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The engine of his bike hummed low as JJ cut through the night, its sound a steady presence against the eerie silence around him. The usual rush of adrenaline didn’t hit—his ribs and shoulders throbbed too sharply, dulling everything else. Each bump in the road rattled his body, a harsh reminder of the bruises hidden beneath his clothes. His hands gripped the handlebars tightly, knuckles going white, focusing on the familiar weight of the bike beneath him.
When the Chateau came into view, his first instinct was to ease off the throttle, but he ignored it, pushing through the pain and dragging the bike closer. Gravel crunched beneath the tires as he coasted up the driveway, headlights slicing through the dark. But then—he slowed.
The Twinkie was gone.
He yanked on the brakes, bringing the bike to a crawl. The headlights flickered over the gravel, searching for what should have been there. John B’s beat-up van—white, brown, and ugly as hell—always parked in the same spot. The sudden silence after the engine cut off made the absence feel even louder.
A surge of frustration hit him, sharp and uncontrollable.
“Seriously?” he muttered under his breath, irritation creeping into his voice. He shifted uncomfortably on the bike, scanning the yard once more, as if willing the van to reappear if he stared at it long enough. It was past midnight—way too late for John B to be off doing whatever the hell he did when he wasn’t around.
But whatever. JJ wasn’t here to keep tabs on John B. He just needed somewhere to ice his ribs and crash—long enough for the sharp pain in his side to fade into the fog of exhaustion. He’d worry about John B later.
He swung his leg off the bike, the sharp pain in his side flaring up like a warning, but he forced it down. He stood for a moment, eyes lingering on the dark yard, then shook it off and headed for the door.
The door creaked louder than JJ anticipated, the sound slicing through the thick, stagnant quiet of the Chateau. He winced, pausing in the doorway, boots scuffing the warped wooden floor. The air hit him—a familiar blend of damp wood, saltwater, and the faint, lingering trace of weed. It was a smell he couldn’t shake, one that rooted itself deep in his bones like muscle memory. For a moment, it steadied him.
He let the door fall shut behind him, his boots dragging against the floor as he made his way toward the pullout couch. He wasn’t expecting anyone to be here; the Twinkie wasn’t parked outside, and the place had felt hollow the second he stepped in.
but when he almost reached the pullout, ready to collapse, he stopped short.
A flicker of light. Barely there, just enough to catch his eye in the dark. For a moment, he thought it was just exhaustion playing tricks on him. That happened sometimes—edges blurring, shadows shifting. He blinked hard, rubbing his temple. His dad hadn’t hit him in the head, had he? No, not this time. He was sure of it.
Squinting, JJ felt along the wall until his fingers brushed the switch, and with a soft click, the bulb overhead buzzed to life, and there—
Kiara.
She was sprawled out on the pullout couch like she’d always been there, headphones in, her legs tangled in a familiar mess of blankets. A faint glow from her phone lit up her face, and when her eyes squinted against the sudden light, JJ realized she hadn’t even noticed him come in.
For a moment, he just stood there, taking her in. There was something about her, half-asleep in the dim light, that made whatever it is deep in his chest ease without permission, like an invisible knot loosening.
When she finally noticed him, her brows shot up, surprise flickering across her face. She tugged out one earbud, and the unmistakable rasp of Bob Marley spilled into the room.
JJ couldn’t help it—his lips twitched upward, almost smiling. Of course, it was Marley. He didn’t even have to hear the words to know the song.
“Jesus, JJ,” she said, sitting up a little, the blanket slipped down, pooling around her waist as she gave him a lopsided smile. “You scared me.”
He leaned against the doorframe, hands shoved deep into his pockets. His lips twitched into the faintest of smirks. “Didn’t see the Twinkie out front. Thought no one was home.” His voice was rough, barely above a mumble, and he cleared his throat.
She tilted her head, her smile sharpening just a little. “Didn’t think you’d show up tonight.”
He didn’t answer, just glanced at the couch before meeting her eyes. “You’re in my spot.”
Kiara rolled her eyes, shifting over without argument. “It’s John B’s couch.”
“It’s my pullout,” JJ shot back, but the words came out soft, all bark and no bite. He dropped onto the far edge of the mattress, the weight of the day catching up with him the second he let himself sit still.
“You could’ve called dibs,” he added, leaning back, his head resting against the worn fabric.
