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Things were actually looking up in the Maybank house. Luke hadn’t hit him in almost two months. There’d been a few close calls—voices raised, bottles slammed—but nothing that crossed the line.
JJ was sprawled on the couch, feet on the coffee table, eating straight from a bag of chips and zoning out in front of the TV when the front door flew open. He didn’t turn, but he heard another voice with Luke.
“Can’t believe you lost that fuckin’ bet.” The guy laughed.
Luke snarled back, “Shut the hell up, Rufus.”
JJ glanced over just long enough to clock a man he’d never seen before—older, rough-looking—then turned back to the TV like he didn’t care.
Luke went straight to the kitchen. “You want a beer?”
“Yeah.”
Luke tossed him one, then came into the living room, eyes landing on JJ. “Get your feet off the table, would ya?” He took a sip and added, “Fucking pig.”
JJ dropped his feet immediately. No point pushing it. He’d stayed out of trouble for almost two months, and he wasn’t about to ruin that streak now.
He grabbed the bag of chips and carried it into the kitchen, then headed for the hallway.
“You just gonna leave your Coke on the table?” Luke called. “Who the fuck raised you?”
JJ froze. He shot Luke a look, jaw tight, swallowing the smart-ass comeback that’d only get him smacked. He grabbed the can, crushed it back in one long pull, then chucked it in the trash hard enough to make it clang. No words. Just heat. He heard Luke mumble something about “dumb ass kid” before he shut the door.
Of course, good things never lasted.
JJ had only been half-asleep when the yelling started. It dragged him out of the fog—voices raised, something crashing, drawers slamming hard enough to rattle the walls. He was instantly wide awake, heart slamming against his ribs.
What the fuck is going on?
Then—
“JJ! GET YOUR ASS IN HERE!”
He shot upright in bed. For a second he just sat there, listening, every muscle tight. Then he forced himself to stand, moving as slowly as he dared, stepping out into the hallway.
The living room looked like a bomb had gone off. Cushions ripped off the couch, cabinets hanging open, shit scattered everywhere. Luke stood in the middle of it, red-faced, unsteady, eyes wild.
The second Luke saw him, he snapped.
“Did you take my fucking cash?”
“Huh?” JJ said, genuinely confused, his brain scrambling to catch up.
Luke crossed the room in three long strides and fisted the front of JJ’s shirt, yanking him forward until their faces were inches apart. JJ’s feet barely touched the floor. The stink of beer and cigarettes burned his nose.
“Did. You. Take. My. Fucking. Cash?”
JJ swallowed hard. “No.”
The slap came fast—open palm, sharp, snapping his head to the side. It wasn’t the hardest Luke had ever hit him, but his eyes burned instantly, tears blurring his vision.
“I—I didn’t steal—”
Another slap cut him off, landing in the same spot. JJ sucked in a shaky breath, jaw throbbing, hands clenched uselessly at his sides as the room spun.
Luke hauled him into the kitchen, fingers still twisted in his shirt. He yanked open the drawer so hard it rattled.
“I had two fucking hundred dollars in here,” Luke said, stabbing a finger into the empty space. “Where the fuck is it?”
JJ swallowed, throat tight. “I—I didn’t take it. I swear, Dad—”
Luke cut him off, slamming him against the wall. The air left JJ’s lungs in a sharp grunt, pain flaring across his back and shoulders.
“I’ll tell you what,” Luke said quietly.
That was worse than yelling. His voice dropped low, steady, dangerous. He leaned in, fist still bunched in JJ’s shirt, holding him there.
“I’ll give you one chance. One chance only.” His eyes bored into JJ’s. “You give me the money you stole, and maybe you don’t get the ass-whipping you deserve.”
He yanked JJ forward, then slammed him back into the wall again, harder this time.
“But if you don’t,” Luke continued evenly, “you won’t be able to sit for a month.”
JJ’s hands shook at his sides. His mind raced, panic clawing up his chest—I didn’t take it, I didn’t, I didn’t—but he knew saying it again wouldn’t help. It never did.
JJ didn’t say anything. There was nothing to say.
