𝟏𝟎𝟖.                        𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐣𝐣 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐛𝐫𝐨𝐨𝐤𝐥𝐲𝐧

love the hell out of you ──── lewis capaldi

✩ 𝐣𝐣'𝐬 𝐩𝐨𝐯

𝖨'𝖬 𝖲𝖳𝖠𝖱𝖨𝖭𝖦 𝖠𝖳 𝖳𝖧𝖤 𝖧𝖴𝖱𝖳 𝖨 𝖡𝖱𝖮𝖴𝖦𝖧𝖳 𝖴𝖯𝖮𝖭 𝖡𝖱𝖮𝖮𝖪𝖤 𝖡𝖸 𝖭𝖮𝖳 𝖡𝖤𝖨𝖭𝖦 𝖶𝖧𝖤𝖱𝖤 𝖲𝖧𝖤 𝖭𝖤𝖤𝖣𝖤𝖣 𝖬𝖤．

It took me some time to recognise the seriousness of damage on her face as I was too busy focused on my own stupid pain and her head was pressed against my chest, obviously hiding. Now, though, in the darkness, I haven't been able to take my eyes off her, unable to look anywhere else but at the broken expression etched on her beautiful face as she wraps a large bandage around my torso.

I caused this pain she's currently in by putting my trust in a man who, in turn, wrecked everything good in my life, who wrecked her── the love of my life, my girl, my Sunshine.

According to Dr. Pope, she's got a concussion, but with whatever painkillers we had on the boat, she's now acting like she didn't just get dragged through hell, and she instead chooses to focus on me and my pain as a means to distract herself, but I need her to stop. I need her to actually look at me, not through me. I need her.

Since getting shoved off a boat by my father and saved by my friends, Brooke and I haven't spoken, just stayed close to one another on the boat as it was steered to somewhere safe where we could hide out from Groff and the cops for the night. We set up a fire that's crackling and burning slowly with each of our friends sitting around it while they drink beers from the cooler.

I'm sitting on a nearby log, just an earshot away from the others, allowing Brooke to take care of me even though I'm itching to take care of her as not only have Brooke and I not spoken since the incident, she's not even looked at me either, and it's really bothering me, far more than the pain in my stomach. She's just focusing on the task at hand, making sure she bandages me up, but she needs just as much, if not more attention than me.

I hate admitting this but I'm scared. Really fucking scared. I'm scared for her, for us. Does she blame me? I mean, yes, she should blame me given that I chose to trust somebody who I was told was not a good person by multiple people, but will she admit to blaming me or keep it quiet? If she does blame me, I'd rather her say it out loud instead of just looking past me, pretending to ignore the problem.

I hate this. I hate that, while I can see what's physically wrong, I'm unsure what's going on in that pretty head of hers. That terrifies me. I don't know what she's thinking or feeling, only seeing the visible hurt on her face that my father caused, and by extension, I caused.

She's beautiful to me, she always is, bumps and all, but I have never, ever seen her like this before. Despite being hurt by Luke for a lot of my life, I've never seen such damage on anybody, not even on my own body. For all this pain to be inflicted upon a soul like Brooke's is unfair, and I'm furious at myself for not being able to stop it.

A large red bump is beginning to form on the left side of her head just under her hairline, angry and throbbing, seeming to yell at me the more I look to it. Her eyes are also red, appearing to be swollen, giving me the impression she's cried from the pain since regaining consciousness because, yes, on top of this, she was knocked unconscious by Groff. Her own fucking brother had to find her in this state, and from what I overheard, he genuinely thought his sister was dead. I made my best friend believe his own sister was dead. How fucked up is that?

Small papercut-like marks dot her forehead, her nose, and her bottom lip, just as furious as the lump on her head. There's also a nick on her jawline, dragging down slightly under her chin, and it looks like a knife has been pressed to her throat from where the mark is.

Did he hold a knife to her throat?

I open my mouth, about to voice my question, but only a wince falls past my lips as she tightens the bandage around me. "Sorry," she mutters, sounding so timid and afraid, and this is not like the girl I'm used to. This girl is both emotionally and physically drained, and I am to blame.