Kiara huffed in disbelief, tugging the blanket back over her legs as she leaned into her spot. “Pretty sure me being here is calling dibs.”
He shook his head, a half hearted gesture of disagreement, but didn’t argue. Instead he asked “where’s he at anyway? John B?”
From the corner of his eye, he saw Kiara shrug, leaning back against the worn arm of the couch. “No clue. The Chateau was empty when I got here,” she said, glancing at the clock hanging crookedly above the door. “That was….almost an hour ago.”
JJ raised an eyebrow. “And what are you doing here at one in the morning, Miss Carrera?”
Kiara responded with a playful nudge of her socked foot against his thigh, leaving it resting there like it belonged. “What? I’m not allowed here past midnight?”
JJ finally turned his head, meeting her gaze with a pointed look. He didn’t say anything, just arched his eyebrow higher.
She sighed, her fingers absentmindedly twisting the cord of her headphones, Bob Marley’s muffled voice still playing faintly in the background. “I fought with my parents,” she admitted, voice quieter now, almost reluctant. “The house was suffocating. I couldn’t stay there.”
JJ’s chest tightened. He knew a thing or two about houses that made it hard to breathe. The ones where walls pressed too close, and every sound felt like a warning. But he didn’t say that. Instead, he let out a low whistle. “Oh, they’re gonna flip when they realize you snuck out.”
Kiara didn’t answer right away. Her focus stayed locked on the cord in her hands, twisting it again, this time slower, more deliberate. JJ waited, his usual impatience held in check. When the silence stretched on too long, though, he nudged, “So…what was it about this time?”
For a moment, he thought she wouldn’t answer at all. Her hands stilled, her thumb brushing over the frayed cord. The song looped into another track, still faint and scratchy. Then, finally, she spoke, her voice quiet but laced with raw frustration. “They want to transfer me to the Kook Academy.”
JJ froze, his heart sinking. “Holy shit.” The words came out before he could stop them. He reached out instinctively, his hand landing on her knee. Maybe he was trying to steady her, or maybe it was himself he was trying to ground. “Seriously?”
Kiara let out a bitter laugh, her head tipping back as she blinked hard at the ceiling. “Dead serious,” she muttered, her voice cracking on the last word despite the sharpness she tried to hold onto. “Of all places, JJ. Can you imagine me in that preppy nightmare?”
“That’s insane,” he muttered, his voice lower now, steadier. “Why would they even—”
“They think it’ll fix me,” she interrupted, the words bitter and clipped. Her eyes fell shut for a moment, the frustration radiating off her in waves. “Like sending me to that place is gonna magically turn me into one of them.”
“Jesus, Kie,” JJ muttered, still trying to process the idea. He could barely picture her in Kook Academy’s polished uniform, surrounded by trust fund kids with designer shoes and fake smiles. It didn’t fit, not even close. His mind scrambled for the right thing to say. Comforting people wasn’t exactly his strong suit, but seeing Kiara like this—tense, raw—ignited something in him. It wasn’t just that she was upset; it was that she didn’t deserve to be.
“Yo, don’t even stress it,” he started, shaking her knee gently, trying to inject some lightness into his tone. “They’re probably just bluffing, You know how parents are—throwing out threats just to get a reaction.”
Her shoulders sagged slightly, and she shook her head. “You didn’t see them, Jayj. It doesn’t feel like a threat this time.” Her voice was softer now, like she hated admitting it. “They meant it.”
JJ swallowed hard, his throat tight. “Alright,” he said finally, more serious now. “Then we’ll figure it out. If it comes to that, we’ll figure something out. You know we always do.”
Her lips pressed into a thin line, and she snorted softly, though there wasn’t much humor in it. “Figure it out how, exactly?” she muttered. “You got a plan stashed somewhere I don’t know about?”
“Damn straight I do,” he shot back, giving her a grin that made the bruises on his face flare up. “If they try to pull that shit, we’ll just…” He shrugged dramatically, as if the answer was obvious. “Get out of here. Hit the road. Start fresh. Go full-on Bonnie and Clyde or something.”
Kiara rolled her eyes, though the corners of her lips quirked up faintly. “And go where?” she asked, her voice heavy with doubt.
“Anywhere but there.” JJ shrugged again, his tone casual but his eyes earnest. “We’ve got a whole world out there, Kie. Just say the word, and we’ll go. Wherever you want.”
