Chapter Text
JJ and Kiara never do go back to Kildare—at least not in the way they expected to. Because the truth is, home stopped being a place a long time ago. It wasn’t the house on the Cut or the beaches where they grew up. It wasn’t the school where they met or the streets they ran or the waters they swam and learned to surf in.
Home had always been something else. Someone else.
And here, in the Yucatán, just the two of them they finally found it. For real.
It started with them running, scraping together pesos, making a plan that shouldn’t have worked as well as it did, living off fish and favors and the sheer stubborn will power to make it work. JJ working the docks, Kiara teaching English where she could. They were barely getting by, but they were free.
And somehow, piece by piece, it became more.
The surf school taking off better than they ever imagined, buying a little two-bedroom house right by the beach, the way the locals folded them into their world like they’d been meant to be there all along.
And then, one hot spring afternoon, family found its way back together.
JJ doesn’t even hear the car at first.
He’s too busy cursing at the broken latch on their gate, the heat of the afternoon making his shirt stick to his back. But then, the crunch of tires on sand rings through the air, slow like whoever’s driving doesn’t quite know where they’re going.
He glances up, wiping sweat from his forehead, and freezes.
It’s not the dust covered rental car rolling up to stop their driveway that throws him, it's who’s inside.
JJ blinks. Once. Twice.
The car door swings open, and John B steps out. And then JJ’s heart slams into his ribs.
“Holy shit,” he breathes, barely loud enough for even himself to hear.
The rest happens fast—Sarah climbing out next, a squirming little girl being pulled from a car seat. Then Pope and Cleo spill out of the back, looking just the same as he remembered.
Kiara comes out on the porch then, pulling back her hair, oblivious. “J, do we still have—” She stops when she catches sight of him, confused at first at his expression.
Then she follows his eyes.
The second she sees them—John B, Sarah, Pope, and Cleo standing next to the car, a toddler in Sarah’s arms, grinning as she calls out, “Surprise, bitch!”
That’s all it takes.
Kiara doesn’t even think—she just bolts.
JJ barely registers her flying past him before she’s launching herself off the porch at whoever was closest…Pope, nearly knocking him over. “No fucking way!” she shrieks, arms around his neck, squeezing him so tight he lets out a strangled laugh.
“Damn, Kie,” Pope wheezes. “Give a guy a warning.”
But she’s already moving, already grabbing Cleo next, both of them laughing and crying as they cling to each other.
Sarah is grinning, shifting the little girl down from her hip as she rushed to pull Kiara in close. “We were gonna warn you,” she teases. “But this is way more fun.”
JJ still hasn’t moved. He can’t. He just stands there, frozen, his hands hanging uselessly at his sides, jaw practically on the floor.
But then—
“Uncle JJ!”
The tiny voice hits him like a sucker punch, and suddenly there’s a three-year-old charging toward him on tiny legs. JJ barely has time to react before she’s slamming into him, wrapping her little arms around his knee like she’s always had a place there.
He stares down at her, his throat closing up. She looks so much like John B when they were kids it’s insane—the same wild curls are just longer and tied back with a ribbon, but she has the same sun kissed skinand the same exact hazel eyes.
JJ drops to her eye level before he can stop himself, hands shaking as he grips her little shoulders. “Hi,” he murmurs. “You—what the hell—sorry—but you’re huge, kid. You’re so grown up and you’re here!”
Valerie giggles, hands pressing against JJ’s face. “Daddy says you live real far, but we came to visit anyway.”
JJ swallows hard, brushing a hand over her curls. “Yeah, I do, kid. But I—” His voice cracks, and he stops, eyes flicking up to John B, who’s standing a few feet away, watching him with a huge grin.
John B laughs. “Long time no see, bro”
And JJ barely has time to stand before John B is there, yanking him up into a hug so tight it knocks the air from his lungs. But JJ doesn’t even care. He grips John B’s shirt in both fists, squeezing his eyes shut, because damn it he missed this.
When they finally—finally—pull apart, JJ claps a hand on John B’a shoulder, grinning. “Still ugly as ever, Bree.”
