38 | POGUELANDIA 2.0

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Being back in Kildare wasn't easy on anyone

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Being back in Kildare wasn't easy on anyone. The island hadn't changed much—same streets, same docks, same salt-thick air—but they had. The Pogues had lived a thousand lives since they'd last walked these familiar roads, and none of it had gone unnoticed.

People stared. Whispers followed them like shadows.

They were used to dirty looks from the Kooks, sure. But now it felt different. Meaner. Like their survival had somehow made them dangerous. Avery couldn't understand it. They had just come back from something people could never imagine—something wild and reckless and painful—and she thought, at the very least, they'd be given a little grace. Maybe not a parade, but something close to understanding.

Instead, they were treated like outlaws.

The ride home from the mainland had been long and quiet. The adrenaline wore off somewhere between the border and the ferry, leaving behind a deep, bone-heavy exhaustion. They huddled close against the side of a shipping container, backs pressed to the rusted metal, heads resting on each other's shoulders. They slept like that—one body leaning on another, too tired to speak, too worn to move.

Back on the island, reality hit like a cold wave.

There were reunions to be had. Explanations to be given. Bridges to cross—some burnt, others barely holding.

Pope and Cleo went straight to the Heywards'. His dad opened the door and barely had time to take a breath before pulling them both into a hug so tight it knocked the wind out of them. There were tears. Real ones. The kind that came from a place too deep to name. They sat around the kitchen table for hours, laughing and crying, catching up like no time had passed at all—even though they all knew how much had.

Avery's return home wasn't as smooth.

She walked up the cracked pathway toward the front door, JJ a few steps behind her. His hands were shoved deep in his pockets, head low, the quiet scrape of his boots against the pavement the only sound he made. Avery had insisted he come with her. His house was gone—foreclosed and gutted—and he didn't have anywhere else to go.

But her father didn't see it that way.

"Stop right there!" Preston's voice cut through the quiet like glass, his footsteps heavy as he stormed out of the house. He pointed a shaking finger straight at JJ. "JJ, you are not welcome here. Where do you even get off thinking you can show your face after everything you've done?"

JJ froze mid-step. He didn't say anything. Didn't argue. He just stared at the ground, jaw tight, teeth pressing into the inside of his cheek. Avery could feel his shame without him saying a word. That silence hurt more than anything he could've said.

Victoria's mother came rushing behind her husband, hands wrapping tightly around his arms. "Preston. She's home. She's safe."

She tried to lead him back inside, but he wasn't done—not yet. Preston turned back to Avery, his voice sharp, final. "Don't come back here until he's gone."

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