It didn’t matter what came out of his mouth—he was going to get his ass whipped either way. He hadn’t taken the money. He never would’ve. He’d learned that lesson years ago.
Luke grabbed him again, yanking him away from the wall only to slam him right back into it. Pain shot through JJ’s shoulders and down his spine. He let out a sharp grunt.
“Please—” JJ started.
“Lost your chance to come clean,” Luke cut in flatly.
He finally let go of JJ’s shirt and stepped back. “Get your ass in your room.”
JJ didn’t hesitate. He slipped past Luke and bolted down the hall, heart pounding so hard it hurt. Luke followed a step behind him.
“And don’t even think about climbing out that window,” Luke called after him. “I’ll beat you within an inch of your life.”
JJ slammed his bedroom door shut and leaned against it, chest heaving, every breath coming fast and shallow. The house felt too quiet now—like it was holding its breath right along with him.
He sat on the edge of his bed, head buried in his hands, heart hammering so hard it felt like it might crack his ribs. Every sound in the house felt too loud, too close. His thoughts wouldn’t slow down.
They never did.
He thought about why he’d stolen from his dad a few years ago. When he was twelve.
A couple beers from the fridge—mostly for Kiara. It had felt worth it then. Her grin, that laugh she got when she thought they were getting away with something. He’d only known her about a year, but even back then she mattered. She made him happy. Enough that he’d do stupid, reckless things just to see her smile.
Yeah, she annoyed the shit out of him at that age. Always talking, always in his space. But seeing her happy made something settle in his chest, even then. Like things were okay. Like he was okay.
And for a moment, it had been worth it.
He never forgot how that ended.
The whipping. The crying. The begging. Luke’s voice filling the house, loud and furious. The belt. The way the room had felt afterward—too quiet, too small.
JJ dragged a shaky hand down his face.
He hadn’t stolen the money.
Didn’t matter.
Boots shuffled somewhere down the hall, slow and deliberate. JJ clenched his eyes shut, shoulders coiling, waiting.
The door burst open.
JJ flinched and risked a glance up. Luke stood in the doorway, eyes hard, finger stabbing toward a spot on the floor in front of him.
JJ moved—but not fast enough.
“Get your worthless ass over here.”
JJ stopped where Luke had pointed, muscles locked, bracing for the hit that didn’t come.
Instead, Luke turned on the room.
Drawers were yanked open and dumped, clothes flung everywhere. Luke grabbed JJ’s backpack off the chair, ripped it open, and dumped the contents out like trash.
Loose papers scattered everywhere—homework, worksheets, stuff JJ had actually finished. Luke stomped through them, crumpling pages under his boots, tearing others in half without even looking. One of JJ’s textbooks hit the wall hard enough to split its spine.
Luke muttered and swore the whole time, getting louder as the room fell apart.
JJ stood frozen, watching his room—and the little bit of school shit he still cared about—get destroyed piece by piece while Luke tore through everything, searching for the two hundred dollars JJ hadn’t taken.
When Luke finally seemed convinced it wasn’t there, he straightened slowly and turned back to JJ.
“So you already fucking spent it?”
JJ’s stomach dropped. He shook his head quickly. “Dad—I been here all day. Maybe it was your friend—”
The punch came fast, snapping his head to the side and nearly knocking him off balance.
“You wanna keep back-talking?” Luke snapped. “You really think blaming my friend’s gonna get you out of your beating?”
JJ shook his head again, words stuck in his throat.
Another hit rocked him backward. Luke grabbed his face, fingers digging into his jaw, forcing JJ to look at him.
“You’re worthless,” Luke said flatly. “You know that? No wonder your momma left.”
The words landed heavier than anything else.
She left because of you, JJ thought desperately, the truth burning on his tongue—but he swallowed it down. He knew better.
It was like Luke read his mind though. Something in his dad’s face shifted—darkened, harder—and before JJ could even register it, Luke let go of his jaw and landed a third punch. This time, blood welled at his lip.
“Get your fucking ass over your bed.”
Luke started unbuckling his belt.
“No—no, please, I—”
Begging never helped. JJ knew it. Still, he couldn’t stop himself.
