「 ✦ JUVIE OR NARCOTICS ANONYMOUS ✦ 」

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THE RIDE TO THE juvenile detention center was a blur for Rosemary Jane Maybank. Sitting cuffed in the back of the police car, she stared blankly out the window as the rain blurred the world outside. Her mind reeled, thoughts colliding in a chaotic storm—Zaza, Kenyon, the overdose, and the nightmare that had consumed her life.

The ride to the juvenile detention center was a blur for Rosemary Jade Maybank. Sitting cuffed in the back of the police car, she stared blankly out the rain-streaked window. The storm outside mirrored the one in her mind, a chaotic mess of guilt, fear, and regret. Zaza. Kenyon. The overdose. And the fire. The fire had changed everything.

A while back, MJ had stood in the glow of flames she'd set herself, watching as the old warehouse burned to the ground. She hadn't known anyone was inside—not at first. But that didn't matter now. People had been hurt. Lives had been shattered. And all of it led her, to this cold, metallic car, the cuffs digging into her wrists as the officers drove her to face the fallout of her choices.

When the car finally pulled into the detention center, her stomach twisted. The towering fences crowned with razor wire loomed ahead, a grim reminder of the life she was stepping into. As the officers led her through the sterile, white-walled halls, her feet felt heavier with every step.

She was shoved into a small, windowless interrogation room, where two detectives waited. One was a sharp-featured woman with piercing green eyes, and the other a stocky man with graying hair. They didn't waste time.

"Maybank," the woman began, sliding a folder across the table. "We've reviewed your case. The charges regarding Sheriff Peterkin's death have been dropped."

MJ blinked, her breath catching. "What?"

The male detective leaned forward, his voice steady but sharp. "The medical examiner confirmed Zarah Moreno's time of death. It occurred hours before Sheriff Peterkin was shot. You couldn't have been involved in both incidents."

For a moment, relief flickered in her chest—but it didn't last. The detectives exchanged a glance, their expressions grim.

"But," the woman continued, her tone colder now, "we've uncovered additional evidence. Footage from an industrial park shows you, Zaza, and Kenyon Carter entering a warehouse late that night. By 10:30 PM, the building was in flames."

MJ's stomach dropped.

The male detective's voice hardened. "Zaza never left. And now we've got new witnesses placing you at the scene, saying you started the fire."

MJ shook her head, panic lacing her voice. "It wasn't like that. I didn't mean—"

The woman cut her off, slamming the folder shut. "You didn't mean what, Maybank? To start a fire? To leave Zaza behind? Or to cover for Kenyon Carter while he peddled drugs out of that warehouse?"

MJ clenched her fists, tears stinging her eyes. "I didn't kill Zaza and I didn't mean to start that fire back then -"

The male detective's gaze was unrelenting. "You think that matters? You left, Maybank. Zaza was injured, and you walked away. Now she's dead, and you're going down for it."

MJ's voice cracked. "I didn't do this."

The woman leaned forward, her green eyes cold and calculating. "Handle it? Like he's handling it now? Let me guess—Kenyon's nowhere to be found, leaving you holding the bag for his mess."

MJ didn't respond. She couldn't. Kenyon had always been like that—smooth-talking, manipulative, and quick to disappear when things went south.

The woman stood, her patience wearing thin. "Your case worker, Sandra, is on her way. She seems to think you've got a chance at redemption. I'm not so sure."

Sandra. Just the thought of her case worker filled MJ with a mix of dread and shame. Sandra had been at her side through every bad decision, every screw-up. And now, she'd have to face her, too.

When the detectives left, MJ slumped back in her chair, staring at the ceiling. The weight of the night Zaza and her fought - and the fire from their past—crushed her. She didn't know how to untangle it all, didn't know how to prove she hadn't meant for any of this to happen. 

The sound of the door unlocking jolted her back to reality. A guard appeared, gesturing for her to stand. "Let's go, Maybank. Your pod's ready."

Her new cell was cold and barren, just a bunk and a toilet bolted to the walls. She sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the gray, featureless walls. Her thoughts churned—JJ, her friends, the island. Did they believe her? Did they think she was just another Maybank screw-up, destined to burn everything down, even herself?

The detectives exchanged another glance before the woman closed the folder with a snap. "Your story doesn't add up, Maybank. You were there when it happened. And whether you fought her or not, you played a role in her death."

The man leaned back in his chair, his expression grim. "You're facing charges of accessory to distribution, aggravated assault, and potentially manslaughter. But you still have a chance to help yourself. Tell us the truth about Kenyon, the drugs, and what went down that night."

As they left the room, Rosemary slumped back in her chair, staring up at the fluorescent lights above. The weight of their words crushed her, and the truth she couldn't admit to herself gnawed at the edges of her thoughts. Zaza was dead. Kenyon was gone. And Rosemary Jane Maybank was left with the wreckage of a night that had spiralled completely out of control.

