what now? | outerbanks

• ninety-five •

JJ

    "John B. isn't letting Sarah come tonight," Kie says as she hangs a few rashguards on a rack.
    I shrug. "Did you...think he would?"
    "No." She shakes her head. "I mean, obviously, that's, like, the right thing to do."
    My eyes squint automatically. She's thinking more than she's saying, but I'll give her the benefit of the doubt. I take a slow drag of my joint, smug since I know Pope isn't on the clock today to fuss me for smoking at the shop. I let the smoke drift into the silence, little rings of white against the coppery wooden walls. Knowing Kiara, if I give her enough time, she'll start talking again.
    Of course, I'm right.
    She huffs. "But, like, do you really think it'll be dangerous? What's the worst that could happen?"
    "Kie," I start, wide-eyed, "I'm thinking of about...fifty worst-case scenarios right now, and that's coming from someone who actively thinks he's immortal," I finish, pointing the joint at her like it's proof.
    She rolls her eyes, but I catch the crease in her forehead. She's worried. Sarah's pregnant and on bedrest, but she also has a mind of her own.
    I stub the joint out against the edge of the workbench, sighing. "Look, all I'm saying is, John B.'s got a point. This whole thing started with a guy getting shot. If there's even a chance things could go sideways, she's better off at home."
    Kiara nods, but it's reluctant. "Yeah, I just hate leaving her behind."
    "I know."

    Eventually, Pope and Cleo end up trailing into the shop, strategically in between rush hours.
    "I just need us to come up with a real plan," Pope says flatly. "We can't just waltz right in. This isn't nothing."
    "Then what is it?"
    Cleo uncrinkles the letter. The bold letters are sickening. "It's a tip."
    "No shit," I say, pulse thrumming. "We've already gone over that."
    The room is tense. Even more so than dinner a few nights ago.
    "I'm bringing the gun," I blurt, wishing I could take it back before the words even leave my tongue.
    Kie's head whips. "You're what?"
    "I'm not just gonna go in blind!"
    Cleo glides a hand down her face. "It's not the dumbest thing he's done," she admits.
    "What if it's nothing? You're just gonna have a gun with you?!"
    I'm pacing. "If nothing happens, nothing happens, but I'm not risking this shit."
    Cleo squints at me like she's trying to see if there's an actual brain behind my forehead. "If you're bringing that thing, then we need ground rules."
    "Rules?" I echo, pretending to choke. "Since when do Pogues run on rules?"
    "Since you," Pope mutters.
    Kie smirks. "Yeah, we all know JJ plus gun equals disaster waiting to happen."
    I throw my hands up. "C'mon, that's not fair! I've gotten...like, better."
    "Barely," Cleo says, leaning forward with squinted eyes. "Fine. You can bring it. But you only pull if someone else does first. Got it?"
    I open my mouth to argue, but Pope's already pointing at me. "No exceptions. That's the rule."
    My jaw works, torn between pride and the fact that they're all staring me down like I'm a toddler with matches. "So, what? You want me to just wait to get shot at before I defend us?"
    "Yes," Cleo and Pope say in unison.
    Kie crosses her arms smugly, but still leans into me like she loves me. "I love you, and I love that you're ambitious and want to protect us, but you do not get to be the one who escalates things."
    I groan, dragging a hand down my face. "Fine. Fine! But if bullets start flying and I get hit because I waited around for your precious rule, y'all better give me a sick funeral."
    Cleo rolls her eyes, Pope mutters something about not being able to kill a Pogue, and Kie smacks my shoulder as I lean in for a kiss.
    "I said I love you," she whispers.
    I melt. "I love you too."
    "That's my cue," Cleo mutters, but I don't pay her attention.

John B.

