Chapter Text
He’d lost it. Completely fucking lost it.
He could acknowledge that sitting there now. Breath coming in hard and fast, air thick with smoke and sweat, the sound of sirens and shouting from outside nothing but a dull roar in his ears. HIs knuckles ached, raw and split, from throwing punches he barely remembered. His vision blurred between red and black, rage still burning so fucking bright under his skin even as reality crashed down on him.
He wasn’t stupid.
He was just so goddamn tired of getting screwed over again and again, of kneeling at the feet of people who had done nothing but take from him his entire life. Take and take and take—until there was nothing left but the wreckage of whatever scraps he’d tried so desperately to hold on to.
The pogues had built something. He had finally really built something. For her. For them. And now it was gone.
Luke had made sure of that hadn’t he?
The town council meeting had been the final nail in the coffin.
They'd fought for their land, fought to keep Poguelandia—their home. And Luke-fucking-Maybank had stood right there, on the side of the very people who had been pushing them down since the day they were born. He’d have the nerve to hang his head as the decision came down, knowing full well what it meant.
Knowing what he’d done to his ‘son’.
JJ had nothing now. She had nothing.
No home. No business. No place left to go.
And JJ had snapped. Completely unhinged. Snapped.
The details were hazy now—there had been shouting, fists flying, a chair thrown, glass shattering. He hadn’t felt the pain when they’d dragged him away, when the fight spilled into the streets. By the time the riot peaked, he was running on nothing but fury and desperation, barely registering the consequences as the night bled into animalistic rage.
He’s lit the town ablaze—literally—using his lighter, the one she’d given him—to start a fire that just kept spreading, smashing windows, stealing rings.
Downtown was destroyed.
And now, he was here. Alone. Cowering in some town building, the entire police force outside, probably aiming their guns at his head by now.
That part didn’t bother him. Not one bit.
But her voice did.
“JJ—please. I can’t lose you. Please just listen to me.”
Kiara. Kie.
His heart physically ached at the sound of her. It cut through the fog, and through the anger and the exhaustion, slicing straight through the panic tightening his chest.
He loved her. God, he loved her more than anything else in his life.
And the fact that she had already left so much behind for him—he didn’t take that fact lightly.
Because she’s given up so much.
Her home, her mom and her dad, the easy life she could’ve had—because she chose him.
Because she believed in him.
In what they could be.
And he had promised her that he would make it worth it. That she would never regret it. He promised her the night they moved into Poguelandia when he handed her a gold locket Sarah had helped him pick out, a handwritten note inside..."I'll do it all for you."
And he tried. Good Lord did he try.
He spent more than he should’ve, spent almost every cent they had to give her a home. A real one. He built a dock so they could lie under the stars, just like she always talked about. He built her a garden, spent hours planting every damn tomato plant she wanted. He painted their room sky blue because she loved the color, let her get the stupid yellow bedspread with sunflowers it made her happy.
He gave her everything he could.
And now it’s all gone.
The twinkle lights he’d hung over their bed. T he wall of Polaroids she’d strung up in the hallway. The mismatched plates and bowls and mugs she picked out at a thrift store each one matching ‘their collective vibes’ she insisted on—that sat in the kitchen cabinets. The nightstand by their bed with a stack of his surf magazines underneath her Bob Marley records.
It’s all gone.
His fists clenched, nails digging into his palms.
No.
He wasn’t going to let them take it without a fight.
He’d go out swinging if he had to. Out in a blaze of glory. He'd go down with the ship or whatever…it didn’t sound half bad actually.
But then—her voice.
Breaking. Pleading.
She was the one thing that really mattered.
JJ squeezed his eyes shut, pressing the back of his head against the wall.
He could still taste the blood in his mouth, feel the ache in his ribs from the blows he barely remembered taking. But nothing hurt more than knowing he had put her in this position. That he had made her afraid.
For him.
And maybe that was what finally made his hands shake.
Because she had given up everything for him. And if he didn’t walk out of here—if he let himself burn out in this mess he made—what would she have left?
A choked breath tore from his throat. He felt the anger drain out of him, leaving only exhaustion in its place.
You have something to live for, man.
Kiara—fucking—Carrera.
He swallowed hard, dragging his hands through his hair before slowly pushing himself to his feet. His body ached, but the weight of what he had done was heavier.
He frantically looked around for a way out of this mess.
A way back to Kiara. Because she was the only thing that mattered now.
…
This was bad. So fucking bad.