John B doesn't miss a beat. “And you still smell like fish, Bub.”
That’s when Pope and Cleo finally step forward, both of them grinning, waiting for JJ to say something more.
But he can’t.
His throat is too tight, and his mind is racing a mile a minute and before he knows it, Pope is in front of him, grabbing him and pulling him into another hug.
JJ breathes out shakily, gripping Pope’s back, and in that moment, it’s like no time has passed at all.
Then Cleo nudges him, smirking. “You look good, rude boy.”
JJ laughs—actually laughs—before pulling her in too, his heart pounding, his chest so full he thinks it might explode.
When they break apart, he looks around at them, all of them, taking in all their faces, the reality of it hitting him all over again.
They came for him. They came for Kie. Came for them.
“You guys are insane,” he mutters, shaking his head. “Like, actually insane.”
Sarah grins, stepping forward to rest a hand on his arm. “Took you long enough to figure that out.”
JJ snorts, shaking his head before glancing over at Kiara, who’s standing there watching all of it, eyes glassy, cheeks wet.
JJ walks over, grabbing her hand, and she squeezes it tight, like she knows. Like she understands exactly what this means to him.
Because it means just as much to her.
John B rocks back on his heels taking in the home… the snapper out by the dock they built by hand, the bright blue door hand painted by Kie, the old red pick up in the garage, surfboards lined along the shed, avocado trees in the yard and a garden filled with cilantro and peppers and sweet potatoes on the side.
Their place was so totally lived in…so totally them.
“So, uh… looks like you’re staying for a while,” he finally says with realization.
JJ looks at all of them, standing in his front yard, in his life.
“Yeah, man,” he says, voice thick. “Yeah, we are.”
…
The next two weeks pass in a blur—late nights under the stars, long days in the sun, laughter echoing through the little house like it never left.
All of them crammed into Kie and JJ’s little home. It feels like old times. Like they’d been apart for minutes instead of years.
JJ and Kiara fall back into it so easily it hurts—John B and Pope arguing over how to gut a fish, Sarah and Cleo lounging in the sun and cooking in their kitchen, Kiara chasing Valerie down the beach and JJ teaching her how to ride her first wave.
Sarah watches from the shore, arms crossed, a small smile on her face.
Kiara plops down beside her in the sand, breathless, watching John B and JJ and Valerie bobbing in the waves. “What?” she asks, catching Sarah’s look.
Sarah shrugs. “John B wouldn’t do it.”
Kiara frowns. “Do what?”
Sarah nods toward the water. “Teach her to surf. He wanted to, so bad, ever since she took her first steps he wanted to get her on a board but…” she trails off, glancing at Kiara, “he said he couldn’t do it without JJ.”
Kiara’s chest tightens. She looks back at them—JJ laughing, Valerie clinging to his back, squealing as he paddles them out farther, John B laughing so hard right alongside them.
“Yeah,” Kiara murmurs, smiling softly. “That sounds like John B.”
…
But eventually, it has to end.
The pogues pack up, stuffing bags into the rental car, delaying the inevitable.
Valerie clings to JJ’s leg, sniffling as he scoops her up. “You gonna be good for your mom and dad, yeah?” he murmurs, brushing her hair from her face.
She nods, burying her face in his neck. “I don’t want to go.”
JJ swallows the lump in his throat. “I know, kid. But hey, I’ll see you soon. FaceTime once you get home before bedtime and I’ll read you a story?”
“La Wstella de Leo?” She asks.
“Of course” he tells her, knowing it’s quickly become her favorite.
She nods against him then, and he presses a kiss to her hair before passing her to Sarah.
One by one, they say their goodbyes—Cleo hugs Kiara for so long it turns into swaying, Pope claps JJ on the back hard enough to make him stumble, Sarah makes them promise to call more.
John B is the last one.
JJ watches him, waiting for some smart-ass comment, but John B just breathes, looking him in the eye. “You’re good here, man,” he says finally. “You both are.”
JJ nods. “We are.”
John B hesitates, then lowers his voice. “Hey, so, Shoupe’s been working on something.”
JJ stiffens.
John B leans in. “Just answer if he calls, alright?”
