Chapter Text
The shed was weird-cold even though outside felt like the sun wanted to melt everybody. JJ’s shirt stuck to his back. The shed air had that wet-rope stink again, and that metal taste it got whenever Dad left the crab nets in here too long. Dad had the tackle box open, his whole arm shoved in it, hooks clinking every time he moved. He kept saying stuff under his breath about people messing up his gear.
JJ held the flashlight. Dad said “right here” and pointed, so JJ stood where he thought “right here” was. His hands kept sliding on the plastic. Sweat and dust together made everything slippery, but he didn’t wipe them because he didn’t wanna make the light jump.
Dad didn’t look up, but he said, “Hold it steady,” in that way where it wasn’t yelling but still made JJ stand straighter, because this was helping time and helping time felt good. JJ lifted the light higher, trying to make his arms stop shaking. He wasn’t gonna ruin this. If he kept things steady, they’d go to the marsh like Dad said, and maybe he would point at something in the pots and say, “See that?” the way he did on good days. They'd check the crab pots, maybe he’d get to scoop the mud again. Last time he almost slipped in and Dad laughed for a second before stopping himself.
And after the marsh, he could go find John B. The fort behind the chicken coops wasn’t done. Yesterday the walls kept falling because the boards weren’t long enough and JJ hit his thumb with the hammer twice and JB laughed so hard he fell over in the dirt. JJ pretended to be annoyed until it turned funny for real. He wondered if he found any sticks today, the big ones that could make the roof stay put this time. He pictured climbing on it and yelling pirate stuff, and maybe if it finally stood up right Dad would come look and say it wasn’t terrible. Maybe—
The beam slid off the hooks. He snapped it back up fast, but the flashlight slipped. It thunked on the bench, then dropped on the floor, louder than any normal noise should be in a place this small.
Dad spun around so fast the tackle box shook. “What’re you doing? Pay attention.”
Heat crawled all the way up JJ’s neck. “Sorry. I was holding it. I didn’t mean—”
Dad bent down quick, grabbed the flashlight, and pushed it back into JJ’s hands fast and hard enough that his elbows knocked into his ribs and he sucked in a breath.
“Hold it right. Drop it again and you’re done helping.”
His hair fell into his eyes again, stuck there from sweat. He wasn't gonna mess it up again, so he lifted the light and tried to keep it steady.
Dad went back to the tackle box.
JJ stared at the wall where the beam hit. Tried freezing his whole body. His brain didn’t listen, though. It wandered off again. Back to the fort. Back to JB laughing with a mouth full of dirt. Back to the hammer hitting his thumb and JB grabbing his arm yelling “Dude!” like JJ had chopped it clean off. Back to ropes and pirate forts and whether they could make a lookout hole. He wondered if pirates used rope or vines. He wondered if forts needed roofs or if roofs were for treasure or hiding snacks. His thoughts went everywhere except the flashlight.
A mosquito buzzed right by his ear. JJ slapped at it without even thinking and the flashlight flew again.
It hit the bench—
bounced—
then dropped straight onto Dad’s foot.
The sound Dad made wasn’t a yell but sounded close enough. The flashlight rolled in a slow circle on the floor.
He turned slow, eyes going from JJ’s empty hands to his face.
“I said hold it, dammit.”
The words tangled up. “I was! It was a skeeter— ”
The slap hit before the sentence could find its end. His head snapped sideways. His cheek burned bright and fast and his ear filled with ringing so loud it felt like the shed shrank around him. Tears spilled, all by themselves, and blinking made more come. He hoped maybe Dad didn’t see even though Dad saw everything.
“Pick it up.”
JJ crouched too fast again, almost tipping over. His fingers fumbled all over the flashlight, dropped it, grabbed it, held it too tight this time. His breath kept making these tiny squeak sounds he hated. His face felt hot and the wet only spread around more when he wiped at it.
The snort Dad gave was more annoyed than mad. “Seriously?”
JJ kept his head down so he wouldn’t see his face. His cheek hurt.
“I’m sorry,” the words slipped out shaky. “I'm holdin it now.”
Dad already turned back to the box.
JJ lifted the flashlight and held it the way Dad showed him. His arms shook harder now but he tried to make the light stay still anyway. Then tried breathing smaller and smaller until it barely counted. All the fort thoughts vanished. The marsh stuff vanished too. JB laughing in the dirt felt far away.
Another mosquito drifted close but JJ didn’t slap this one. Didn’t move at all even when it landed on his forearm. Not even an inch.
Then his arms started doing that shaky thing again. The buzzy thing. Like when he held onto the monkey bars too long and his hands forgot how to be hands. He tightened his grip anyway. His nose made a sound he didn’t mean to make — a sniff that felt too loud. He wiped it fast on his sleeve and the flashlight dipped when he did, the beam sliding off the wall.