She shut her eyes, replaying the argument with Zaza in her head. It had been heated but brief—a clash of frustration and pain. Zaza had been spiralling, and Rosemary had tried to hold her ground, but it had escalated. She remembered Kenyon stepping between them, his voice calm and manipulative as always, telling her it would be fine, that he'd "handle it."

But she had left. I left her there.

Her breath came in shallow bursts, and she forced herself to stop thinking about it, to stop trying to untangle what she knew deep down. She didn't hit Zaza hard enough to leave the injuries the detectives described. She hadn't laid another hand on her after their fight. But she'd walked away. She'd trusted Kenyon.

And now Zaza was gone, and her name was the one being dragged through the mud.

The sound of a key turning in the lock jolted her back to the present. A guard opened the door, gesturing for her to stand. "Let's go, Maybank. Processing's done. You'll be taken to your pod."

She pushed herself up, her limbs feeling heavy, and followed the guard down the hallway. The fluorescent lights buzzed faintly overhead, and the muted hum of the detention center filled the space—shouts, the clatter of metal, the ever-present sound of doors locking.

Her pod was small and cold, with a bunk bolted to the wall and a metal toilet in the corner. She sat on the edge of the bed, staring blankly at the wall as the weight of everything settled on her shoulders.

She had no idea what Kenyon was doing now—if he was still on the island or had slipped away entirely. She doubted he'd turn himself in. He'd always been slippery, always managed to talk his way out of trouble. Rosemary clenched her fists, anger bubbling beneath her guilt. He'd promised her Zaza would be fine, and she'd believed him like an idiot.

But Zaza wasn't fine. She was gone, and now Rosemary's name was tied to a fight, a death, and a crime she couldn't untangle herself from.

The world outside her pod felt far away—her brother, JJ, her friends, her life on the Cut. She wondered if they believed her, if they were out there fighting for her, or if they thought she was just another Maybank screw-up, lost to bad decisions and worse company.

Lying back on the bunk, she stared at the ceiling, the fluorescent light flickering faintly above. She didn't know how to prove her innocence—or if it even mattered anymore. What did it mean to be innocent when she had still walked away? When she hadn't fought harder for Zaza, hadn't stopped Kenyon from leading them all into the night's chaos?

Tears welled in her eyes, and she didn't bother wiping them away. The only thing she could do now was survive. She had to figure out a way through this, not for herself, but for the people waiting for her on the other side of those fences—JJ, Pope, Kie. If they hadn't given up on her, then maybe she couldn't give up on herself.

Maybe. But that felt like a distant hope. For now, all Rosemary could do was wait and pray the truth didn't drown with Zaza.

────

Rosemary sat hunched on the edge of her bunk, her arms wrapped around her knees. The sterile air of the juvenile detention center pressed heavily on her, and the faint buzz of fluorescent lights grated against her nerves. The minutes dragged, each second slower than the last. She wasn't sure how much time had passed before the sound of keys jingling outside her pod door snapped her out of her thoughts.

The door creaked open, and a guard stepped in, a bored look on his face. "Got you a roommate, Maybank. Try not to get into trouble."

Before Rosemary could respond, a tall girl strode in with the kind of confidence that made the fluorescent lights seem dimmer in comparison. She was lean and sharp, with high cheekbones and dark, calculating eyes that flicked over Rosemary like she was weighing her value. Her hair was pulled back in a slick braid, and even in the shapeless detention uniform, she carried herself with a commanding air.

"Hope you're not one of those cry-in-the-corner types," the girl said, her voice low and smooth like she had all the time in the world to dissect and dismantle anyone who crossed her. She tossed a small, folded stack of sheets onto the second bunk and sat down on the edge of it, crossing her legs like she was lounging in a high-rise penthouse instead of a detention center.

The girl smirked, "Word travels fast in here. You got people saying you beat that girl half to death before leaving her to die." Her tone was casual, but her eyes were sharp, watching for Rosemary's reaction.

"That's not what happened," Rosemary said firmly, her jaw tightening.

"Let me guess—wrong place, wrong time? Or are you one of those 'my parents are the worst, so I rebelled' types?" She shrugged as if the details didn't matter to her. "Doesn't matter what happened. What matters is what people think happened. And if you're not careful, Maybank, people will start thinking you're weak. Trust me, you don't want that."

Rosemary bristled, the defensiveness rising in her chest. "Why do you care?"

The girl shrugged, her smirk never wavering. "I don't. Just making conversation. This place gets boring fast, and I like to know who I'm sharing my air with."

Rosemary hesitated, unsure whether to trust this girl. Something about her screamed danger, but not the reckless kind like Kenyon. No, she was calculated, controlled—a predator sizing up her prey.

"What about you?" Rosemary shot back, deciding to deflect. "What's your story? You give off serious mob boss vibes."

The girl laughed, a genuine sound this time, though it still held an edge. "Mob boss? Cute. I'll take that as a compliment." She leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees as she looked down at Rosemary. "Let's just say I know how to handle myself. People respect me, or they regret it. And in here, respect is everything."