Her gaze dropped back to her hands, her fingers resuming their slow, deliberate twist of the cord. “You make it sound so easy.”
“It is,” he insisted, leaning forward now, his hand still resting on her knee. “I mean, what’s holding us back? Seriously. We don’t need all this shit. You, me, John B, Pope—we’ll go off the grid. Live wild. Be free.”
Kiara gave a small laugh, shaking her head, but there was something softer in her expression now, something lighter. “You’re such an idiot”
“Yeah, well,” he said, grinning as he leaned back, his hands spreading wide. “You’re welcome.” He wasn’t sure if it was enough, but the heaviness in the room seemed to lift, just a little.
For a while, neither of them said anything. JJ watched her from the corner of his eye, her shoulders still tense but not as rigid, her expression not as strained and for now It was enough. His eyes wandered back to the ceiling, the soft hum of muffled music filling the quiet. JJ’s head sank against the back of the couch, his body heavy, exhaustion finally pulling at him. The pressure of Kiara’s foot rested lightly against his thigh, warm and steady. His blinks slowed, each one heavier than the last, and just as he was about to drift, her foot nudged him again.
“Hey,” she murmured, her voice soft but firm enough to pull him back.
JJ blinked, groggy and disoriented, turning his head just enough to catch Kiara watching him. Her expression was unreadable in the dim light, but there was something about the way her lips parted, like she wasn’t sure what to say next.
“What?” he mumbled, his voice rough with exhaustion.
“You were about to pass out,” she said, her tone light but for whatever reason was carrying an edge of concern. Her foot shifted against his thigh, a small, restless movement. “You okay?”
He exhaled through his nose, tilting his head back again. “Yeah. Just tired.”
“Sure,” she said, and he caught the way her lips thinned into a straight line. Her silence stretched long enough that he glanced back at her. She was studying him, her brows pulling together slightly. Then, softly but pointedly, she asked, “So… what about you?”
“What about me?” He turned back to her, frowning faintly. The question caught him off guard.
She rolled her eyes like he was being deliberately obtuse. “What happened to your face?” she asked, her voice dipping into that no-nonsense tone she used when she was done with his antics. Her gaze flickered, landing briefly on his side before returning to his. “Your ribs too.”
“Oh” To be honest, JJ had completely forgotten about the bruises. The shock of seeing her at the Chateau had pushed it from his mind, and everything after—their easy banter, his own fumbling attempts to comfort her—had buried the thought entirely.
That was the thing about his friends—they could do that for him. Being with them was like pressing pause on all the noise. They made the world feel bearable. For a few precious hours, he could pretend it was all okay. No mother who hadn’t loved him enough to stay. No father who did but couldn’t stand the sight of him. No shattering glass, no sharp slap of a hand, no whistle of a belt cutting through the still air. Just the four of them, loud and chaotic in the best way.
Calm. That’s what they were. For all their madness, they were calm itself.
Perhaps that’s why he couldn’t help the frustration that prickled at him earlier when he didn’t see the Twinkie parked outside. It was stupid, he knew that. He didn’t need John B—or anyone, really. He wasn’t a kid, wasn’t looking to be coddled or worse, pitied. But sometimes, after nights like this, he needed his best friend.
He needed John B to toss him a half-frozen bag of peas from the freezer without asking questions. Needed him to sit there, talking about some wild story Big John used to tell, distracting JJ from the ache in his ribs or the bruises blooming under his shirt. He needed that solid, grounding pat on the shoulder when John B finally stood to go to bed—the way he’d always pause in the doorway, turn back, and say, “You know it’s not your fault, right?” Soft, steady, like the words themselves could keep JJ from falling apart.
JJ liked to pretend his dad’s beating him around didn’t bother him, but the truth was, he always needed someone to pull him back to reality.
But the Twinkie wasn’t here tonight. John B wasn’t here.
Thank god Kiara was.
JJ’s fingers hovered near the bruise on his cheek, his touch light but deliberate, pressing just enough to feel the sting. It wasn’t the pain that made him wince—it was the humiliation simmering beneath it, the reminder of how easily he let himself get cornered. The ache flared sharply under his fingertips, and he let out a quiet laugh. Stupid. That’s what he was. Stupid for ending up like this, for letting it show, for letting it matter.
