesn’t listen to it. He doesn’t get it.

She’s just starting to get it, honestly. Who JJ is. Why JJ’s worth it. What JJ needs.

On a human level, everyone deserves someone to catch them.

But this isn’t just human.

Kiara hits the ground on her ass, JJ’s dead weight sprawled on top of her.

This is something else.

This is JJ’s face when she kissed John B. This is JJ looking at the ground when she kissed Pope. This is JJ, standing alone by himself in a hot tub, trying to do the right thing.

All this time she’d been trying to find her soulmate.

And he’s been here all along.

“Okay,” she says, heart pounding now as her face burns. “JJ?”

She turns him, rolling him over so he’s face up in her arms. His legs are tangled, one hand across his chest and the other lying limp over her legs. His mouth has fallen open, panting for air even in unconsciousness, and the flush rises in his cheeks is too distinct to be normal.

Her fingers flit up, brushing his hair off his forehead, and that’s when she notices the heat.

“Jayj,” she breathes, gently untangling his hair from the dried blood around his head injury. “Hey–”

He doesn’t stir, expression still slack as she swallows hard and looks down the rest of his body. When she lifts his shirt to check on the second wound, she knows immediately it’s a problem. The skin is hot, the red inflammation extending beyond Pope’s bandage. “Oh, Jayj,” she murmurs now, the fear setting in once more. It’s like they’re still bobbing in the ocean; every time she takes a breath, another wave comes to take them under.

How long until she can’t keep them afloat?

When will she finally have to let go?

Or will she just go under with him?

Kiara won’t entertain that notion. No, Kiara won’t let that happen.

She does what she has to do.

Sucking in a breath, she screams. “John B! Pope!”

She looks back at JJ, cradling his cheek in her hand.

“Help!”

-o-

It’s all JJ’s fault.

He’s not always sure how. He’s not always sure why.

But he knows. He just knows.

It’s his fault.

When bad things happen, you can trace them back to him. He’s always got a part to play in some way, shape, or form. JJ’s the troublemaker. JJ’s problematic. He knows they’re all better off without him, but he can’t–

He doesn’t know how–

Losing them—

Would kill him. He knows it would. He knows he can’t survive on his own; he knows he doesn’t even want to. If he hadn’t stolen the money. If he hadn’t let Pope sink Topper’s boat. If he hadn’t stolen the keys to the Phantom. If he hadn’t stuck around to help his dad blow things off.

If he hadn’ been so stupid. If he hadn’t been so selfish. If he hadn’t been so stupid.

Robbing people and pulling guns. Breaking people out of prison. Lies and mistakes. Too much weed and beer. Crude jokes and swear words.

He just tries to stay with them. He just tries to be good for them.

He just tries to be worth it.

He knows how easily love turns to hate. He knows how it looks when affection turns to anger. He’s seen it, he’s felt it – the second a hug becomes a closed fist.

He’s living on that edge.

Sometimes, he thinks he’s dying on that edge.

All his life, he’s thought he had to rise to meet them.

He’s never considered them coming down for him.

But he’s sprawled out on the sand; he’s falling off the ship.

And Kiara jumps.

Kiara comes down.

For him.

It’s a lot. It’s everything. It’s–

Well, JJ doesn’t know what it is.

He’s not sure if he’s ready to find out.

-o-

Back in the ocean, Kiara had spent 10 minutes keeping JJ afloat.

It had felt like a lifetime, throat raw from the saltwater and eyes burning with tears. Her voice had been breathless and broken as she called for help.

They came then.

Just like they come now.

There’s something about that, something her parents will never understand. They see the bruised knuckles and hear the brazen language and whatever. Assume Pogues are hoodlums or – at the very least – misguided youth. Like smoking weed and drinking beer is the sole delineation of worth and value.

Because her Pogues are good. One by one, all her Kook friends abandoned her. They turned their back on her, ghosted her texts. They whispered behind her back, spread rumors she never could take back. They didn’t get caught for it. No one suspended them from school or put them in cuffs, but Kiara knows they’re worse.

The Pogues are here for her. They have always been here for her. Even after she broke their hearts, they let her back in. Even when she turned her back on them, they welcomed her back home. John B, their fearless leader. Pope, the brains of them all. And JJ–

She looks back down at him, his body sprawled next to her on the sand.