Rosemary snorted, folding her arms. "Right. Well, I'll make sure to curtsy next time you walk in."

Her's smirk widened a glint of amusement in her eyes. "I like you, Maybank. You've got a little fire in you. Good. You'll need it in here."

Rosemary rolled her eyes but couldn't help feeling slightly relieved. As intimidating as she was, there was something oddly reassuring about her confidence.

The girl leaned back against the wall again, crossing her legs. "Just so you know, I don't do roommates. But since I'm stuck with you, here's the deal: stay out of my stuff, don't snore, and if anyone gives you trouble, you come to me. Got it?"

Rosemary raised an eyebrow. "You planning on being my bodyguard or something?"

Her smirk turned razor-sharp. "Let's just say I have a way of...making problems disappear. And I don't like unnecessary drama. So yeah, consider it a favour."

"Right," Rosemary muttered, leaning back against the wall. "Not ominous at all."

The girl's laugh echoed through the small room. "Relax, Maybank. You've already got enough on your plate with that little Zaza drama hanging over your head. Don't worry—I'm not here to add to it."

The mention of Zaza made Rosemary tense up, her jaw tightening. "What do you know about that?"

She shrugged, her expression unreadable. "Word travels fast in here. People talk. And you, my dear Maybank, are the talk of the block."

Rosemary stared at her, unease prickling at her skin. If she already knew about Zaza, what else did she know? And more importantly, what did she plan to do with that information?

────

Later that night, as Rosemary sat on the bottom bunk, still trying to process everything that had happened, the girl broke the silence. She was perched on the top bunk, casually flipping through a dog-eared book she'd swiped from the common area.

"By the way," the girl said, her voice low and calm like she was discussing the weather, "you can call me Delphine if you want. But most people outside of here know me as Morrigan."

Rosemary froze. Her heart skipped a beat as her mind scrambled to place the name. Morrigan. She'd heard it before—recently and everywhere. A chill crept up her spine as the puzzle pieces snapped into place.

She glanced up at Morrigan, who was staring down at her now with an amused smirk as if she knew exactly what Rosemary was thinking. "That name rings a bell, doesn't it?" she asked, her tone almost teasing.

Rosemary tried to keep her expression neutral, but her thoughts were spiralling. Morrigan Bates. Social media had been ablaze with her name months ago. She wasn't just infamous—she was notorious. News outlets, gossip blogs, and true crime forums had been obsessing over the girl who'd allegedly masterminded the brutal murders of an entire cheerleading squad in some small Louisiana town. The details had been chilling: a house party went wrong, rumours of betrayal, and a bloodbath that left eight girls dead. And at the center of it all? Morrigan Bates, the ice-cold girl with the twisted grin who the media had dubbed The Cheer Slayer.

Rosemary's mouth went dry. "That was you?" she managed to say, her voice barely above a whisper.

Delphine—or Morrigan—chuckled softly, swinging her legs over the edge of the top bunk. "Guilty as charged," she said, though her tone was light, almost mocking. "Well, technically not guilty. The court said they didn't have enough evidence to convict me. Gotta love a loophole, huh?"

Rosemary stared at her, a mixture of disbelief and unease bubbling in her chest. "You're telling me...you killed them? All of them?"

Morrigan leaned down slightly, her eyes gleaming in the dim light. "Now, now, Maybank, let's not jump to conclusions. That's what everyone else did. I was just a girl at a party, the same as them. Shame it ended the way it did." She tilted her head, her expression unreadable. "But if I did have something to do with it, would it bother you?"

Rosemary felt a lump in her throat, but she forced herself to speak. "Shouldn't it?"

Morrigan grinned, sliding off the top bunk and landing gracefully on the floor. She stepped closer to Rosemary, who instinctively tensed, but Morrigan only crouched down, looking her directly in the eye. "Maybe. Or maybe you should be glad you're sharing a room with me instead of someone who'd hurt you. The way I see it, you've got two options: fear me, or stick with me. I'd choose the second if I were you."

Rosemary swallowed hard, her mind racing. She didn't trust Morrigan—not one bit—but she couldn't deny the logic in her words. Whatever Morrigan's past was, it was clear she held power here. And in a place like this, Rosemary couldn't afford to be alone.

"So, what's it gonna be, Maybank?" Morrigan asked, standing up straight and offering her hand like they were striking a deal. "Friends, or...not?"

Rosemary hesitated, then reluctantly reached out and shook her hand. "Friends," she said, though the word felt heavy in her mouth.

Morrigan's grin widened, sharp and dangerous. "Smart girl. Stick with me, Maybank, and I'll make sure no one lays a finger on you. But cross me..." She didn't finish the sentence, but the cold gleam in her eyes said enough.

The girl's dark eyes narrowed slightly as if she could read Rosemary's thoughts. She leaned forward, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Relax, Maybank. I'm not here to rat you out—or help you, for that matter. You've got enough skeletons in your closet without me digging through them."

