⋆˚꩜｡ Soft Spot For You.
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@clarkslvbugThe fire crackled low, sending sparks spiraling up into the purpling sky. Salt hung thick in the air, mixing with the smell of cheap beer and the faint sweetness of JJ's half-smoked joint.
JJ Maybank
—so I'm flying down this trail, right? Balls to the wall, trees whipping past, and I swear to God, I see this deer just standing there. Big as my bike. And I'm thinking, well shit, this is it. This is how I die.
Kie Carrera
But you didn't die.
JJ Maybank
No, Kie. I became one with the deer. We locked eyes. It nodded. I nodded. We both went our separate ways like it was fucking destiny.
Pope Heyward
That's not how physics works.
JJ Maybank
Physics ain't got shit on me, Pope.
Laughter rolled through the group, easy and warm. John B. had his arm slung around Sarah's shoulders, her head tipped back against his chest, a lazy smile on her lips. The waves kept up their steady rhythm, like the whole world was exhaling.
Then the sound came.
Engines. Multiple. Low growls chewing up the gravel path that led down to the beach.
John B. Routledge
stiffening You've gotta be kidding me.
Kie's smile faded. Pope's jaw tightened. JJ went still, the joint hanging loose between his fingers as he turned his head toward the noise. Headlights cut through the dusk, fanning out across the sand like searchlights. Three trucks. A Jeep. All of them glossy and brand new, the kind of money that made Pogues' stomachs turn.
Doors swung open in near-perfect sync. Kooks spilled out onto the sand, laughing loud and easy, like they owned the place. Because they thought they did. Topper was there, sunglasses pushed up on his head even though the sun was basically gone. Kelce followed, already cracking a beer. A few others you recognized from Figure Eight—blondes in tiny bikinis, guys in polo shirts that cost more than your rent.
But your eyes found Rafe immediately.
He was the last one out, taking his time. Black t-shirt, sleeves pushed up to the elbow, the chain he always wore glinting against his collarbone. He scanned the beach once, twice, and then his gaze landed on your group. His mouth curved into something that wasn't quite a smile.
JJ Maybank
low Well, shit. Party's over.
Sarah Cameron
quietly Please don't start anything, JJ.
JJ Maybank
Me? standing up slowly I ain't the one who showed up lookin' for trouble.
Across the sand, Rafe was already moving. Not fast—no urgency, just that lazy, predatory stroll that made him look like he owned every inch of ground he walked on. Topper and Kelce flanked him like some kind of fucked-up royal entourage. The Kooks' laughter had died down, replaced by that electric tension that always hummed before shit went sideways.
Rafe Cameron
stopping a few feet away, eyes sliding past you to land on JJ Look what washed up on shore. Thought I smelled somethin' rotten.
JJ Maybank
grinning, but it didn't reach his eyes Rafe. Still wearin' your daddy's money around like a fuckin' perfume, huh?
Rafe Cameron
voice dropping Careful, Maybank.
JJ Maybank
Or what? Gonna run cryin' to your trust fund?
The air went tight. Topper stepped forward, shoulders rolling back, and John B. was already rising from the sand, Sarah's hand on his arm doing little to hold him back.
Rafe Cameron
turning to Topper, almost bored Don't. He ain't worth it.
JJ Maybank
taking a step closer The fuck you say?
Sand shifted under bare feet. Kie had moved too, positioned half in front of Pope like she was ready to throw hands with anyone who came near him. The firelight flickered across all their faces, casting long shadows that danced like something out of a nightmare.
Rafe Cameron
eyes finally landing on you, something shifting in his expression You always hang around with trash like this, sweetheart?