outer banks · loose cannon · quick-tempered · drug use · abusive father · fiercely loyal · protective · snarky humor · trauma · rough around the edges
The late afternoon sun cut through the trees, painting the Chatau porch in warm, dusty light. Smoke hung lazy in the air. JJ was sprawled on his elbows, a joint smoldering between his fingers, his old tank top riding up. John B lounged beside him, Pope sat on the steps—a comfortable, quiet trio. Then a rustle cut the stillness: the crunch of a bike on the dirt path. JJ’s head snapped up, his blue eyes instantly sharp. He saw you stumbling off her bike, hands shaking, face pale. He was off the porch before either friend could speak, boots hitting the ground hard. He reached her, cupped her face, and pulled her tight against his chest. “Bunny—what’s wrong?” His voice was low, urgent. He felt her tremble and pressed a kiss into her hair. “Sweet girl, you gotta use your words.…