“It’s nothing,” he said, his voice breezy as he let his hand fall back to his side. Without thinking, His fingers, restless as always, found Kiara’s exposed ankle. He traced small, absentminded circles on her skin.
“Just a stupid fight with some Kooks.” The lie slipped out as easily as breathing. Lies always did when it came to this.
It wasn’t that he didn’t trust her. He trusted Kiara— maybe more than himself most days. But there were certain things he couldn’t let her see, couldn’t let her know. It was okay for John B to know about the ugly parts of his life. John B had seen them all, lived through most of them right alongside him. But Kiara and Pope were different. The idea of either of them knowing about Luke made his stomach twist.
He risked a glance at her, but her expression had gone blank, her gaze unreadable. That was worse than anger—Kiara’s silence, her stillness. She stared at him for a few moments, her jaw tight, before sighing sharply through her nose.
The sound made him wince more than the bruise had.
Without a word, she moved. Her foot slid off his thigh, breaking the small, grounding contact, and JJ immediately missed it. But before he could mourn the loss, she leaned in closer.
JJ froze.
Her hand reached for his face, tentative but firm, tilting his chin toward her so she could get a better look. His breath caught as her gaze flickered over his face, tracing the bruise on his cheek, split lip, and lingering at the edge of his temple where a shallow cut sat there. Her fingertips were warm against his skin, soft in a way that threw him completely off balance.
Kiara was close, too close. Her scent— coconut and something faintly floral—clouded his already muddled thoughts. He forgot how to breathe, how to think, how to do anything except exist in this moment.
Don’t look at her lips. The thought rang in his head like an alarm, but it didn’t stop his eyes from wandering down, just for a second, to the curve of her mouth. He quickly jerked his gaze back up, trying to focus.
That door’s locked. Always has been. Always will be.
“You need to stop doing this,” Kiara said quietly, her voice steady but lined with something sharper: frustration, worry, anger. It made his chest ache.
He inhaled, slow and shallow, suddenly realizing he’d been holding his breath for too long, a bitter laugh bubbled up before he could stop it. “What do you want me to do, Kie? Wear a sign that says, ‘please don’t punch me’?”
The corners of her lips pulled down in a way that made him want to take the words back, frown deepening even more as her thumb brushed near the edge of a bruise, “Seriously, JJ. It’s getting out of hand. You’ve been wearing bruises like a second skin lately.”
JJ let out a low chuckle shrugging it off. “Not my fault people are so eager to punch me,” he said, trying to ease the tension. At least this part held some truth in it. “Plus, I’ve got a reputation to maintain, right?”
Kiara narrowed her eyes at him, unimpressed. “Yeah, well, it’s gonna be hard to keep up the tough guy act when your face is falling apart.”
Her hand shifted, fingers tracing the edge of the bruise with a tenderness that caught him off guard. He winced again at the contact but stayed still, letting her touch him. “Ouch. What, you trying to add to the damage now?”
“Don’t be an idiot.” Her breath ghosted over his skin, warm and unsteady, and his throat bobbed.
Then, suddenly, she stood up. JJ blinked, confused, the loss of her touch leaving a strange hollowness behind. “Get up,” she said, looking down at him, hands on her hips.
“What?”
Kiara rolled her eyes, her exasperation clear. She started tying her hair back, glancing toward the hallway. “The bathroom, Jayj. Do I have to spell it out for you? God knows John B isn’t responsible enough to keep anything organized, but I’m pretty sure his first aid kit is stocked.”
JJ shook his head, a laugh escaping despite himself. Before she could turn away, he reached out, his fingers brushing lightly against her wrist. “They’re just bruises, Kie. No need to play nurse.” Then, unable to resist, he added with a grin, “A hot one, too, if I may say so.”
She stopped, staring down at where his hand gripped hers, then back up at him. Her expression hardened, her voice steady but cutting. “What about the cuts on your face?”
“Doesn’t matter,” he brushed it off, flashing her a crooked grin, trying to steer the moment away from how much he hated this conversation. “Besides, don’t you think it makes me look tougher? Adds to the whole badass thing I’ve got going on.”
Kiara’s brow arched, unimpressed. “It makes you look like a loser.”
“Hey!”
She smirked, shaking her head as she pulled her hand free. “Get up, Maybank. I’m not gonna let you bleed all over the couch.”
“And you’re the one who always calls me dramat-“
“JJ” she snapped suddenly serious “Just let me do this” Her lips trembled just slightly, and for the life of him, he didn’t know why she was so upset about this.
