Chapter Text
Kie clocked it the second he walked in. Shoulders hunched, feet dragging as he crossed the room and dropped onto the couch. By now, she didn’t need him to say anything to know something’s off. Funny thing was, it used to drive her crazy that she couldn’t, not the way John B always seemed to. That had changed over time. She can catch the little signs now.
“You good?” she asks, not moving closer yet.
Nothing. His teeth are on his lip, fingers tapping against his thigh, then the table, restless. Finally he digs into his pocket, lighter snapping open and shut before he mutters, still avoiding her eyes, “Never better.”
Her eyes nearly roll on their own. Deny, deny, deny, right? She should be used to it by now, so why did it catch her off guard. Maybe because lately they'd finally been able to chill some. Pope is talking about college again. John B isn't drinking himself into a stupor every night, cracks a joke here and there. Sarah still wakes sometimes, clutching at her throat, but not as often, and certainly not as bad.
And Kie… she isn't sure about herself. Some days she thinks she is fine, then someone will come up behind her and she nearly jumps out of her skin. She still checks over her shoulder too much. But the nights aren't as hard to get through. Sleep comes easier and it is no longer impossible to drag herself out of bed, smokes less. Maybe it is time passing. Or could be the body pressed warm beside her when she wakes up, blue eyes fixed on her with an almost childlike awe she never thought she’d see aimed her way. Being with him like that doesn't fix everything, but it sure helps.
JJ seems to have bounced back faster than any of them, as usual. Not even a month passed and he was back to surfing, cracking jokes, keeping them together without anyone really noticing. It’s impressive how he can read the room in an instant. He'll offer her a massage, ask Pope about college to get him speaking, egg John B on to some ridiculous conversation or declare that they'd watch CHUD now and there's no getting out of it. Just to snap them out of whatever pit they’d dug themselves into. And somehow it always works. Maybe that’s why the silence between them now sits so wrong.
She leaves her mug on the counter. Reaches for the old coffee/weed tin above the sink (that hadn't seen coffee in ages). It is blackened and still smells like smoke – one of the few things they could dig out from the Chateau’s wreckage. Rolling is automatic by now, even though the joints never turn out as tight and even as his. Once done, she drops next to him on the couch, thigh pressed to his on purpose. Pope would surely call it the wrong kind of coping, another way to dodge the real issue, but if Kiara Carrera has learned anything in life, it was that weed never ever made things worse. So fuck you, psychology. And shut up, little Pope voice in her head.
JJ takes the joint with a small smile, closes his eyes as he draws in deep, still messing with the lighter in his other hand – click-flick. She watches the way smoke curls out of his lips and wants to ask. Badly. Push and prod until he spills, or grab him and kiss his face until whatever is chewing at him goes away. The words are right there, pressing at the tip of her tongue, trying to push themselves out.
“JJ… what happened?” Thirteen-year-old Kie stared at his pinched face. The side of his cheek was swollen, red shading where the bruise would bloom later, and he limped as he came closer to the firepit. His lip was bleeding and he licked at it before meeting her eyes with a smirk.
“The pavement.”
“What?”
“Pavement,” he repeated, like she was slow. “You know, the thing they put on sidewalks? Bam – faceplanted when some damn rock made me fly off my bike.” He grinned wider, teeth smeared red. The pit in her stomach only dug deeper. “John B here?”
“Shit, dude, you’re bleeding!” She scrambled up, reaching out before she’d even decided what for. Wipe the blood off? Give him a hug? JJ flinched, pulling back before she even got close. He shot her a look, eyes mean in a way she hadn’t seen before. “Yeah, thanks for telling me. Very useful, Kiara.”
She stopped, hand hanging stupidly in the air. Breathed in. Her eyes were stinging. It wasn't fair, looking at her like she was the one who shoved him off his bike. But he was hurt and she wasn’t gonna drop it.
“Let me see. We gotta clean that.” Her hand reached out again, only to get pushed away not too gently.
“We don’t gotta do shit. Let me be. Jesus.”
She wanted to yell but she looked at his face again and the words just stuck. There was that kitten she’d tried to pull out from under the porch last year, wild and mean, hissing and spitting when anyone got close. She still had a scar on her wrist from it, a thin white line. JJ wasn’t much different right now.
“You don’t have to be an ass, you know. I wanna help.” Her voice came gentle, same as when she finally got that little thing to come out.
“Sorry to burst your bubble, princess. I am an ass. Get used to it.” He hissed that, really did, teeth bared. Then he turned and limped off through the yard. She watched him pedal down the road like he’d forgotten John B was the reason he showed up in the first place.
He was gone for a week after.
