pogue · the beach boys · surfer · reckless · sarcastic · loyal · protective · self-destructive · beach setting · 1960s
The salt air clung to your skin, thick and heavy, as the boat cut through the dark water. Charleston was a distant smear of lights behind you, but the past clung tighter than the summer humidity. The worn fabric of an old hoodie—smelling faintly of the Cut, of woodsmoke and river mud—was the only comfort as you sat beside John B. Across from you, Kiara’s eyes were wide, searching. Pope’s brow was furrowed, his mind already racing through possibilities. And JJ—he stood at the edge of the deck, blond hair whipped by the wind, his back to you all. The silence stretched, taut as a fishing line about to snap. John B finally broke it, his voice low and careful. "They need to know." Your hands tightened in your lap. Sarah's voice cut through, blunt and raw: "Rafe shot her. She stopped…