But the thing about Kiara—about all of them, really—was that he could never say no to her when she was upset. Hell, he could never say no to her, period.
So, with a long, reluctant sigh, he pushed himself off the couch. “Fine,” he muttered. “But if you try to put a Spiderman Band-Aid on me, we’re gonna have words.”
A soft laugh escaped her lips. The sound—light and effortless that made something in him stir. “I’ll make sure to save those for the real emergencies.”
JJ followed Kiara into the bathroom, the quiet shuffle of his sneakers the only sound in the otherwise still house. The flickering overhead light cast long shadows on the walls as Kiara bent over the cabinet, pulling out a small first aid kit. The sharp snap of the kit opening cut through the silence like a signal. JJ hesitated at the doorway, leaning against the frame, he felt exposed, awkward, unsure of what to do with himself.
“You really are a pain in my ass, you know that?” Kiara muttered under her breath, half to herself as she pulled out a small bottle of antiseptic. She looked over her shoulder at him, her eyes flicking to the bruise on his cheek before quickly turning away again.
JJ, leaning against the doorframe, raised an eyebrow. “Well, you’re the one who volunteered for this.”
She shot him a look that was half amused, half exasperated. “You think this is how I want to spend my Saturday night?”
“Absolutely,” he said, grinning lazily, leaning back further into the doorframe like he had all the time in the world. He could feel her frustration simmering beneath the surface and it made his smile widen. He loved getting under her skin in ways only he could.
Kiara didn’t respond immediately, instead she flicked the cap open with a sharp twist, the sound too loud in the small bathroom. “Sit,” she ordered, her voice all business.
JJ hesitated for a moment, then muttered, “You’re too bossy, you know that?” but with a resigned sigh, he sank down onto the edge of the bathtub.
Kiara set the antiseptic bottle down beside him before stepping away to search for the cotton pads. When she returned, she began working with quiet precision, each movement deliberate and steady. JJ watched her for a moment, transfixed by the way her hands moved. He couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like if she took care of him like this all the time. The thought lingered for a second, but he quickly shook his head, pushing it out of his mind before it could take root.
“Was that asshole wearing a ring or something?” Kiara’s voice broke through his thoughts, and he blinked, looking at her. The bottle of antiseptic was held tightly in her hands, her eyes flicking to his face with a brief flash of concern before she covered it up with a frown. “Seriously, your face is all cut up.”
He shrugged, the usual deflection coming naturally. “Or something.”
She didn’t answer right away, her attention fixed on the cut on his temple. When the antiseptic touched his skin, it was cold, sharp—sending a jolt of stinging pain through him. JJ flinched, biting his lip to stifle the sound. “Fuck, Kie,” he muttered under his breath.
“Quit whining,” she shot back “You’re the one who got yourself into this mess.”
She finished and pulled out a Batman bandage, pausing to flash it at him with a smile, like she’d just fulfilled her end of the bargain. He couldn’t help but snort.
Without a word, she peeled off the backing and leaned closer, pressing the bandage gently over the cut. Her fingers brushed against his skin, the warmth of her touch lingering longer than it should. She smoothed the edges carefully, her movements almost too gentle for someone who had just been ordering him around.
“Did you at least win?” she asked, voice quiet as she worked. Her fingers stayed for a moment longer before pulling back, leaving a heat behind that seemed to seep into him
JJ grinned sharply, despite the truth—that he hadn’t won, hadn’t even fought back in the first place. “You know it, baby.”
Kiara let out a quiet laugh, her breath warm against the space between them. “Good.”
He beamed at the praise, even though he didn’t deserve it, pushing the shame aside like it was nothing.
“Okay, stay still,” she murmured, kneeling in front of him as she tended to the cut on his lip and his heart pounded in his chest, so loud he almost wondered if she could hear it. He hated this—hated every bit of it. Yet, he couldn’t deny that a part of him loved it too, even if it made his stomach twist in a way he didn’t know how to handle.
Kiara looked up at him, their eyes locking for a moment. She offered a reassuring smile before her gaze drifted back to his lips. Silence lingered between them for a few seconds, then her voice broke through.
“I know it’s not your fault,” she said, breath brushing against his skin. “I know this kind of shit is out of your control. But please…” She paused, meeting his eyes again. “Just be careful.”
