「 ✦ WES GENRETTE✦ 」

────

THE NEXT MORNING, SUNLIGHT SPILLED through the curtains of the bedroom MJ and Rafe shared, but the atmosphere in the house was anything but peaceful.

Rafe's voice boomed from downstairs, anger crackling through the air like a live wire. MJ sat up groggily, her stomach still twisting in knots from the night before. She could hear every sharp word through the walls.

"I don't care about your excuses!" Rafe snapped, his tone dripping with frustration. "You said this deal was locked in, and now you're telling me it's gone sideways? Do you have any idea what that's going to cost me?"

MJ winced, rubbing her temples as her headache grew. She swung her legs over the edge of the bed, but the second she stood up, nausea hit her like a freight train. She barely made it to the bathroom before she was heaving over the toilet.

Her body trembled as she knelt there, cold sweat dripping down her back. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and leaned against the wall, her chest heaving.

This wasn't just stress anymore—it felt like her body was sending her a warning, one she couldn't afford to ignore.

From downstairs, Rafe's angry voice continued to echo.

"I don't care if you're short-staffed! Figure it out, or I'll find someone who can," he growled before slamming the phone down.

MJ sat on the bathroom floor, her thoughts racing. They were way over their heads. The money, the pressure, the secrets—it was all unravelling faster than she could keep up.

As she dragged herself back to the bedroom, something on the nightstand caught her eye. It was the card the man from the town's celebration had handed the pouges, the one with nothing but a name and a phone number printed in bold black text.

She stared at it for a long moment, her fingers hovering over it.

This could be a way out, she thought. Or it could be the beginning of an even bigger mess.

But as nausea threatened to overwhelm her again, she knew she couldn't keep spiralling like this. With trembling hands, she picked up the card and grabbed her phone.

Her fingers hesitated over the keypad, but then she took a deep breath and dialled the number.

It rang twice before a smooth, male voice answered. "Hello?"

"Hi," MJ said, her voice shaky. "This is... MJ Maybank. You left your card."

There was a pause on the other end before the man replied, "Ah, yes. I remember. How can I help you?"

MJ swallowed hard, her throat dry. "I think... I might need your help after all."

The line went silent for a moment, and then the man's voice turned sharp and professional. "Meet at goat island, Noon tomorrow."

MJ nodded, even though he couldn't see her. "I'll be there."

She hung up and stared at the phone in her hand, her heart pounding.

Whatever happened next, there was no turning back.

MJ made her way downstairs, the wooden steps creaking under her bare feet. The tension in the air was suffocating. She found Rafe pacing the living room, his phone clenched tightly in his hand. Papers were scattered across the coffee table, and his jaw was set in a tight line.

His eyes were wild, darting from the floor to the window as though looking for an escape route. He muttered to himself, barely acknowledging her presence.

"Rafe," MJ said softly, stepping closer.

He whipped around to face her, his expression stormy. "Do you have any idea what kind of mess we're in, Rosemary?" he snapped. "These idiots keep screwing up, and I'm the one stuck cleaning up after them! If this deal doesn't go through—" He cut himself off, running a hand through his hair and letting out a frustrated growl.

"Rafe, stop," MJ said firmly, stepping closer. She placed a hand on his arm, grounding him. "You're going to give yourself a heart attack. Just... breathe, okay?"

He shook his head, his chest heaving. "I can't just breathe, Rosemary! We're running out of options, and I—" His voice broke, and he looked away, his vulnerability slipping through the cracks in his anger.

MJ reached up and cupped his face with her hands, forcing him to look at her. "Hey," she said, her voice steady. "You don't have to do this alone. We'll figure it out, okay? Whatever it takes, we'll get through it."

Rafe's eyes softened, the storm in them briefly quieted by her touch. He exhaled shakily, his hands coming up to hold her wrists. "You don't get it, baby," he said, his voice quieter now. "I can't let anything happen to you. Or to us. I'm not going to fail this family."

"You won't," she promised, though she wasn't sure she believed it herself.

He leaned in, his forehead pressing against hers as his hands slid to gently hold her face. His thumbs brushed over her cheekbones as he stared into her eyes, the desperation in his gaze impossible to ignore.

"I'm going to take care of this," he said firmly. "I'm going to take care of us. I don't care what it takes."

MJ nodded, her throat tightening. "I believe you."

For a moment, they just stood there, the weight of their shared burdens hanging heavy in the air.

But deep down, MJ couldn't shake the feeling that they were both teetering on the edge of something they couldn't come back from. And as Rafe pulled her into a protective embrace, she wondered if her call earlier would be the very thing to tip them over.

MJ swallowed hard as she leaned back in Rafe's embrace, her hands still on his chest. The words were out of her mouth before she could stop herself.

"I called the number on that card," she admitted softly, her voice barely above a whisper.

Rafe's body immediately tensed, his arms dropping from around her as he stepped back. His expression darkened, anger flashing in his blue eyes. "You what?" he hissed.

"I called the number," she repeated, her voice trembling but steady. "Rafe, I just— I needed to do something. We're drowning here, and—"

"Are you out of your mind, Rosemary?" he snapped, his voice rising as he ran a hand through his hair. "Do you have any idea what you've just done?"

"I was trying to help!" she shot back, feeling her own frustration bubble to the surface. "We're in over our heads, Rafe! You're angry all the time, you're barely sleeping, and I'm—" She cut herself off, realizing she was dangerously close to spilling everything about the test, about her fears.

"And you think calling some sketchy number is going to fix everything?" he interrupted, his voice dripping with disbelief. "Goddammit, Rosemary, you have no idea who you're messing with! I told you I've got this!"

"Do you?" she challenged, stepping closer. "Because from where I'm standing, it doesn't look like you do!"

Rafe's jaw tightened, his hands balling into fists at his sides. "Stay out of it, Rosemary" he growled. "I'm handling it. And while we're at it, stay away from the damn Pogues. You think they give a shit about us? About you? They'll drag you down just like they always do!"

