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John B thinks he’s lived the longest 72 hours of his life, and he’s never been so ready to fall asleep. He can feel it in his bones. The exhaustion. It settles into his muscles, and his brain, and suddenly he feels like he could fall over.
When they finally get their next single second of downtime, JJ is all over him. It’s after Pope comes back from the dead, after they’ve made it to Ricky’s house and pissed JJ’s cousin off beyond measure. Asking for weed is one thing, but asking for a savior is another. Ricky makes that clear as he packs up his first aid kit.
He doesn’t know when they get home. He doesn’t know how they get home. But suddenly he’s walking through his front door, and he can smell the faint traces of his dads cologne, and finally he thinks ok, I can relax now. His hand falls from the doorknob, and his body sulks to the couch like its second nature. He’s halfway down before he realizes there are other plans in store for him.
“No, no,” he hears, then feels hands around his shoulders. “Not happening.”
It’s JJ’s voice, and JJ’s hands. JJ’s plans. His hands are firm against his skin, and it feels nice. Like an anchor. It’s enough for John B to open his eyes again, to wonder when he closed them in the first place. JJ’s right there, blue eyes wide as ever.
“Lemme sleep, Jay.”
“No.”
“Why not,” John B whines, and he feels like he’s twelve again. Arguing with his dad over whether or not he needs to shower after a long day surfing. JJ is softer than his dad ever was, though. Even at his best, Big John was rough, calloused hands and bold words. JJ is the opposite. He’s warm and careful, and his voice is the softest thing John B has ever heard.
He eases John B into the couch, pulls up his pant leg. John B scrunches his nose. “Don’t need this, Jay,” he mumbles. “You’re stressin’ for no reason.”
“You got bit by a gator,” JJ says, and John B can’t see his face, but he knows he’s rolling his eyes. Somewhere in his brain, John B thinks he remembers that. He thinks he can feel the throbbing in his leg. He thinks it still burns. He’s just not sure. It was so long ago, so far away. JJ seems to notice, seems to sense the confusion that has John B tripping over his memories. “And I’m the only one who remembers that, apparently.”
“Small gator,” John B knows it wasn’t a small gator, but he can’t help but dismiss any worry JJ feels. “Itsy bitsy gator.”
He pinches his fingers together to show JJ just how small.
“Sounded pretty big when you were hounding my ass about being late.”
“Haven’t seen you much,” John B grins, as much as he can muster. “Gotta keep you in check when I can.”
“Move your leg, shitbid,” JJ scoffs.
He doesn’t know why, but with JJ’s hands on his legs and his voice in his ears, something takes over him. The overwhelming urge to tell JJ how much he loves him. He knows it’ll sound cheesy the second the words leave his mouth. They’re right there, on the tip of his tongue.
“On a scale of like, one to megladon,” JJ interrupts John B’s thoughts, looking over the cut. His fingers trace the angry bite marks, just lightly grazing the surface. “How big was this thing really?”
“Like…. Like hammer head, I think,” John B says, and JJ lets out a low whistle. He hears JJ say lemme know if this hurts before adding more pressure. John B sucks in his teeth, places his fist against his forehead. “God, yeah, that fuckin’ hurts, Jay.”
His words are sharp, but JJ knows he doesn’t mean it. He knows, because his words are also pointy and cold when John B patches him up. JJ’s lost count on the number of times he’s accidentally cussed John B out. A string of Jesus Christ and mother fucker and you’re such a goddamn bastard sometimes, you know that? John B’s never taken him at his word. He’s always known it’s the pain talking. Not just the physical pain, but the words Luke used to turn JJ against himself.
“Sorry,” JJ says, and he means it.
“S’ okay,” John B groans, and his head falls back until it hits the cushions. He feels drunk, and he lifts up again to get a good look at JJ. “Kinda feels good.”
He watches JJ rolls his eyes. “That’s some shit I would say.”
John B laughs, nods once before letting his head fall back again. “Maybe you’re rubbing off on me.”
“Your pops wouldn’t be too happy ‘bout that.”
“Good thing he pissed off, then.”
“You don’t mean that.”
“Like you wouldn’t.”
It’s the quick banter they get into sometimes. That back and forth the others are scared off. JJ knows if Pope and Kie were here, they’d find excuses to leave the room the second John B snapped back. Pope would mumble something about going to the bathroom, and Kie would busy herself in the kitchen, try and find something salvageable in the fridge.
JJ can work anyone up. He calls it his gift, that being menace is something everyone can channel. The others laugh and agree, but it’s their favorite thing about him. Their JJ wouldn’t be their JJ without his passion. It’s different when it comes to John B. They go back and forth, these sharp quips that hide what they’re really trying to say.