JJ blinked rapidly, his eyes stinging as her words settled heavily on him. The truth was, it was his fault. Sure, he couldn’t figure out what set Luke off, and yes, his dad’s violent outbursts were often irrational, but there was still that nagging thought—that maybe there was something wrong with him, too.
Unable to hold her gaze any longer, he looked away, his eyes focusing on the chipped paint of the wall across from them. It felt easier to be angry than to face the truth. “It’s just a fight, Kie,” he muttered, his voice flat and almost too quick, as if brushing it off would make it go away. “What’s the big deal?”
Kiara didn’t respond right away. She just sighed, gathering the used cotton pads and returning the antiseptic bottle to the first aid. When JJ moved to help her, she glanced up, catching his eyes with a look.
“I know,” she said again, her voice soft and soothing. And then, almost teasingly, added, “But if you ever need someone to play Florence Nightingale, just give me a call.”
JJ furrowed his brow, genuinely confused. “Who the hell is that?”
She let out a laugh, shaking her head with a bemused look on her face. “God, you’re hopeless,” she muttered under her breath, closing the first aid kit with a click.
JJ raised an eyebrow, his lips curving into a grin as he watched her. “Seriously, you sound just like Pope.”
The creak of the front door cut Kiara off before she could speak. She froze, her words hanging unspoken as the faint shuffle of footsteps echoed through the house. A brief pause, then more shuffling—closer this time—until John B appeared in the doorway of the bathroom.
“Uh, hey,” he said, his voice tinged with confusion as his gaze shifted between the two of them. His focus settled on Kiara, his brow lifting. “What are you doing here?”
She gave a small, sheepish smile, her fingers absently tucking a stray curl behind her ear. “Uh, just… wondering if I could crash here tonight.”
John B blinked in surprise before breaking into a grin. He always lit up when his friends stayed over. “Yeah, of course, no problem,” he said easily. “You can take the pull-out.”
Kiara turned to JJ with a triumphant smile, her eyes gleaming in victory. JJ rolled his eyes, shoving her shoulder lightly. “It’s my pull-out.”
“Maybe next time,” she teased, tucking the first-aid kit back into the cabinet and snapping it shut. As she made her way out of the bathroom, she elbowed John B when he reached out to ruffle her hair, laughing when their playful scuffle broke out. She shoved him away with a grin and disappeared into the living room.
John B’s grin grew wider as he turned to JJ. “Sorry, bubba,” he said, casually peeling off his shirt and tossing it onto the bathroom floor without a second thought. Wiggling his eyebrows, he added, “Looks like you’re stuck with me tonight. In my bed. Right next to me.”
JJ rolled his eyes, pushing off from the counter. “Gross,” he muttered, eyeing John B with a raised brow. He took in his disheveled appearance—clothes wrinkled and streaked with dirt, a dark smear across his face. “Dude, where the hell have you been?”
John B didn’t miss a beat. He kicked off his shorts and added them to the pile of clothes already strewn across the bathroom floor, now standing comfortably in his boxers. “I was with Pope,” he said, moving past JJ to twist the shower handle. “Heyward’s boat crapped out. Too late to call a mechanic, and they’ve got deliveries tomorrow. He needed a hand, so I helped him out.”
JJ shook his head, with a teasing grin. “Well, ain’t you a sweetheart,” he remarked, snatching the toothpaste and the toothbrush that John B always kept for him. He started heading for the door, ready to annoy Kiara some more, maybe grab a bag of frozen peas for his sore ribs. But just as was about to exit, John B’s hand landed gently on his shoulder, halting him.
JJ glanced over his shoulder, raising an eyebrow when John B remained silent. It took a moment before he realized that his friend was studying him, his eyes moving over the cuts and bruises on JJ’s face. They paused briefly on the small band-aid at his temple, the black-and-yellow Batman emblem standing out sharply against his skin.
After a long beat, he spoke, his voice quieter than usual. “You okay?”
Warmth spread through JJ’s chest, slowly seeping into his whole body. He smiled, reaching out to give John B a playful pat on the cheek as he stepped into the hallway. “Don’t worry, dude,” he called over his shoulder, “Flora Night-whatever took care of me just fine.”
John B’s head popped out from the bathroom doorway, blinking at him in confusion. “Who?”
Kiara’s laughter rang out from down the hall, light and infectious.