Her heart sank at his words, the divide between them growing wider with every passing second. "This isn't about the Pogues, Rafe," she said, her voice softer now. "This is about us. About surviving. I can't just sit back and do nothing."

"You don't need to do anything!" he barked, his voice echoing through the room. "I'm handling it. End of discussion."

Rafe turned away, pacing the room like a caged animal. MJ stared at his back, her chest tightening with a mix of anger and fear. She wanted to believe him, to trust that he could pull them out of this mess, but the look in his eyes—the desperation, the recklessness—told her otherwise.

"Fine," she said finally, her voice clipped. "But don't shut me out, Rafe. I'm not some pawn in your game. We're in this together, whether you like it or not."

He stopped pacing, his shoulders slumping slightly as her words sank in. Without turning around, he muttered, "I don't need you calling those people again. Promise me."

MJ hesitated, her gaze lingering on the man she loved—the man who was slowly unravelling before her eyes. "I promise," she lied.

Rafe nodded as if relieved, but the tension in the room remained. MJ turned and walked back upstairs, her mind racing. She knew she'd broken his trust, but she also knew she couldn't stand by and watch him spiral any further.

Whatever was coming, she had to be ready. Because deep down, she knew this wasn't the end of their troubles. It was only the beginning.

────

Later that night, Rafe crept into the bedroom, his movements slower, his face drawn with a mix of determination and regret. MJ was perched on the edge of the bed, her arms wrapped around her knees. She barely glanced at him as he stepped inside, but the way her jaw tightened told him she was bracing for whatever storm he might bring.

"Rosemary," he murmured, his voice soft as he crossed the room.

Her head snapped toward him, her eyes narrowing. "If you're here to tell me to 'stay out of your shit' again, Rafe, I don't want to hear it—"

"Stop," he interrupted gently, kneeling in front of her. "I'm not here to fight."

She blinked at him, caught off guard by the tenderness in his tone. His hands reached up, framing her face with a carefulness that made her breath hitch.

"You're not just some piece in my mess," he said, his voice steady despite the emotion threatening to choke him. "You're not a pawn, baby. You're my everything. My reason to even try."

Her lips parted, but no words came out. The anger she'd been clinging to dissolved as she stared at him, the raw honesty in his eyes breaking through the walls she'd built.

"I know things are bad right now," he continued, his thumbs brushing against her cheeks. "I know I've screwed up, and I've dragged you into more than you deserve. But I swear to you, MJ, I'm going to make it right. For you. For us."

Tears welled in her eyes, but she shook her head, her voice trembling. "Rafe, we're in over our heads. I don't even know if—"

"I do," he cut her off, his voice unwavering. "I know. You're the only thing I'm sure of. And I can't lose you, Rosemary. I won't."

Her tears spilled over as his words sank in, her chest tightening painfully.

"I love you," he said, his hands still holding her face as if she might disappear if he let go. "And I don't have a ring right now, but I can't wait any longer to tell you—I want to marry you, baby. I want you with me forever."

Her breath caught, and she stared at him, her tears falling freely now. "Rafe..."

"I mean it," he whispered, his forehead resting against hers. "You're it for me. Always."

A soft sob escaped her as she nodded, her hands coming up to grip his wrists. "Yes," she whispered, her voice cracking. "Yes, Rafe. I'll marry you."

Relief washed over his face, and he leaned in, pressing his lips to hers in a kiss that was both gentle and full of promise. When he pulled back, he rested his forehead against hers again, his own eyes glassy.

"I'm asking you again," he said, his voice thick with emotion, "with a ring this time. The way you deserve."

She let out a shaky laugh, her fingers tightening on his wrists. "You don't have to—"

"Yes, I do," he interrupted firmly. "Because you're not just anyone, Rosemary. You're mine."

Her tears didn't stop, but neither did her smile. At that moment, despite the chaos surrounding them, she believed him. Rafe Cameron would do anything for her. And she would do the same for him.

Rafe pulled back just enough to look at her, his hands still cupping her face. A small, crooked smile tugged at his lips. "You know what? I'm gonna get you the biggest square-cut diamond anyone's ever seen," he said, his voice soft but teasing.

MJ let out a watery laugh, swiping at her cheeks. "A square cut?"

He shrugged, his grin widening slightly. "Yeah, I pay attention, baby. Don't think I haven't caught all those TikToks you shove in my face, showing off rings and pretending you're 'just browsing.'" He raised an eyebrow at her. "You think I don't notice how your eyes light up when you see those massive square ones with the tiny diamonds around them?"

Her cheeks flushed, and she laughed again, a mix of embarrassment and affection. "I wasn't pretending. I was just... showing you things."

"Mm-hmm," he hummed, his thumb brushing over her cheek. "Well, consider it research. I might not have been able to afford it then, but I'm making sure you get exactly what you've been dreaming about. You deserve that, Rosemary. Nothing less."

Her heart twisted at the sincerity in his voice, and she leaned into his touch, her forehead pressing against his. "I don't care about the ring, Rafe," she whispered. "I just... I just want you to mean it. To be here for me. For us."

His expression softened, and he nodded. "I mean it, baby. I mean every word. You're my world, and I'm gonna prove it. Not just with a ring, but with everything. I promise you."

Tears welled in her eyes again, but this time, they were tears of hope. "Okay," she murmured, her voice barely audible.

"Okay," he repeated, his smile widening as he kissed her forehead, lingering there as if sealing the moment between them.

────

MJ sat stiffly in the oversized leather chair, the weight of Chandler Groff and Wes Genrette's gazes pressing down on her. She felt out of place in the grandeur of Groff Manor, its opulence contrasting starkly with the chaos of her life.

Chandler's voice broke the heavy silence. "You're a resourceful young woman, MJ. You've proven that much already. That's why we've asked you here today."

