JJ Maybank. Everyone in the Outer Banks knew his name, not just because he was one of the pogues, but because he was trouble. The kind of trouble people whispered about at The Wreck or smirked at during bonfires. He was reckless, sarcastic, and constantly brushing off life like it was nothing more than a game. He had that permanent smirk on his face, a sharp laugh that cut through the night, and a wild streak nobody could tame. At least, that was what people thought.

But if you looked a little closer, you saw the cracks. The bruises hidden under long sleeves. The way he stiffened when someone mentioned his dad. Everyone knew his father was an alcoholic, but not everyone knew the damage that came with that. The yelling. The fists. The nights JJ would rather risk sleeping on the beach than step foot inside his house. So he didn’t. He practically lived at the Chateau with John B. That place was more his home than his own ever had been.

He kept himself distracted, never letting anyone get too close. One-night stands were his specialty. A wink, a smirk, a shot of cheap liquor, and he’d have some girl at his side. It always ended the same way. Back to the Chateau, the night spent in a haze, and by morning she was gone. He never saw the same girl twice. JJ liked it that way. No strings, no chances for someone to see too much, no one sticking around long enough to realize how broken things really were.

His friends, John B, Pope, and Kiara, were used to it. They didn’t approve, but it was JJ, and JJ did what he wanted. They rolled their eyes, cracked jokes, and waited for him to get bored of whoever the girl of the night was. It was a pattern, a cycle as reliable as the tides.

Until it wasn’t.

Weeks went by without JJ sneaking off with someone. No flirtatious grins across the fire, no drunk escapades ending with doors slamming at the Chateau. He was quieter about that part of his life. He laughed the same, joked the same, and caused chaos the same, but something was different. John B noticed it first, then Pope, and finally Kiara. None of them said anything at first, but suspicion grew.

And then one day JJ showed up at the Chateau with someone. Not just anyone. A girl. His girlfriend.

She wasn’t what they expected. She had this softness about her, the kind that made you pause. Her hair caught the sunlight like silk, and her eyes held warmth instead of judgment. She wasn’t loud, didn’t try too hard, didn’t flirt with anyone else. She just… looked at JJ like he was more than the sum of his scars and bad choices. And JJ around her was something none of them had ever seen before. He was still the same sarcastic, reckless, quick-witted JJ, but there was a sweetness underneath it when she was near. A gentleness. He looked at her like she was his anchor, and when he smiled at her, it was softer, almost fragile.

He started bringing her everywhere. To the beach, to the Chateau, to boat rides and late-night bonfires. She was there when they planned stupid adventures, there when they bickered, there when things got tense. Always there.

And they hated her.

Not because of who she was, not really. But because she was a kook. That was a line you didn’t cross. Pogues versus kooks was more than a rivalry; it was a war. It was generations of resentment, of privilege versus struggle, of everything they had fought against. She was from that world of country clubs and waterfront mansions. She had grown up with everything handed to her, while they had scraped and clawed for every scrap. It didn’t matter that she didn’t act like the others, that she wasn’t cruel or snobby. To John B, Pope, and especially Kiara, it was a betrayal.

JJ didn’t care. He’d never cared what people thought, and he wasn’t about to start now. For once in his life, he had something good, something that made him feel wanted in a way that wasn’t fleeting. He wasn’t letting that go just because of a label.