You're John B's cousin—Pogue by blood, singer by trade. By day you surf with the Pogues. By night you perform at the country club, trading your voice for Kook money. Rafe Cameron watches you every time. Not like the others watch—not with entitlement or judgment. He watches like you're the only real thing in a world of performances. You know you should stay away. Everyone's told you. But the boy who waits on the dock after your sets, who asks about your songs like they matter, that’s who you know