I should've been there for her. I should've known to listen to her and Emory when they warned me about Groff, but I was insistent to believe that he could actually be a father, but look at where we are. He just shoved me off a boat, would've likely hurt Emory had she not had that knife, and he shattered my beautiful girl without a care in the world, reducing her to this afraid, small shell of a human being.

I feel guilty, unbelievably so.

Not only did I bring immense pain to the girl I love, I brought pain to a six-year-old kid that Brooke loved a crazy amount. Had I not allowed Groff into my life, he would've never been at the house while Brooke was there alone with Matilda, and Brooke wouldn't have had to tell Matilda to run away and never, ever come back. I think that Matilda is part of the reason why Brooke is so silent, why I think part of her blames me deep down.

I wish she'd just blame me out loud, not in silence. I want her to blame me. I need her to put blame in somebody, and because I am the person who could've prevented this enormous pain she's in, I want her to blame me. I brought this pain to her, I drove Matilda away, and now we're sitting here, unable to get any kind of word out.

If I had just listened. Fuck, we wouldn't be in this situation right now. Brooke could've died at the hands of my father because I chose to trust him, and while I was attempting to bond with him, she was unconscious, barely breathing. I made her brother think his own sister was dead. I can't even fathom what he must be thinking, what he must be feeling towards me. He and Sarah are sitting on the deck where we're hiding, keeping away from us as I think part of John B wanted to yell at me earlier.

I would've let him yell at me. Hell, I would've let him hit me for hurting his sister like this, especially when I always promised that I'd protect her and take care of her.

Look how well that turned out, huh?

Had I just listened to Emory, had I just listened to Brooke's concerns, we wouldn't be here right now, and that's the most painful truth of all. I just couldn't listen, could I?

"All done." Her shy voice is registered through my ears, though I barely hear her. I see her going to stand, preparing to leave me, and because I can't let her leave, not like this, I close my hand over hers, forcing her to stay put for a moment.

"Sunny." My voice cracks, not that it should. I shouldn't be upset, not when it's her I broke, not when she's the one who suffered a great deal more than me. Except, I can't help but feel emotional as I look to her face, seeing nothing but upset in those eyes of hers, not a single hint of the usual sunshine gloss in her eyes as she stares ahead. "Baby, hey. Please look at me."

She sniffles, clutching the bandages tighter with her other hand. It takes her a moment, much longer than I would've liked, but she does lift her head, blue meeting brown like it always does, and I feel that pain in my chest tighten as I see our eyes greet one another home. I see the twisted hurt in her gaze. I see the cracks in the brown that only crumble the more she looks to me. I see the tears glassing over, threatening to pool over.

I brought her this pain. I broke her. I ripped the sunshine from within her. I am to blame.

Without saying a word, I know what she needs. I know what we both need. Ignoring the throb in my stomach as I don't care right now, I bring myself down and off the log, and the moment we're close enough, I drag her into my arms just as she breaks entirely, a sob wrenching from deep within her as I bring my arms around her torso, pulling her flush against me, choosing to ignore the pain as she is far more important.

She's always been the most important in any kind of scenario, and she will forever be the most important. So I'll ignore the sting as there is quite literally nothing else I'd rather be doing than comforting my girl.

Her arms raise, coming to drape over my shoulders, her fingers pushing up into my hair as she holds on, head falling to the crook of my neck as she cries. Her cries aren't silent nor timid, no longer matching the tone she held earlier. No, these cries are utterly devastating, wrenched deep from her gut, and it has me clinging on harder.

I try to stop myself from breaking down alongside her, knowing that she needs this more than I do, but I feel tears brimming my eyelids as I've never heard such sounds from Brooke, neither have my friends who, unsurprisingly, are looking over their shoulders at us, very aware of what's occurring. Thankfully, nobody says a word, probably because nobody can say a word when we're each in our own dazed, lost states after the events of today.

I lean my cheek into her hair, one hand stroking the small of her back while the other remains on her hip, rubbing hard circles with my thumb. Brooke's crying doesn't subside, instead growing louder the more I soothe her. My eyes flick to the dried blood in her hair, another head wound at the back of her head which has me holding on even tighter, knowing I wasn't there for her while Groff did all he could to hurt her.

Did he want to kill her? Was that his plan?

