[ xix. coffeehouse conflicts ]

➸➸➸

DESPITE THE FACT THAT Willa was brutally exhausted and her frazzled, hazy mind pleaded to be turned off for just a few short and measly hours, the tired teenage girl did not manage to get any sleep upon returning back home to the Deveraux household in the early hours of the summer morning.

Once more Willa opted to take another shower in an attempt to rid the new dirt and blood that clung to her body, but while the fresh heat managed to relax her tensed muscles and cleanse her knotted brunette locks, the warm shower did little to otherwise soothe the raw cracks in her broken skin, her bloody scrapes throbbing incessantly with the rushing hotness of scalding water.

By six-thirty that morning, Willa found herself back downstairs in her dark and empty kitchen, sitting alone on one of the plush high-rise seats that lined the island table. Beside her was the idle and empty seat that her mother had been sitting at only hours prior as she nursed one too many wine glasses, and in front of her now was a ripe banana that had yet to be peeled and a bowl of sugary, flaky cereal that had long since grown soggy and unappetizing in her hesitation to eat.

It was not that Willa did not want to eat breakfast—because believe her, she truly did. She was hungry and spending the past two days living on nothing more than salty pretzels and warm beer was doing little to aid her weakened and battered system. But, nonetheless, despite the strong lull she felt weighing heavy in her tired heart and the dangerous pull that dragged at her paling eyelids, her wary system was still alert to the idea of danger around her, and Willa Deveraux now found it impossible to look away from the backdoor on the opposite end of the kitchen. From where Willa currently sat at the table, she found that she could see the back exit to her beachfront mansion better than anywhere else in the entire home. And she had no intentions of moving anytime soon. Willa was not quite ready to brace the reality that two violent strangers had all the power in the world to burst through that pristine door if they pleased and take all that they wanted, whether it be something as little as a minuscule object or something as grand as a human life.

While Willa craved the sanctuary that was her room, the fear of the lethal unknown that rested beyond her own backdoor was what kept her from her bed, but she accepted that harsh and exhausting punishment. No one had put her in this position of fear but herself. If she only had held onto those damn keys.

As she pondered the whereabouts of her house key, in the back of Willa's mind she could not help but also wonder where the two gunmen were currently at. They had fled the scene of the downtown area at the arrival of Peterkin, but Willa knew that those two men were entirely unafraid of the local sheriff. They would strike her down with a bullet as quickly as they would have struck down John B. and herself.

John B. Dammit.

At the invading thought of the boy with the warm hickory stare and the contrasting cold and bruised expression, Willa could not help but shiver in her seat and clench her sage green eyes shut, stilling her quivering jaw. With the world now black against her closed eyelids, all that Willa could see in her mind's eye were the past three chaotic days unfolding haphazardly before her, the images of beaten faces and sun-kissed moments blurring together in a horrific fashion. Willa struggled to silently work through all the whirlwind events that she had had been through with John B. Routledge in such a short time—so short that she still found it hard to believe that she had even lived through any of it at all. How was it that she had gone weeks and weeks during the school year without ever doing nothing more than merely looking in his direction, and now—now!—out of the blue Willa had stared down the barrel of a loaded gun with him and had walked away bloodied and alive, hand-in-hand with him?

How was it that she had gone from basically ignoring his entire existence to sharing one of the most intimate and vulnerable moments of her young life with him?

God, Willa abruptly thought with a stubborn shake of her head. Could this not all just be nothing more than a dream?

Unfortunately, this was no such dream nor nightmare that she could shake away with the rise of a new dawn on the nearby horizon. Willa Deveraux was very much wide awake in her own bruised and burning skin.

