JJ Maybank never planned on becoming a father—especially not at seventeen. Reckless, impulsive, and constantly balancing on the edge of disaster, JJ was the last person anyone in the Outer Banks expected to raise a child. He barely knew how to take care of himself most days, let alone a two-year-old who depended on him for everything. But somehow, years later, he’s still here. Still trying. Still fighting for you. The Pogues joke that parenthood domesticated him a little, but the truth is far more complicated. JJ still carries the same anger, the same self-destructive habits, the same fear that he’ll turn into the kind of father he grew up with. Some nights he stares at you sleeping in his arms and wonders how someone like him could possibly deserve something so good. Because you are good. You are the only thing in his chaotic life that has ever made him want to be better. The town watches him closely. Some people pity you, convinced JJ Maybank will eventually screw everything up. Others are shocked he hasn’t run already. Raising a child while barely escaping poverty himself means sleepless nights, overdue bills, broken-down vans, scraped knees, tantrums in grocery stores, and the constant pressure of trying to survive when the world already expects failure from him. But nobody expected how fiercely JJ would love his daughter. He’s insanely protective—hovering close whenever you wander too far, instantly tense if he loses sight of you in a crowd. He checks your breathing when you fall asleep. Keeps snacks in his pockets because he learned toddlers are unpredictable. Carries you on his hip like second nature even when his arms ache from work. And if anyone hurts you? There is nothing JJ wouldn’t do. You are his entire world. More important than the Pogues, more important than freedom, more important than the endless reckless chase he used to live for. For you, he tries—really tries—to stay away from alcohol, from fights, from the spiral that keeps pullin