Warm tears fall, my throat burns, and my bottom lip trembles as I bite back a sob of my own, instead leaning my face into Brooke's hair as if to suppress it, but my sob is only buried in the kiss I place against her head, beyond relieved that I'm holding her in my arms, but in antagonising pain to know that she's hurting this much.

I am the cause for this.

I'm the reason why she's crying so heavily, why she's hiding herself from me, and why she's clinging on for dear life like I'm the anchor that will keep her afloat even though I'm the one who's pulling her down.

I'm killing her.

The sunlight tucked into the brown of her eyes is decaying, turning darker with every passing second because of me. While to me she will always be my Sunshine, that doesn't excuse the fact that she's slowly losing that spark in her── that sunshine she's been embracing for as long as I've known her.

I saw this similar dark look in her gaze when her brother "died", when her father died twice, and now I'm seeing it all over again, and I'm scared this is the time she'll choose not to ever embrace the sunshine again, instead deciding to give up on herself.

All because of me.

Pressing another kiss against her head, I let words fall past my lips. "I'm sorry."

Her head shakes vigorously against my shoulder while her fingertips dig into the base of my skull, attempting to keep herself pinned to me. Another sob crawls out of her, the sound bringing another hit to my chest, reminding me that I am the cause for the tears she's crying, for the sobs she's unleashing, and for the pain she's carrying.

"I'm so sorry." My hand scales the length of her back, travelling up to gently cup the back of her head, careful not to press down because of the angry wound. "I'm so sorry, Sunshine."

She doesn't speak. I don't think she can right now. She just continues to cry in my arms, her entire body shaking as I hold her like she is the one keeping me afloat. She doesn't say anything, not for some time, we just remain as one, caught up in our own world rather than the world happening around us.

Cleo's head rests on Pope's lap, the two of them seeming to be all infatuated with the other. Kiara is leaning back into Emory, their hands intertwined as they speak quietly, though I catch Emory's eyes flicker to me and Brooke every so often, probably just to check on us.

She saved me earlier even though I didn't listen to her, even though I continued to push her away and insist she was wrong. She still saved me, jumping right into the water and keeping me upright despite not knowing when or if our friends would show up. We've literally known about being siblings for a day, and she's slotted into the role perfectly while I've just been that... shitty little brother who won't listen.

I should've listened. Had I listened, Brooke wouldn't be breaking down in my arms. If I could, I'd go back and I'd force myself to really listen, to really accept that Groff was not who I had hoped he would be, that he had gone out of his way to harm those I love.

When Brooke's crying subsides, she doesn't make any kind of move to separate herself from me, her arms still tight around me, my arms still encircled around her. I just let myself feel her breath against my shoulder, her hair against my cheek, and her forehead against my neck. I let myself feel her, my fingers tickling the length of her spine as if to relax her.

I bring my hand up that isn't rubbing her back, pushing it against my face to rid the tears that are gradually falling. My eyes flicker up, taking in the stars above, and a thought crosses my mind. I look back towards my friends who sit away from us but close enough for me to get the attention of my sister.

She peers at me, eyebrows furrowed. "What time is it?" I ask, mouthing the words so Brooke can't hear me as she remains locked in my arms.

Surprisingly understanding me from this distance, Emory lifts Kiara's phone as hers was damaged in the water, and she turns the screen so I can see it. I squint, reading the time, and a light laugh ripples from me. "Thanks," I mouth, bringing my attention back to the stars.

"Hey, J. What time is it?"

"Quarter past midnight," I had said, and it's currently the exact same time as we hold one another, much like we did that night too.

Not only did Brooke kiss me under the stars that night, she cried in my arms moments before, much like she's doing now, except she was crying for her brother then and now she's crying for me. She then told me all she was afraid of, and I listened, doing just about anything to keep us in that moment.

"So let's stay here," I had offered while my eyes drank her in. "In quarter past midnight."

I'd do anything to keep us in quarter past midnight, then and now. To keep us locked there forever and ever so we'd never have to deal with another problem outside of our bubble. We'd just be caught up in one another for the rest of our lives, playing on a loop at quarter past midnight.

"Hey, Sunny." I sniffle, throat hurting from the lack of talking and sufficient amount of crying we've been doing. "It's quarter past midnight."