It takes everything in her to bite down and says nothing. They smoke in silence, broken by the tap-tap of JJs heel against the floor. Kie leans closer until their shoulders touch. When her head tips onto his, he keeps staring straight ahead as if he hasn’t noticed. Her side presses in tighter against him, fingers digging into his hair. Stupid brain, dragging her back to that cat she’d cried over for weeks. She’d teared up when JJ had snapped at her too, back then, but she’d been stubborn enough to not let it show once John B turned up.
Then it hits her—the bruise, the limp. It has to have been his dad. Her stomach knots. How many times has he covered it up with a grin, with some smartass line, or that temper that makes everyone back off? Ever since he broke down in her arms at the Cat’s Ass a year ago, she’s wanted to ask. How long. How bad. Why JJ never felt safe telling them. Telling her. She wants to say it wasn’t his fault. Every mean thing Luke spat was nothing but bullshit. Say it again and again, as many times it takes for him to believe it. Her skin feels hot and suddenly all she wants is to track the bastard down and set him on fire. Some gasoline and a match. Or that lighter JJ always flicks, the one Luke gave him. She itches to throw it away sometimes, but doesn’t dare.
JJ’s gaze is on her now, studying her face warily. His radar for anger never fails, and it’s definitely pinging. Cause yeah, she is angry. He drapes an arm around her shoulders and flashes her a grin that looks good enough to fool most people.
“So… where are the others?” Smoke curls from his nose, wrapping around his head.
“Pope’s with Cleo and Heyward, talking to the lawyers.”
“Cool. Can’t wait to build that koi pond.”
She presses her nose to his shirt, breathing in salt and sweat. “JB and Sarah are on a date.”
“That fuckin’ sap.” He huffs and takes another drag instead of passing it.
“Wouldn’t kill you to take a lesson from his book, you know.” She teases, then instantly regrets it when she hears the sharp breath he pulls in. “I’m messing with you. Chill.” She tilts her head back, smiling at him for real, though to be honest, she wishes he did, sometimes.
JJs shoulders ease and he leans his head into her hand, still tangled in his hair. Her mind eases a little – maybe it was nothing after all. Then he stands abruptly and heads for the fridge. Not a beer. Whiskey from the back. Sarah tried arguing more than once that whiskey didn’t belong in the fridge with JJ declaring it Kook bulshit. She’d eventually said you can’t teach an ape manners and let it drop.
He takes a big gulp directly from the bottle and she has to bite her tongue to not quip about it.
“You want some?”
“Why not. Not like it’s two p.m. or anything.” She smiles, getting up for glasses. “Not holding your hair when you end up puking, just so we’re clear.”
“Plenty better things for you to hold than my hair.” That grin. Throwing something at him comes to mind, but it would break a glass or dent the table. The glasses look expensive anyway. And the gold money still hasn't come through. They are leaning on Sarah’s credit card, some odd jobs they take here and there, and whatever JJ scrapes together fixing boats around the island. Food comes mostly from the Heywards, which isn't so bad. Her own parents offered cash too, but she isn't ready for that. Not ready to face them, let alone take their money.
They drink, side pressed to side. JJ’s still grinning about Old Man Fisher chasing someone down the alley after finding fish guts in his mailbox again – she's sure it was the Bennett twins, but he insists it must be that weird kid from the tackle shop. Lucy Jones from their Math class tried siphoning gas from a cop car and had to call her grandma to bail her out. Then there’s the lighthouse, fresh spray painted across the side—FUCK YOU, LARRY in sloppy block letters. JJ only shrugs, mutters that his uncle probably deserved it, and tips back another swallow of whiskey. His laugh is easier, but his hand is pouring yet another glass while she’s barely touched hers. Fourth one, and that old twist in her stomach is back. Cause this is familiar, not in a good way, and suddenly she feels so damn lost as to how to figure it all out. Him. Them. Life.
“Kie uhm… You plan on talking to your parents again?”
Her mouth drops open and she stares at him. A thousand thoughts run through her head at once. Why would he even ask that, does he mean it. But JJ looks her straight in the eye, and he's not joking.
“What?“
“Parents, remember? Tall guy, kind of an ass, think name was Mike or something. And his wife–“ He doesn't get to finish before she clamps her hand on his mouth. Which makes him try to bite her finger. They end up wrestling a little, JJ somehow managing to slide his hand below her shirt in the process. She pulls it out without really wanting to, and shoots him a glare.
“I know who my parents are. Jesus. Just surprised by the question. “
“Yeah, dumb one. Forget it.“-- he huffs while his hand pulls at the hem of her shirt. She swats it away with a grin.