MJ crossed her arms, her eyes narrowing. "I don't have time for games. What do you want from me?"

Wes leaned forward, his tone calm but laced with urgency. "We need your help. Fifty thousand dollars in exchange for a task we believe only you can accomplish."

MJ scoffed. "Fifty thousand? Sounds too good to be true. What's the catch?"

Chandler exchanged a look with Wes before speaking. "We need you to find something—a piece of history tied to this island. An amulet that once belonged to Blackbeard's wife, Elizabeth."

MJ's brow furrowed. "Why me? You've got all the money and connections in the world. Hire a professional treasure hunter."

Wes sighed, his expression heavy. "This isn't just about treasure, MJ. This is personal—deeply personal. Our family has been cursed for generations."

MJ raised an eyebrow, skepticism etched across her face. "A curse? Seriously?"

Chandler leaned forward, his expression grim. "It's real. Our ancestor, Francis Genrette, betrayed Blackbeard and his wife, Elizabeth, stealing their fortune and leaving her to die. Since then, Elizabeth's ghost has haunted our family. And when she appears to a Genrette, it's a death sentence—violent and inevitable."

MJ swallowed, the hair on her arms standing on end despite her doubts. "And you think this amulet can break the curse?"

Wes nodded. "We do. It's said to be tied to Elizabeth's spirit, a symbol of her life before everything went wrong. If we can find it, we might be able to put her to rest—and end the curse for good."

MJ shook her head. "This sounds insane. Why would I even consider helping you?"

"Because you know the Outer Banks like no one else," Chandler said. "You've got the skills, the instinct, and the motivation. We've done our research on you, MJ. We know you're sharp. And we know you could use the money."

Her jaw clenched at the mention of her financial struggles, but she said nothing.

"We'll give you the resources you need," Wes added. "Maps, research, connections. You won't be doing this blind. All we ask is that you find the amulet—and keep this between us. Discretion is key."

MJ hesitated, her mind racing. The idea of hunting for a cursed amulet sounded ridiculous, but the promise of fifty thousand dollars was hard to ignore. And there was something about the desperation in their voices that struck a chord with her.

"And if I say no?" she asked, her tone sharp.

Chandler's expression darkened. "Then the curse continues. For us and for anyone else unlucky enough to cross its path."

The room fell silent, the weight of their words sinking in. MJ exhaled sharply, her resolve hardening. "Fine. I'll do it. But if this turns out to be some kind of scam, you'll regret it."

"It's not," Wes assured her. "This is real, MJ. More real than you know."

MJ leaned back in the leather chair, her mind already spinning with the logistics of this so-called treasure hunt. The idea of a cursed amulet tied to Blackbeard's wife was insane, but the money? That was real. Fifty thousand dollars could fix a lot of problems.

Chandler cleared his throat, drawing her focus back to the room. "There's one more thing, MJ. This... endeavour might require a team. And we've already had conversations with some people you know."

Her stomach dropped. "What people?" she asked sharply, suspicion lacing her tone.

Wes shifted in his seat, his voice cautious. "The Pogues."

MJ froze her expression hardening. "You went to them? Why?"

"Because they're skilled in these matters," Chandler said plainly. "They've got a history of finding things people thought were long gone. We spoke to them earlier today, and they're already on the hunt. But the choice is yours, MJ—you can work with them and share the cut, or you can take the lead yourself and claim it all."

MJ's jaw tightened, her mind flashing back to memories of the Pogues. John B, Pope, Kie, and... JJ. The thought of working with them, of being forced to face the people she'd left behind, made her stomach churn. She'd distanced herself from that life for a reason.

"You're giving me an ultimatum," she said coolly.

"Not an ultimatum," Wes interjected, his tone calm. "A choice. We just want results. Whether you cooperate with the Pogues or not is up to you. But we're telling you now—they've got a head start. You might benefit from working together."

MJ crossed her arms, her eyes narrowing. "What if I don't want to share? What if I find it myself and take the whole cut?"

Chandler smiled faintly, leaning back. "Then I'd say you've got your work cut out for you. They're resourceful, and they've got the same map we gave you. But it's not impossible."

The room was silent for a moment as MJ weighed her options. She hated the idea of teaming up with the Pogues. She could already hear Kie's self-righteous lectures and John B's biting remarks. And JJ? The thought of facing him again after everything that had happened was enough to make her want to walk out of the room altogether.

But fifty thousand dollars was fifty thousand dollars. And if the Pogues were already on the hunt, she'd either have to work with them—or find a way to outsmart them.

"I'll think about it," MJ said finally, standing up and slipping the map into her jacket pocket.

"Fair enough," Wes said, rising to his feet. "Just know the offer doesn't stand forever. The faster we find that amulet, the better."

Chandler extended a hand, his polished smile returning. "Good luck, MJ. We're counting on you."

MJ shook his hand briefly before heading toward the door, her mind racing. She couldn't believe she was even considering this—working with the Pogues, chasing some cursed relic, and trusting two men who clearly had their own agenda.

As she stepped out into the hot Kildare Country air, she glanced down at the map in her pocket. Whatever she decided, one thing was clear: the stakes had never been higher.

────

The thumping bass of the party reverberated through the expansive beachfront home, a haze of alcohol and cigarette smoke hanging in the air. MJ pushed her way through the crowd, her jaw tightening as she spotted Rafe near a makeshift bar set up on the deck. He was leaning heavily against it, a bottle of bourbon in one hand, his other gesturing wildly as he ranted to a group of equally inebriated Kooks.

Before she could reach him, a girl's voice pierced through the noise, dripping with venom.

"Hey, Rafe," the girl called, her tone mockingly sweet. "Is it true? Your dad had the sheriff killed?"

The crowd around him grew quiet, the tension snapping into focus like a rubber band pulled too tight.

Rafe froze, his jaw tightening. His wild, glassy eyes zeroed in on the girl, dark and dangerous.

"What did you just say?" he asked, his voice low and sharp enough to cut through the music.

