what now? | outerbanks

• ninety-seven •

John B.

    By the time we get Sarah into one of the bedrooms, she's half-asleep on her feet. Her head keeps lolling forward, her legs buckling, and I have to guide her down, easing her back against the pillows. She doesn't fight me anymore—not like earlier. She's drained and hollowed from the inside out.
Kie hovers on the other side of the bed, smoothing Sarah's damp hair away from her face.
"She needs sleep," she murmurs, voice so soft I almost don't hear it. "It's the only thing that'll help right now."
I nod, but my chest won't unclench. Not when she's lying there trembling, mumbling half-formed words like she's stuck in some dream she can't climb out of.
Rafe lingers in the doorway. His arms are crossed, but he's chewing the inside of his cheek—nervous, twitchy.
"I followed her there," he whispers.
"What?"
He scratches at his temple. "That's how I knew to go to the boardwalk. I was awake and saw her car. I called her, she told me where she was going, and I followed. She shouldn't have seen that. I should've stopped her."
No one says anything. There's nothing to say.
"I'm gonna head home," he continues. "Sofia'll be wondering. And Wheezie. Can't leave 'em alone if Luke's wandering around out there."
I meet his eyes, and for once there's no fight in either of us. Just understanding. He's right. He leaves without another word, footsteps creaking down the hall, the front door shutting behind him.

An hour and a half later, and the house is still too quiet.
Kie and I haven't moved much. We're camped out in the living room, slouched on opposite ends of the couch, both of us pretending like we're comfortable when we're not. Every creak in the house makes us tense.
It's 4:30 in the morning now, around two hours since we left Cleo, Pope, and JJ at the boardwalk. There's been nothing. No call from JJ. No text from Pope or Cleo. Nothing.
Kie chews at the edge of her thumbnail, eyes fixed on the dark window like she's waiting for headlights to pull in. "They should've checked in by now." Her voice is low, almost to herself.
"Yeah." I rub the back of my neck, glancing at my phone again even though I know there's nothing there. My chest twists tighter each time I look. "JJ promised he'd text. Said he'd call as soon as they were clear."
Kie shakes her head. "JJ promises a lot of shit." She says it sharp, but her eyes are glassy. Not mad—just scared.
I lean forward, elbows on my knees. My hands won't stop moving, rubbing together, tugging at the hem of my shirt. "What if something happened?"
"Don't," she cuts in fast. Her gaze flicks down the hall, like she's checking to make sure Sarah's still asleep. Then softer, she says, "Don't say that out loud."
I bite it back, swallowing the lump in my throat.
"I'm sure everything's okay," I say, trying to convince myself.
Kie curls her legs up to her chest, hugging them. "Feels like we're just waiting for bad news."
I let out a humorless laugh. "When are we not?"
Her mouth twitches, but she doesn't smile.
I glance down the hall again. Part of me wants to go back there and sit beside Sarah until she wakes, but the other part doesn't want to move at all. Like if I stay rooted here, maybe time won't shift forward.
The clock blinks 4:37 when I check it again. I don't know why I keep looking. Part of me expects the numbers to tell me something new instead of just reminding me how slowly time moves with impending doom.
Kie is curled on the other end of the couch, blanket wrapped around her legs, chewing her thumbnail down to nothing. She hasn't said much in a while. Neither of us has. I forgot how much the house creaks at night. It makes me sick.
"Shoupe knows us. He knows the story already. He would've let them go."
I scrub a hand down my face. "Yeah." My throat feels dry, but the word comes out flat. "Yeah, he would've."
Her eyes flick toward me, sharp. "Then why aren't they back?"
I don't answer. Not because I don't want to, but because I don't know how.
We sit there in silence a little longer, both of us staring at the window like maybe headlights will sweep through at any second and solve this. But the road outside is black and empty, and every minute that ticks by makes it worse.
Finally, Kie sighs, low and heavy. "How is she gonna be okay?"
I glance down the hall before I answer, even though Sarah's been out for almost two hours now. She barely moved when I checked on her a few minutes ago—just turned her head, mumbling something I couldn't understand. Her hand was on her belly, like she was holding herself together even in her sleep.
"I don't know," I admit. The words scrape out of me. It's the truth, and it guts me to say it.
Kie blinks hard, hugging her knees tighter.
"It's like every time something good happens, every time we make progress," I say slowly, "something worse comes along to take it away. And I can't stop thinking—what if this is the one we don't crawl out of?"
Kie doesn't argue. She doesn't feed me some half-assed comfort. She just watches me, quiet, like she knows there's more.
I exhale hard, lean forward with my elbows on my knees, and let it out. "We fought before all this. Sarah and I."
Kie raises her brows but doesn't say anything, so I keep going.
"She wanted to come with us tonight. I didn't ask, and I didn't even look at her when I told you guys she wasn't coming." My jaw tightens. The memory burns hot. "I thought I was protecting her, you know? But she said it wasn't about that. She said I erased her from the decision."
Kie tilts her head, waiting.
"She's right," I admit. My voice cracks, but I don't care. "I didn't even give her the choice. I just decided for her. And now she's in there—" I gesture toward the hallway, toward Sarah asleep in the bedroom. "—and I don't even know how to fix it. Or if I can."
Kie lets out a long breath. For a second, her face softens. "She'll forgive you. You know she will."
"Yeah, but at what cost? She just watched her stepmom die in her arms, Kie. I can't just waltz in all, 'Babe, I'm sorry for yelling at you.'"
    Kie pulls the blanket tighter around her shoulders, like she's cold even though the air's thick and warm. "It's not about what you say. It's about what you do after." Her voice is flat, but her eyes flicker toward the hallway again. "She doesn't need you to fix everything. The truth is, you can't fix this. You just need to be there in any way she needs."
    I drag a hand through my hair. I want a shower, I want sleep, I want something other than this constant pit in my stomach. "Feels like she's losing herself. I made the call and left her here like a kid being babysat. But she followed us anyway, and now she has to live with what she saw."
    Kie flinches at that. Rose's blood. Sarah's shaking hands. None of us are gonna unsee it.
    "John B." Her voice cuts through before I spiral deeper. "You love her, right?"
    The question is so blunt it throws me. I blink at her. "Of course I do."
    "Then stop talking like you've already lost her." Kie shifts forward, her tone sharper now. "She's strong. She's terrified and pissed and maybe even hating you a little in the moment, but she's not walking away. That girl—" she gestures in the direction of the room, "—she would crawl through fire for you. And you'd do the same for her. So don't sit here acting like this is the end."
    Her words do something to me. I look down at my hands because I can't look at her. She's right, but it doesn't stop the fear from gnawing at my chest.
    "We could probably get her into the car," I say quietly. "I can take you home. You could use some rest."
Kie shakes her head. "We're staying here."
I sigh. "There's no saying how long we'll be waiting for them. I can take you back to your house and get Sarah set up in her real bed. It's not good for us to be awake this long."
"John B., I'm staying here. You can leave, but I'm staying until they're back."