Rosemary frowned, leaning back against the cold wall. "What's that supposed to mean?"

The girl's smirk faded, replaced by a sly, calculating look. "It means I know you're not some misunderstood little saint who just got caught in the wrong crowd. You've got a rap sheet, don't you? A real one."

Rosemary's stomach twisted, but she kept her expression blank. "What do you know?"

"Enough," the girl said smoothly, her tone almost casual. "I know about the fire."

The words hit Rosemary like a punch to the gut. Her breath hitched, and her hands clenched into fists. "What fire?"

Morgan tilted her head, feigning innocence. "The one two years ago. The one where a building went up in flames with people still inside." Her voice was calm, but her eyes were sharp, watching Rosemary's reaction like a hawk.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Rosemary muttered, her voice shaky despite her best efforts to keep it steady.

Morgan laughed softly, but the sound was devoid of humour. "Oh, come on, Maybank. Don't play dumb with me. It's all over your file. You were sent to juvy for it, weren't you? Arson. Deaths. The whole nine yards."

Rosemary's chest tightened, her heart pounding so loud she was sure Morgan could hear it. "I didn't mean for anyone to get hurt," she snapped, her voice cracking. "It was an accident."

Morgan raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. "An accident? That's what they all say." She leaned forward, her voice dropping to a low, dangerous tone. "But you and I both know the truth, don't we? You lit that fire on purpose."

Rosemary's vision blurred with unshed tears, her throat tightening. She didn't respond, couldn't respond. The memories she'd tried so hard to bury came rushing back—a match, a flicker of flame, the rush of adrenaline as the fire took hold, and the gut-wrenching realization that people were still inside.

Morgan's smirk sharpened, her eyes gleaming with twisted amusement. "Relax, Maybank. I'm not here to judge. Hell, I've done worse. Cheerleaders don't scream as loud as you'd think."

Rosemary froze, her eyes locking onto Morgan's with a mix of horror and disbelief. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

"Nothing," Morgan replied breezily, leaning back against the wall. "Just stating facts. You've heard of me, haven't you? Morgan Bate? Ring any bells?" She grinned, her teeth flashing in the fluorescent light. "Guess that's why they put us together. Birds of a feather and all that."

"You're lying," Rosemary said, her voice barely above a whisper.

Morgan chuckled darkly. "Am I? Look around, Maybank. Do you think they stick normal kids in this place? Face it, we're all monsters here. Some of us are just better at hiding it."

Rosemary's hands trembled as she glared at Morgan. "Stay away from me."

Morgan raised her hands in mock surrender, her grin never faltering. "Hey, no need to get hostile. I'm not your enemy. I'm probably the only person in here who gets you. Do you think those guards or caseworkers care about your sob story? They don't. But me?" She leaned forward, her eyes glinting with something uncomfortably close to admiration. "I see the real you. And I like it."

Rosemary recoiled, her back pressing against the wall as if she could escape Morgan's gaze. "You don't know anything about me."

Morgan shrugged, her smirk softening into something almost genuine. "Maybe not yet. But I know enough. I know you've got a lot of people fooled, pretending you're just some poor misunderstood girl. But deep down? You've got fire in you, Maybank. The kind that burns everything it touches. And that? That makes you dangerous."

Rosemary swallowed hard, her throat dry. "Why are you telling me this?"

"Because," Morgan said simply, standing and stretching lazily, "you're going to need someone like me in here. Someone who gets it. So consider this me extending an olive branch—or, you know, whatever the opposite of that is."

"I don't need your help," Rosemary snapped, her voice trembling with barely concealed anger.

Morgan smirked, tilting her head as she studied Rosemary. "We'll see. Just remember, Maybank—monsters like us? We're always stronger together."

As Morrigan sauntered back to her bunk, Rosemary leaned against the wall, her mind swirling. She wasn't sure if she'd just made an ally or signed her soul away to the devil. Either way, she knew one thing for certain: survival in this place just got a lot more complicated.

The loud, abrupt bang on the metal door made Rosemary jerk upright, her heart leaping into her throat. Morrigan, unfazed, leaned back on her bunk, smirking slightly as if the commotion was a daily occurrence. A guard stepped in, his sneer cutting through the tension in the room.

"Maybank," the guard barked, pointing directly at her. "Looks like you've got some powerful friends. All charges? Dropped. Must be nice to know someone high up, huh? Or maybe you've been on your knees for them." His tone dripped with malice as he stepped aside, motioning for her to follow.

Rosemary's stomach twisted, her mind racing. What? Dropped? How? Every fibre of her being told her this wasn't good news, but she kept her expression blank. Showing weakness here was like bleeding in shark-infested waters.

Morrigan sat up slightly, watching with amused curiosity. "Looks like someone's got a guardian angel," she remarked casually. "Or a devil in disguise. Good luck, Maybank." Her voice was low, but the weight of her words lingered as Rosemary was pushed forward into the hallway.

