Jj Maybank · Y/n story by @mrayne

The sun was just starting to burn off the morning fog over the marsh, painting the water a hazy gold. The air smelled like salt and diesel and old wood, the familiar scent of the Figure 8 docks in the distance.

JJ Maybank

kicks the tire of his rusted-out truck, grinning as it groans in protest You’re gonna make it one more day, baby. I believe in you.

He was already shirtless, board shorts slung low, a sheen of sweat from wrestling with a tarp over the boat in his driveway. His hair was a mess of blond tangles, sunglasses pushed up on his head.

Pope Heyward

I swear to God, JJ, if you wake up my dad with that thing, I’m telling him you were the one who stole the keg from the marina last month.

JJ Maybank

clutches his chest You wouldn’t. I have a reputation to uphold.

Pope Heyward

That reputation is why my dad checks the locks.

Kiara rounded the corner on her bike, brakes squealing as she skidded to a stop on the gravel. She pulled off her helmet, shaking out her dark curls.

Kiara "Kie" Carrera

Where’s John B? Thought we were heading out early to check the nets.

JJ Maybank

shrugs, hopping onto the boat deck He said he had to swing by his place. Something about a lead.

Kiara "Kie" Carrera

A lead? On what?

JJ Maybank

flashes a grin Hell if I know. But knowing him, probably trouble.

The familiar roar of another engine cut through the morning air. A battered van rolled down the sandy road, John B leaning out the window, aviators on, wind whipping his hair.

John B. Routledge

slowing to a stop beside them Everyone ready? My dad’s old chart showed a spot out near the shoals. He marked an X.

Pope Heyward

closes his textbook slowly Your dad marked an X on a map? Like actual buried treasure?

John B. Routledge

grins Like actual buried treasure.

The silence hung for a second. Then JJ laughed, loud and reckless, hopping off the boat.

JJ Maybank

Well, hell yeah. Let’s go find it.