Willa exhaled a quiet breath, her eyelids still gently closed and her long lashes brushing delicately above her round cheeks, and solemnly wished that she could have managed to speak to John B. privately before she had gone finally home. Willa knew that that conversation would now have to wait for another night, a night where she and him would not have to hide from gun-wielding lunatics. She had not particularly wanted to leave like that, with an unsaid world left open-ended between them, both too scared to approach in broad daylight. Of course, privacy in the Chateau was hard to come by and after the previous day's events, Willa was entirely unsurprised that none of the teenagers had wanted to be left alone. Willa had likely dreaded the loneliness most of all and had feared the entire ride back to the Figure Eight the moment she would have to finally drop Kiara off at her own home, and continue on into the dark of her brokenness in solitude. She had also felt pretty horrible about leaving John B. alone—especially after all that they had been through with the revelation of Big John and the Royal Merchant—but Willa quickly found solace in the fact that JJ had assured Kiara and herself that he would be staying the night at the Routledge shack, too.

But now that the briefest flicker of muddled feelings had pulsed its way into back her tired mind, Willa's frazzled attention was now focused back on her kiss with John B. Now, not only was Willa's jaw clenched, but her fists were wound tight against her thighs, her nails digging light crescent marks into the palms of her hands; not hard enough to draw blood, but enough to hold her breath as she inwardly winced in pain.

Willa despised that her body continued to betray her so adamantly. It was as if her brain was on its own current from the rest of her being, and whether she wanted to or not, she could still feel the warmth of John B.'s lips pressed against her own trembling and chapped ones, as if he were kissing her right then and there, breathing life back into her failing lungs, It was disgusting, really. Not the kiss itself—no, definitely not the kiss. But the constant reminder of it. It was not something that Willa Deveraux wanted to remember. Not right now, at least.

Besides, with the current way of the world, Willa did not need to be further dragged down by the weight of romance. Willa had enough bad decisions piling up on her plate and she did not need John B. Routledge to become another one of them.

Now that she thought about it, it truly had been quite some time since Willa had been in a romantic relationship. In fact, she was not actually sure of the last time she had been in a real relationship. Sure, she had boy . . . friends? Not boyfriends. No. No. Just . . . boys that she preferred to share beers and joints with over other boys. Willa also had girls that she, too, preferred to share beers and joints with over other girls. Once upon a time, if it were never for Shiloh, Willa surely would have chosen Mona over more than half of the entire Kildare County High student body. But there would never be a title to it. Never a definition to her relationship with another. Because Willa did not necessarily like labels nor confining statements.

Willa supposed she was like her younger brother, Ace, in that way. Neither of them could ever commit to more than flings, each of their hearts too wild to be contained, both in unbroken bodies that were still so incredibly young and carefree, and craved the taste of beautiful disaster. But Willa did not want to admit that she was like Ace. She was nothing like Ace. The only thing they had in common was their last name--and, if an impending adulthood worked in Willa's favor, that similarity would not last much longer, either.

Suddenly, now so lost in the possibility of an adulthood that existed beyond the horrid clutches of a ruthless island surrounded by dark waters, Willa dreamed of the Royal Merchant fortune. Eighty million dollars lost at the bottom of the Atlantic . . . eighty million dollars, and her name was written all over it. It would be her money. Not her mother's. Not her father's. Just hers. And it was beautiful. There was truly nothing that she would not be able to do in life with that amount of money entirely to herself. Willa tiredly smiled as the world beyond her closed lids burned a bright gold. It was so vivid in her mind that the young kook girl could have been convinced that it was real.

And then the back doorknob rattled.

Her burning sage eyes snapped open to a darkened kitchen room. Torn from her lulled tranquility, Willa instinctively lunged forward in her plush seat and her roaring heart soared upwards into her dry throat. In an instant she had reached across the tabletop and grabbed for the knife rack that had been tucked back from the island's edge and far out of reach from little Rayne. Willa's jeweled right hand instinctively went for the largest blade she could find and her small fingers curled tightly around the hilt, her rings pressing taut against her skin as she pulled the knife from the wooden block that held all of Maren's many knives secure and compact.

From over her shoulder, the doorknob quietly shook again.