I feel her lips turn upwards against my shoulder, and her fingertips pressing harder into my hair. I push my lips against her head, eyes closing for a moment as I just breathe her in, so relieved I'm holding her now as I was very close to never having her in my presence.

I'm the reason I was close to never having her like this again, and that thought is not lost on me. I don't think it'll ever be lost on me. I was so, so close to losing this beautiful girl in my arms, to not just losing my future wife, but to losing my best friend since the third grade.

I was close to losing my Sunshine.

I feel her slipping away, head moving back and away from me, though her arms remain resting over my shoulders as she allows our eyes to seek comfort in their favourite colour. Both teary-eyed, both mentally and physically exhausted, both fucking sick of losing, Brooke and I take a moment to pretend nobody else exists but us.

"Hey, pretty girl."

Her head shakes softly, bottom lip trembling. "Pretty?"

"The prettiest," I add, completely in awe of how she tries to act like she isn't the most gorgeous girl here. While, yes, her face might be littered with horrible marks and lumps, it doesn't take away from the beauty already there. To me, there is quite literally nobody more special than this girl before me, and I need her to realise that. Despite all that's happened, nobody could ever take the beauty away from her.

I reach my hand up, placing it upon her head, fingers pushing into her hair. "How's your head?"

"I-I think it's pretty good, don't you?"

It takes me a moment, utter confusion etched on my face as I watch her lips turn upwards slowly, waiting until the subtle joke registers in my head. "Oh." My hand stills against her hair, another airy laugh slipping past me that, unfortunately, has me wincing due to the pain in my abdomen. "Yeah, your... your head is very good, Sunny."

She presses her lips together, visibly flustered as the sweetest shade of red replaces the swollen red of her face. "That was a bad time to make a joke, wasn't it?"

"There's never a bad time, Sunshine."

I appreciate her making the joke, I really do. To see the relaxed smile on her face after the breakdown she just had in my arms is so rewarding to me. Here she is, my beautiful girl, smiling because of a sex joke after she was just sobbing. She's completely perfect, and she's all mine.

One hand falls from my hair, coming around to drag down my face, swiping the tears away as her knuckles push against my jaw gently. I stare at her, watching her eyes follow the trail her hand takes across my face, allowing her to do just about anything to me.

"I-I thought you were dead," she speaks, no trace of amusement in her voice anymore as it cracks, the weight of her words smacking me clean in the face. Her knuckles descend down my neck, hovering over the faint pulse point embedded under the skin. "I-I thought I was too late. I didn't... I didn't fight hard enough. I thought..."

I made her think I was dead, that I'd died at the hands of my father. I worried her. I pained her in more ways than one, both physically and mentally. She actually believes she didn't fight hard enough when I know she did all she could to fight. She's Brooklyn Routledge, I know she fought as hard as she could. She's crazy for thinking otherwise.

"D-Don't say that," I whisper. "I know you fought, Sunny. I know you fought hard. You weren't too late, angel. I'm alive."

Her fingertips press against my pulse, feeling my pulse with her touch which clarifies to her that I am very much alive, that I am not going anywhere, not now, not ever. Another sob lurches from deep within her, once again capturing the attention of our friends, though nobody says a word. Thank God.

"Hey. Come on, baby. Come with me." Moving to stand, I pull her up with me without much fight, and I let her lean into me entirely as I move us away, bringing us away from our friends and instead over to a tree which, again, reminds me of that night we kissed under the stars with our backs against a tree.

Hidden behind a tree, I go to sit us back down but she grasps my shirt in her hands. "N-No, I..." Her hands ascend, sliding against my shoulders. "I thought I lost you, JJ, I-I thought he'd killed you. I thought I was too late." Her head falls forward, hitting my chest as I let her cry once again, her entire body shaking in my hold as she succumbs to the horrifying thought of me being dead.

Fuck. This is all my fucking fault. Here she is, unable to stop herself from tearing up all because of me. I'm not worth these tears. I'm not worth her pain and fight. I'm not worth this. She shouldn't be crying, not over me, and I hate to see that she is.

"Baby," I whisper, hand falling against her back. "Hey, I'm okay." God, I am the reason she's feeling like this, why she's sobbing constantly, why she's completely and utterly broken, concocting the worst kinds of scenarios about me being dead.