Dad’s head snapped over. “What now?”
JJ yanked the light back up even though his elbow felt like it was going to fold in half. “I’m holding it I promise I am. My hands got tired, that’s all.”
The words rushed out weird and thin.
After that he held the flashlight higher. His eyes stung again and he blinked fast, but that made one tear fall anyway. He sniffed again trying to pull it back in.
Another shake. Another dip. Something in his chest jumped wrong and sound fell out of him. Not a cry. More like a broken hiccup, sharp and embarrassing.
Dad turned all the way around this time and JJs body moved before he even thought about it. Both hands flew up over his face, elbows tight in like he was trying to make himself small.
Nothing happened. Dad looked at him a long second, face all tight, like he was trying to figure out what JJ was doing with his hands up like that. Then he shook his head.
“Put your hands down. Christ. I ain’t hittin’ you.”
JJ lowered them slow. The noise in his throat kept slipping out in short bursts. The tears on his face didnt wanna go away. Then Dad stepped closer and JJ froze all over again, kinda expecting another hit even though Dad said he wasn’t gonna. He grabbed JJ’s shoulders instead. Kind of rough at first, then not as rough. Trying to keep him still maybe.
“The hell you balwin’ for?” he muttered. “It’s tired arms. That’s it. Nobody died.”
JJ wiped his nose on his sleeve, quick and useless, because more stuff kept spilling out of his face anyway.
“Hey,” Dad dropped down till he was almost eye level. He tapped his shoulder when JJs eyes still stuck on the floor. “Look at me. Boys don’t… they don’t melt down over this crap. Hear me? You get worn out, you shake it off. You screw up, you fix the damn thing. That’s how it works.”
JJ barely managed a nod even though his chin kept shaking like it was on its own.
“That’s why I get on you,” Dads thumb swiped across JJ’s cheek where it burned. “Shit happens. You take it and keep movin’. That’s the whole damn point.”
His thumb pressed the tear away. Then the hand slid to JJ’s back and rubbed. Big heavy circles. Too hard at the start, then lighter when he tried again. He leaned hard into the touch but a part of him kept warning him to stay still in case it switched back again.
“Easy now,” Dad said, the edge dropping out of his voice. “Cut it out. You’re fine.”
And weirdly… it worked. His chest wasn’t doing that jumpy thing as much. He wiped his face with both hands, getting the wet off.
“No more,” he whispered into his palms.
Dad picked the flashlight off the floor. Held it out lower this time. “Here. Don’t lift it over your damn head. Hold it like this.”
JJs hands still shook as he took it, but the buzzing was going away. Holding it lower made it easier. He could keep it steady.
Dad went back to the tackle box, muttering at the hooks again like nothing happened.
And JJ kept the beam still. Perfectly still.
Later they went to the marsh like Dad said. The crab pots smelled awful and the mud grabbed at their boots with every step. A tiny crab caught Dad’s glove and he let out this short laugh, and JJ laughed with him. It was a good day, especially when Dad drove him to the split to drop him at JB’s after that. And he didn’t rush him. He even walked over to the fort and pushed one of the crooked boards back into place, saying, “Needs a brace here,” before knocking it with his knuckle like he knew everything about forts. John B stared at dad fixing the board like he’d never seen grown-ups do anything useful. JJ felt this dumb puff of pride in his chest and didn’t know what to do with it. After Dad drove off, the fort stayed up the same way he’d knocked it together.
JJ said the board might break, but JB climbed anyway, slipping and grabbing the edge like that was the fun part. They turned the brace into a “captain spot,” and JJ stood on it pretending to steer while JB yelled from the ground. At some point John B ’s eyes went to JJ’s cheek. Quick. Curious. JJ threw mud at him before anything came out of his mouth. After that, they kept stepping on the same wobble-board without fixing it, because fixing it felt like work and yelling pirate stuff was easier. The fort leaned worse as the light got orange, but the brace held.
After a while they ended up sitting on the top edge with their legs hanging over nothing. The marsh went quiet except for bugs buzzing at their ears. The sun dropped slow behind the trees until everything looked dipped in firecolors. JB chucked a stick as far as he could and said it was a warning shot. JJ told him his aim sucked.
The sky shifted to pink, then darker pink, then that weird purple it sometimes got. JJ tapped the brace with his heel every few minutes, checking if it was still steady. When the light dipped low enough that everything around the fort went fuzzy, JJ said he had to go. JB tossed out a “tomorrow?” without looking up from the mud he was kicking around. JJ nodded and hopped off the fort. His cheek still pinched when he blinked, but the air felt cooler on his skin and the mud on his legs dried into flakes he kept brushing off as he walked.