Luke grabbed him by the arm and hauled him over to the bed, belt swinging loosely in his other hand.
“You steal from me, and you don’t think you deserve this?”
JJ swallowed hard. “I didn’t—”
“Bend your ass over the bed,” Luke interrupted, voice flat and final.
JJ did as he was told, bending over the bed, gripping the sheets so hard his knuckles went white.
The belt came down—over, over, over—on his thighs, on his backside, once across his back.
“Please—”
Tears streamed down his face before he could stop them. He couldn’t stop them.
“Worthless.” Whap!
“Piece.” Whap!
“Of.” Whap!
“Shit.” Whap!
Each word struck as hard as the belt itself, hammering him with sound and pain.
It didn’t take long before the sobbing started, shaking him from the inside out.
“Please—Dad—I didn’t—”
Another strike landed hard on his thigh mid-sentence, cutting his words short and ripping a sharp “oww!” from him.
Luke finally stopped. JJ lay there, shivering, trying to quiet the sobs, gripping the sheets.
“You ever gonna steal from me again?”
JJ shook his head.
“I can’t hear you. You ever gonna steal from me again?”
JJ swallowed hard, voice trembling, then found it. “No.”
Luke stepped back a pace. “Stand up.”
JJ hesitated, still weak from the blows. Luke’s hand shot out, grabbing him by the hair, yanking him upright. He grabbed JJ’s jaw, forcing him to meet his gaze. JJ’s face was a wreck—tears, red, swollen. He looked like a mess.
“Look at me.”
JJ did. His face felt hot and tight—tear-streaked, swollen, wrecked. He knew he looked as bad as he felt.
“How many other times did you steal from me?”
JJ swallowed hard. His voice cracked anyway. “One other time.”
Luke nodded slowly, like he was filing it away. “Alright.” His grip tightened just enough to make JJ hiss. “Then if there’s ever a third time, that first beating and this one?” He leaned in. “They’ll look like nothing compared to what’s coming if you ever steal from me again.”
He shook JJ’s face—not rough, not gentle. Controlled. “Do I make myself clear?”
JJ nodded, small and unsteady.
Luke shoved him back a step. “You owe me two hundred dollars. You’ve got two days. Understood?”
“Two days? Dad, I—”
Luke moved in fast, all threat and heat. He lifted his hand like he was about to slap him. JJ flinched on instinct, shoulders tensing, eyes squeezing shut.
Nothing came.
“You got a problem with it?” Luke said.
JJ shook his head quickly.
Luke lowered his hand. “Two days. Got me?”
JJ nodded.
Luke turned and walked out, leaving the room heavy and quiet behind him.
JJ sank onto the edge of his bed, moving slow, careful. Everything hurt—muscles screaming, skin sore, pain settled deep in his bones. He looked around at his room: drawers ripped open, clothes everywhere, things knocked over and broken.
He didn’t touch any of it.
He decided it could stay exactly the way it was.
He had to figure out how he was going to pay Luke back—the money he didn’t even steal.
Sliding open the window, he climbed out and swung onto his dirt bike. The engine roared to life beneath him, and he kicked off down the dirt path toward John B’s.
He didn’t knock—didn’t need to. He walked right in and saw Kiara first, sitting at the table with a bowl of ramen.
“Hey, JJ,” she said, smiling with noodles in her mouth.
“Hey,” he replied, trying for casual. “Where’s JB?”
“Out back.”
He took a step closer, and her smile faltered. Her eyes widened. “Hey…what—what happened to your face?”
JJ shrugged, forcing a cool calm he didn’t feel. “Got into it with a few Kooks.”
She nodded slowly, though he could tell she didn’t really believe him. He ignored her and made his way through the house and out back.
“Dude… I gotta figure out how I’m gonna pay Luke back.”
John B glanced up from the cluttered workbench, screwdriver in hand, wires and a half-disassembled radio scattered across it. “For what? Dude… what happened to your face?”
JJ ignored the second question, shaking his head. “He… he thinks I stole two hundred dollars from him.”
John B’s eyes widened, like he was putting two and two together. “He hit you?”