JJ knows better than to encourage it, this time. Not when Luke is gone and Big John isn’t here to defend his memory. So he takes a deep breath, puts a pause on the thoughts barreling through his head.
“Luke and Big John are both assholes,” JJ scoffs finally, dipping a cotton ball in antiseptic. “But they’re not the same kinda asshole.”
He presses the cotton against John B’s leg, probably harder than he should. John B doesn’t say anything, just feels the pain of being loved right in his chest. JJ takes his time cleaning the cut. There’s a pile of tissue and cotton balls next to John B’s leg by the time he’s done. He’s reaching for a wrap of bandages when he finally looks at John B again.
“Fucker really got you, huh?"
It’s a peace offering, and all John B can do is shrug. JJ’s eyes inch closer, and John B thinks he’s just avoiding the topic of Luke all together. And he thinks he’s okay with that, because he’s kinda avoiding it, too.
There was a time when Big John was a good dad, the same way Luke Maybank was once kinda alright. JJ was younger then. Rosey cheeks and bright eyes, ready to listen to Luke’s every word. John B never met that version of Luke. He never met that JJ, either.
The Luke he knew was spiteful, rage in his eyes. He spit with anger when he talked, and he thought JJ only existed to make his life harder. The JJ he met was quick-whitted and clever, even at 10 years old. He was no stranger to his dad’s anger. Underneath it all, he was just a scared kid with a soft heart.
John B might not’ve known the Maybanks when things were good, but JJ knew Big John at his best, and he knew John B when his biggest worry was whether or not he made his dad proud. Now all that has gone to shit, and nothing matters like it used to. JJ knows that. He has for years. It’s new information for John B, but they’ve both found that when you learn doesn’t make it sting any less.
JJ never makes John B feel bad about having a better dad– not that he deemed Big John good by any means– but sometimes he just wants John B to know the difference. Love isn't blood. It isn't obligation. Now that JJ sees it, he tells them all the time. That he loves them, because he chooses to. Not because he’s obligated to. The same way he tells John B that Big John usually meant well, even when his head was in another place.
Sure, JJ's the first one to call Big John on his bullshit. He's been holding a mirror up to the man since they were in third grade. But Big John showed up when Luke didn't. He gave JJ a safe place to sleep and a warm meal and the best friend he could ever ask for. JJ can't forget that entirely. Neither can John B.
“You’re a dumbass if you don’t go to a real doctor and get stitches,” JJ finally says, and he’s staring John B right in the eyes. It’s how John B knows he’s serious. John B isn’t giving in, though. He keeps his eyes locked on JJ’s and they’re in a staring contest, wondering who will break first. He’s surprised when it’s JJ who does. “I know you’re not gonna, but I think you’re gonna have an ugly ass scar if you don’t.”
John B snorts. “Now you know how I’ve felt every single time you’ve gotten hurt the past ten years.”
If he had a dollar for every time JJ avoided his pleas to go to urgent care, he’d have more money than they found with the Royal Merchant.
“Whatever,” JJ rubs a thick layer of neosporin across the cut before wrapping it. The bandage is thick and long, and it wraps around John B’s calf twice before JJ secures it.
John B remembers buying it. He remembers JJ showing up with a cut on his lower back, one that bled into the waistband of his favorite shorts. John B begged him to get it checked out. He told him he didn’t have enough bandages for a cut that big. JJ refused, and John B was almost too scared to leave him alone for the twenty minutes it would take to run to the drug store and back. Then JJ called him a pussy, and John B left holding his breath until he came home to see JJ still in one piece. He was splayed out on the porch, breathing shallow with sleep. John B watched him long enough to calm his heart, promise himself JJ was okay, and then he nudged him awake.
John B knows now that if he pulled at JJ’s shirt, he’d reveal the scar that traveled down his back, the one that disappears beneath his boardshort when they go surfing now. Everytime he sees it, his legs go numb. JJ never told him what really happened. JJ’s never told anyone what really happened. John B likes to think he would tell Big John, if he was still here. He had a way of getting JJ to open up, make him feel safe enough to share the things he couldn’t with anyone else.
They haven’t needed the bandages since. They could’ve used them the night of the hottub, but John B wasn’t there to show Kiara where he kept them, so she used whatever she could find instead. JJ still has to promise that he’s okay, that it’s alright that John B wasn’t there that night. They both know if he was, JJ would’ve fallen apart even more. But he wasn’t, and he feels like he’ll be making up for it for the rest of his life, regardless of how many times JJ tells him to forget it.
