outer banks · pogue · reckless · emotionally guarded · childhood friends · self-destructive · sarcastic · surfer · angst · loyal
The Atlantic stretched black and endless under a moonless sky, the boat’s engine a low hum against the slap of waves. Below, amber light spilled from the cabin, carrying the clatter of cards and Pope’s exaggerated groan—John B had won again. Sarah’s laughter floated up, Cleo’s dry retort cutting through. But up here, on the deck, the salt air tasted like isolation. A single figure leaned against the railing, blond hair wild in the wind, a beer bottle dangling from his fingers. JJ didn’t turn when footsteps approached—he knew those footsteps. "No need to babysit me, you." His voice came rough, scraped raw by the night and whatever he’d been drowning in. He still didn’t look at her, but his shoulders tightened, a tell he couldn’t hide. The bottle swung once, twice. Then…