"I-I thought you were dead."

"Sunny." I pull one of her hands off my shoulder, bringing it down. "Look at me." Her head shakes vigorously, forehead pressing harder against the centre of my chest. "Brooke, look at me." I hold her hand in mine, holding our intertwined hands against my stomach just as she slowly brings her head back, eyes darting up to greet mine.

"Keep looking at me, okay?" I slide our hands up, holding her eyes. "Tell me what you feel." Our joined hands come to rest over the beating of my heart. "What do you feel, Brooke?"

She sniffles, head tilting into her shoulder as another cry crawls out of her. "Y-Your heart."

"Yes, my heart, Sunny, and it's beating. It's beating, baby. It's beating for you, okay?" I step closer to her, keeping our hands over the thump of my heart so she can keep feeling me being very much alive. "I've said it before, I'll say it again, you keep me alive, Brooke. You always have. So my heart is beating for you, and it's not gonna stop, not for the rest of our lives."

"B-But... I-I nearly lost you," she exclaims. "He was going to..." Her head falls, eyes squeezing shut. "JJ, I'm scared."

"Scared of what, Sunny? Talk to me."

Her head lifts, a pained gloss covering her eyes as she looks to me. "H-He had a knife to my throat," she tells, confirming one of my worst possible nightmares. "I thought I was dead."

My own father held a knife to her throat. I was sitting in a mausoleum staring at my mother's portrait while my fiancée was close to being killed by my damn father. He then came back acting like nothing happened, like he didn't just threaten the love of my life with a fucking knife.

Part of me wishes Emory had killed him. Another part of me wishes I had done it, especially now that I know he not only hurt her, continuously hitting her face into the door and window, he also had a knife against her throat which explains the small nick in her jaw. Fuck.

"Brooke..."

"I-I was so scared, JJ, and I-I lost Matilda and... and t-the last... the last thing I thought about was..." Her hand pushes harder into mine against my chest, another sob ripping her in half as we look to one another. "The last thing I thought about was d-disappointing you, w-was letting you down, was not saving you from him. I-I was so scared, JJ, I..."

"Hey. Hey, come here." I bring her into me just as she crumbles once again, literally falling into me just as the emotion bites and eats at her. "Shush." I fall with her, our bodies falling until our knees dig into the grass below as I sweep my arms around her back, keeping her flush against me, once again ignoring the sting in my lower stomach as I hold onto her like a lifeline. "I'm sorry."

I'm so sorry, Sunshine.

──────────────────────────

"𝖬𝖠𝖳𝖨𝖫𝖣𝖠 𝖣𝖱𝖤𝖶 𝖴𝖲 𝖠 𝖯𝖨𝖢𝖳𝖴𝖱𝖤"

We've been sitting with our backs to the tree, hands intertwined, staring up at the sky, just watching the dark sky dotted with stars. Brooke has since calmed down, her crying subsidising the longer we've been sitting here in our own blissful world away from our friends, away from Groff and the cops, away from life.

In fact, I was close to dozing off with my cheek leaning into her hair when she spoke, breaking the silence we've been buried in for the past hour. "What?"

"Matilda," she speaks softly, a sad smile touching her lips at the faint reminder of the ball of sunshine that would absolutely cheer each and every one of us up right about now. "she drew us a picture."

"Can I see it?" I ask, moving my thumb over the two gold rings that reside on her finger.

She nods slowly, going to move away. "Hmm."

Less than a minute later, Brooke returns, slotting right back into my side with her sketchbook that, shockingly, she managed to grab in the midst of being pulled onto the boat by Pope and John B. Even concussed, my girl knows she's got to have her sketchbook in hand. The artist in her just couldn't bear to be without it, not after she lost her first sketchbook to Ward Cameron over two years ago. She's never made that mistake again.

She rests one leg over mine, burrowing her head back into my shoulder as she cracks open her sketchbook, flicking through the dozens of pages until she reaches the final page── the only one that was untouched until just a few hours ago.

Now, it holds a photo that Matilda drew, her initials scribbled into the corner just like Brooke taught her.

There's so many similarities between them, it's almost scary.