As the heavy door slammed shut behind her, Rosemary found herself surrounded by the cold, sterile air of the detention center's corridors. The guard marched ahead, not even sparing her a glance as she followed him. Her thoughts were a chaotic storm: What the hell is going on? Who pulled this off? She racked her brain for possibilities, but nothing made sense. The charges were solid—or at least they were supposed to be. This wasn't some clerical error.

Her heart thudded louder with every step as they turned corner after corner. She couldn't shake the creeping dread that whatever was waiting for her wasn't going to be good. They stopped in front of a nondescript door, and the guard opened it with a swipe of his keycard.

"Inside," he said curtly, not even looking at her.

It didn't make sense. None of this made sense. She wasn't naïve enough to believe it was a miracle. If there was one thing she'd learned growing up as a Maybank, it was that nothing in life came without strings attached.

Her gut twisted as the guard threw open a door at the end of the hallway, motioning for her to step inside. She hesitated, but the impatient shove to her shoulder forced her forward. The second she stepped into the room, her breath caught.

Sitting there like they owned the place were Ward and Rafe Cameron.

Ward looked composed, his polished demeanour masking whatever twisted game he was playing. But Rafe... Rafe leaned back in his chair, his eyes locked on her with an intensity that made her skin crawl. His usual smirk wasn't there, but there was something darker in his expression—something desperate.

"Rosemary," Ward said smoothly, gesturing to the chair across from him. "Please, sit."

She didn't move. Her hands curled into fists at her sides as she stared at them. "What the hell is this?" she snapped, her voice sharp despite the tremor in it.

Ward raised an eyebrow at her tone but didn't answer right away. Instead, he gestured again, his patience wearing thin. "Sit," he repeated, his tone firm.

She glanced at the door behind her, but the guard was still there, blocking any chance of escape. Resigned, she stepped forward and dropped into the chair, her posture stiff, her eyes darting between the two Camerons.

"You're probably wondering why you're here," Ward began, his tone almost patronizing.

"No kidding," Rosemary shot back, her voice hard. "Care to explain why I'm not still in juvie?"

Ward exchanged a glance with Rafe, whose jaw tightened. The silence stretched until Ward finally spoke. "You're not there because I pulled some strings. Let's just say I had a vested interest in making sure you weren't behind bars."

Rosemary's stomach churned. She wasn't stupid. This wasn't charity. "Why?" she demanded, her voice rising. "What do you want from me?"

Ward's smile was tight, calculated. "You were there when Sheriff Peterkin was shot," he said simply, his words hitting her like a brick. "You're a liability, Rosemary. If you decide to talk, it could be... problematic. For all of us."

Her chest tightened as the memories of that night flooded back. The gunshot, the blood, the panic—it was all too vivid. "I didn't say anything," she snapped. "I wasn't going to."

"Maybe," Ward allowed, leaning forward. "But trust is a tricky thing, and we can't afford to take chances. Getting you out ensures your silence."

Her eyes narrowed. "So, what? This is blackmail? You're keeping me out so you can hang it over my head?"

Ward's smile didn't falter. "Think of it as insurance."

Before she could respond, Rafe leaned forward, his gaze piercing. "It wasn't just that," he said, his voice quieter but no less intense.

Rosemary turned her glare on him. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Rafe hesitated for a moment, glancing at his father. When Ward gave a small nod, Rafe looked back at her, his jaw tightening. "I asked him to do it," he admitted. "I couldn't just let you stay in there."

Her stomach dropped. "What?" she breathed, her voice barely above a whisper.

"You don't belong in there, Rosemary," Rafe said, his tone growing more desperate. "I—I couldn't let you go down for something you didn't do. You didn't kill Zaza. You don't deserve any of this."

She stared at him, her mind reeling. This wasn't the Rafe Cameron she knew—the arrogant, volatile Kook who treated people like pawns in his twisted games. This Rafe was... different. But that didn't make her trust him.

"So, what?" she demanded, her voice sharp. "You think I'm supposed to be grateful? You think this makes us even?"

Rafe flinched at her tone, but his expression didn't change. "I just wanted to protect you."

"Protect me?" she spat, her anger boiling over. "You dragged me into this mess in the first place, Rafe! If it wasn't for you—"

"That's enough," Ward interrupted, his voice cutting through the tension. His calm façade was cracking now, his tone colder than before. "We didn't pull you out of there to argue. You're out because it benefits all of us. Don't forget that."

Rosemary's jaw clenched as she glared at them. She wanted to scream, to lash out, but she knew it wouldn't do any good. The Camerons had her backed into a corner, and there was no way out—not yet, anyway.

"What happens now?" she asked bitterly.

Ward's smile returned, colder than ever. "Now? You keep your mouth shut and do what you're told. Play your cards right, and this could work out for you, Rosemary. But cross us, and... well, you can imagine the consequences."