Kiara could barely hear anything over the ringing in her ears, the mess of this night pressing in from every direction. The cops were shouting, their guns drawn, the sirens screaming into the salt air. She could hear John B and Pope arguing with an officer, Sarah’s frantic voice trying to cut through, Cleo cursing under her breath.
But all Kiara could focus on was him .
Through the shattered window, she saw him—JJ--cowering like a caged animal, his hands in his hair, his chest rising and falling way too fast.
She knew that look. That look.
He was crashing out.
And when JJ crashed, he didn’t go down easy.
When he crashed. He crashed hard.
Her chest ached because she knew what he was thinking. Knew that after losing his identity and his home in less than 24 hours he felt like he had nothing left, that he had already lost. And now she knew that he knew he had fucked up too bad this time.
And if he didn’t walk out of that building right now, he never would.
Shoupe yelled something in a megaphone, and she turned her head for just a second and when she looked back, he disappeared from view. She paniced for only half and minute until there was a spark.
More than a spark really.
It was loud, near the kitchen, a flicker in the darkness. Then it jumped, spreading fast into flames, swallowing up the walls like it had been waiting for the moment to devour JJ whole.
The cops didn’t notice yet too focused on the man hunt, but Kiara did. And she couldn’t—. She wouldn’t—.
“JJ!”
Her scream tore from her throat, raw and desperate. Because she couldn’t see him anymore. Didn’t know where he was. She didn't know if he was safe or even alive.
Her vision came in brief flashes, panic building in her chest. The police noticed the flames. Shoupe running into the building.
Then John B was yelling something…no not yelling. Whispering…loud enough for only her to hear.
“He’s in the back. He’s gotta be…the back window.”
That was all she needed.
Kiara ran.
She shoved past everything in her way—didn’t hear Sarah shouting after her, didn’t feel Cleo's hand try to grab her arm. She ran, her feet barely touching the pavement, her heart slamming so hard it might’ve cracked her ribs.
Kiara reached the back of the house just in time to see JJ shove the window open and jump. He hit the ground hard. Too hard.
His leg twisted underneath him, and the sharp, choked groan he let out sent pure panic clawing up her throat.
“Shit,” she gasped, still moving before she could think.
JJ was struggling to push himself up, but the pain had him frozen in place, his jaw clenched so tight it could crack. Smoke billowed behind him, thick and dark, swallowing the house in its grip. He was coughing, wheezing out breaths…
But they didn’t have time.
She ducked under his arm, throwing it over her shoulder, bearing his weight as best as she could. “Come on, we have to move,” she hissed, her heart hammering as she scanned the side of the house for movement. The cops hadn’t noticed yet, but they would. Any second now.
JJ let her pull him up, but he was shaking. His chest was heaving, his face crumpling as he dragged in a breath—
And that’s when Kiara realized.
He was crying.
JJ Maybank, her reckless, invincible, pain-in-the-ass boy, really was falling apart.
Completely.
“I’m sorry,” he choked out, his grip on her tightening. “Kie, I—I fucked it all up, I—”
“We don’t have time for this,” she snapped, her voice sharper than she meant it, but fuck, they had to go.
She grabbed his face, pressed a quick, fierce kiss to his lips, trying to ground him. “Get it together, dude,” she whispered. “We have to run.”
JJ sucked in a shuddering breath, nodding weakly. He wiped at his face like it would help, then let her pull him forward.
They moved as fast as they could—limping, stumbling, holding onto each other as they put as much distance between them and the cops as possible. The whole island felt like it was burning, but Kiara didn’t care.
They were going home.
Because in her mind, it was still their home.
Even if it had been ripped away, even if the wreckage was all they had left—she wasn’t letting it go.
Not yet at least.
By the time they reached the shop, their bodies sore, lungs raw from smoke and exhaustion. They collapsed behind the counter, hidden from view, JJ’s head dropping against her shoulder as his breaths slowed.
Kiara tightened her grip on him, pressing her lips against his hair.
“You’re okay,” she murmured. “We’re okay.”
JJ let out a shaky laugh, half a sob. “For now.”
She swallowed hard, fingers threading through his, squeezing tight.
“For always.”
...
It feels like forever as they wait...wait for what she's not sure.
Kiara keeps her fingers curled around JJ’s, her free hand resting on his chest, feeling the slow, uneven rise and fall of his breath. He hasn’t said much since they collapsed on the floor of the shop, and that’s what scares her the most.
JJ Maybank is never quiet. Not really.
Sure, he’s not one to say what he’s feeling—never the deep, heavy shit—usually tries to hide it but he’s still got his own way of showing it that she can pick up on.