Clambering to her bare feet in a hurried manner, several terrifying thoughts suddenly flickered through Willa Deveraux's racing mind in the space of five precious seconds as she quickly went around to the other side of the kitchen island. As the sixteen-year-old girl turned towards the white and rattling backdoor, the first thought to hit her was the dawning realization of just how quickly the gunmen had managed to find her. How, not even a full day later, Death had truly come to meet her on her doorstep, and now it was time to take her. The second thought to reach Willa was that she had now not only put herself in danger, but her entire slumbering family, too. Willa's stomach twisted sickly knowing that none of them would know what was happening until it was late.

The third thought that echoed through her brain went to the south side pogues, to the kids who surely would not be far behind her in death. Because if the gunmen had managed to find her so easily, it was only a matter of time before they found the others. It was a very small island, after all. Willa trembled guiltily where she stood; she would never even get to warn them. Never even get to say goodbye. Willa would not get to say goodbye to anyone. She was going to be alone when she died.

And the last thought to finally work its way through the spiraling wheels in her horrified mind was . . . Go for the throat and slash outwards hard. Because maybe, just maybe, she could take both gunmen out with one swing of her knife before they had any chance to harm the rest of her unsuspecting family. Maybe she could save Cruz, and Rayne, and Lex—even if she could not save herself.

The doorknob shook once more with dreading finality, but Willa did not falter. She could not run. Not after she had already wasted precious seconds that might have profoundly changed her fate. Oh, well. She could not change the way of the world as it befell her. This was it.

Willa Deveraux felt as if she had been standing behind the guard of the island counter for centuries, waiting anxiously for her doomsday to implode. But to her surprise and horror, and—eventually—to her utter humiliation, doomsday never arrived. Moments later, the backdoor finally swung open with a chaotic gentleness, and Willa's eyes widened as she looked upon the newfound single figure that had entered her beachfront home. Standing there in the wide back doorway was none other than her older brother, Hudson.

"Hey, Wil."

The eldest Deveraux child greeted his sister so casually. Well, as casually as a teenager could when they were blatantly caught sneaking back into their own home. Despite the racing hammering of her own heart in her ears, Willa did not miss the quietness of his tone when he spoke. Hudson had been out causing chaos in the shadows of the Outer Banks when he should not have, either. Great.

Nonetheless, despite her shock, Willa's shoulders sunk with immediate relief. Her cheeks were still flaming hot with an unextinguishable fear and she immediately dropped her gaze—as casually as she could, too. "Hi," She murmured, breathlessly shaken.

Hudson closed the backdoor quietly behind him and winced timidly at the small moan of the door's hinges squeaking to a close. "Is mom up?" He asked Willa as he slowly turned back to face her.

If Hudson abruptly noticed Willa still holding the large kitchen knife, the gleaming blade tilted at such an angle that it could easily skewer a human being, he did not say anything aloud. Perhaps he was too tired to notice. Or too drunk. Or too stoned. For this, Willa was grateful, but she did not want to push her luck. Rather than hastily set the knife aside on the marble and potentially draw more attention to the large, exposed blade that—from Hudson's perspective—had absolutely no reason to be in her hands, Willa quickly turned back to the countertop and began slicing up the forgotten banana lying alongside her bowl of breakfast, and began placing its mushy pieces into her soggy cereal. "No," She finally answered, realizing her brother was still awaiting an answer. "She . . . uh . . . I think she was up with Rayne at some point last night . . . They were both sleeping in her little bed the last time I checked."

Hudson nodded his head in understanding and moved deeper into the quiet kitchen, flicking on a light that gave the cold room a warmer glow. "How long have you been awake?" He wondered as he lazily shrugged his dark leather jacket off his broad shoulders and laid it across the back of one of the empty plush island chairs. His eyes were still holding Willa's face, though she had yet to look up to rightfully meet his stare. She was still trying to calm her spastic nerves—and keep from cutting the tip of her index finger off as her fingers still shook unevenly, one of her rings threatening to slip right off and into the milky bowl below.