The girl smirked, either too drunk or too arrogant to notice the shift in the air. "Come on, everyone knows. Daddy pulls the strings, and when the sheriff didn't play along—well, we all know who took care of her. Like father, like son, huh?"

The bottle in Rafe's hand shattered against the ground as he lunged forward, grabbing her arm in a bruising grip. Gasps rippled through the group as he yanked her close, his voice a venomous growl.

"You don't know what the hell you're talking about," he hissed, his entire body radiating fury.

"Rafe, stop it!" MJ's voice sliced through the chaos as she shoved her way between him and the girl. She planted her hands on his chest, forcing him back. "Let her go!"

His wild eyes flicked to MJ, and for a moment, he didn't seem to recognize her. But then something softened in his gaze, though his grip on the girl didn't falter.

"Rosemary," he muttered, his tone almost pleading.

"Rafe, let her go. Now," MJ said firmly, staring him down.

With a bitter laugh, he released the girl, who stumbled back with wide, frightened eyes before vanishing into the crowd. MJ grabbed Rafe's arm, dragging him out of the house and into the cool night air.

As soon as they were outside, she rounded on him. "What the hell is wrong with you?" she snapped, her voice low but sharp. "Are you trying to prove everyone right?"

"She didn't get to say that," Rafe muttered, pacing in agitated circles. "She doesn't know anything."

"She knows enough!" MJ shot back, crossing her arms. "She's not wrong, is she? You're the sheriff killer, Rafe."

Rafe stopped pacing, his entire body freezing like he'd just been struck. Slowly, he turned to her, his face twisting with anger and disbelief.

"What did you just say?" he asked, his voice a deadly whisper.

"You heard me," MJ said, her voice trembling but steady. "That's what they all think, Rafe. That you're just some unhinged thug, doing your dad's dirty work."

Rafe's nostrils flared, and he took a step toward her, his voice rising. "You really want to go there, Rosemary? You really want to act like you're innocent in all this?"

"What the hell are you talking about?" MJ demanded, her heart pounding as he closed the distance between them.

"You were there," Rafe spat, his voice venomous. "You pulled the trigger just like I did."

MJ's breath hitched, her blood running cold. "Shut up," she whispered, her eyes wide.

"Oh, what? It's fine for me to carry that weight, but not you?" he sneered. "You're just as much a part of this as I am. You shot the sheriff, too, MJ. Don't act like your hands are clean."

Tears pricked at her eyes as the memories came flooding back—shouts, chaos, the deafening crack of gunfire. Her hands shook, and she clenched them into fists, her voice trembling with fury.

"That was your mess, Rafe," she snapped. "You dragged me into it. You don't get to throw it back in my face."

"You didn't have to pull the trigger, but you did," he shot back, his voice softer now but no less cutting. "And don't pretend it didn't save us both."

MJ turned away, her chest heaving as she fought to steady herself. "I didn't have a choice," she muttered.

"Neither did I," Rafe said, his tone suddenly gentler. He reached out, turning her face toward him. "Rosemary, everything I've done, everything I'm doing, it's for us. For you. I'm going to make this right. I swear."

She closed her eyes, a tear slipping down her cheek. "I don't know if we can ever make it right, Rafe."

He cupped her face, his thumb brushing the tear away. "We will," he whispered. "Together. But you've got to trust me. You've got to stop calling me that—stop saying it like I'm the only monster here."

For a long moment, she just stared at him, her heart aching with a mixture of anger, fear, and something she couldn't quite name. Finally, she nodded, her voice barely audible.

"Okay."

The music thumped, drowning out everything else as the chaos of the party unfolded around them. MJ stood near the back of the crowded deck, her arms crossed tightly over her chest, her eyes never leaving Rafe. He was back at the makeshift bar, surrounded by a group of Kooks, his hand gripping a bottle of bourbon. The flickering party lights illuminated his tense expression, his lips moving in an angry rant, but MJ could see it—the momentary flicker of something deeper in his eyes.

Then, before she could stop him, he disappeared into the crowd, pushing through with the same manic energy he always carried. She followed, heart pounding, as she pushed her way past groups of oblivious teenagers.

When she found him, he was leaning against the railing at the far edge of the deck, his eyes wild and unfocused. A few of the Kooks had followed him, leaning in as Rafe pulled out a small baggie from his pocket. The move was practiced, and smooth—he'd done this too many times.

MJ's stomach churned. She knew the look, the signs—it was the same thing she had seen in herself not too long ago. The whispers in the back of her mind, the hunger, the need to escape it all.

"No," she muttered under her breath, stepping forward, determined to stop him before it went any further. She wasn't about to let him slip back into that darkness, not when she'd just clawed her way out of it herself.

Rafe glanced up at her, his eyes a mixture of defiance and something else she couldn't quite place. For a moment, he didn't say anything, just held her gaze. Then he turned back to the baggie, starting to pour out a line on the edge of the railing, seemingly oblivious to everything else.

"Rafe, don't," MJ said, her voice sharp with the kind of desperation she'd never let anyone hear. "Not here, not now."

He scoffed, his hand shaking slightly as he reached for a rolled-up bill, the music blaring around them like a distant echo. "Don't pretend you're better than me," he sneered, his tone laced with bitterness. "You got your shit together, MJ. But you don't get to act like you're some saint. You're no different than me."

Her heart sank at the harshness in his words, but she refused to back down. "I'm not saying I'm better than you," she said quietly, moving a little closer, her voice trembling but firm. "I know what it's like, Rafe. I've been where you are. But this? This isn't the answer. It's just a way to keep running."

His jaw clenched, and for a second, she thought he might listen. But then, with a quick motion, he sniffed the line, and his eyes fluttered shut as he leaned back against the railing, his posture slackening as the high took over.

MJ's throat tightened, a wave of nausea hitting her hard. The temptation to step forward, to comfort him, to make it all okay, was strong—but she couldn't. She knew all too well how dangerous this was. How it could pull her back in, just like it had with her.