JJ is the heart and the soul of it all.

She thought she loved John B. She did her best to love Pope.

But – shit, JJ. She thinks maybe she’s loved JJ the most all along.

The way he makes her laugh when she’s sad. The way he makes her act when she’s scared. The way he knows her, accepts her, idolizes her.

No, not that.

He sees her.

In a way the others don’t. In a way the others can’t.

And maybe – maybe – she sees him.

The hot tub? Showed her where he’d been.

The container ship? Showed her where he wanted to go.

She wants to be a part of it. Every. Single. Part.

“Please,” she begs as her voice breaks, bending over JJ and taking his face in her hand. She turns his face toward her, fingers brushing on his cheek. “JJ?”

“Kie?” John B says, voice coming closer. “What’s–”

He stops short, the curse half muttered as he crashes to the sand on JJ’s other side.

“JJ?” he says, now with his eyes on the blonde between them. “Hey, bub–”

Behind them, Sarah comes to a stop, gasping. Pope and Cleo are thundering behind her. “What’s all the ruckus?” Cleo demands.

Pope seems to already know. “Shit–”

And he falls to the sand at JJ’s head.

“What happened?” Pope asks.

John B pushes JJ’s hair back, tapping his cheek.

Kiara takes a half-strangled breath. “We were talking, working with the wood. He seemed okay – a little – off,” she admits, shaking her head. She runs a hand through her hair, looking back down at JJ. “And then he got – like. Dizzy. He just went down.”

The explanation is halting and seems incomplete, but Pope seems to be following along just as well.

“His head?” John B asks.

Pope flattens his lips, quickly peeling back JJ’s eyelids. From her position, she can see the blue of his irises contracting in the light. “It’s possible,” Pope murmurs, but he sounds unconvinced.

“He’s warm,” John B says as his jaw tightens.

“He’s been a little off all morning,” Kiara says. They look at her, and she can only shrug. “He tried not to show it.”

“We all saw it,” Cleo remarks, lingering above them.

Sarah shifts nervously on the sand. “I don’t think he’s been okay at all.”

Pope have shoves John B out of the way, cutting off his protests as he moves to JJ’s side and John B shifts up toward his head. Brow dark, Pope lifts JJ’s shirt and starts to peel off the bandage.

“We were going to change it,” Kiara says, glancing anxiously at JJ’s face, waiting for any kind of response. Her fingers flutter lightly on his arm, the warm of his skin not the comfort it used to be. “But I know we’re rationing supplies, and–”

She stops mid-sentence when Pope reveals the wound. It’s like she’s standing on the ship deck, looking down at the water, seeing JJ face first in the water.

It’s that bad.

The wound is inflamed, red and puffy with dark discoloration around the jagged edges. The blood has crusted around it, giving it a garish look, and the pus is dark and yellow. It’s enough to turn her stomach.

Sarah actually turns away, and Cleo audibly inhales.

“Oh, shit,” John B says.

Pope just sighs. “It’s infected,” he says, and he reaches up, pressing his palm to JJ’s forehead.

Kiara is shaking now, even though she’s not cold. The air is humid and the sun is hot, but her skin breaks out in goosebumps anyway. “Is it bad?”

Pope’s jaw locks for a moment, and he looks up. “I mean, it looks bad, I know,” he says. “And him passing out – I don’t like it.”

No one dares to speak, hoping for something else.

Pope looks at Kiara, then. “He was up, moving around?”

She nods, like it might help. “Getting wood. We hadn’t stopped all morning.”

Pope seems to consider this, shrugging one shoulder as he looks back at JJ – still and unmoving between them. She knows he’d hate this, all this fuss, all this attention. He’s great at being the center of things as long as it’s something stupid and vapid.

When it’s real – when he needs help – he can’t stand it.

This is the JJ who sobbed in her arms in a hot tub. This is the JJ who leaned into her touch after the Coastal Venture. This is the JJ who couldn’t understand why she climbed into the hot tub with him. This is the JJ who couldn’t fathom why she jumped.

Her fingers lock around his wrist as she takes a breath to steady herself.

