what now? | outerbanks

• fifty-eight •

Sarah

My stomach grumbles as I prop my feet up on the shop counter, and I check the clock to see how long it'll be until we can break for lunch. Entering mid-March, the warmth of the spring sun filters through the windows and door. For the first time in months, I'm back in a bikini—a simple black triangle top and matching bottoms that leave no hiding my belly. At twenty-three weeks now, there's been some talk around town, but I've stopped caring.
It feels good, freeing, like a piece of myself is returning with the sun and heat. I lean my head back and close my eyes, taking it all in.
JJ is here too, but he's off somewhere in the back, working on something he didn't have enough patience to explain to me earlier. The shop was busy this morning, but now it's slowing down, which is fine with me. My feet are already sore, and all I really want is to sit behind the counter, sip my lemonade, and not be perceived.
But, with my classic Sarah Cameron luck, nothing ever goes as planned. The bell above the door rings out, and I sing a cheery, "Welcome in!" a few octaves higher than my actual voice.
Then, I see who's entered. Topper and his wicked witch. I notice them immediately, the way his gaze sweeps over the shop before it lands on me. His eyes have never been darker, full of hatred and spite. A low, almost ironically impressed laugh comes from deep in his chest, and it makes me roll my eyes.
I didn't announce my pregnancy to anyone but family and the Pogues, but I didn't necessarily keep it a secret, though. Looking at the pair now, it's obvious they only came in to confirm suspicions.
Topper's mouth twitches, like he's holding back floodgates of slurs and insults. But Ruthie? She doesn't bother hiding anything.
"Oh my God," she mutters under her breath, eyes dragging over me. "It's actually true?" She lets out a sharp, heinously amused cackle, swinging her hips dramatically as they approach me.
Sliding my feet off the counter, I square my shoulders, pretending their words don't sting. "Do you need something?"
Topper tilts his head, looking me up and down. "No. Just looking around."
"Just looking around? Is that right?" I ask, my eyes observing Topper. He looks different now. His body has more muscle, but his face is different—chubbier from all the drinking. He's just as condescending, though; the way he can get his words to slice right beneath the skin.
"I talked to Rafe the other day," he starts, pretending to look through a rack of magazines. "He really screwed me over, you know."
"Do you want me to do something about it?" I ask plainly, taking a sip of my lemonade.
"Nah, nah. I just—I didn't realize the screw-up gene would run in the family." His eyes flick down to my stomach, his mouth curling into something between a sneer and a smirk. "Guess I was wrong."
    Beside him, with her arms crossed, Ruthie grins like she's been waiting for this moment forever; and, knowing her, she probably has. "I mean, seriously, Sarah," she drawls out in her bitchy accent, "knocked up this young? By him?" She lets out a high-pitched sigh, shaking her head like she really is disappointed. "I thought better of you, I really did."
    I tighten my grip on the glass, and the condensation pools between my white-knuckled fingers. I won't let them get the satisfaction of getting to me. It's hard, though, especially when Topper leans in even closer over the counter, his smirk like a blade.
    "So, tell us what it really is," he says, his eyes glittering with a hypnotized kind of meanness. "Did you guys actually want... it, or did Ole Johnny Boy just forget to pull out?"
    I scoff, shocked by his words. This is a new low, even for him. "Are you fucking kidding me?" I stand from my seat, walking from behind the counter so I'm fully in front of them now.
    "Aw, don't get too hormonal on us," Ruthie hums out.
"You know she can't help it, babe," the blonde mutters, wrinkling his fingers dominantly into Ruthie's thigh and kissing her temple.
"You know, it's funny," I say, a burst of enraged energy flowing through my veins. "You have so much to say about me being pregnant, but I'm pretty sure I recall you saying you wanted kids young." I tap a finger on my chin, like I'm trying to recall. "Yes! It was that night you took me out on your yacht for Valentine's Day—just the two of us."
Topper's face darkens even more, and even though it scares me, I don't let down.
"Oh, and remember the time you told me I'd be a great mom one day? That I'd be 'so hot pregnant?'" I laugh, shaking my head in pure disbelief. "Guess it wasn't so disgusting when you were imagining it with you, huh?"
Ruthie snorts beside him, and Topper shoots her a sharp look before turning back to me. "Yeah, well, that was before I realized you'd ruin your life playing house with some dirtbag."
    I just smirk. "You're so jealous it's not you, it's pathetic."
