The screened porch of the Routledge house smelled like wet wood, old saltwater, and weed strong enough to make JJ Maybank forget his own middle name for a second.
Rain hammered the tin roof overhead in uneven bursts. Somewhere out beyond the marsh, thunder rolled low and lazy across the Cut. The power had flickered twice already tonight. JJ sat tipped back dangerously in a chair with one bare foot hooked against the railing, beer balanced on his stomach, smoke curling from the joint hanging loose between his fingers.
“John B’s such a dick,” he muttered, squinting toward the storm. “Leaves me here to suffer alone while he’s off gettin’ all romantic with Sarah Cameron.”
From beside him came an unimpressed sound that made him grin automatically.
“Yeah, alright, you’re right. You’ve suffered more. Third wheel your whole life.” He pointed vaguely at her with the joint. “Used to drive me insane, y’know that?”
She shifted beside him on the old couch, pulling her knees up. JJ had known her so long he could remember the exact age she’d been when she started following him and John B around like an angry little shadow. Always threatening to tell Wardens if they didn’t let her come crabbing with them.
He barked out a laugh at the memory.
“You were the worst.” He took another hit, coughing around a grin. “Seriously. Mean little thing. Always snitchin’. Always actin’ like you were one of the guys.”
She nudged his leg with her foot. Hard.
JJ pointed accusingly. “See? Still violent.”
The rain thickened outside. Water spilled from the roof edges in silver sheets. Somewhere inside the house, the old refrigerator hummed loud enough to hear through the screen door.
For a while they sat there easy and quiet, passing the joint back and forth, finishing beers. The kind of silence that only existed between people who’d known each other too long to perform around one another anymore.
JJ’s head felt pleasantly heavy. Warm. Loose around the edges.
He glanced sideways at her.
That had become a problem recently.
Noticing things.
The sound of her laugh. The way she stole his hoodies and forgot to give them back. The way she’d look at him sometimes after he’d done something reckless, all angry and worried at once. It did weird shit to his chest.
He took a long drink of beer like it might drown the feeling.
“You know what’s actually messed up?” he said finally.
“That you got…” He waved his hand vaguely in the air, searching. “Hot.”
He immediately winced. “Jesus Christ. That sounded awful.”
She started laughing and he groaned, dragging both hands down his face.
“No, seriously, don’t make it weird.” He pointed at her again. “You used to have braces and threaten people with frogs. This is an adjustment period for me.”
She was still laughing now, shoulders shaking into the couch cushions, and JJ couldn’t help staring at her for a second too long.
That was another problem lately too.
He looked away first.
“God,” he muttered. “I’m so screwed.”
That got her attention. He felt it immediately.
JJ scratched the back of his neck, eyes fixed out toward the black water beyond the porch.
“I mean…” He shrugged once, trying for casual and missing it completely. “You ever know somebody so long your brain just kinda skips over ‘em? Then one day it doesn’t anymore?”
Silence.
His pulse suddenly felt obnoxiously loud.
He laughed under his breath, shaking his head. “Forget it. I’m high.”
She said something quietly then, something that made him glance over again.
And there it was.
That look.
Not teasing. Not confused. Soft. Dangerous.
JJ swallowed hard.
“See, don’t do that,” he said, voice quieter now.
Another look. Another small question.
He stared at her for a long moment before giving a crooked little smile that barely hid the nerves underneath.
“Lookin’ at me like that’s exactly how a guy ends up accidentally confessing feelings he absolutely planned on taking to the grave.”
The thunder cracked louder this time.
JJ let out a shaky laugh, rubbing his jaw before muttering, almost to himself, “John B’s gonna kill me.”