JJ looked around nervously. “Dude… Kiara’s right in there.”
John B leaned closer, voice lower. “He hit you?”
JJ didn’t answer. Instead, he swallowed and said, “I just need your help getting the money. Please.”
John B’s expression softened. “I have sixty-five bucks you can have. Dad left it here for me—food and stuff—but who really needs food?”
JJ shook his head quickly. “I ain’t taking your money. I didn’t say I need you to give me money. Just… help me earn some or something. You know any place hiring? Or some old kook who needs their grass cut?”
John B laughed, shaking his head. “I’m serious, man. Take the sixty-five. He left me a hundred, and I already got what I needed. The house is full of groceries. Take the sixty-five—now all we need is one thirty-five.”
JJ rubbed at his jaw, still stinging, trying to think straight. “Okay… so I need one thirty-five.”
“Well… there’s Mrs. Dawson down the street. Old lady, her yard’s a jungle. I’ve done it a couple times for cash. Could probably get twenty, maybe twenty-five if you do a good job.”
JJ nodded slowly. “Alright… that’s a start. Anyone else?”
“Yeah, the McGuires’ grass needs cutting too. And, uh…” John B hesitated, a grin flickering. “There’s that guy that lives by the gas station—old kook, remember? He’s always complaining his lawn’s overgrown. Pays cash, doesn’t ask questions.”
JJ felt a little spark of hope. “Okay… so if I hit those three spots, I might have enough.” He exhaled, “Thanks, man. I… I owe you one.”
John B shrugged, smirking. “Don’t sweat it. But, uh… watch your face around Kiara—she’s worried.”
JJ forced a small smile, tucking the plan into his head. Two days, three lawns, a little hustle. No biggie.
“Where’s Pope?” JJ asked.
“Grounded. Still,” John B replied with a shrug.
JJ chuckled. “Hayward’s a hardass.”
JJ went back inside. Kiara stood at the sink, rinsing out her bowl, her movements slow, distracted.
“Jayj…” She glanced over her shoulder. “What—what really happened to your face?”
He didn’t hesitate. Kept his voice light, easy. Controlled. “Told you. Just a few kooks.”
Kiara shook her head, worry pulling at her brow. “But I—”
“I gotta go,” he cut in, already stepping past her. “Got some shit I need to handle.”
She turned fully then, reaching for him. “J, please—just talk to me. Are you okay?”
He rolled his eyes. “Jesus…” Then, softer, almost convincing, “I’m fine. Promise.”
She didn’t buy it. He could see it in her face.
JJ shook his head, backing toward the door. “See ya later, princess.” He threw her a wink he didn’t feel in his chest.
And then he was gone—out the door before she could say anything else, before she could ask the questions he wasn’t ready to answer.
Climbing onto his dirt bike, he kicked it to life, the engine growling beneath him. The vibration rattled through his arms, reminding him of every bruise, every sting. He gritted his teeth, pushing it down the path toward the first lawn he’d hit for cash.
As he rounded the corner toward Mrs. Dawson’s yard, he took a deep breath, trying to steady his hands.
JJ kicked his bike to a stop in front of Mrs. Dawson’s place, the overgrown grass swaying in the afternoon breeze like it hadn’t been touched in weeks.
Mrs. Dawson stood on her porch, hose in hand, watering her plants. She squinted at him over her glasses.
“JJ… what in the world happened to your face?”
He shrugged, wincing despite himself. “Got into it with a few kooks,” he muttered.
Her eyes narrowed. “Looks like more than a few. You been in a fight, boy?”
JJ forced a grin, even though it pulled at the bruises. “No, ma’am. Just… scrapped a little. Nothin’ serious.”
She clicked her tongue, shaking her head and muttering something he couldn’t quite catch.
He cleared his throat. “Ma’am… would it be alright if I cut your grass? I—” He hesitated, then pushed through. “I need some extra cash. I promise I’ll do a good job.”
Mrs. Dawson studied him for a long moment—taking in the busted lip, the bruises, the way he stood a little too stiff. Then she nodded.
“That’ll be fine, sweetie. You do the backyard too?”