"Rafe," she whispered, taking a step back, her hands trembling as she fought to maintain control. "This is not you. You don't need this."

He didn't answer, his eyes now glassy as he looked out over the dark ocean. The music, the chaos of the party—it all seemed distant to him now. He was lost, slipping further away, and it hurt more than MJ wanted to admit.

"I just want it to stop," Rafe muttered, his voice barely audible above the music, his gaze fixed on the horizon. "I just want to forget it all."

"I know," MJ said softly, her voice cracking. "But this won't make it stop. It'll only make it worse."

She wanted to reach out, to shake him, to make him see reason. But the more she watched him, the more she realized how much he was drowning. And the worst part? He didn't want to be saved—not yet.

MJ took one last look at him before she turned away, her heart heavy in her chest. The night felt colder now, the weight of their shared past pressing in on her. She had fought so hard to move past it, but she couldn't escape the truth—they were both still running from their demons. And she didn't know if either of them would ever stop.

MJ walked away from Rafe, her chest tight as the music pounded in her ears, the noise blurring everything around her. She needed space, a moment to breathe, but it felt impossible to find in the chaos of the party. People were laughing, and talking, too many voices and too many bodies, all blending into one overwhelming sound.

She wasn't paying attention when she bumped into someone. A hand shot out to steady her, and she looked up, startled.

It was Chase.

His face instantly softened when he saw her, but there was something more than the usual indifference in his expression. He looked at her with deep concern, his brows furrowed. "MJ?" His voice cut through the noise, low and serious. "Hey, are you okay?"

She blinked, surprised by the intensity of his gaze. She quickly glanced away, avoiding his eyes for a second. "Yeah, I'm fine," she muttered, her voice more defensive than she intended.

But Chase didn't seem convinced. He stepped closer, his eyes scanning her face as though searching for something—anything—to tell him she was lying. "You sure? Because..." He paused, his tone softer now, almost hesitant. "I saw you the other night at the gas station. You didn't look so good. You looked... sick."

Her throat tightened at the mention of it. The memory of that night—the dizziness, the exhaustion—rushed back, and she swallowed hard to push it down.

"I'm fine now," she said quickly, shaking it off. But it didn't come out with the confidence she hoped for.

Chase's gaze remained on her, his concern growing. "MJ..." he began, his voice low but insistent. "I heard you were at Kitty Hawk recently." His eyes searched hers for a sign, his lips pressing into a hard line. "You know that place... it's not somewhere you go for a vacation. What the hell happened there?"

MJ stiffened at the mention of Kitty Hawk. She hadn't thought anyone would bring it up—especially not Chase. It was a place of strict rules, pain, and loss. Chase's sister had died there, and it haunted him.

Her chest clenched at the thought. She hadn't meant to get caught in this mess, but now it felt like she was being dragged into something she couldn't hide from.

Chase was watching her closely, his jaw tight. "MJ... is that why you looked so messed up the other night? Is that why you're acting like this?"

Her heart pounded in her chest. She had to be careful with her words. Chase's sister had died in that camp. He hated it more than anything, and now, here he was, looking at her like she might be in the same trouble.

"It wasn't like that," she said quickly, her voice cracking slightly. "I just... needed to get away. I thought I could handle it, but... I don't know. Things got out of hand." She couldn't tell him the truth. She couldn't tell him how broken she felt after everything that had happened there, after everything that was still happening inside her head.

Chase's expression softened just a fraction, but there was still a sharp edge to his concern. "MJ, I know what happened to my sister. I know what that place does to people." He ran a hand through his hair, frustration and pain flickering across his face. "And I know what it feels like when you can't shake that feeling that you're drowning in it all. I just want to know that you're not—"

"I'm not like her," MJ cut in, her voice trembling despite her efforts to remain composed. "I'm fine. I'm just... I'm just trying to figure things out, okay?"

Chase didn't move, but his gaze softened, though the worry never left his eyes. "I just don't want you to fall apart in the way she did, MJ. I can't lose anyone else from that damn place."

The weight of his words hit her hard. He wasn't just offering concern; he was offering a piece of his own brokenness. She could see it now, the ghosts of his sister's death looming between them.

"You won't," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "I'm not her. I'm not going to end up like that." But even as the words left her mouth, she wasn't sure if she believed them.

Chase studied her for a long moment, the tension between them heavy. Then he nodded, though the worry didn't leave his eyes. "If you need anything... anything at all... you can talk to me. But don't shut me out, okay? Not like this."

MJ swallowed, nodding, her chest tight with a mix of emotions she couldn't quite process. "I won't," she said, though she wasn't sure if she meant it.

As Chase stepped back into the crowd, leaving her with her thoughts, the party felt even more suffocating. She didn't know how much longer she could keep pretending everything was fine.

Savannah stood near the edge of the party, her eyes narrowing as she saw MJ talking to Chase. Her heart skipped a beat when she noticed the familiarity between them, the way they leaned in close, exchanging words that seemed more intimate than friendly. It was like a gut punch—she wasn't sure who this guy was, but the way MJ was reacting to him stirred something ugly inside Savannah. She had worked so hard to get close to Rafe, to make him see her as the one who understood him, and now this? Another potential threat she didn't need.

Savannah had to act quickly. Her mind raced for a way to make sure Rafe stayed focused on her and didn't get distracted by this random guy.

She pulled out her phone and quickly typed a message to Rafe, her fingers flying over the keys with practiced speed.

Savannah: 

I just saw Rosemary all over some guy at the party. It was honestly pathetic—she was acting super clingy like she was trying to get attention. Classic Rosemary, right? Honestly, don't be surprised if she starts making moves on him. You know how desperate she gets when she's looking for a distraction. Just... watch yourself.

