The morning after was all sunlight and slow breathing. We'd learned a long time ago that after any high-stakes chaos, the smartest move was to blend in. Be normal. Boring. Invisible.
Rafe's Jeep fishtailed a little, kicking up sand as we pulled up to a quiet stretch of the beach. Sarah hopped out, tossing a cooler into the back like it owed her money.
"Beer?" Rafe asked, already cracking one and lobbing it my way.
I caught it one-handed, easy. "Breakfast of champions," I said, twisting it open.
Mom had been really clear this morning. Lay low, Jackson. Don't stir the pot. Let Ward think you're my spoiled little prince.
I am spoiled, Mother. I don't know how to listen.
The place was calm, waves whispering, that salty wind that felt more like home than anywhere else. No mansions, no money games. Just sand and sea and the three of us pretending we didn't have a dozen secrets in our back pockets.
Sarah spread a blanket, scanning the dunes like she always did. "We're clear," she said. "No tails, no trackers."
Rafe stripped off his shirt; the guy was basically a walking collection of bad decisions and old scars. I knew most of their stories. He knew mine. We didn't talk about them much.
"So," he said, dropping down beside the cooler. "We wait?"
"Yup," I said, tipping the beer toward him. "Professional beach bums. That's the plan."
---
"You're doing it wrong," I called out, watching Sarah wobble like a newborn deer on the surfboard.
She flipped me off. Classic. "Some instructor you are!"
"Hey, don't blame the teacher if the student's hopeless," I said, grinning.
The waves were perfect — not too rough, not too easy. Just enough to make you feel alive.
"Shift your weight," I told her, moving my own body to show how. "It's not about fighting it. It's about flow. Feel the wave, don't boss it around."
Sarah adjusted, biting her lip. "Like this?"
"Better," I said. "Still too stiff, though. You look like you're waiting for a math test."
Rafe laughed from the sand, shades on, beer in hand. "She's gonna eat it."
"Not helping!" Sarah yelled back, but she was laughing too.
A bigger wave rolled in, and for one glorious second, she relaxed — and nailed it.
Rafe shot up. "Holy shit!"
Sarah was glowing, balanced, cutting through the water like she was born for it. "I'm doing it!" she screamed.
I couldn't stop smiling. She had that Cameron fire — stubborn as hell, competitive to the core, but damn if it didn't make her fun to be around.
Then the wave ended, and down she went.
"Shut up," she sputtered when I swam over, water dripping off her like a wet cat.
"Not saying a word," I said, definitely saying it with my grin. "But that was pretty solid for a rookie."
Rafe wandered over, still laughing. "Guess those fancy sailing lessons didn't teach you balance."
"Bite me," Sarah said, shoving him lightly.
The day felt good. Easy. The kind of peace you only get before the world flips again.
---
"You nearly had it, Barbie," I called out as she paddled back out.
She spun around. "Fuck off, Ken"
"Aw, come on," I teased. "I was being nice."
Rafe barked a laugh from the beach. "She hates that."
"I know," I said, smirking. "That's why I do it."
Sarah grabbed my hand, yanking me halfway off the board. "You're impossible."
"Yeah," I said, "but you love it."
"Keep dreaming, Genrette."
"Already am."
The sun was warm, the ocean forgiving, and for a second, I almost believed we could just stay in this bubble forever.
---
Then I spotted them.
Three familiar shapes were coming down the beach.
Pope. John B. Kiara.
"Ah, hell, why are they here?" I muttered.
Rafe noticed too, his hand landing briefly on my shoulder. "Showtime," he said under his breath.
He raised his voice. "Well, look who it is — the Pogues."
They stopped a few feet away, that weird mix of tension and nostalgia hanging in the air. We weren't enemies exactly... just people who'd outgrown each other in all the wrong ways. See, we were friends when we were 5 or 6, and then life happened.
John B looked older. So did Pope. Kie looked the same, half Pogue, half Figure Eight, like she never figured out where she fit, but she was raised like me; well, partly my mom would have my head if I did what she does.
"JJ," Pope started, then stopped, like my name tasted weird now.
Out on the water, Sarah caught another clean wave — perfect form, like she was proving a point.
"Didn't expect to see you here," John B said finally.
I shrugged. "The beach is public."
Rafe's arm draped casually around my shoulders; he would do that whenever new people came around. I don't know why.
Kie's eyes flicked toward Sarah. "Nice board."
"It was a birthday gift," I said, keeping it light.
Pope shifted his weight, hands in pockets. "We, uh... heard about your mom. Dr. Genrette. —"
"My mom," I finished for him. "What about my mom?"
The silence after that was loud.
Sarah turned on her board, looking at us from the waves, reading the room without needing a word.
Pope finally said, "She got her clinic set up."
I laughed softly. "Yeah, man. She has been working towards it since I was 2."
John B. opened his mouth, then closed it. I must have looked so confused because Rafe pushed me lightly.
Sarah paddled back out, the sun catching in her hair, Rafe standing beside me like a crutch.