“Earth to JB,” he hears, somewhere in the distance. It trails off, and John B feels like he could go sleep. “Look at me, dude.”
JJ’s voice is sudden, loud in his ears. John B’s head feels heavy again, and he can’t help but blink in confusion. “What?”
“Eyes, B,” JJ says, his voice steady. “I wanna see ‘em.”
“I didn’t hit my head,” John B whines, but he looks at JJ anyways. JJ smiles, all gentle and syrupy as he mumbles something like there they are. John B knows JJ is fighting the urge to crack a joke about how submissive he is when it comes to him, but he doesn’t say anything. If John B’s head didn’t feel like it was swimming, he’d play along. Instead, JJ silently shines a flashlight in his eyes, moving it around. John B doesn’t have to be told what to do. He’s done this more times with JJ than he can remember, panic blooming in his chest every time he does it. Only three times has it resulted in an actual concussion, but it’s done enough permanent damage on John B’s nerves for a lifetime.
John B follows the light with his eyes, then JJ’s finger when he puts the light away. His eyes trail from the left to the right, back and forth. His gaze finally falls onto JJ when he finally drops his finger.
“Can’t take any chances,” JJ shrugs. “I wanna go to sleep tonight without thinking you’re gonna die on me.”
“I’d never do that to you.”
“What?” JJ laughs. “Die in your sleep? I dunno if that’s up to you, buddy.”
John B blinks and shrugs, and he feels dizzy. “Does that mean you’re gonna let me sleep soon?”
JJ huffs out a laugh, but he nods. He runs his hand along the bandage, makes sure it’s snug in place before lifting himself off the couch. John B must blink longer than he plans to, because the next time he’s opening his eyes, JJ is placing a warm bowl in his hands. He blinks a couple more times to make sure he’s not imagining things, but sure enough, there’s a bowl of Kraft Mac and cheese in front of him.
JJ eases into the couch, his own bowl perched on his lap as he turns on the TV. He flips through the channels, lifting his fork to his mouth absentmindedly. John B can’t help but watch him. It’s his JJ. The JJ that is patient and warm. The JJ he’s known since they were old enough to be causing chaos. The wide eyed, exhausted JJ that gets soft around the edges. His blonde hair curling behind his ears in a way it only does after long days on the beach or in the sticky summer air. His pink cheeks, his strong arms, his gentle touch.
“Jaws,” JJ says, finally looking at John B.
“Huh?”
“Your dad never let us watch Jaws,” JJ shakes his head, laughs. He points to the TV. “Remember? Thought it’d ruin surfing for us.”
“I think he was just scared of sharks,” John B says, but it doesn’t sound like his voice.
JJ takes another bite, but barely hits his mouth. His eyes are glued to the TV, and half the noodles fall back into the bowl. John B can’t stop staring at him. JJ looks the same as he did in third grade. God, his leg hurts. “Shit, man. I trusted every word outta your dads mouth.”
He won’t look at John B now, and John B knows why. He doesn’t want to talk about his dad, though. He shoves a big spoonful into his mouth instead, chews slowly. John B likes the way JJ makes Mac and cheese. He adds butter and milk, and John B sometimes wonders who taught him that. The kid that eats moldy bread from the panty and half eaten burgers off his friends plates. The kid that won’t spend an extra penny on things he doesn’t need, but won’t make boxed Mac and cheese without sprucing it up.
John B thinks JJ’s gonna keep the channel on Jaws. His arm slacks just a bit, the remote sliding from his hand. His eyes are too focused on the story. Then the shark appears. The music starts up, and the fin is slicing through the water, and–
JJ changes the channel.
“Why’d you do that? It was just getting good.”
“I don’t wanna ruin surfing forever.”
It’s moments like this that John B remembers that JJ is still just a kid. A kid that sometimes still gets scared of the dark and if sharks in the deep sea. That they’re all just kids, twisted up in something much larger than himself. He thinks of the bite marks on his leg and JJ saying goodbye to Luke and Pope reeling from those awful bee stings. He didn’t even know Pope was allergic to bees. In the heat of the moment, he forgot anyone could be allergic to anything.
And just for a second, he thinks he might puke. He takes another big bite instead, and his calf throbs.
JJ has the TV on some show John B only semi recognizes. He throws the remote to the side and eases into the couch, and it feels like they’re thirteen again. Air blasts through the old vents, the sound of crickets so loud it feels like they’re in the room with them. It’s so familiar, John B feels like he can relax— almost.
“D’you know Pope’s allergic to bees?”
