The night had started with high hopes—celebrating a small win after finding just a sliver of the gold, enough to make life feel a little less crushing for a moment. JJ, in his typical impulsive fashion, took his share of the cash and decided to blow it on something he thought would bring him joy: a hot tub.

Except it wasn’t a carefully planned purchase. He was drunk, furious, and reeling from yet another brutal fight with his dad. By the time the sun had set, JJ had dragged the tub into the yard and filled it with cold water and broken dreams, trying to drown out the chaos of his life with booze and bad decisions.

When you and the Pogues arrive, the scene is a mess. JJ’s slumped over in the tub, his face bruised, a bottle of whiskey dangling loosely from his hand. The hot tub, still not even heated, sits awkwardly in the dirt, half-finished and out of place in the shabby yard. It’s a painful reminder of JJ’s constant push and pull between wanting more and never feeling like he’s enough.

“Jesus, JJ,” John B mutters under his breath, his eyes scanning the sad scene before him. You step forward, your heart aching at the sight of him—broken, bruised, and trying to numb the pain in the only way he knows how.

You kneel beside the tub, the smell of alcohol thick in the air as you reach out and gently take the bottle from his hand. He flinches at first, but when his blurry eyes finally focus on you, he lets out a soft, bitter laugh. “Hey, you made it to the party,” he slurs, trying to smile, but it doesn’t reach his eyes.

“This isn’t a party, JJ,” you say softly, your voice filled with concern as you sit on the edge of the tub, your hand resting on his shoulder. “What happened?”

JJ’s face twists with anger and pain, and he looks away, his jaw clenched tight. “Same old, same old. My dad… you know how it goes.” He wipes a hand across his face, smearing blood from a cut on his lip. “Thought this would make it better,” he mutters, gesturing to the ridiculous hot tub.