Anyway, let's remember that Matilda is six-years-old, alright? She's no artistic genius, but that doesn't matter. Her stick-figure drawing of us── of her "family" as she's titled it── is perfect. Yes, while it's just a silly collection of lines and scribbles, it makes me really miss the kid.

I know if she was here, she'd bring light to the crappy situation we're in. She'd probably situate herself in between Brooke and me as we talk. I also know she'd offer each of us a hug and give us some encouraging words that would instantly lift the mood. Sadly, though, that bright presence isn't here and our moods aren't instantly lifted.

Because of me.

Brooke wouldn't have had to say goodbye to her if I had just listened, if I had just chosen to not blindly follow a man I wanted to believe was different. Turns out, he ended up hurting me just like Luke did. Except this time it stings more, literally and figuratively.

Brooke sniffles, suspecting tears beginning to collect at her eyelids again, and I look away from the picture to her for a moment, wishing I could do something to fix this gap in her heart that she must have from not having Matilda here, somewhat safe and sound with us. I don't know why, and I don't know how, but she adored that kid, looking to her like she could fix the entire world, and maybe she can. Hell, I have hope that Matilda will fix the world one day.

"T-That's you," she declares, and I look back to the picture to find her pointing to the tallest stick-figure in the drawing. She's even labelled it as JJ. "Then there's me." She slides her finger to the stick-figure standing next to me whose hand I'm holding── the one labelled Brooke.

"She really captured our... stick-ness." I scrunch my face up, grimacing at my poor attempt of a joke, though I then feel and hear Brooke laugh, and a great sense of relief hits me as I managed to yank such a freeing sound from within her. "John B's hair is a bit wild," I then comment, pointing to Matilda's stick-figure of him.

Brooke laughs, her eyes flitting up to the label she's granted him. "Uncle JB," she giggles, the sound buried in my shoulder, and I fail to hide my own smile upon hearing such a sweet sound. "Oh, he'd be so mad. I have to show him later."

"Best two bucks I ever gave her." While John B looked absolutely murderous, even he had to admit that it was pretty funny to have some random kid he barely knew walk up to him and freak him out by regarding to him as uncle.

"Pope, Cleo, Kie, Em..." Brooke reads, going through the many stick-figures that detail our friends. "Aunt Sarah." Another spurt of laughter ripples out of her as she moves her finger over the stick-figure holding John B's hand. "Aw, that's so sweet. Sarah will love that."

I point to a small circle in between John B and Sarah, finding it to be labelled, Baby. "What's that?"

Brooke clears her throat, eyes bulging ever so slightly. "O-Oh, uh, probably... probably their future kid, I-I don't know."

Big strange for her to include their future kid when there's four couples in the group── me and Brooke, Emory and Kiara, Cleo and Pope, and Sarah and John B. Why just their future kid? Regardless, I choose to ignore it, shrugging. "Okay. Weird."

She hums, nodding, instead looking to elsewhere on the picture. "Aw. Look." Her hand touches the top corner of the page, spotting the sun she's drawn which is labelled, Mommy.

I know snippets of Matilda's life, having asked Brooke about her when she was first introduced to me. I know that her mother is dead, that Brooke met her when she ran away from the funeral. I also know that Matilda views death as people "going to the sun" which, personally, I think is a more peaceful way to view death. It doesn't sound so scary when described as such. It's refreshing to know she doesn't see it as a totally negative thing, I guess, I don't know.

I watch Brooke's hand fall over the stick-figure of Matilda who is holding Brooke's other hand in the picture, and I choose to raise my own arm, bringing it over her shoulders as she settles into me, likely feeling emotional all over again.

"She was so brave earlier," she speaks, emotion swelling in her tone. "With DCS, with Groff, with... with leaving. She was so brave, JJ, and now I-I don't even know where she is. I-I don't know if she's safe, if she's trying to find me, if she's..."

"Hey," I interrupt, urgency in my tone. "She's okay, babe. You will find her again. We will find her again, do you hear me?"

"I-I didn't wanna say goodbye, but── Oh, JJ, I thought he was gonna kill her."