Her stomach churned, but she nodded stiffly. "Fine," she muttered. "But don't think for a second I trust either of you."

Rafe's expression darkened, but Ward just chuckled, standing up. "Trust isn't necessary," he said. "Loyalty is. And I think you'll find that we reward loyalty very well."

With that, the Camerons stood, leaving Rosemary sitting there, her mind racing. She wasn't free—not really. But if they thought she was going to roll over and play their game, they didn't know her at all.

────

 The moment Rosemary walked through the door of the Maybank house, she barely had time to drop her bag before she was tackled by JJ. His arms wrapped around her so tightly it was as though he thought she might vanish again if he let go. She stumbled back, startled by the force of his hug, but quickly steadied herself, her arms hesitating before wrapping around him.

"You scared the shit out of me," JJ muttered into her shoulder, his voice thick. "I thought—I thought I was gonna lose you too."

Rosemary felt his grip tighten, and she closed her eyes, letting the weight of his words sink in. She knew he wasn't just talking about her. John B and Sarah's deaths were still fresh wounds, one neither of them had fully processed. The thought of losing anyone else was unbearable for him, and as much as she hated to admit it, she felt the same.

"I'm here, J," she murmured, her voice soft but firm. "I'm not going anywhere."

JJ pulled back just enough to look at her, his blue eyes scanning her face like he was trying to make sure she was standing in front of him. "What happened? Why'd they let you out?" His tone was a mix of relief and suspicion. "You were looking at serious time, Rose. How'd you walk out of there?"

Rosemary sighed, stepping out of his hold and running a hand through her hair. "It's a long story," she said, collapsing onto the worn couch. JJ followed, sitting beside her, his knee bouncing anxiously.

"We've got time," he pressed, not willing to let it go.

She leaned forward, elbows on her knees, her hands clasped tightly together. "Ward Cameron," she said finally, her voice bitter. "Him and Rafe. They pulled some strings, and got the charges dropped."

JJ blinked, his jaw tightening. "The Camerons? Why the hell would they help you?"

"Because I was there when Rafe shot the sheriff," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. "They think I'm a liability. If I talk, it could ruin everything for them. And Rafe..." She trailed off, shaking her head, unsure how to explain his role in all this without sounding insane.

"What about Rafe?" JJ demanded, his voice sharper now.

Rosemary hesitated, her stomach twisting. "He... He told Ward to help me. Said he didn't want me in there. That I didn't deserve it."

JJ stared at her, his expression unreadable. "That psycho is obsessed with you," he said bluntly, and Rosemary flinched at the harsh truth of his words.

"It doesn't matter," she said quickly, brushing it off. "What matters is that I'm out. But, JJ..." She turned to him, her voice heavy with emotion. "I can't keep going down this path. I can't keep making these mistakes."

JJ frowned, his brows furrowing. "What are you talking about?"

"I mean it," she said, her tone firm. "No more deals, no more trouble. I have to stay clean. I was lucky this time, but next time?" She shook her head, her voice trembling. "There won't be a next time. I can't put you through that again."

JJ opened his mouth to argue but stopped himself, seeing the conviction in her eyes. He sighed, running a hand through his hair as he leaned back against the couch. "Alright," he said finally. "If you're serious about this, I'll back you up. Whatever you need."

Rosemary's chest tightened, and she reached over, placing a hand on his arm. "I mean it, JJ. I'm done with the Camerons. Done with all of it."

He nodded, his jaw still tight. "Good. Because I can't lose you, Rosemary. Not after everything. You're all I've got left."

His words hit her like a punch to the gut, and she pulled him into another hug, holding him close. "You're not gonna lose me," she whispered. "I promise."

For the first time in what felt like forever, she let herself believe it.

────

A couple of days had passed since MJ's release, and the weight of her decision to stay clean was starting to settle in. She had spent the last few days getting used to the idea of living without the constant pull of the chaos she once thrived in. Her dad wasn't around—probably off doing whatever shady business kept him out of sight, and JJ had been acting protective, keeping an eye on her without saying much. It was almost like he was waiting for her to slip up like he was just waiting for her to fall back into the same destructive patterns. But that wasn't going to happen. Not today.

MJ stood at the front door, nervously adjusting her bag over her shoulder. Today was her first NA meeting. She was determined, but the nerves still had a grip on her. What if she wasn't ready? What if she wasn't strong enough to leave the life behind?

She took a deep breath, trying to calm her racing thoughts. But just as she was about to step out the door, the sound of a familiar engine rumbled down the driveway.

Her stomach twisted, and she froze, knowing exactly who it was. She didn't even have to look, but she did anyway, her eyes catching the sight of Rafe's car pulling to a stop in front of the house.

His window rolled down slowly, and his voice floated through the open air. "You're not going by yourself. Get in."

MJ stood there for a second, her heart pounding in her chest. She wanted to ignore him. She wanted to walk right past him, head to the meeting on her own, and show him that she didn't need his help. But something in the way his voice softened made her hesitate.