"I actually haven't gone to bed," Willa admitted tiredly. "I just got in a little while ago."

"Oh, yeah?" Hudson said light-heartedly. He sounded genuinely interested as he spoke to Willa and she believed he truly was. Most of the time Hudson was actively invested in Willa's social life, considering they saw each other at every other party on the Figure Eight. Even though they did not always party side-by-side together—not the way that she and Cruz did, anyways—they were still close all the same. "Where were you at?" He prodded playfully. Speaking to Hudson was as easy as breathing air for Willa. He never judged her, and she never judged him. "I thought that big party wasn't until Thursday."

Willa wrinkled her nose at the underlying accusation. "I wasn't at a party," She dismissed sourly. But hell, she wished that she could had been at a kook party rather than where she had actually been, lying on the hot asphalt with blood pouring from her chin. But she was not that close with Hudson. Not close enough to blurt that violent information out on a whim. So, Willa gave the next best excuse. "I was at Lila's," She explained.

"Who?"

At that, Willa abruptly looked up and finally met her wondering brother's gaze. Exhausted sibling eyes locked with one another across the small island, and the younger sister exhaled a breath she had not realized she was still holding. She had not meant to blurt the same name that she had used against her mother only two days prior. "Lila Rooney," Willa informed swiftly, even as she bit her own tongue. Great. Now, her made-up friend had a made-up last name. What? Was she expected to describe her next to—who knows—her father, too? "New friend," She added carefully.

Hudson's brows pulled together in confusion. "Never heard of her."

"That's because you're an upperclassman. You don't hear of anyone," Willa retorted with a roll of her eyes. "And like I said—she's new." And did not exist. Willa glowered inwardly at her own inner conscious daring to betray her as she finally turned away to toss her bare banana peel away. Her cereal was still left untouched. "So," She soon countered of her older brother, quick to change the subject. "where were you?"

"Crashed at Wes'," Hudson explained easily, drumming his fingers gently on the cool counter as Willa looked him over. His short black hair was slightly tousled from a broken slumber, but that was not what gave truth to his statement. It was the fact that he was wearing a graphic t-shirt that was not his own. Though the shirt's design was that of a popular band—something that all teenage boys would wear—it was still something too mediocre, too sloppy to even be just a casual shirt for Hudson. It was surely a shirt that Hudson would surely never let his own mother see.

"That's all?" Willa wondered coyly. It was in her nature to tease him just as much as he teased her.

"That's all," Hudson confirmed with a huff. He did not miss Willa's eyeing expression, though, as if she were trying to read his mind, and he blinked in surprise. "What?" He questioned curtly.

"Nothing," Willa reassured with a shrug. "I mean, I don't think mom or dad would care if you were just at Wesley's. They love him," She insisted confidently. "Why didn't you just tell them that you were going out rather than take the risk of getting caught for sneaking back in?"

"Where's the fun in that?" Hudson snickered. And that—that little playful and conniving question—was what had always bound the two eldest Deveraux children so tightly together. Willa and Hudson were not partners-in-crime, per say, but they were still thick as thieves. "Besides," He drawled teasingly. "I'm sure Ma would have just loved to be woken up at two in the morning by her dear baby boy telling her that he's going out for a late-night booty call."

"Oh, shut up!" Willa exclaimed, leaning lazily on the edge of the island. "TMI, dude."

Hudson laughed gently at his sister's innocent reaction, his dark eyes crinkling brightly around the edges as he scooted forward in his seat. "So, do you see what I mean?" He chuckled.

"Very clearly," Willa scoffed. She shook her head carelessly, making her dark and partially wet curls bounce wildly on her warm shoulders, her skin still hot from her steaming shower and kisses from the burning sun. "Too clearly."

Hudson's lips tilted upwards into a grin, but just as quickly as the expression formed on his tanned features, it abruptly altered downwards into a frown as his focused attention soon went towards Willa's exposed chin. "What happened to your chin?" He asked in concern.