    Topper's jaw clenches, his hands balling into fists. He wants to argue, wants to cut her down, but I still see it—the flicker of something bitter and unspokenly hurt in his eyes.
I clench my jaw, fingers pressing into my stomach like I'm shielding her baby from the venom in their words. "You should leave," I say evenly, keeping my voice steady.
    "What? Are you gonna waddle over here and make me?" Ruthie remarks, but I don't think she expects me to actually start walking towards her.
    Before I can process it, Ruthie steps forward, her Tory Burch sandal slapping against the wooden floors, and shoves my shoulder. It isn't too hard of a push, but my balance is already off, so it sends me wobbling.
    My hand shoots out next to me, gripping onto the counter to steady myself as my stomach clenches uncomfortably. I suck in a sharp breath, the push startling me more than anything.
My skin burns where she touched me, disbelief quickly morphing into something hot and furious. What kind of person pushes a pregnant woman? I've always known Ruthie was selfish, but this is a whole other level. And the look on her face—that undeniably proud smirk—makes me even angrier.
"Are you insane?" I snap, one hand clutching at my belly as I glare into Ruthie's soul. "Do you think this is funny?"
Ruthie just snickers, completely unapologetic. "I think you're funny," she says, cocking her head. "Acting all tough when you can barely stand without tipping over."
    Before I can think twice, I shove her back harder. She goes stumbling back into a rack of branded sweatshirts, catching herself before she falls completely to the floor. Her eyes widen, and it's clear that I caught her off guard. "What the hell, Sarah?!" This time, she's yelling.
    She stands up straighter, walking closer so we're no more than a foot apart, each fuming in our own ways. She doesn't care that I'm pregnant, and, frankly, neither do I. I know this isn't smart, that John B. will be furious right now, but right now, all I am is ready for a fight.
    Ruthie must see it in me, the way my hands have dropped to my sides and my nostrils are flaring without end, because she lunges forward, setting the mark.
    Through the commotion of it all, the back door swings open, and I hear JJ walk in quick and frantic. "Oh, hell no."
    He moves fast, stepping between us and throwing an arm out to separate us. He looks back at Topper, who has no intent to help in any way, his hands snugly on his hips. "What the hell is going on?"
    Topper rolls his eyes. "Routledge's bitch is losing it."
    "Oh, I'm losing it?" I seethe, trying to push past JJ. "She put her hands on me first!"
    "You're too pregnant to be acting like a child," Topper spits.
    JJ ignores it and shoots me a look instead. I instantly shrink beneath it. "You. Sit down. Now." I clench my jaw but don't move more than a step away.
    He turns to Ruthie and Topper. "You two—get the fuck out of my store."
    Ruthie scoffs, still fuming. "She—"
    JJ steps closer, eyes dark and dangerous. "I don't give a shit. Get out before I have to throw you out."
    Topper glares at him but ultimately tugs Ruthie toward the door. She shakes him off but follows, shooting me one last glare before stepping out and walking heavily down the stairs. I can hear Ruthie's piercing voice complaining the whole way to their boat, and it makes me roll my eyes at how stupid it is.
    JJ exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair before turning to me. I expect him to be pissed at them, but instead, his gaze locks onto me. I know immediately—I'm about to get a talking-to.
    "What the hell was that?" he asks. His voice is strangely paternalistic in a way I've never heard.
    I cross my arms, shrugging. "She pushed me first."
    "Yeah, and you're pregnant, Sarah. You don't just go swinging at people."
    "I didn't swing—"
    "You know what I mean," he cuts in. "You can't do that shit anymore. It's not just you now. What do you think John B. will say when he finds out about this?"
    I huff, looking away, tears threatening to spill from my eyes from all of the pressure.
    JJ softens slightly, sighing. "Look, I get it. They're assholes. I'm not saying you should take their bullshit, but you can't go around picking fights. They're not worth your time."
    I swallow, my adrenaline finally starting to wear off. My hands are still shaking slightly, but I comb them through my hair and let out a deep, pent-up breath.
JJ nudges my shoulder gently. "Come on, Cameron, you're smarter than that." I press my lips together. I know he's right.
"Just—" He sighs, raking a hand through his hair. "Be careful. Alright?"
I nod slowly. "Alright."
JJ watches me for a second longer before exhaling, shaking his head. "Jesus. Pregnant or not, you never let up." I huff a small laugh, wiping at my face.
He grins. "Come on. Let's get you some food before you decide to fight someone else."