“Yes, ma’am,” JJ said quickly. “How much?”
She thought for a second. “Twenty for the front, twenty for the back. That work for you?”
JJ’s face broke into a real smile this time. “Yes, ma’am. Thank you.”
She lifted a finger. “But you do it right. No screwin’ around.”
He nodded fast. “Yes, ma’am. I will.”
He finished mowing her grass, and she handed him forty freakin’ dollars. Ninety-five left to go.
He kicked his dirt bike to life and headed for the McGuires’ place, knocking once, then again. No answer. He waited a beat, then shook his head and took off.
Figure Eight was next. He hoped the old Kook was home.
JJ cut the engine, walked up onto the porch, and knocked twice. The door opened almost immediately.
“What do you want?” the old man snapped.
“Uh— I—I heard you needed your grass cut,” JJ said, words tripping over each other. “I need some extra cash. I can do it.”
The man looked past him, eyes drifting to JJ’s bike, then the yard, then back to JJ. He shrugged. “I guess. Hang on.”
The door shut, then reopened a moment later. The man held out a set of keys.
“Your name’s Maybank, right?”
JJ nodded.
“Out back’s the shed. One key unlocks it. This one starts the riding mower.” The old man paused, studying JJ’s face a little too long, then dropped the keys into his hand. “Anything comes up missing, I know your daddy. And I know where you live. Remember that.”
JJ closed his fingers around the keys and nodded again.
He headed around back, unlocked the shed, and climbed onto the riding mower. The engine coughed once, then roared to life beneath him.
Easy money, he thought. Way easier than Mrs. Dawson’s lawn.
He cut clean lines through the grass, circling the house again and again—front yard, back yard, both sides—until the whole place was done, neat and even like it actually belonged to someone who cared.
When JJ finished, he drove the mower back into the shed and cut the engine. He locked it up and turned to see the old man standing out on the back deck, arms crossed. After a moment, the man gave a short nod of approval.
He crooked a finger, motioning JJ over.
JJ climbed the steps, wiping his hands on his shorts. The old Kook cracked a smile. “You did a damn good job—better than my grandson.”
He paused, then added, “Name’s Mr. Cheatham. How’d you like to make this a regular thing?”
Depends on the pay, JJ thought, but he nodded instead. “Yes sir.”
They shook on it.
“I’m gonna grab my wallet,” Mr. Cheatham said. “Be right back.”
JJ waited on the deck while the old man disappeared inside. A few minutes later, he returned, pulling bills from his wallet.
“I’ll give you thirty-five for the mowing,” he said, then looked JJ over. “I’ll throw in another fifteen if you weed-eat.”
JJ nodded without hesitation. “Yes sir.”
He headed back toward the shed and pulled the weed eater out, already thinking about the total climbing higher.
JJ slung the weed eater over his shoulder and yanked the cord. It sputtered once, then screamed to life, vibrating through his arms. He adjusted his grip and started along the edge of the house, the nylon line chewing through tall grass and weeds like it had been waiting for him.
Clippings flew up, peppering his legs. Dirt dusted his sneakers. He worked slow and steady, circling the foundation, trimming along the fence line, the mailbox, the base of the steps. The smell of cut grass and hot gas hung thick in the air.
His arms started to burn, but he didn’t stop. He kept the line even, clean, making it look right—like it mattered. Every pass felt like money stacking up in his pocket, fifteen more dollars closer to what he needed.
He glanced up once and caught Mr. Cheatham watching from the deck, eyes sharp, judging. JJ straightened a little, tightened his grip, and kept going.
By the time he killed the engine, sweat was dripping down his back and his hands were buzzing from the vibration. He stepped back and looked it over—edges tight, yard cleaned up proper.
JJ wiped his face with the back of his arm and nodded to himself.
Done.
The old man met him out in the yard and pressed a few bills into his hand. “Here’s another twenty. You did better than I expected, so I bumped it up five. You did good work here, kid. I’ll tell my friends about you.”
JJ nodded, a little surprised. “Thank you, sir.”
“I’ll take the weed eater and put it back,” Mr. Cheatham said, reaching for it.
