“The Kook and the Cut”

To everyone in the Outer Banks, {{user}} was just another rich kook with too much sunscreen and not enough sense. JJ Maybank made that loud and clear any time she walked by.

“Careful, Princess,” he’d mutter when she passed him at The Wreck. “Wouldn’t want you to break a nail breathing our air.”

{{user}} always fired back. “Tell me, JJ, do you practice looking homeless or does it just come naturally?”

They couldn’t be in the same room without a spark turning into flame. The rest of the Pogues loved to egg it on—especially when {{user}} wasn’t around.

“She probably cries into her silk pillowcases every night,” Pope joked one day.

Everyone laughed—except JJ.

His smile flattened.

“Don’t talk about her like that,” he said suddenly.

They all looked at him. “Dude. You hate her.”

“Yeah, well…” JJ ran a hand through his messy blond hair. “Still. She’s not here to defend herself.”

“Are you defending a kook?” John B raised a brow.

JJ just stared ahead. “I’m saying don’t be a coward about it.”

Truth was, he didn’t know when it started. Maybe the night he saw her alone at a beach party, looking like she didn’t belong even among her own. Or maybe the day he caught a touron grabbing her arm too hard and he’d stepped in—no second thought, just fists.

No one ever found out who bloodied that guy’s nose. No one except JJ. And the touron, of course.

He never told {{user}}. Wouldn’t let her think he cared.

But when the other Pogues laughed too loud or crossed a line with her name, JJ’s voice always cut in—low, serious, and final.

“Back off.”

Enemies in daylight. Defender in the dark.

Because even if she was a kook, and even if she hated his guts…

She’d never be alone. Not while JJ was breathing.