With a smug smile, Savannah hit send, her gaze flickering back to MJ and the stranger. She didn't know who the guy was, but if he was a part of MJ's past, that was enough to plant seeds of doubt in Rafe's mind. She knew she couldn't let Rafe get close to MJ. Not when things were finally falling into place between them.

Savannah tucked her phone away, feeling a rush of satisfaction as she watched the party continue. She knew Rafe wouldn't let some random guy come between them—especially when he thought MJ was still the same reckless mess she always was.

Rafe's fingers shook as he put his phone down, the screen still glowing with the text from Savannah. The words were like a punch in the gut, a cold reminder of the things that always hung in the back of his mind—the fear of losing her, of her slipping through his fingers. His chest tightened, the familiar ache of anxiety spiralling as his mind ran wild.

Rafe: 

Piss off, Savannah. You don't know what you're talking about. I'm not dealing with your bullshit right now.

He tossed his phone back into his pocket, his chest tight with frustration. Savannah's attempt to cause tension between him and Rosemary was just the latest in a long line of manipulations, but what stung the most was the thought of Rosemary being even slightly affected by it. He wouldn't let her be dragged into Savannah's drama. Not now, not ever.

His eyes scanned the crowd, and he spotted Rosemary laughing with some Kooks, her smile bright, but his gut churned at the sight. A wave of possessiveness washed over him, and he pushed through the throng of people with a single-minded focus. The party, the noise, the lights—they all faded to background static as he got closer to her.

He was high, no doubt about it, the coke still coursing through his veins, making everything feel sharper, more urgent, more overwhelming. He didn't trust Savannah, didn't trust anyone who tried to get between him and Rosemary. But that wasn't the real problem. The real problem was that he didn't trust himself. His grip on reality felt slippery like he was losing control like he was on the edge of something he couldn't pull back from. And Rosemary? She was the only thing that kept him tethered to anything resembling normal. She was the one person who made him feel alive, but what if she couldn't see that? What if she left?

"Rosemary," he said her name, his voice hoarse, ragged. The fear in him was impossible to hide. "Where the hell are you?" His gaze shot toward the door, the weight of his emotions making him reckless. "You're not out there talking to someone else, are you?"

He stumbled through the house, the walls closing in on him, his pulse racing faster as he tried to shake the fog in his mind. He found her in the kitchen, a glass of water in her hand. She was standing by the counter, looking at him with that same mixture of concern and affection that always made his heartache. But right now, all he could see was her—too far away, slipping through his fingers like sand.

"Rosemary," he said again, his voice tight, the possessiveness lacing every syllable. "Where were you? I—" His chest tightened as he took a step closer, his eyes wild, desperate. "I saw you talking to some guy. You were acting weird like you were trying to get his attention."

She blinked, her brow furrowed with confusion. "What are you talking about? I wasn't trying to get anyone's attention. You know I'd never—"

"No, no, don't do that," he snapped, his hands shaking as he gripped her arms, holding her too tightly. The possessive edge was obvious now, the fear of losing her flooding him. "I can't—I can't lose you, Rosemary. You don't get it. I just— I can't stand the thought of someone else getting close to you, of you leaving me."

Her breath caught in her throat, her pulse hammering in her chest. The intensity in his eyes was unmistakable, and she could feel the panic rising in him, the weight of his fear that had nothing to do with anyone else but everything to do with her.

"Rafe," she whispered, her voice soft but steady. "I'm not going anywhere. I'm not leaving you."

His grip loosened just a fraction, his thumb brushing over her skin as he tried to steady himself. "I can't lose you," he repeated, his voice quieter now, a tremor of vulnerability cutting through the anger. "I can't do this again. Please, don't leave me. I love you."

She stood still, her heart aching at the rawness in his voice. She knew about his fear of abandonment, the way it gnawed at him even when he didn't show it. But seeing it now, this desperate need for reassurance, for her to stay with him, it hit her harder than she expected. She cupped his face gently, forcing him to look at her, to focus on her.

"I'm not going anywhere, Rafe," she repeated, her words firm but full of warmth. "I'm here. You're not going to lose me. I love you, too. You have to trust me."

He let out a shaky breath, his eyes softening as he leaned into her touch, the weight of his anxiety slowly starting to fade, replaced by the comfort of her presence. But the fear still lingered, the fear that one day, she might slip away.

"I don't know what I'd do without you," he muttered, his voice rough. "I can't... I can't even think about it."

Rosemary's heart twisted at the brokenness in his tone. She stepped closer, wrapping her arms around him, holding him tightly, as if she could anchor him to the here and now, away from the chaos in his mind. "You'll never have to think about it," she whispered. "I'm right here."

For a moment, they stood there, tangled together, the world outside feeling miles away. The night, the party, the drugs—everything seemed distant like it didn't matter. All that mattered was that she was here, and he was here, and for now, that was enough.

But as Rafe held her, the lingering fear inside him didn't completely go away. He would always worry about losing her—about not being enough. But as long as she was with him, he would fight the darkness inside, even if it meant fighting himself.

MJ took a deep breath, trying to calm her racing heart as she steadied herself in front of Rafe. She could feel the weight of his anger pressing on her, but she needed to explain.

"Rafe, it's not what you think," she said quietly, avoiding his piercing gaze for a moment. When she finally looked up, her eyes were soft but firm. "I was just talking to Chase. He saw me the other night at the gas station—he thought I was sick." She paused, the words tumbling out before she could stop them. "He... he knows about Kitty Hawk. His sister died there."

Rafe's expression darkened immediately. His jaw clenched as he processed what she'd said.

"Chase? You're talking to him?" His voice was tight, and there was a hard edge to it. His gaze dropped to her face, eyes narrowing, trying to decipher if she was hiding something. "And you think he understands? He's just some guy, MJ."