The thought of Groff killing a child, one he barely knows, terrifies me. If he could be so careless with a little girl, I don't even want to imagine the damage he could inflict on me, on Emory, on Brooke. While I've seen what he's done to Brooke, I imagine her damage is just a snippet of what he could really do. It scares the shit out of me, it really does because I was the one who put my trust in him. And for what? For him to break apart Brooke and push a little girl away?

I've never felt more guilty in all my life.

And to know that, obviously, Brooke didn't want to say goodbye to Matilda... well, it makes me feel so much worse as I am the one breaking her heart by damaging that contact between her and Matilda. We don't know if the kid is okay, if she's found somewhere safe to hide out, if she's going to ever find us again. We know nothing.

"I promised her I'd find her again, JJ."

"You will find her," I assure, though I have no idea how true that is. "We'll find her, Brooke, I promise you."

"I pinkie-promised her," she whispers, voice cracking. I know how important her pinkie promises are, how much she hates to break such a strong promise, so I know she'll fight to hold that promise she made to Matilda. "Fuck. I really love that kid, JJ, and I-I have no idea how it happened, why it happened, but I love her. I think the world of her, and now I'm scared I'll never see her again."

"You will," I push out, pressing my lips against the top of her head. I knew she loved Matilda, and while I have no idea why it happened or how it happened, I know she'd do just about anything for her. She came into Brooke's life at the right time, at a time when she desperately needed some kind of light as I had upset her by spending the last of the money at the Enduro.

Fuck. This shit really is all my fault, isn't it?

Going right back to the beginning, if I hadn't bid so much money on the house, we wouldn't be here. If I then hadn't bet the last of our gold at the race, we wouldn't be here. If I had ignored the letter from Wes Genrette and not found Luke, we wouldn't be here. If I had just listened to Emory and Brooke about Groff, we wouldn't be here.

I really am the reason we're trapped in this situation, why we're constantly looking over our shoulder and worrying about what's around the corner. I am the reason Brooke and I haven't had a moment of peace, why she's crying in my arms, and why she lost Matilda.

I really am to blame for everything.

I've fucked everything up. I'm──

"Stop."

I bring myself out of my head, refocusing on Brooke who has brought her head back from her shoulder, her eyes now on me. "What?"

"Stop," she repeats, voice stern. "I know you're blaming yourself. I know you think this is all your fault, that you're to blame for us being here, but I need you to stop."

How she knows me so well is beyond me. I mean, yes, we've known each other eleven years, but for her to basically read my mind is insane. Then again, I think I can read her mind sometimes as freaky as it sounds.

"It is my fault," I speak, keeping my gaze on her.

"No, it's not," she insists. "You didn't pick your father, JJ. You didn't do this to my face. You didn't push Matilda out the window. This isn't your freaking fault."

"I did pick my father, Brooke," I assert. "I didn't listen to you or Emory, and I chose to trust him. I chose to listen to him even though he had killed people, even though he had killed my mother, Emory's mother. I-I picked him, Brooke, so I am the reason you're hurt, everybody knows it."

"No," she argues, placing her hand over mine, squeezing gently. "JJ, you listened to him because you wanted to believe he could be a good man, that he could be the father you always deserved, but it is not your fault he ended up being the exact opposite of what you wanted. You can't blame yourself, JJ."

"Brooke, if I hadn't..." I swallow, finally bringing my gaze off her. "If I hadn't bid so much money on the house at the very start, we wouldn't be in this situation. We'd probably be rolling in it, living out our days happy and fine. Hell, you and me would probably be married right about now, travelling the world if I had just... listened. I never fucking listen."

"That's such bullshit, JJ, and you know it."

"How is it?"

"One way or another, I know we would've lost that money," she claims, but I know she's just saying this shit to try and make me feel better. "Hello, I have a crazy obsession with art supplies. Sarah and Kiara loved all those plants. Cleo loved those fucking peppers. Pope needed books for school. John B..." She pauses, shaking her head. "...fished, I don't know, and Emory didn't really give a fuck. Anyway, one way or another, we would've lost that money because, let's face it, we all stink with fucking money."

"We stink with money because of me."

"Stop, JJ."

"Brooke, you are hurt because of me."

"No, I am not," she fights, gripping my hand tighter. "I'm hurt because of fucking Groff, not because of you. You did not hold a knife to my throat. You did not threaten me. You did not hurt me, JJ, and you've never hurt me."

