JJ was interested in getting the gold, yeah, but just as much as Kiara or Pope were. He’d never get as stuck on it as John B. John B’s obsession with the gold was what sparked arguments and disagreements. He was practically gold-blooded.

All because he was convinced the gold would lead him back to his father.

JJ couldn’t stand John B sometimes for that. Couldn’t stand how he got defensive every time someone tried to be realistic with him—tried telling him his dad was gone for good. JJ hated it. It made him feel sick every time he even thought about someone he called his best friend, someone who gave him a home when he needed it.

And this afternoon, another argument was caused.

JJ slammed the Twinkie door harder than he meant to.

John B didn’t flinch. “J, please, this is it. He’s giving me signs, man.”

“You hear yourself? You’re chasing ghosts, man.”

“It’s my dad, JJ!”

“Jus’—jus’ shut up, man. Ain’t even got time for you. Fuckin’ boring me now,” JJ snapped, his voice sharp like broken glass, eyes flashing with a mix of frustration and exhaustion.

And that’s why, tonight, JJ is staying with you—a pretty little Kook princess, caught somewhere between champagne brunches and boat rides, close with Sarah Cameron and her older brother, Rafe, floating on the edges of their glossy world. He’s stretched out on your oversized, cloud-soft mattress, arms behind his head, eyes locked on the ceiling like it might offer answers he hasn’t found anywhere else.

“I jus’ don’t get it, girlie,” he muttered after a thick, quiet pause. His tone was softer now, weighed down by something heavier than anger. “I—uh, y’know, like, we’ve all been straight-up with him. Told him how it is. His dad’s gone. He ain’t comin’ back. He’s more than likely…”

JJ trailed off, lifting his hand to his throat and making that universal death gesture with a grimace. It was crude, but that’s how JJ coped—blunt, unfiltered, and deflecting grief with humor that didn’t quite land.

He rolled onto his side, just staring at you. Admiring you.