    "I'm sorry, Sarah, but you're not going."
    Her head snaps up from where she's curled on the couch, and her eyes narrow—not furious, not fiery, just sharp. "I know. Okay? I'm not angry that I can't go." She leans forward, arms crossed over her stomach like she's holding herself together. "I'm angry that you made the decision for me."
"Sarah, what do you mean?"
"You didn't even look at me when you told them over the phone," she shouts, gesturing vaguely toward the phone still sitting on the coffee table. "It was a decision about me, and I had no say in it!"
I rub my jaw, trying hard not to get defensive, but my words get the best of me. "Yes, babe, because we've had this conversation a hundred times!"
"I know! This always happens, and we always fight, and I hate it every time; but honestly, John B., can you blame me for being angry?"
"Look," I sigh, "I understood it the other times—you wanting to go to Jamaica and everything—but I don't know why you'd want to do this over keeping you and our baby safe."
Her laugh is sharp. "You really don't get it, do you?" She presses her hands against her knees like she's holding herself together. "It's not about wanting to go. You think I'm dying to drag my pregnant ass to the boardwalk at two in the morning for a secret mission?"
She stares at me, eyes glassy but hard. "The point is, you didn't even ask. You didn't look at me, you didn't pause, you just...decided. You spoke for me like I'm a problem to be managed instead of your wife."
"I just can't risk you. Not now. Not when we're this close."
"And I get that. I don't need you to spell it out for me. I just need you to let me have even an inch of control in something! Every day, I feel more and more helpless, and you taking control away from me doesn't help."
"I didn't mean to," I say quickly. My throat's tight, like the words are clawing to get out. "I wasn't trying to—"
"Yes, you were!" She cuts me off. "It was out of protection, sure, but you don't get to erase me from this because it's easier for you."
The silence is brutal. Her chest is rising and falling fast, like she's just run a mile without leaving the couch.
"I'm sorry," I murmur because it's all I've got. "I should've asked you. I should've let you say it."
She doesn't soften. "Sorry won't fix anything right now."
"Come on—"
Before I can finish, a knock on the door rattles through the house. A second later, "Yo! Open up, lovers. Planning committee has arrived!"
Sarah's jaw tightens. She pushes herself up off the couch slowly, bracing a hand on her belly, and mutters under her breath. "Perfect timing." She looks at me once, eyes sharp, then toward the door. "Go play spy with your committee. I'll be out of your way."
"Sarah—"
"Have fun," she says flatly, brushing past me. There's a snap to her movements. Everything is more controlled than stormy, but that's somehow worse. She disappears down the hall without another glance, the sound of the back door clicking shut a beat later.
I'm frozen, staring after her until JJ pounds the door again. "Hellooo?"
I rake a hand down my face, swallow hard, and force myself to answer the door.
    The door barely clicks shut behind them before Pope's already pulling out his notebook, flipping pages like he's about to launch into a lecture. JJ drops into the armchair like it's his throne, boots kicking up on the coffee table until I swat at them, and Cleo's leaning against the wall, arms crossed, surveying us like she always does before deciding how much patience to spend.
    Kiara scans the room once, then frowns. "Where's Sarah?"
    I force a casual shrug, trying not to look toward the back door. "Resting. She's tired."
    Kiara nods without question, accepting it, and drops onto the couch beside Pope. My chest loosens a little. The last thing I need is more spotlight on that fight.
    I clear my throat. "Okay, so...I've been thinking. Maybe we should loop in Shoupe."
    The reaction is immediate. Pope's pen freezes mid-scratch, Kiara's head jerks up, Cleo's eyebrows shoot high, and JJ nearly chokes on his own spit.
    "You're kidding." His laugh is sharp and disbelieving. "Sheriff Andy-freakin'-Shoupe? Nah, man. No way."
    "I'm serious." I lean forward, elbows on my knees. "He wants this Miller stuff gone too. If this is gonna blow up, we need backup. Real backup."
    "Backup that's put us in handcuffs more times than I can count," JJ snaps. "You don't actually trust him, do you?"
    "I didn't," I admit. "But things are different now. He's been on our side lately. He's trying to clean up this place just as much as we are."
    "That doesn't mean we invite him into our business," JJ fires back. "Last thing I need is Shoupe breathing down my neck while I'm trying not to get shot."
    Pope finally looks up, measured as always. "It's not the worst idea. If we really think this is dangerous—"
    JJ spins on him. "Don't you start, man."
    Cleo cuts in, calm but firm. "He's got a point. You're acting like it's betrayal, but having someone who knows the system could keep us from digging ourselves a deeper hole. Again."
    Kiara groans, rubbing her temple. "Okay, but are we forgetting Shoupe literally raided the Chateau? Multiple times? Like, traumatizing times?"
    "That was then," I say, sharper than I mean to. "And we can't afford to walk into this half-cocked."
    JJ snorts. "Half-cocked? Bro, you're the one inviting the sheriff to our midnight secret mission."
    "Because it's smart!" I shoot back. "One phone call, and we've got backup if things turn ugly."
    "Or we've got a badge standing over us, ready to throw us in lockup if he doesn't like how we handle it," JJ says.
    The room heats fast—voices overlapping, frustration sparking, the old rhythm of us fighting without really meaning it. It's Pogue arguing, the kind that burns hot but never lasts, but my nerves are already raw from Sarah, and I don't have much patience left.
    Kiara groans again, louder this time, and gets to her feet. "You know what? I'm not doing this. You guys argue. I'm gonna find Sarah."