“And did he eat – or drink?” Pope asks, studying JJ’s pale features once more.

“A little,” she says. “But I mean, all we have so far is water and coconuts.”

Pope shakes his head. “Okay, so he’s probably anemic and possibly even dehydrated, so his body doesn’t have what it needs to fight off the infection,” he says. “If we keep him still, if we let him heal – I mean, he should be okay.”

It’s a pronouncement that lacks confidence, and they all know it.

John B licks his lips. “His side looks pretty gnarly.”

Pope peels the bandage the rest of the way off, tossing it to the side. “But it’s not as bad as it looks,” he says, bending over to probe it a bit. He touches around it with a frown, and with pressure, he can make fresh pus come out. “The bleeding has stopped, and the pus isn’t as bad as you think it is. And the skin is only warm in the immediate area. There’s no sign that the infection has gone deeper or hit the blood.”

This is supposed to be the good news, but Kiara is hard pressed to see it. “But he’s out cold.”

They all look at JJ, his chest rising and falling with small pants as he lays – safe and steady – between them. “I told you. Dehydration, anemia, exhaustion. He shouldn’t have been up and about.”

Kiara’s face burns. “He said he was okay.”

Pope looks at her. “And you think he’d tell you if he wasn’t?”

That’s – a point, and she knows it. It’s damning, a little bit. Because they all know it’s bullshit when JJ says he’s fine. But they all know that’s the answer they want. Hell, it’s the answer they need, the one they’ve all come to expect. When shit needs to get done, JJ’s the one who does it. He’s the one who comes up with the crazy plans. He’s the one who risks everything to help them. He never stops; he never lets them down.

He’s never lying when he says he’s fine.

He means it, every damn time.

He’s fine – for them.

Her silence is her answer.

It’s the answer for all of them. They’re all guilty of it. Making JJ their constant. Letting him be their one true thing. Turning him into a plot point of their story, a supporting character to use as they please. Their ready scapegoat. Not a person.

As if his bruises don’t matter. As if his blood is an acceptable sacrifice, the thing that holds P4L together.

She doesn’t want to go on a surf trip with an idea.

She wants him.

So, she takes a breath and nods. “What do we do?”

It’s to the point, and Pope clearly appreciates that. He nods. “We need to move him back to the fire and get him cleaned up. We’ll use more of the bandages and I’ll be careful with the antiseptic,” he says. “We’ll boil water over the fire and clean the wound again.”

“Some of the leaves might work for bandages,” Sarah offers.

“I’ve heard tell of some local plants that are good for salves,” Cleo says. “I’ve spent a lot of time island hopping; you pick up things.”

“Okay,” John B says, moving forward to scoop JJ up. “To the fire?”

Pope nods and shifts out of the way as John B loops his arm under JJ’s shoulders and lifts him up. He gets his other arm beneath JJ’s knees, scooping him up toward him, collecting him into his arms, bridal style.

Kiara scrambles to help, holding JJ’s hand the whole way up and making sure it’s tucked safely on his stomach while John B grunts under his weight. JJ’s head is slumped into the crook of John B’s neck.

She tells herself he’s going to be okay.

She tells herself he has to be okay.

She tells herself she’ll do anything to make sure he’s okay.

-o-

JJ wakes up on and off. He feels light, like he’s head isn’t quite connected to his body. It’s too hard to focus, and every time he blinks, someone different is there.

Sarah, tucking his hair behind his ear with a smile.

Cleo, whittle a piece of wood with her knife with her eyebrows raised at him.

Pope, fussing over him, a bloody bandage in his fingers.

John B, guilt stricken and worried.

And Kiara.

Who never leaves.

Her constant presence lingers by his side.

He can’t make sense of things, what’s going on in why. He doesn’t remember why his head hurts. He can’t figure out why his side throbs. But she’s there.

She’s still there.

And nothing else matters after that.

-o-

JJ is in and out most of the day, which Pope says isn’t unexpected and isn’t necessarily a bad thing.

“He’ll rest, at least,” he assures them, even while he checks JJ’s vitals for the tenth time.

John B chews his lips across from JJ, shaking his head. “This is all my fault.”

“This is my fault,” Sarah argues. “You were on that boat for me.”