MJ shook her head, frustration creeping into her tone. "It's not like that, Rafe," she said, her voice soft but firm. "He wasn't there to make trouble. He just... he gets it. He's been through the same thing. His sister—"

"Don't you think I understand?" Rafe's voice cracked slightly, and he stepped closer to her, his expression pained. "I know what it's like to lose someone. I know what it's like to feel like you're... like you're drowning, MJ. I know what it's like to watch someone hurt and not know how to fix it. And you think that guy gets it? Do you not think I do?"

The words hit MJ like a slap. She hadn't meant to hurt him, but now, seeing the hurt in his eyes, she felt guilty. "I didn't mean it like that," she whispered, her voice small.

Rafe's eyes were wild now, his emotions spiralling. He stepped back, trying to compose himself but clearly struggling. His hands fisted at his sides, and his breath came in short, sharp bursts. "It's just—" He paused, his eyes searching hers. "I love you, Rosemary. I can't stand the thought of losing you to someone who's just going to walk away when things get tough."

MJ's heart twisted, guilt rushing through her. "Rafe, I'm not going anywhere," she said softly, reaching out to touch his arm. "Chase isn't a threat. I promise you. He was just concerned, and I needed to talk to someone who understood. That's all."

But Rafe wasn't convinced. His expression was still dark, the fear in his eyes too raw. "I don't care if he understands or not. You're mine, Rosemary. Don't forget that." His voice was a low growl, full of possessiveness, but there was something else there too—a deep, vulnerable fear.

MJ's heart ached for him, but she also knew she had to stand her ground. "I'm yours, Rafe. But I'm still me, too," she said, her voice steady, though the knot in her stomach remained.

He took a deep breath, looking at her as if trying to gauge if she was truly being honest with him. Finally, he exhaled, the tension in his shoulders easing, but not completely. "Just don't let him come between us," he murmured, his hands gently cupping her face. "Please."

"I won't," MJ promised, leaning into his touch, her breath calming as his fear slowly started to subside. But the pain in his eyes wasn't gone yet, and it made her wonder just how deep his insecurities ran. She pressed a soft kiss to his lips, hoping it was enough to reassure him, though the weight of everything between them still lingered.

Rafe's lips lingered on hers for a moment longer than usual, as though he was searching for a sense of grounding, something to anchor him amidst the storm of his emotions. When he finally pulled back, his eyes softened just a fraction, but the edge of his fear was still there, a quiet undertone that he couldn't hide.

"You mean everything to me, Rosemary," he said, his voice hoarse, the vulnerability in it making her heartache. "I can't lose you. I can't stand the thought of you slipping away."

MJ stepped back slightly, her hand still resting on his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart beneath her fingers. She knew he wasn't just afraid of losing her to someone else—he was afraid of losing her to the world, of losing her in ways he couldn't control. And she could feel that weight in his words, in the way his hands trembled slightly as he held her.

"I'm not going anywhere," she reassured him, her voice firm this time, grounding herself in the certainty of her words. "I'm here, Rafe. I've been here the whole time. I'm not gonna disappear because of some guy."

Rafe let out a shaky breath, his eyes flickering between her and the crowd around them. He seemed to hesitate, as though trying to make sure the moment was real, before finally nodding.

"Just don't—don't talk to him again, okay?" His tone was sharp, and possessive, and she could see the intensity behind his words. "I can't stand the thought of you being around him. Especially not after... everything with his sister."

MJ swallowed, nodding slowly, though she knew the request came from a place of pain. "I won't, Rafe," she promised again, her voice softening as she reached up to touch his face. "But you need to trust me, okay? Chase is just someone who gets it. He's not a threat."

"I know you think that," he muttered, but his voice was quieter now, his hand pulling hers away from his face so he could hold it tightly, almost desperately. "But I can't handle seeing you with anyone else. Not like that."

The intensity of his emotions hit her like a wave. She hadn't realized how much her words had affected him, how deep his fears ran. The weight of his past, of his own abandonment, seemed to wrap around him like a cloak, and it was a burden he wore with a kind of quiet desperation.

"I love you, Rafe," she said, stepping closer, needing to close the distance between them. "And I'm here. I'm not leaving. I won't leave you."

For a long moment, they just stood there, the sounds of the party fading into the background as they found a rare moment of calm in the chaos. Rafe's breathing slowed, though the tension didn't fully disappear from his body.

Finally, he spoke, his voice softer now, yet still laden with a trace of that fear. "Just don't ever make me feel like I'm not enough, Rosemary. Don't make me feel like you'll walk away."

MJ's heart ached, and she reached up, cupping his face gently in both hands. "You're more than enough, Rafe. You've always been enough. And I'm not going anywhere."

He nodded, the weight of his fear lifting just a little, though she could tell it wasn't entirely gone. But that was okay. They'd work through it together like they always did.

He kissed her then, a kiss that spoke of everything—his love, his need, his fears, and his trust. And when they finally broke apart, Rafe's eyes were still locked on hers, a silent promise between them that no one, and nothing, would come between them.

"I love you," he whispered again, his voice low and raw.

"I love you too," MJ replied, a soft smile tugging at the corners of her lips, even though she could feel the weight of everything still hanging between them. It was a mess, but it was their mess, and somehow, that made everything feel just a little bit more right.

MJ's phone buzzed in her hand, breaking the silence that had settled between her and Rafe. She glanced down, her stomach sinking as she saw the message.

Pope:

Hey, just wanted to let you know JJ's in the hospital. Him and Kie got the bends, but they're gonna be okay. Just a little shaken up. I thought you should know.

Her heart skipped a beat. "The bends?" she whispered to herself, already pulling away from Rafe. The anxiety and fear that had been simmering beneath the surface now surged forward like a tidal wave.

Rafe caught the change in her expression immediately, his hand instinctively reaching for her arm. "What's wrong?" His voice was a mixture of concern and confusion, but his grip on her tightened, possessive, as if keeping her close would somehow shield her from the news.

"JJ," MJ said breathlessly, already typing out a quick response to Pope. "JJ and Kie. They're at the hospital." She tried to keep her voice steady, but it cracked, betraying the panic bubbling up inside her.