JJ shook his head. “No sir—it’s okay. I got it.”
Mr. Cheatham watched as JJ carried it back to the shed, slid it inside, and locked everything up proper. JJ returned the keys and held them out.
“Thanks,” the old man said, then squinted at him. “Your name’s JJ, right?”
JJ nodded.
“What’s JJ stand for?”
“Justin Jude.”
“Well, Justin,” Mr. Cheatham said, giving him a firm clap on the back, “you’re welcome here anytime you see my yard needs a little work.”
He let out a short laugh. JJ smiled, nodded, and gave another polite, “Thank you, sir,” before heading down the drive toward his dirt bike, pockets heavier than they’d been all day.
JJ only needed forty more dollars.
He swung onto his dirt bike, fingers curling around the grips—and that’s when he saw her.
Sarah freaking Cameron.
“What’re you doing on Figure Eight, JJ?” she called, balancing easy on her bike.
JJ rolled his eyes and kicked the bike to life. “None of your business, Kook Princess.”
She laughed. “Relax, I’m just teasing. You do Mr. Cheatham’s lawn?”
JJ shot her a look. “Again—none of your business.”
Sarah tilted her head, studying him. “What’s with your face?”
He ignored her, focused on the engine, but he was still listening.
“You trying to make some money?” she asked, casual. “’Cause I might have a job for you.”
That got his attention. JJ looked up. “Yeah?”
“Let me go ask my dad,” she said. “But I think the pool boy got fired, and the pool needs cleaning. Think you can handle it?”
JJ shrugged, playing it cool. “Sure.”
Sarah pushed off on her bike and headed down the road, and JJ followed behind on his dirt bike, keeping it slow.
Sarah dropped her bike in the grass and jogged inside the house. JJ stayed where he was, engine idling, eyes on the massive Cameron place like it might swallow him whole. Five minutes later, she came back out grinning.
“Howdy, pool boy.”
JJ snorted, killed the engine, and parked the bike.
She led him around back, past the patio and lounge chairs, and JJ stopped short when he saw it.
The pool was huge—clear blue tiles lining the bottom, sunlight rippling across the surface. Leaves floated along the edges, a thin layer of grime clinging to the sides like it hadn’t been touched in a while. It wasn’t disgusting, but it definitely needed work.
Sarah handed him the long net. “Dad said you’re good to go.”
JJ nodded and got to it. He skimmed the surface first, dragging the net slow and steady, scooping out leaves, bugs, and whatever else had blown in. The water sloshed gently with each pass. He worked his way around the edges, then grabbed the brush and leaned over, scrubbing the tile line until the stains started to fade.
Sweat built quick under the sun. His arms burned, but he didn’t complain. He vacuumed the bottom next, watching the dirt disappear inch by inch, the pool slowly turning from neglected to clean.
Sarah sat on the edge with her feet in the water, watching him work. “You’ve done this before,” she said.
“Yeah,” JJ replied, not looking up. “A couple times.”
By the time he was done, the pool looked brand new—water clear, edges spotless, surface calm except for the faint ripple of the filter kicking on.
JJ straightened up and wiped his hands on his shorts. “That should do it.”
“How much am I getting paid? Anything close to forty?” JJ asked hopefully.
Sarah studied him for a moment. “Is that how much you need?”
JJ nodded.
“I’ll see what I can do,” she said, disappearing into the house.
A few minutes later, she came back out, holding a bottle of water and some bills. She handed him the water first. “Here’s forty.”
JJ’s eyes widened. “Really?”
She shrugged, smiling. “Yep.”
He paused, then shook his head in disbelief. “Dude—thank you so much.”
“What do ya need it for anyway?” she asked.
JJ hesitated, then shook his head. “Long story… but I owed my dad some money, and I was forty short.”
She nodded. “Well, there ya go.”
JJ smiled, taking a long sip of water. “Thanks again.”
He swung onto his bike, gave her a small wave, and kicked it to life, feeling the weight of the money—and relief—settle in as he rode off.