JJ looks at him like he’s lost his mind. “Yeah, B. He’s been allergic since forever. Remember when he swelled up like a balloon on the playground in fifth grade?”
John B blinks, because he doesn’t. At least not entirely. It’s there, in the back of his mind. He doesn’t think it has anything to do with the pain in his leg or how exhausted he feels. He thinks he just forgot. It slipped his mind, deemed unimportant after all the things they’ve been through. Unimportant until Pope was dying right in front of him, and he didn’t know why.
JJ stretches his leg far enough to nudge John B with his foot. “You sure you don’t have a concussion?”
It’s now, and only now, that John B realizes how much he wishes the roles were reversed. He’d never wish harm upon JJ in a million years, but he would give anything to be patching him up instead. To be holding him close and gentle, letting him know he was safe. Because when JJ is hurt, he lets John B do that. He doesn’t put up a fight or make fun of John B for being sappy. When JJ lets him do that, John B doesn’t question whether or not he’s a good friend, or a good son, or a good person. Because that– that he knows. It’s familiar, and it’s predictable. This is uncharted waters.
Because now, he’s not so sure how good he is. Pope almost died and John B froze. Sarah’s a million miles away, and he doesn’t know how to be there for Kie.
And JJ— JJ is so far away from him. Maybe they’re in the same room, but he might as well be on another planet. The only thing John B can reach out and touch is JJ’s socked foot.
“I think I’ve been a bad friend, lately.”
JJ doesn’t deny it. He doesn’t rush to defend John B from himself, or promise him he’s a good friend. Instead, he just shrugs and takes another bite. His gaze lands on the TV again, and his toes brush against John B’s arm. It’s his way of reaching out– John B knows it.
“I think we’re all been a little preoccupied.”
“You think I’m flakey.”
“I think you’ve had a lot goin’ on.”
John B tilts his head, stares at JJ sideways. He’s waiting for him to continue, because he knows JJ, and he knows he has more to say. JJ stands his ground, though. Adverts his eyes, takes a bite. His bowl is almost empty, now, and John B knows he can only deflect for so much longer. He grabs JJ’s foot and shakes it gently.
“JJ.”
He’s expecting JJ to pull back his foot and tell him to fuck off. He’s expecting him to throw up his hands and make a scene. He’s expecting him to leave. But he doesn’t. His foot stays in John B’s hand, even pushes into it in a way that makes John B soften. A lifeline.
“Okay, yeah, you’ve sucked recently, B. That what you want me to say? Jeez, you like, just came back from the dead. I’ve been trying to cut you some slack, but if you want me to be honest—“
“I’m sorry about your dad.”
“That’s what this about,” JJ rolls his eyes again, but he doesn’t break his staring contest with the TV.
“I’m serious,” John B says, and his words don’t even feel like they’re coming from his mouth anymore. “I didn’t know he was leaving.”
He’s worried he’s pushing JJ father, but he’s a little shocked when it does the opposite. JJ deflates. Every muscle in his body, the ones he’s been holding so tight. They go slack, and his head falls as his chest empties. He eyes John B, but his eyes are soft.
“Yeah? Me fuckin’ either,” JJ sighs. “Thought he was still locked up. Then he jumped me in the shed.”
“Here?”
JJ throws a thumb towards the backyard. “Yeah, waited in the corner. Look, it’s fine, dude. You didn’t know. I didn’t know. It sucks, but it’s whatever. You’ve had a lot going on.”
John B takes a breath, and he knows he should drop it. But his fingers are still wrapped around JJ’s foot.
“He’s really gone?”
“I mean, he got on a boat.”
“So he’s gone.”
“He got on a boat, B.”
John B knows what he means. That getting in a boat isn’t permanent. That he could show up again whenever he wants. That Luke Maybank will never really leave. Sure, he might disappear from the island for a while, disappear from JJ’s life as long as he can manage. But his ghost will haunt JJ forever. The memories and the scars. Luke Maybank is never actually gone.
“Jay.”
JJ doesn’t answer.
“Jayy,” John B drags on, tugging at his pant leg.
“You’re a needy bastard, you know that?” Maybe he can feel John B’s eyes boring into his side, because he lets out a dramatic sigh before rolling his eyes. “We don’t gotta talk about this,” JJ says, and he’s tired. John B can hear it in his voice. “Seriously. I’m fine.”
“I wasn’t gonna ask about Luke.”
“What then, Bree?”
“I love you.”
“What?”
“I love you,” John b says again. “You’re my best friend. Best thing in my life, always have been. I’m sorry Luke made you feel hard to love.”