"Rafe," she said, her voice tight with restraint, "I'm not getting in the car. I don't need your help."

Rafe didn't respond right away. His eyes didn't leave hers, though, and there was something in them—something that pulled at her chest. She didn't know what it was, but it made her want to back down. It made her want to give in.

"Look, I'm not asking you to forget everything. I'm not asking you to forgive me," he said, his voice steady but almost pleading, "I'm asking you to let me help you. Please."

She shook her head, taking a step back, the old walls she had built around herself starting to rise. "You don't get it, Rafe. This is my fight. I can't keep letting people try to fight it for me. I've already got enough to deal with without you in the middle of it."

But Rafe wasn't backing down. He got out of the car, slowly, his eyes never leaving hers, and before she knew it, he was standing a few feet from her, his voice softer, almost desperate.

"I know you're pissed at me. Hell, I'd be pissed at me too," he said, his hands twitching at his sides like he didn't know what to do with them. "But I'm trying here, Rosemary. I'm trying to make up for the shit I've done. I'm trying to make things right. And I get that it's not gonna be easy, that you're not gonna trust me overnight, but just get in the damn car."

His words were almost a plea, but there was a finality to the way he said them that almost felt like a command, though not quite.

MJ stood still for a long moment, her thoughts a whirlwind. She didn't want to let him back in. She didn't want to let anyone back in. But Rafe wasn't leaving. He just stood there, looking at her like he wouldn't back down. His posture had that stubborn edge to it, the same one he always had when he wanted something.

"You're not gonna get what you want," she said, her voice quieter now, the fight fading from her.

"I don't expect you to forget everything," Rafe repeated. "I just want you to trust me enough to let me help you. Let me be there for you."

His eyes, usually full of anger or arrogance, now held something softer—genuine, even. There was something raw there, something that made her hesitate.

It was a moment she'd seen in those movies, the ones where everything felt like it was happening in slow motion like this was the decision that would change everything. Her heart was pounding, her thoughts running in every direction. But for some reason, when Rafe said those words, when he looked at her like that, she knew that this wasn't just him trying to control the situation. This was him trying to make things right.

MJ exhaled, her shoulders sagging slightly. She didn't know if she was making the right choice, but in that moment, she didn't care. "Fine," she muttered, turning toward the car. "But don't think this means I'm forgiving you."

Rafe's lips curled slightly at the edges, the faintest hint of a smile as he opened the passenger door for her. "Wouldn't expect that," he said, his voice low, the familiar cocky undertone back. But there was something else there, too—something that told her he was genuinely relieved.

MJ slid into the seat, the door clicking shut behind her. She didn't look at him, but she could feel his eyes on her. As the engine roared to life, she wondered if this was a mistake. But she couldn't deny that a small part of her was grateful that Rafe was there. Even if it didn't make sense.

As they drove off, the weight of what was coming felt heavy in the air. But for now, at least, she wasn't alone. And that was something.

As MJ reached the door of the NA meeting, she felt the weight of the moment settles in her chest. This was it—the first step toward getting herself back on track, away from the chaos, away from the mess she'd made of her life. She took a deep breath, her hand gripping the handle, but before she could open it, a familiar voice stopped her.

"Hey, Maybank."

She froze. Slowly, she turned to see Rafe standing just behind her, looking a little out of place in the hallway of the church, his hands shoved deep into his pockets, a slight tension in his shoulders that made him seem smaller than usual.

"What are you doing here, Rafe?" MJ asked, her voice cold. She didn't have time for games or distractions—not when she was about to face the hardest part of her journey. She wasn't about to let him mess that up.

Rafe didn't immediately answer. He just stood there for a moment, staring at her with that conflicted look on his face, as if he was working up the courage to say something.

"I've got a problem, too," he finally said, his voice lower than usual, lacking his usual bravado.

MJ's eyes narrowed. "What kind of problem?"

His lips pressed together, and then, with a nod toward the door, he said, "Coke. Same as you, right? I mean... you remember that night at the party. The first time we talked. We did a shit ton of coke together, and look at us now." He let out a small, bitter laugh. "Guess it was easier to pretend I had control back then, huh?"

MJ felt a sick twist in her gut as the memory flashed before her—snorting lines off the countertop, the buzzing high that made everything feel so much less real. The numbness. The temporary escape. And now, here they both were, broken, trying to claw their way out.

"You're not serious, right?" MJ scoffed, crossing her arms over her chest. "This isn't gonna fix anything, Rafe. You can't just show up here and expect me to feel bad for you."

Rafe didn't flinch. Instead, he stood a little taller, his gaze steady as he met her eyes. "I'm not trying to win you back, Rosemary. I'm not doing this for you." His voice softened, almost regretful, like he was forcing himself to admit something he had been running from for too long. "I'm doing it for me. Because if I don't, I'm gonna lose everything. Again."