Before heading to his dad’s house, JJ swung by John B’s. Both John B and Kiara were sprawled on the couch, half-watching a movie. JJ barged in, grinning from ear to ear.
“Dude, I got the money!”
John B’s eyes went wide. “Dude… already?”
JJ nodded.
Kiara looked confused. “Money for what?”
JJ shook his head. “Nothing. Just owed my dad some cash. Debt’s paid.”
He didn’t even take the money from his dad—he knew that—but there was no way out of it. His dad expected two hundred, and that’s exactly what JJ had earned.
“Mr. Cheatham—the old kook by the gas station on Figure Eight—said he might make it a regular job for me.”
John B let out a low whistle. “Damn, JJ. That’s huge.”
JJ shrugged like it didn’t matter, even though it did. “Yeah… ran into Sarah Cameron too. Cleaned the Camerons’ pool for my last forty.”
Kiara’s expression hardened instantly. “Sarah Cameron? Ew.”
JJ rolled his eyes. “Yeah, well. Money’s money.”
She nodded once, like she understood even if she hated it. Then, quieter, “Did she… say anything about me?”
JJ shook his head, then hesitated. His stomach twisted. “Hey, Kie—uh… can I talk to you for a sec?”
She glanced toward the TV, then back at him. “Yeah.”
They stepped outside, the movie dulling to a low hum behind them. JJ shoved his hands into his pockets, suddenly too aware of how close she was.
“I just—” He stopped, rubbing the back of his neck. “I wanted to say sorry. For earlier. If I was a dick.”
Kiara shook her head. “You weren’t.”
He let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. “Okay. ’Cause I was kinda short, and I’ve just… got a lot going on.” He met her eyes—too pretty, too dangerous to stare at for long. He wanted to kiss her. He didn’t. “Just wanted to make sure we’re good.”
She smiled, soft and easy. “We’re good.”
JJ held her gaze a second too long, something unspoken sitting heavy in his chest. Then he rocked back on his heels, breaking it. “Alright. I gotta head home real quick. Might come back later—will you be here?”
She nodded. “Yeah. I should be.”
JJ nodded back, already turning toward his bike, hoping he didn’t look as wrecked as he felt.
When JJ pulled up to his house, music was blaring from somewhere inside. He stepped in, scanning the living room—no sign of his dad. For a second, he thought about just dropping the cash in the drawer and leaving.
Then a voice cut through the music. “Where the fuck you been?”
JJ spun around. His dad was leaning against the wall, arms crossed.
“Um… I made the money,” JJ said, trying to keep his voice steady.
Luke snorted. “Yeah, right.”
JJ held out the bills. Luke grabbed them and started counting. “Who the fuck did you steal this from?”
JJ shook his head. “I didn’t steal it. I did some jobs… mowed grass, cleaned out a pool on Figure Eight. I earned it.”
Luke studied him for a long moment, then nodded and pocketed the cash. “You ever steal from me again, it’ll be the last thing you do.”
JJ nodded, understanding loud and clear. He gave a quiet “yes, sir,” then turned and left, heading back to John B’s with a mix of relief and pride.
By the time he pulled up to John B’s, the sun was starting to dip low in the sky. The front door was open, and he could hear the faint sound of a movie playing. He stepped inside, and the familiar smells of popcorn and snacks hit him.
John B and Kiara were sprawled on the couch, blankets tangled around them, laughing at something on the screen. JJ plopped down next to them, and Kiara handed him a bowl of popcorn without saying a word.
A minute later, Pope showed up.
“Thought you were grounded,” John B said.
Pope shrugged. “I snuck out. What’re we watching?”
JJ shot him a look. “You? You snuck out?”
Pope just stared at the three of them for a beat, deadpan. “No. Pops let me off early.” He plopped down next to JJ. “Good behavior.”
They laughed, and the movie rolled on.
For a while, there was no talk of money. No tension. No problems waiting outside the room. Just the four of them—passing snacks, cracking jokes, getting pulled into the movie.
JJ leaned back against the couch, shoulders loosening, something warm settling in his chest. He fit here. He always had.
It wasn’t anything big or dramatic.
But it was enough.
For now, that was perfect.