JJ swallows. “Yeah…sure. Okay, dude.”
John B nods, then pulls him into a hug.
And just like that, they’re gone—piling into the rental, kicking up dust as they disappear down the road.
JJ stands there for a long time, staring after them until Kiara steps beside him, sliding her hand into his.
“Think we’ll ever get the chance to go back?” she murmurs.
JJ squeezes her fingers, watching the horizon. “Someday.”
…
Then one day, Shoupe calls and JJ almost doesn’t answer. Old habits die hard after all, and answering a cop’s call has never meant anything good in his book. But something in him says pick up , maybe John B’s voice in the back of his mind, so he does.
Shoupe’s voice is the same—tired, a little annoyed—but there’s something else there. Something JJ didn’t expect.
Regret.
“I should’ve done better by you, JJ,” Shoupe says after a long pause. “I know that.”
JJ exhales sharply, staring out at the ocean. “Yeah,” he mutters. “That would’ve been nice.”
And maybe it’s not an apology, not exactly.
But it’s something.
And Shoupe does do better. He clears JJ’s name. Tells him Groff is in prison. Luke hasn’t been on the island in years. He makes things right by JJ. Gives him a choice he never thought he’d have again.
To go home.
But by then, the truth had been clear for a long time—Kildare wasn’t home anymore.
So no, they don’t move back. They don’t pick up where they left off. But they do go back when it matters.
Christmases at the re-built Chateau, the house full of presents and laughter and the smell of Sarah’s questionable baking. Pope’s college graduation, JJ sitting in the back, shouting so loud Cleo elbows him in the ribs. Valerie’s fourth birthday, her tiny arms wrapping around his neck, calling him Uncle JJ like it’s the most amazing and natural thing in the world he’s ever been called.
They watch John B and Sarah’s daughter grow—a wild little thing with salt in her hair and adventure in her heart, just like her parents, just like the aunts and uncles who adore her.
And when her little brother is born—John Booker Routledge III, Baby Booker—they’re there, too.
Because they’ll always come back. Not because of the place. But because of the people.
And when the time finally came—when they had real passports, real visas, and nothing left to run from—they stood barefoot in the sand, the waves crashing behind them, and got married for real.
Not because they had to. But because they wanted to. And because their friends and family wouldn’t shut up about it.
And that alone deserved a party.
Kiara had made peace with her parents—enough that her dad walked her down the aisle.. John B and Pope and Diego stood beside JJ as groomsmen, trying (and failing) to keep him from tearing up. Sarah and Cleo and Camila were bridesmaids, and Valerie joined about a dozen surf school kids scattering petals and carrying rings. The Heywards showed up, Shoupe somehow scored an invite, and every friend they’d made in Mexico came ready to celebrate.
And man, did they celebrate.
A Mariachi band played all night, there were more tacos and margaritas than anyone could count, and JJ and Kiara danced until the sun came up—wild, in love, and exactly where they were always meant to be.
…
And that wasn’t the last trip the Kildare crew took to Yucatán.
John B and Sarah flew in for JJ’s twenty-first—the youngest pogues final rite of passage—knocking back tequila and staying out until dawn.
Kiara’s parents ended up staying two months straight when Larissa Maybank was born one quiet morning at home, almost exactly nine months after that wild night.
Larissa and Pope and Cleo’s son Terrance got to grow up side by side, their first best friend found in each other, as Pope and Cleo spent two years in nearby Mérida while Pope completed a medical internship at Hospital Faro del Mayab-Christus Muguerza a month after their son was born.
And every spring break, no matter how much life had flipped upside down or how many kids they’d added to their crew, the original pogues always made their way down to Mexico.
For two weeks straight, they carved up the waves of the Gulf, plucked avocados straight from the backyard tree, and somehow, despite the miles between them, kept their bonds as strong as ever. No matter what life threw at them, they kept coming back. Because that’s what pogues did—stick together, no matter how far apart life tried to pull them.
And JJ and Kiara?
They weren’t lost anymore. They were exactly where they were meant to be. Because, in the end, leaving everything behind and running might have been the best thing that ever happened to them.