MJ's heart clenched, the weight of his words hitting her harder than she expected. She studied him for a moment, the raw vulnerability in his eyes not something she was used to seeing. Rafe Cameron, the guy who had always been in control, always playing games, was finally admitting he needed help.

"You're here to get clean?" she asked, her voice quieter now, tinged with disbelief.

He nodded, his jaw tight. "I don't know if I'll make it, but I have to try. I can't keep running. And I can't let you think that I'm some damn hero trying to fix everything. I'm just... trying to fix myself."

There was a pause, and for a moment, it felt like the world had slowed down again like everything around them had disappeared except the two of them standing in the hallway, both equally broken, equally messed up. It made her stomach twist with a mix of anger and something else—something uncomfortably close to hope.

MJ took a long breath, stepping closer to the door. She wanted to say something cutting, something that would push him away, but instead, she just looked at him, at the mess of a person he was, and felt a flicker of understanding.

"You better not waste this," she said, her voice low but firm. "If you want help, then you need to fight for it. Don't just show up here and act like it's some quick fix. It's not. It's gonna be hard as hell, Rafe."

"I know," he said quietly, his eyes not leaving hers. "I know. But I'm still here."

For a second, they stood there, the tension between them palpable. And then, with a deep breath, MJ pushed open the door to the NA meeting, stepping inside. She glanced back at Rafe, her gaze lingering for just a moment.

But of course, that wasn't reasonable.

Rafe Cameron wasn't the kind of guy you ended up with—not if you wanted a future that wasn't destined to collapse under the weight of its chaos. MJ knew that better than anyone.

The Maybank twins didn't care much for rules. They never had. The only one they followed was unspoken but sacred: no Pogue-on-Pogue macking. Every other rule? Fair game to be bent, twisted, or outright shattered. Rules, especially the ones handed down by adults, were meant to be broken in the Deep Reef.

So what was the big deal about MJ breaking two? No boys and no Kooks.

Except it wasn't just two rules—it was Rafe.

She wanted to believe it didn't matter. That sneaking Rafe into her world was no different from the countless other times she and JJ had blown past boundaries, flipping the bird to expectations. But this was different, and she knew it.

Being with Rafe wasn't like sneaking a cigarette behind the Twinkie, skipping out on a shift at the wreck, or throwing punches at Topper for running his mouth. Rafe wasn't just a rule to be broken—he was a disaster waiting to happen.

For one, there was JJ. Her twin might've been the original troublemaker, but when it came to family, he was loyal to a fault. To JJ, Rafe was poison. A no-good Cameron with a trust fund, a superiority complex, and a penchant for leaving destruction in his wake.

If JJ found out, it wouldn't just be a fight. It'd be war.

And then there were the Pogues. They might've laughed at the idea of rules, but some lines weren't meant to be crossed. Hooking up with a Kook—this Kook—was practically treason. Rafe wasn't just another rich kid playing dress-up on the Cut; he was everything the Pogues hated: entitlement, arrogance, corruption. The Camerons represented the very system they fought against.

And yet, here she was, standing in a room with him, letting him in when she knew better.

Rafe hovered just inside the doorway, hands stuffed in his hoodie pockets, like he was afraid one wrong move would get him kicked out. There was something hesitant about him, something almost... broken. MJ couldn't decide if it made her want to hit him or hold him.

"What?" she asked, crossing her arms in a half-hearted attempt to look unbothered.

He shrugged, eyes on the floor. "Nothing. Just... thanks for not slamming the door in my face."

She rolled her eyes, though her chest felt tight. "Don't make me regret it, Cameron."

The problem was, she already did. Not because she didn't want him there, but because she did.

The truth was, being with Rafe made her feel alive. He was like fire and gasoline, and she couldn't resist the spark, even if she knew it would burn her in the end.

But MJ couldn't shake the voice in her head—the one that whispered that some rules weren't just made to be broken. Some rules were there to protect you from the wreckage you'd cause if you crossed them.

And this wreckage wouldn't just hurt her. It'd tear everything apart. JJ. The Pogues. Everything she called home.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" Rafe asked, his voice soft but guarded.

MJ shook her head, tearing her gaze away. "No reason."

Because the truth wasn't something she could say out loud. That even though she knew they couldn't work—shouldn't work—she was already too far gone to stop.

authors note

ahh, season one is officially complete! thank you all so 

much for reading, voting, and leaving your amazing

 comments. i absolutely love seeing your reactions—

whether you're pointing out your favourite moments, 

sharing what made you laugh, or even telling me what 

you didn't like. your feedback makes this journey so much

better! I'll be going back to tidy up a few things— fixing 

grammar and spelling mistakes, polishing up chapter layouts, 

and tweaking the aesthetic. don't forget to vote and leave a 

comment if you haven't already—it means the world to me. 

and now, the exciting part: season two is on the way! 

i've already pre-written up to chapter 4, so get ready. 

p.s. thank you again for all the love and support. <3