Willa's sage green eyes widened in alarm and her right hand instantly shot up to her chin, the pad of her thumb brushing delicately across the scabbed skin left from her injury. She had attempted to cover it up as soon as she had gotten out of the shower that morning, but apparently the light layer of concealer had not been enough. "Long story," She insisted rigidly. She supposed though, even as she stood like a deer caught in the headlights, that it was better that Hudson called her out on her poor attempt at hiding her injury than it being her mother.

At her vague answer, Hudson looked over his sister carefully but did not push her as one of their parents might, as even Cruz might. "Care to share it over some coffee downtown?" He offered gently, his voice as soft as silk, as smooth as the untouched milk in Willa's forgotten breakfast. Hudson had noticed that, too, but he did not say anything.

"No," Willa Deveraux denied sharply with another firm shake of her head. Her answer was instantaneous and clear even as she reached for her nearby car keys, the jagged metal still rusted darkly with a stranger's blood. Her hand quickly covered the keys, determined to hide away that frightening part of her life from her older brother for as long as she could. "But I'll still take the coffee."

➸➸➸

TEMPEST TEA AND COFFEE was a small and quirky, colorful coffeehouse located near the water's edge of Kildare island that was now bustling with heavy activity. Because of the power outage, Willa had gathered from other surrounding customers that this shop and one other were the only two coffeehouses on the entire island that were currently open for business. Both locals and tourists alike were now crammed into the small shop, trying to get their daily dose of caffeine before they took on another day of attempting to restore the island to its former beauty—or before they destroyed it further.

But thankfully, despite the abundant crowding, Willa and Hudson Deveraux still managed to secure a tiny table for themselves near the back of the shop and had also still managed to be seated close enough to one of the wide windows to have a nice view of the marina below. Currently, though, there was no admiring of the breezy and bright view for Willa. Instead she was merely peering into the window in hopes of seeing her own tainted reflection. Her jeweled fingers were now frozen on her scabbed chin as she tilted her head further to the side, trying to see her own wound at a better angle. From across the table, Hudson was merely watching her in quiet curiosity as he sipped at his own cold coffee.

"Does it look bad, Hudson?" Willa wondered absentmindedly. "I tried to cover it up, but I hate wearing makeup. It makes my face breakout."

"It looks better than if you had just used a bandage," Hudson assured. "But I could still see it pretty easily in the kitchen, even with the makeup."

"Well, that's 'cause you were sitting right next to me," She defended, falling away from the window and back into her seat in defeat. "Do you think mom would be able to tell if she saw me?"

"You really want me to answer that question? I'm surprised she hasn't said anything about your hair," The eldest Deveraux child pointed out, pointing a finger at Willa's red streak. "What'd you do that for, anyways?"

"The reason she hasn't said anything is because she doesn't know."

"She doesn't? Now, you're just asking to get murdered. Are you trying to sabotage Midsummers again?"

"No," Willa admitted with a huff. When she had dyed her hair, staining pristine porcelain and smooth skin alike in a bright pinkish hue, the last thing she had been thinking of was how it might affect her Midsummer appearance. That evening was going to be a shit show no matter what she wore or how she looked, she knew that much already. "Just my life in general."

Hudson frowned from behind the rim of his yellow coffee cup. "You're sabotaging your own life?"

"Just trust the vision, Hudson."

"Pretty mindless vision if you ask me." Hudson chuckled into his drink. "On the bright side," He soothed, returning the cup down to the delicately engraved tabletop. "I think you're safe until Midsummers. But after that Ma will kill you."

"Maybe she'll strangle me with your god-awful tie," Willa snickered, sending her older brother a teasing look. A few weeks back, she had briefly seen the matching Midsummer ties for Hudson and Wesley from over her mother's shoulder one day as Maren had skimmed through her weekly orders on her laptop. The fabric of the silky ties had been bright. Much, much too bright for even a night as lush and as evocative as one that kooks naturally thrived in. But Maren had liked them, surprisingly enough. Guess it made sense why Willa hated them.