“Jesus Christ,” JJ rolls his eyes. “D’you sneak a joint while I was making food?”
“No, Jay.”
“Then you’ve really gotta concussion.”
“Just tell me you love me, too,” John B says, quiet. He feels whiney and tired, and he doesn’t think he’s ever felt like this in his life. He knows he’s never been like this, because JJ looks worried. Eyebrows drawn in as he mutters of course I love you, Bree. John B nods, and his eyes feel wet. He really needs to go bed, but it’s like his brain won’t stop. He feels like he did the first time he tried weed, and he stayed up with JJ listening to the top love songs of the 80s and cried to With or Without You. He swats at his eyes, and watches JJ bite at his lip.
“D’you feel sick about it?”
“What?”
“I felt sick,” John B says, and he wonders how much of his words are fueled by delusional rambling. “When my dad left. He made me feel like shit sometimes, and I still missed him so much. Felt like I was going insane.”
John B’s words string together, like he’s running on fumes and using everything in his power to make sense. JJ softens at that. He pulls his foot away finally, and John B frowns. Then he scoots closer. He doesn’t put his arm around him, doesn’t hug or make a big move. He just takes John B’s empty bowl and sets it on the table before flopping back against the couch, his arm pressing hard into John B’s.
“I know, B,” JJ says, quiet. “I was there.”
It was months of the same thing. John B getting his hopes up, cursing anyone who thought any differently. JJ played along for a while. Gave reasons as to why Big John would up and leave with no warning. Promised John B he’d be home soon. Followed every dead end with just as much passion as the first. John B was relentless, and JJ couldn’t blame him.
“God, you must’ve thought I was insane,” John B sighs, and he can feel JJ shake his head. “I really thought he was gonna come back.”
“You didn’t know,” JJ says. “He always came back.”
“You knew.”
“Yeah, but I stopped expecting the best outta people a long time ago,” JJ tries to laugh, but it’s not funny. Nothing about it is funny, because John B knows that Luke stole JJ’s hope a long, long time ago. “Your dad loved you, though. I guess he just– he loved treasure more, sometimes. And that sucks.”
“It fucking sucks,” John B agrees. “Stupid fucking dads.”
They sit there quietly for a minute, and John B leans his head against JJ’s shoulder. He thinks JJ is done talking, and he’s focused on the way JJ’s chest moves with his breaths when he feels it vibrate.
“Wanna know something dumb?"
“I thought you’d never ask,” John B says, getting more comfortable in JJ’s side. “Thought you’d just let me ramble forever.”
“Just until you tire yourself out,” JJ says, and John B doesn’t need to see him to know he’s smirking. But JJ gets quiet again, and it’s like John B can feel the frown that’s replaced his playful grin. “I thought maybe he’d turn around. Think about the son he was leaving behind– that maybe I’d like to know he’s still here. That maybe I still need him. He didn’t, though. Obviously.”
Kiara had pulled him aside at Ricky’s. She told him JJ cried. That he watched Luke get on the boat, that he threw out a stash of pills, that he waited for him to stay. Instead, she told John B about the way he crumbled in the car. He’d barely pulled it together by the time they made it back to the marsh. Wiping tears away before showing his hat over his head and throwing open the car door.
John B feels sick again. He nudges further against JJ, ignores the pain that shoots through his leg. “I would’ve turned around.”
JJ lets out a laugh. It’s a real one, John B can feel it in the way his chest moves.
“God, you’re such an asshole,” JJ laughs. John B is dead serious, but he doesn’t say so. If JJ’s laughing, that’s enough for him. “I’m really glad you didn’t get eaten by that alligator.”
“He got a pretty good snack, though.”
“Yeah, that scar’s gonna look badass.”
“You said it’s gonna look ugly.”
“Whatever,” JJ rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling. “Maybe I’m just jealous. Chicks are gonna love that. You know how much street cred that thing’s gonna get you? Endless, dude.”
“We could go back,” John B says, and his eyes are heavy again. His body is, too, and for the first time all night he thinks he could actually go to sleep. His brain finally at peace, his person finally relaxed beside him. “Let him have a main course. M’ sure he’d love Maybank blood.”
JJ laughs again, and it’s soft. He stretches his arms until his hand lands in John B’s hair. It’s the final straw, because a few minutes and John B feels himself drifting. “You know I love you, right?”
“I know, Jay,” John B mumbles.
“Okay,” JJ nods, and he rests his head against John B’s. “As long as you know.”
“You gonna let me sleep now?”
“Yeah,” JJ says quietly. “Don’t die on me, shitbird.”