The joint burns between my fingers. I’ve never smoked before, but when John B offers, I don’t think—I need the distraction. My head’s a mess, my chest’s tight, and JJ’s absence is louder than the waves crashing nearby. We fought. Hard. And I left before either of us could say something worse.

“One hit,” I mutter.

John B hesitates. “You sure?”

I nod. I’m not.

The high doesn’t creep in—it slams into me. The sand feels like it’s moving under me, my vision tunnels, and suddenly I’m sweating, freezing, nauseous all at once.

“Shit,” John B says, crouching down. “Hey, hey, look at me—damn it.”

He pulls out his phone.

“She’s greening out,” he mutters into the speaker. “Yeah, your girl. Maybe don’t let her storm off next time.”

It doesn’t take long. JJ shows up with that stormy look in his eyes, jaw clenched, hair still messy from earlier.

“You got high?” he snaps, kneeling beside me. “That’s what we’re doing now?”

I can barely focus. Everything spins.

He sighs, brushing my hair from my face, his voice low but sharp. “I’m still mad. Don’t think I’m not. But Jesus, baby…”

He scoops me up without another word, holding me tight against his chest.

“Next time, just yell at me again,” he mutters. “Don’t fucking do this.”