"Hey, Wes and I picked those out ourselves," Hudson shot back hotly. Though his cheeks were beginning to burn, he was still smiling. Hudson was one of the few people that Willa knew that could handle a joke and manage to laugh at themselves, too.

"And they had to match?" Willa mocked, her smirk pulling into a grin. "With polka dots?!"

"Just trust the vision, Willa."

Willa laughed gently at her brother's teasing words and looked back down to her own drink. Though invited on the premise of coffee, Willa had opted to get an energy drink instead. Redbull splashed with raspberry syrup, all swirling around in a cup with extra ice, just the way she liked it. Willa liked to crunch on the ice after she had downed the drink—which, mind her, she usually did so in less than five sips. Sometimes, if she felt like it, she would order a second cup just filled with ice. But today the coffeeshop could not afford to hand out spare ice, not when the generators that powered the place could blow at a moment's notice. "Speaking of Midsummers . . ." Willa drawled hesitantly. "you wouldn't happen to know who mom's trying to set me up with, would you?"

"No," Hudson replied, his tone tinted with hesitation. "why?"

"Well, I asked her about it, but she wouldn't tell me who's parents she was talking to," She explained. "I just figured that maybe she told you."

"Hmm . . ." Hudson was silent for a long moment, contemplating the many faces of the higher elite sons of the Figure Eight neighborhood. "Maybe that Barrett kid?" He finally suggested.

"Who?"

"Barrett Coldwell."

Willa shook her head in confusion. "Never heard of him," She said truthfully. For all she knew that name was about as made-up as Lila Rooney's was.

"Another new kid. Moved here in the spring," Hudson explained easily. "I think he's a year older, but I'm not sure. I hardly saw him in class. He might be home-schooled part of the time . . ." He trailed off briefly, likely trying to put more of the missing puzzle pieces together regarding the mysterious Coldwell family. They did not seem to be clicking as Hudson finally shook his head in defeat and sufficed with, "I hear he's got money, though."

"You mean his parents have money," Willa sneered coldly.

"He's a kook, all right?" Her older brother defended through another sip of coffee. "Isn't that enough?"

Willa Deveraux merely rolled her eyes in annoyance and disgust. For mom, she wanted to say, not for me.

Suddenly, from over Hudson's shoulder Willa watched as two more customers filed their way into the busy coffeehouse with their heads high and their eyes alight with a glow that could have only been due to the fact that they were already faded from a sunrise smoke session. Willa knew all about those; a nice wake and bake to chase the stress away (which is what she should have done, now that she was thinking about it), but that was beside the point! Of course, aside from the fact that the two newcomers were noticeably stoned, Willa would not have given either of them a second thought if it were not for the fact that they were fresh Kildare High alumni—and that they were a young kook and a pogue walking side-by-side, buying drinks together. Willa's sage green eyes could not help but follow the slender figure of blonde, kook model, Poppy Lauder and the tanned, lean figure of hippy pogue, Luca Miranda, as they made their way slowly to the counter, both entirely oblivious to the world around them. It was an interesting sight, seeing them interact so close; a sight that had surely turned heads when they were back in high school. Kooks and pogues that regarded each other as true friends were rarities, yes, but they were not quite impossible.

Poppy Lauder abruptly turned her head out towards the open seating area and Willa hurriedly looked back down to the tabletop and took a hasty sip of her drink. Thankfully, their matching light eyes never met. Willa supposed, though, that it probably did not matter. Poppy was two years older than Willa. She probably did not even know the younger girl existed; only that her last name did.

Willa quietly cleared her throat and turned her attention back to her brother. "Hey, are you still friends with Luca Miranda?" She asked under her breath.

Hudson frowned in confusion, likely expecting that to be the last question to ever fall from his sister's unpredictable mouth. "Not really," He answered. "Why?"