He yells when he’s pissed, laughs too loud when he’s happy, picks fights when he’s scared. He rambles when his thoughts get too fast, makes reckless decisions when he feels trapped.
He doesn’t say I’m struggling, but Kiara knows how to read between the lines.
She’s spent over a decade learning his tells.
The way his fingers twitch when he’s holding something in. The way his jaw clenches when he’s trying not to cry. The way he wipes his hand over his face when he’s frustrated, like he can scrub the feelings away. And when the panic really hits, when it all gets too much, he presses a hand to his chest, fingers spread over his heart—like he needs proof that it’s still beating, a reminder of something real.
Over the past year and a half, Kiara’s started reaching for him when it happens too, grabbing his hand and pressing it to her own chest instead.
Feel this, she’s told him time and time again. I’m here. You’re here. We’re real.
And it works—at least, most of the time.
But right now, as they sit behind the counter, JJ is still and silent. He hasn’t yelled, hasn’t laughed, hasn’t even twitched. His hand isn’t on his chest, and he doesn't make a sound as she takes his palm in her hand and presses it hard against her rapidly beating heart...and that’s what scares her most.
Because JJ Maybank is never quiet. Because when he is, it’s him sinking, folding in on himself, shutting down in a way that terrifies her more than any explosion of anger or panic attack ever could.
Because quiet means he’s losing the fight. And she couldn't live if she let that happen.
…
It feels like forever but really it was only about forty-five minutes until she hears the keys jingle at the shop door, her body tensing in fear. But then—it's just Pope. Cleo. John B and Sarah. And relief crashes over her so hard she nearly sags under it.
JJ barely stirs as the others rush in, their faces tight with worry and something else—something heavy.
“Jesus, man,” John B breathes, crouching in front of them. “You really fucked up this time.”
Pope nods, arms crossed. “The cops are focused on the fire and downtown now, but they are gonna be after you, bro. Probably by morning.”
JJ says nothing. He doesn’t need to.
Kiara sees it, clear as day—the way he stares blankly ahead. He knows how bad it is. They don’t need to tell him. So she does what she always does—steps between him and the world.
“Enough,” she snaps, glaring at them all. “He feels bad enough. Don’t make it worse.”
No one argues, but she can feel their frustration in the silence.
Then John B exhales hard, looking back at JJ. “Are you hurt?”
JJ swallows, barely lifting his head. “Thomas got a few good ones in,” he admits, his voice rough. “Leg’s kinda fucked.”
Pope drops down beside them, already checking his leg. JJ hisses when he presses against the swelling.
“It’s not broken,” Pope mutters. “Sprained at least. Maybe pulled something in you’re knee.”
Kiara grabs the first aid kit from the shelf and helps Pope wrap JJ’s knee and cracks an ice pack to the swelling. He doesn’t say a word the whole time, just keeps staring at the ground like he’s gone somewhere else.
They try to come up with a way to fix this, but nothing sounds good. Desperate for a way out of this one. But there doesn’t seem to be one.
Pope, ever the logical one, runs a hand over his face before suggesting, “What if he just… turns himself in? How bad could it really be?”
Sarah scoffs, shaking her head. “Come on, Pope. You know how this is gonna go.”
John B leans forward, eyes dark with certainty. “It’s JJ. They won’t cut him a break. They’ll throw the book at him and then some.”
And JJ can’t go to jail. He doesn’t deserve that. But no one has a better idea.
Kiara glances at him, hoping—needing—him to say something, to throw out one of his reckless, half-baked plans that somehow always get them moving...ideas flowing. But he just sits there, staring at the ground, silent.
And that’s when it hits her.
There is a way out. They need to go.
“Yucatán,” she says, before she even realizes the word is leaving her mouth.
Silence. Then—
John B gapes at her like she’s insane. “Kie—”
“You’re not going to jail for this, Jayje,” she cuts him off, looking at JJ, only at JJ. “I’m not gonna let you.” Her voice is steady, sure. “If you hadn’t stood up for us, no one would have.”
JJ stares at her, eyes flickering back to life, like she’s slowly dragging him back from whatever dark place he had slipped into. He blinks at her, like he’s processing it, like he’s not sure if she’s real or just a fever dream. Then, his lips part, and the word comes out so soft, so disbelieving—
“Yucatán?”
Kiara nods.
Cleo throws her hands up. “Oh, hell no. You are not serious right now.”
“Think about this,” John B says, trying to keep his voice calm, but there’s an edge of panic to it. “You’re talking about running, Kie. Leaving. For God knows how long.”