Rafe's eyes darkened, his grip on her arm intensifying. "Is he okay?" His tone was raw, desperate—like he needed her to tell him everything would be fine, to calm the storm brewing in his chest.

"I—I don't know yet," MJ said, her voice shaking as she sent her reply to Pope. She turned to Rafe, biting her lip to hold back the panic threatening to spill over. "I have to go. I need to be there with them."

Rafe's face twisted in frustration. "No. Rosemary," he started, his voice low and possessive, "we don't know what's going on. You can't just go running off like this."

"Rafe, I have to," she said, her chest tightening with the need to get to JJ. "You don't understand. I need to make sure he's okay. I'm the one who has to protect him, especially after everything that's happened."

The words hung heavy between them. Rafe's eyes flashed with something darker—jealousy, possessiveness, fear.

"You think I don't understand?" he growled, stepping closer, the tension between them now thick with emotion. "You think I'm not scared, too? I don't want you going anywhere, Rosemary." His voice softened, almost pleading, though his grip on her arm remained firm.

She met his gaze, her eyes filled with a mixture of love and desperation. "Rafe," she whispered, "I can't just sit here. I need to be there. Please understand."

For a moment, it seemed like he might argue more, the storm in his chest raging against her need to go. But then, as if he couldn't stand seeing the fear in her eyes, he let out a resigned sigh, his hands falling to his sides.

"Fine," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "But I'm coming with you. You're not going alone, Rosemary."

MJ looked at him, torn between the comfort of his presence and the overwhelming need to be by JJ's side. But she nodded, unable to find the right words to explain everything swirling inside her.

They made their way to the door, and as she glanced down at the text Pope had sent, her heart skipped again. This wasn't over. They weren't safe yet. And as much as Rafe's presence calmed her, she couldn't shake the feeling that something much bigger was waiting for them just around the corner.

Rafe's fingers brushed over the keys in his pocket, his face still tight with frustration, but his eyes never left MJ as he took a few slow steps toward the car.

"I'm driving," he muttered, more to himself than to her, but the words were sharp, possessive.

MJ's gaze flicked to his hands, immediately catching the way they twitched as if he was trying to steady himself from the buzz of the coke still surging through him. "Rafe," she said, stepping forward quickly and taking the keys from his hand before he could react. "You're high. Give me the keys."

Rafe's eyes darkened, a flash of irritation crossing his features. "I'm fine," he snapped, but there was a slight tremor in his voice. His jaw clenched as he stared at her. "If you fuck up my car, I'll be pissed."

MJ's heart twisted, but she was firm. "I'm not going to fuck up your car," she said, her voice quiet but resolute. "I need to be there, and I can't have you getting behind the wheel like this."

For a moment, Rafe didn't move. His eyes burned with something close to rage, a mix of fear and possessiveness. He didn't want her to leave, didn't want to feel out of control in any part of this. But after a long, tense silence, he sighed heavily, rubbing a hand over his face as if trying to shake off the haze.

"Fine," he muttered, his voice rough. "But if anything happens—"

"It won't," MJ interjected, her voice steady as she got into the driver's seat, slipping the keys into the ignition.

Before Rafe could respond, his phone buzzed. He glanced down at it, tension flickering across his face when he saw Pope's name on the screen. MJ, still starting the car, looked over at him with a silent question in her eyes.

Pope:

Don't go to the hospital it's chaos there. It's dangerous. Stay the hell away, and I'll keep you updated, but you don't want to get caught up in this. I know you feel like you need to be with JJ, but trust me—this isn't the way. I'm torn, okay? Part of me still hates you for walking away, but I get why you did it. Just don't make things worse.

The message hit MJ like a slap to the face. She could feel her chest tightening, the guilt and confusion all coming back in a flood. She didn't know how to process Pope's words—how he still hated her for what had happened but also seemed to get it.

Rafe, still leaning against the door, glanced at her as she read the message, his eyes sharp, watching her closely. "What did he say?" he asked, his voice low but demanding.

MJ let out a long breath, her hands gripping the steering wheel as she let the weight of the message sink in. "He says it's dangerous at the hospital," she replied quietly, her voice thick with emotion. "He doesn't want me to come, but he'll keep me updated."

Rafe's gaze narrowed, his posture tensing again. "What's that supposed to mean?" His tone was defensive, almost hostile as if Pope's message had struck a nerve.

"I don't know," MJ admitted, feeling the knot of uncertainty tightens in her stomach. "But I can't just sit here and do nothing while JJ's hurt."

Rafe's silence stretched between them as they pulled out of the driveway, the quiet hum of the engine the only sound filling the air. His jaw was clenched, and MJ could feel the conflict radiating from him. She could tell he was struggling to keep it together, the weight of everything pressing down on him.

He didn't say anything for a few moments, and MJ glanced at him, her eyes softening. "Rafe," she said quietly, "I don't know what's going to happen, but I need to be there. I can't let him go through this alone."

Rafe's eyes flicked over to her, his hand gripping the armrest, his voice barely a whisper. "You think I don't understand that?" he asked, his words laced with frustration and a deeper, unspoken fear. "I'm just—" He stopped himself, shaking his head, as if he couldn't find the right words.

MJ looked at him, taking a deep breath. "I'm not going to abandon you," she said softly. "I promise. But JJ's my brother, and I have to make sure he's okay."

MJ's fingers hovered over her phone before she sent the text. 

MJ:

I'm coming, Pope. I need to be there for JJ.

The response came fast, too fast, and when she read it, a cold chill ran down her spine.

Pope:

People are trying to kill them. You're making a mistake. JJ would never forgive himself if something happened to you, not after everything. Do you want to fix things between you two? Stay the hell away from the hospital. It's too dangerous.

Her heart raced. She knew Pope wasn't exaggerating. Every word felt like a warning, but the pull to be with JJ, to help him, was overwhelming.