Cleo clucks her tongue and rolls her eyes. “I know I don’t know y’all that well yet, but isn’t it an all for one sort of thing?” she asks. “Isn’t that the point of you Pogues?”

No one can argue that, not with JJ still sleeping fitfully between them. They keep the fire warm, and they keep him drinking whenever he’s a little coherent. They scour the island for more food, coming up with a few edible plants and some crabs from the beach. Kiara knows she should help, but she can’t bring herself to get up. She can’t leave JJ.

No one argues with her at least. Not even JJ

She holds fast, throughout the day, and even into the night. When he wakes up – scared – she comforts him, lulling him back to sleep, with murmured promises of the sun coming up in the morning. It’s not like it was with John B, when her hormones made her crazy and she kept wondering if his lips were as soft as they looked. It’s not like it was with Pope, whose logic made the piece fit into place and made her want to click together just to find out.

It’s jumping. It’s letting loose. It’s freefall.

It’s not knowing what’s at the bottom.

And going for it anyway.

It’s everything, she decides as she watches him sleep.

It’s absolutely everything.

-o-

Then, JJ wakes up.

It’s a tired action, forcing his eyelids open, and the heaviness is not expected. He’s been asleep for awhile, like coming back from a bad hangover.

Except he hasn’t been drinking.

His mouth feels like his tongue is too big, gritty and thick. His head is fuzzy, and it’s hard to remember, hard to sort–

He blinks a few times, at the unfamiliar beach. The fire.

And, in the distance, the dinghy.

Oh, right.

They’ve been shipwrecked. They’re officially lost at sea.

He frowns, the skin pulling around the jagged wound on his temple. His fingers flutter to his side, which is throbbing and bandaged. Looking around, he can see that the camp has been built up a lot since he was last awake, and the fire is burning low in the daylight. The sun above isn’t quite at high noon yet; he thinks it must be morning.

Kiara is there, seated adjacent to him around the fire. She looks exhausted, bags under her eyes as she tiredly cleans a coconut husk, probably trying to make another bowl. She’s diligent, even in her exhaustion, and she may be wiped out – but she’s still the hottest thing he’s ever seen.

The others aren’t there, and he knows they can’t be far. He worries about that, really. But there’s nothing he can do about it.

He remembers it all now, all the sordid, painful details.

The whole thing has wiped him out. The concussion, the infection.

He feels barely held together.

And it’s not the bandages doing the work.

He swallows hard and looks at her. He’s still trying to figure out what to say, what to do – when his breath catches.

She looks at him immediately. Eyes widening, she shifts toward him. “JJ?” she says, putting down the fruit she’s working on and reaching for something else. “Are you okay?”

“Don’t ask that question,” he replies with a shaky smile. His head still feels funny, like it’s been stuffed with cotton. The pain in his side has receded to a dull throb – pervasive but manageable.

More or less.

He musters up a smile. “Unless you want to hear my bullshit answer.”

That pulls a smile out of her, too. She holds up another coconut – one that’s been hollowed out, pressing it to his lips. “Here,” she says before he can protest. “Drink something.”

The water is tepid, but he doesn’t realize just how thirsty he is until it washes over his parched tongue and cracked lip. He lets her tip it back, some of it dribbling down his chin, as he drinks gratefully.

When it’s gone, she pulls the coconut away, pausing for a moment. She reaches up, brushing his bangs back again.

His eyelids flutter.

But he doesn’t flinch away.

“How’s the head?” she asks, putting down the drink.

He hums a bit. “Would you believe me if I told you it was fine?”

Her look skewers him a little, but the point is lighter than normal. When she reaches for his side, he doesn’t fight her. She fingers the bandage, which is enough to make JJ shudder.

“That one is not as fine,” he admits.

Kiara sighs, pulling her hand back. “Pope changed it last night, but we’re going to be short on supplies. I need to wait for him.”

JJ nods weakly, breathing through his nose for a second while things go dim and he collects himself. “We can just leave it.”

“We can’t just leave it,” she says flatly. “JJ–”

She doesn’t finish the thought, and he forces his vision to clear so he can look at her. H er eyes are down, her jaw working.