“What’s the alternative?” Kiara challenges. “Letting them take him? Watching JJ rot in a cell for something he did for us? Something he did because of them?"
“You don’t know that’s gonna happen,” Pope argues. “You’re acting like he’s already been sentenced—”
“Oh, we know,” Sarah interjects, shaking her head. “Come on, Pope. You really think he’s walking away from this clean?”
Pope doesn’t answer, jaw tightening. And Kiara turns back to JJ. He exhales, shakes his head, but there’s something in his eyes—something there again.
“I could make it on the Snapper,” he says, voice hoarse but sure. “It’d take a few weeks, but…I could lay low for a while.”
John B lets out a frustrated groan. “You both sound fucking insane.”
Kiara ignores him. Looks straight at JJ. “We’ll lay low for a while,” she says.
JJ’s brow furrows. “We?”
“I’m not letting you go alone.”
“Kiara,” Sarah starts, voice softer, almost pleading. “You really wanna do this? Leave everything?”
Kiara swallows, because she knows what she’s giving up. Any chance of fixing things with her parents. Her friends. The island that has been her home forever.
Everything.
But then she looks at JJ.
At the boy who has fought for her, who has loved her with everything he has, even when he thought he wasn’t worth loving back.
At the boy who is so goddamn tired of being left behind.
And she knows. She'd give up everything but she'd never give up on him.
“JJ is all I need,” she says, voice quiet but firm.
And JJ swallows hard, something unreadable flashing across his face.
Pope rubs a hand down his face. “This is the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.”
“You wanna run?” John B asks, like he can’t believe he’s even saying the words out loud.
Kiara glares at him. “Don’t act like you didn’t do the same damn thing.”
John B opens his mouth to argue but stops, jaw tightening. He knows she’s right.
Sarah crosses her arms, glancing at JJ, then back at Kiara. “Maybe it's not…the worst idea,” she admits slowly.
John B stares at her, stunned. “Sarah.”
“Oh, come on, John B.” She throws her hands up. “Like you don't remember? We were on the Phantom like, ‘Yeah, we’re dead but at least we’re together.’ This is literally that.”
“That was different,” John B mutters.
Sarah scoffs. “How?”
“We didn’t have a choice,” he shoots back.
“And he does?” Kiara snaps, pointing at JJ.
John B hesitates, rubbing the back of his neck, then lets out a sharp breath. “Fuck.” He looks at JJ, then Kiara, then back at Sarah. “Fine. I mean, if this is happening, I’m not stopping you.”
Sarah nods, already settling into the plan. “Cleo?”
Cleo, gives a small shake of her head. “Not my first choice,” she admits, “but if I had cops ready to string me up for standing up for my people? Yeah, I’d run too.” She looks at JJ. “You know I got you, rude boy.”
JJ gives her a small, exhausted nod.
Pope looks between all of them like they’ve lost their damn minds. “Oh, so that’s it? We’re just saying fuck it and letting them disappear?”
“It’s not forever,” Kiara argues.
“Oh, bullshit,” Pope snaps. “It very well may be forever. You leave, you don’t just come back.”
“What other option is there?” Kiara challenges, voice rising. “We just let them take him? He did this for us, Pope.”
Pope clenches his jaw, fists tightening. “I know that,” he grits out.
“Then what?” she presses.
Silence.
Finally, Pope lets out a frustrated groan and runs both hands down his face. “If you’re doing this, you’re doing it right,” he mutters.
Kiara blinks. “What?”
“You heard me,” Pope says, already shifting into planning mode. “If you’re running, you’re gonna be prepared. Not like John B, running off in a hurricane with no plan—”
“Okay, rude,” John B mutters.
“—no way of surviving,” Pope finishes, ignoring him. He points at Kiara and JJ. “You’re not leaving until you have enough supplies. Food, water, fuel. You need first aid. Cash.”
“We have some,” JJ rasps, voice weak but carrying.
Pope shakes his head. “Not enough.”
JJ blinks at him. “So…you’re helping?”
Pope sighs. “I’m making sure you don’t die in the middle of the ocean.” He looks at Kiara. “You don’t just get to run off into the sunset with no plan, Kie.”
Kiara bites her lip, trying to fight the overwhelming wave of relief.
JJ stares at Kiara like the whole world has narrowed down to just them.
“Yucatan?” he says again, softer this time, like he’s letting himself believe it.
Kiara looks into his eyes, leans in just a little closer.
“Yucatan,” she confirms.