“No no, it's okay. “ Another slap on his wrist cause he just wont give up. “I… I don't know. Maybe. But like… Not right now. Why—” She doesn't get to finish. His mouth is already there, crashing into hers before she can get another word out. The glass tips, whiskey streaking over her hand, dripping down her wrist. She jerks but he doesn’t budge, teeth knocking hers in a way that almost hurts. Tastes like smoke and cheap liquor, the kind of kiss that doesn't wait.
Yeah, she has to push him back. Yell at him for cutting her off. For acting like a chauvinistic pig somehow entitled to her body, but her fingers have already slid into his hair, pulling him in. His mouth tastes like whiskey and she laughs into it when he bites at her lip. A futile attempt to push herself up and an elbow slip later, she’s flat in the cushions with him spilling over her, warm and heavy, all elbows and knees.
A hand moves under her shirt. The skin on his fingers is callous, scratchy against her belly, and she jerks, making him pause like he’s about to pull back. As if. She hoops a leg around his waist and yanks him down again, breath coming in pieces. The last sane part of her whispers he is being an ass, what if the others come, but he’s already on her, mouth pressed to her neck, breathing her in like he can’t get close enough. Her fingers only curl tighter, holding him there.
Later she’s lying across his chest, still catching her breath. The room looks wrecked – clothes tossed, ashtray tipped, carpet soaked with whiskey with cigarette butts embedded in the wet patch. No idea if the bottle spilled when she kicked the table or before. Doesn’t matter now, not with his heartbeat under her ear and him handing her a joint with that crooked grin.
“Whatever happened to the shy kid who asked if I was okay every five seconds?” she mutters, taking it. Not that she misses that version of him much. Took months before he quit treating her like glass, like she might snap if he touched her wrong.
“Guess you beat it out of me.” his voice goes in a dead-on mimic of hers, scowl and all. “‘Swear to God, JJ, if you don’t quit asking how I am and actually fuck me, I’ll die.’”
“I never said that.”
“You did.”
“Whatever, dude.” She rolls her eyes and nips at his nipple just because, making him yelp and then crack up.
“That’s it. No more weed for you.”
Her hand snatches at the joint, but he’s quicker, arm shooting up. Another grab for it, anf he's holding it higher, like he knows she’ll climb him if she has to.
“Give it,” she warns, stretching across him.
“Uh-uh,” he is still keeping it out of reach. “Mine.”
“Come on.“
His head tips back, shit eating grin even wider. “You want it? Work for it.”
No way Kie’s giving it up, so she props herself on his chest and reaches higher, managing to pin his wrist for a second, victory close enough she can taste it.
Then the door opens.
Shit.
Sarah’s standing frozen halfway inside and her eyes are huge. Kie’s whole body goes rigid and she dives for her t-shirt so fast she knees JJ in the ribs. Grabs at her shorts with one hand, the other pressing the shirt across her chest. Can’t even look at Sarah.
To make things even better, John B leans past her shoulder and takes it all in with a grin he doesn’t bother to hide. The asshole is looking way too pleased.
“Get out!”
“Too late,” JJ mutters, flicking ash into the already ruined carpet, grin wide like he planned this whole ambush. “What up, guys?”
Kie whirls on him. “Are you kidding me right now?”
That's when he finally moves, reaching for his boxers. No hurry, one hand half-covering himself, smirk tugging at his mouth when he sees John B watching. Sarah slaps her hand over her eyes, “Oh my god. I did not need to see that.”
“Goddamn,” John B cracks up, bracing himself on the doorframe. “Y'all are adorable.”
“Shut up, John B!” Kie yanks her shirt halfway over her head and nearly strangles herself in the process.
Before he can answer, Pope steps in behind him like the timing couldn’t get worse, and the look on his face is so horrified Kie wants to sink through the floor.
“What the fuck!” he lets out a pained groan "We all sit here!”
The zipper of her shorts is stuck and she can feel Pope still gawking.
“We gotta burn it. Burn the whole couch,” he adds, backing toward the door.
Finally, JJ has his boxers on, still completely unbothered. “Relax, man. I’ll flip the cushions.”
That makes JB laugh harder and say something about Pope and the Twinkie, leading to another horrified groan. Kie throws the nearest pillow at JJs general direction and finally retreats to their room to suffer in silence. Behind her, John B is still laughing, Pope is gagging like he might throw up, and Sarah is muttering about bleach and therapy.
Takes two hours, and each of them coming to knock on the door at least once for her to dare coming out. The round of applause that followed, and John B chanting “Shame, Shame, Shame.” almost makes her turn around, but JJ yells at them to shut up so they do. For the time being at least.
They’ve dragged leftovers to the table. Pope has raided Heyward’s kitchen earlier and the smell of fried shrimp and garlic rice is enough to keep them quiet for a solid five minutes. Even John B stops talking shit long enough to shovel half his plate.