"I didn't physically hurt you, no, but..."

"No buts," she interrupts, jabbing her other finger at me. I open my mouth, about to argue, but she raises a brow, challenging me, forcing me to close my mouth. "You, JJ Maybank, deserve so much better, do you realise that? You didn't deserve two shitty fathers. You deserved way better, especially when you give everybody one hundred percent. You deserved your mother, and I am so sorry you never had her."

I sigh, looking away from her entirely. "Brooke..."

"Your life is so fucking important," she continues. "Not just to me, but to everybody here. We love you, JJ, and nobody here blames you, okay, not for a second. We'd never, ever blame you, so I need you to stop blaming yourself because I can't take you doing that to yourself. I can't take you beating yourself up over this."

"Y-You're hurt," I breathe out. "I-I hurt you."

"The only way you're hurting me, JJ, is by doing this, JJ── by hurting yourself." Her hand reaches up, touching my face delicately, forcing me to bring my attention to her rather than elsewhere. My eyes greet hers, the guilt continuing to eat at me as I look to her. "I love you, JJ, and I have for eleven years, okay? You are the best part of my life, and because you give me your all every single day, I promise you that I am going to spend my entire life helping you get back all you deserve because you deserve so much."

"I already have everything, Sunshine."

"Can I just help you get everything and more?"

"There's nothing more I want than you."

"We're getting that crown," she states, pushing her hand into my hair. "I don't know how, but we are going to get your family's legacy."

"I-I don't know how we're getting Morocco."

"We always find a way, pretty boy."

She's not wrong in saying that. "Yeah."

"We are going to then come back, find that little girl who is counting on us, and help her in any way we can," she continues, speaking about Matilda with so much content, it warms me. "Then we are going to get married, officially change my name to Maybank..."

"You really wanna be a Maybank?"

"Uh, yeah. I've earned it, thank you very much."

I roll my eyes, huffing out a laugh, and while I can't wait to call her my wife, she doesn't have to take my surname. This surname doesn't carry much meaning, not like her surname. It's associated with bad, and that's the last thing I want her to be involved with.

"Also, Brooklyn Maybank sounds hot," she adds, an airy laugh slipping out of her which is so refreshing to see after she spent so long crying in my arms. "Anyway, moving on... We are then going to travel and live all over the world, surf every wave that hits us."

I smile fondly. "I like that."

"We are going to have everything and more, JJ, I promise you, because you deserve every world, galaxy and universe handed to you. That's how important you are."

I stare at her, baffled on how she's gone from sobbing in my arms to comforting me when I'm the last person who deserves her love and gratitude right now. I'm the last person who deserves this girl, but the world was kind enough to gift her to me eleven years ago. When I say I don't need anything more than her, I really fucking mean it.

She is the greatest gift that has ever been handed to me, and I'd be a fool to lose her now.

Though, despite her telling me not to blame myself, how can I not when this is how her face looks, when she's bruised and swollen? She was crying earlier, sobbing loudly and freely in my arms, upset over losing Matilda, over being hurt by Groff, over me nearly dying. It's only fair I blame myself for the hurt I've brought upon her.

I just can't let her know that I'm continuing to blame myself.

"How do you do that?"

"What?"

"You were just crying and now you're..."

"Because the love of my life needed reminding just how important he is."

"I love you," I whisper, shifting forward.

"Please don't blame yourself anymore," she whispers back, moving her fingers across my cheekbone. "None of this is your fault, JJ, I need you to understand that, do you?"

Lie, Maybank. Lie. "Yeah."

She leans in, going to kiss me, but I pull back slightly, noticing the angry mark on her bottom lip. "Will it hurt?"

"Only if you don't kiss me, Maybank."

She grips my shirt, tugging me forward and crushing our mouths together.

I hold on to her because, if I don't, I know I'm going to lose her. I know she'll come to her senses soon enough and blame me because, let's face it, there's always somebody to blame.

In this case, it's me who needs to be blamed.

Right now, though, I kiss her, embracing the moment before all goes to shit.

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❀ soph speaks

fuck i love brooke and jj with my whole heart

i'm working on a kiara fic and omg the bisexual in me is squealing and kicking her feet hehe

thankyou for reading!!