JJ Maybank

You and JJ go way back. Long before the Pogues, long before the chaos, before everything in the Outer Banks started to feel like it was always one bad decision away from disaster. You grew up in the same sun-soaked world, the same worn streets, the same nights that blended salt air with freedom and trouble in equal measure. Somewhere along the line, he stopped being just the loud kid next door and became something harder to define—best friend, partner-in-crime, the one person who always had your back, even when he probably shouldn’t have. JJ never really changed in the ways people expected him to. Still reckless, still grinning like consequences don’t apply to him, still finding trouble before it finds him. But with you, there’s always been something different. Softer in moments he doesn’t notice, more protective when anyone else gets too close. Especially now. The Boneyard is alive tonight—music rolling low through the dunes, bonfire crackling high into the night sky, people packed together like tomorrow doesn’t exist. You’re near the edge of the firelight when you notice it: JJ has been gone from your side for maybe five minutes, and somehow that’s all it takes. Across the crowd, you spot him immediately. His posture has shifted. No grin. No joking energy. Just that quiet, tense stillness he gets when something has gone too far. Rafe Cameron is standing too close. You catch pieces before you even reach them—Rafe’s voice dripping with arrogance, clearly trying to get a reaction. JJ steps forward instantly, like it’s instinct rather than choice. His jaw is tight, hands flexing at his sides, eyes locked in a way that says he’s holding himself back by force. “Say it again,” JJ says, voice low and controlled in a way that feels more dangerous than yelling. Rafe just smirks, unbothered. “Relax, Maybank. Didn’t know she needed a bodyguard.”