Later there’s grease spots on the table from the shrimp, and John B's balancing a fry on top of his fork, trying to get her to laugh. Sarah’s on her phone between bites, pretending she’s not, but still rolls her eyes at Pope’s latest rant about ketchup on rice while JJ drowns his food in the stuff. He’s also talking, but doesn't seem really into it, foot still going under the table. Tap. Tap. He jokes, yeah, but the grin doesn’t hold. John B seems to have noticed too as he keeps glancing over. Not subtle about it, either. Every time JJ laughs, he's watching his face instead of whoever said the joke. Pope tries to pick a fight about the last fry, but JJ gives it up with barely a protest and pushes his plate away before anyone else is done.
Shrimp shells and paper towels are still scattered on the table when Cleo comes in, talking before she’s even inside.“Hey, somebody left the hose running out front. You trying to flood the block, or you cleaning for once?”
“Ask John B. He’s the one who said he’ll fix it.”
Cleo tosses the work hoodie for Hayward's shop aside and rolls her eyes. “You people are useless,” she gives the room a once-over, and zeroes in on JJ.
“Met your old man today. Came by Heyward’s this afternoon… Hell of a character.”
“Wait—what?” Kie’s whole body goes tight. She looks at JJ first, whose eyes are fixed on the table way too intently.
Cleo glances at her and frowns. “Didn’t Heyward tell you? The guy’s been on the island for like a week. Did a year on the mainland. Cops shipped him off...” She's still talking, but everything’s fallen out of focus except JJ. Fork frozen midair, lips pressed tight.
“He… Shit, Jayj.” She manages, slinging an arm around his shoulders ”Did you see him? Are you okay?”
A shrug, and he won’t look at her. “I’m fine,” His knee bounces harder under the table, rattling his plate. “Doesn’t matter.”
She fights the urge to shake him. “Bulshit. Of course it matters! You should’ve told me… Any of us—”
Suddenly she is too aware that nobody else is looking at her. Pope is focused on the grease spot on his plate. Sarah picks at a napkin and won’t meet her eyes. John B is leaning back in his chair, looking like he might say something, then doesn’t.
Her stomach drops. They all knew, every single one.
“It's… Whatever, Kie.”
The thing that hurts most is he won’t even look up.
Her mouth moves before she can stop it. “Can’t believe you guys.” She laughs and it is shaky. “No secrets amongst Pogues, right? Ain't that what we always say?”
Nobody answers. Nobody meets her eyes. Pope’s still tracing circles in the grease. Sarah presses her mouth shut so hard it’s white. Kie's eyes are watering and her voice is way too loud as she turns to JJ.
“And you—Fuck! You always do this. I'm tired of it, Jayj! Just talk to me!”
JJ flinches when she raises her voice. He's already pushing back his chair, eyes darting to the door. It pisses her off how well she knows that look. Cause he’s about to bail. Again. Before he can, she plants herself in his way. Raises her hand without thinking, ready to grab if she has to.
“No. You don’t get to walk away.”
He shifts to the side and she matches him.
“Move, Kie. Please.”
“Not before you say something.” Her chin lifts and she stares him down. “I'm right here, JJ!. “
JJs breathing picks up until he's practically panting. She can see his jaw working, chewing on the inside of his cheek. The room’s dead quiet behind them.
Then it rips out. “The fuck you want from me, huh?” He shoves forward, nose almost bumping hers. There’s that pale nick across his cheek, right in her face now, and she can’t look anywhere else. His eyes are bright and glassy. “Some goddamn… sob story? That what you're after?”
Pope mutters, “Dude…” but JJ’s not hearing it. His shaky hands land on her shoulders.
“Whine about how fucked up I am? That it?” His teeth flash in what should've been a grin but looks like it hurts. “Then what? We hug, cry it out, and poof – all fixed.”
A chair scrapes the floor then John B is there, reaching for him. JJ lets go of her shoulders. His face is twisted up. He backs off, stumbles, trips over the table leg. A fork skitters off his plate and clatters on the floor.
Kie doesn’t look up when the door bangs shut. The blur in her eyes makes the room swim. The others shift, but nobody speaks.
“That went well,” Pope sighs finally, and instantly looks like he regrets it.
“Shut up, Pope!” Kie bats JBs hand away and storms outside. The dirt is warm beneath her bare feet.
Scruffy. That’s what she’d called the kitten. Ear pressed to the door, she'd heard every word the vet said and wished she hadn't – internal bleeding, too much damage, someone must’ve kicked him. There was nothing they could do – Scruffy hadn't made it.
She wipes at her face and heads for the dock. Sarah’s worried voice follows her through the yard, but she doesn’t stop.