Then, she looks back at him. “The infection looks localized, which Pope says is good,” she explains, pulling his shirt down gently and smoothing it. “He thinks we can keep it clean and you’ll be okay.”

This is a comfort, he knows. It just doesn’t feel like it.

He tries to smile anyway. “I’m sorry,” he says, because it’s all he can think to say. “For – all this. We have so much to do – and you’re wasting supplies on me. Wasting time.”

He feels stupid, far too self conscious and he hates all of it. But he’s too weak to stop her, and all he can do is lay there and let her help. Shame burns through him.

Or maybe that’s the fever.

Either way.

She looks almost offended at the notion. “How is any of that a waste?”

He shrugs weakly. “I should have been more careful.”

“The guy had a machete,” she points out.

“Which you ducked,” he reminds her. He shakes his head, because that’s not even the point. It never matters how and why. It just matters what you do next; he knows that. “And it just doesn’t matter. I shouldn’t be putting you out. Not again.”

Tired as she is, he only seems to make her more weary. “JJ, this isn’t your fault.”

He’s not looking for absolution. He certainly doesn’t think he can accept it.

But denying it seems wrong.

Because he’s pretty sure she’s been sitting there all night.

Like, sitting there. With him.

In his silence, she looks down. Her fingers fiddle with the pair of coconut she’s been working on, her bottom lip caught between her teeth for a moment.

She looks at him, a little unsure. “It’s not your fault,” she repeats, and her next words are careful. “But I still don’t know why you did it.”

It’s not a question he quite understands. “I didn’t mean too–”

She shakes her head. “No, I mean – why did you take the hit,” she says. “In the fight. You didn’t try to defend yourself.”

That one stops him for a second. He hadn’t considered, had he? Had he even thought?

Her face turns with a frown, and nods to his side. “He got you with a machete,” she says, lifting her fingers and brushing them over the wound on his temple. “Twice.”

JJ can’t help it. This time he stiffens. “My hand to hand skills are lacking–” he tries to joke.

Her hand falls away, her shoulders slumping.

He can still hear her voice, calling him back. He can feel her, holding him up.

She’ll fall for him, it’s true.

But JJ?

Will stand strong for her. Always.

That’s either a perfect match.

Or a disaster waiting to happen. JJ doesn’t know. JJ has no idea. He knows this is a bad idea, all of it. He knows Pope’s still torn up over her. He knows that messing things up with feelings is a surefire way to lose a best friend. He knows that Kiara may open the door.

And that he should probably close it.

He just doesn’t know if he can.

All the reasons he should.

He has no idea if he’s actually capable of doing it.

Because – shit, there she is.

She’s just there.

Like she wants to be.

And all he can do, in the end, is tell her the truth.

“It was you,” he blurts, because there’s no other answer. It’s the script, then. The one they’re both following, even though neither of them know how to admit it. He shrugs, feeling as helpless with the truth as she had. “Kie, he was coming at you. It was you.”

Something in her expression tightens, at the return of his words. Something scared. Something hopeful.

Something he’s never seen before.

Something real.

“So?” she asks, even though he can see it in her eyes. She knows the answer.

“So,” he says, voice hoarse and strained. “Kie, it’s always been you.”

Because he’s too tired. Because he’s lost too much blood. Because his head hurts.

Because he fell head first off a ship.

Because Kiara jumped in after him.

There are so many things he doesn’t know how to say, doesn’t know how to admit. There are so many things that feel like he’s knocking on the same door for years and years with no answer.

But some things are just true.

Some things are just real.

Because Kiara dreams of surf trips and all the Souths. Because she holds fast and doesn’t let go when he does. Because he falls.

She jumps.

“Well,” she replies finally, smile playing on her lips as their eyes lock and hold. The buzzing in his head isn’t the concussion. The burning in his body isn’t his infected wound. “It’s always been you, too.”

She says it like she just figured it out.

She says it like she’s always known.

Mostly, she says it.

He realizes dimly that the door between him? The one she locked?

Is open.

Wide open.

That scares him. That overwhelms him. That’s like drowning; that’s like bleeding out.

But she holds him up. She stems the flow.

And he thinks - sometimes, he dares to hope – maybe someday they’ll walk through it together.