"No reason," Willa insisted tightly. She was doing all that she could to keep from looking back at the crowded counter. "I just saw him at a party the other night and I thought of you."

"The party where that psychopath brought a gun?" Hudson retorted coldly with a roll of his eyes.

Willa's heart clenched tightly, but no words of defense for JJ Maybank immediately came to her. It was more trouble than it was worth explaining the whole Boneyard story to Hudson. Willa still did not even like to think about it. Because while she understood JJ's reasons for attacking Topper, she did not understand his methods. She couldn't, no matter how hard she tried. And if that uncertainty made him a psychopath in the eyes of the Outer Banks occupants, who was Willa to try and change their mind when she was still struggling to change her own? "Yeah," She finally said meekly.

"Were you still there by that point? I heard it happened pretty late."

"No," Willa answered coolly. She could not afford to freeze up. Hudson would see right through her. Besides, her older brother did not need to know that she had been at a party where a weapon had been brandished and used. Her older brother certainly did not need to know that she had knocked a loaded gun out of a shooter's hands. Because unlike Cruz, Hudson was much harder to persuade that everything was fine. "How'd you hear about it?" She wondered.

Hudson took another sip of his drink. "Ace told me."

"Seriously?" Willa gasped. Though only days prior she had initially doubted that her younger brother would rat on the party, she was quickly beginning to suspect otherwise. If Ace had told Hudson of all people about the violent party, what would stop him from telling their parents next? Ace knew that Hudson would tell on him if given the chance—that any of the Deveraux kids would throw Ace under the bus if they could. And yet Ace still told him? "Did he tell mom or dad?"

"No."

"Oh," Willa breathed. "Good."

"Good?" Hudson repeated questioningly.

Willa inhaled sharply and nearly choked on her fruity kick of a drink. "Well, I mean," She stuttered slightly, feeling the lie on the tip of her tongue begin to unwind. "you know mom," She insisted hurriedly. "She would try to get the cops involved."

"They should be involved," Hudson muttered through a tired sigh. "That Maybank kid's fucking crazy."

"I heard he was trying to break up a fight. His friend was getting the shit beat out of him."

"Still. It doesn't matter who he was trying to protect. You don't do that with a gun."

Willa nodded her head in understanding, even as her lips turned downwards into a gentle frown. "You're saying that you wouldn't shoot someone to protect Wesley?"

Hudson's eyes widened at the blunt response from his younger sister. Even though he knew to expect the unexpected with Willa, he still found himself taken aback time and time again by her unpredictably deranged nature. "What the fuck, Willa?"

"Calm down," Willa glowered, waving away his accusing look with a sweep of her heavily jeweled hand. "It was just a question, Hudson."

Hudson gritted his teeth in annoyance and looked down to his mostly empty coffee cup. A moment passed in tensed silence before he turned his gaze towards the wide window, allowing his attention to be pulled away by the openness of the gentle waves below. "Well, to answer your question," He cautiously addressed. "No. No, I wouldn't shoot someone for Wes. Mostly because I'd probably end up shooting him instead . . ." He admitted. As soon as the words left his lips, he sharply shook his head in disbelief. "Jesus Christ, when did this conversation turn so morbid? What were we even talking about before?"

"I asked if you were still friends with Luca Miranda," Willa informed carefully. "And then it kind of just spiraled from there. It dangerously spiraled."

"Yeah, it did," Hudson agreed bitterly. "Anyways," He drawled, hurriedly trying to return to conversation to one of a more normal topic. Willa could see the wheels turning in her older brother's brain, much like she did herself whenever she was being pushed to an anxious edge within her own uneasy mind. "Like I said, I'm not really friends with Luca anymore. He kind of stopped talking to me after Wes and I got together."

"He stopped talking to you," Willa began cautiously, licking her chapped lips. "or you stopped talking to him?"

Once more, Willa's light and watchful eyes flickered over Hudson's shoulder, but this time she was not as discreet in her movements. Without a word Hudson took the cue and turned around in his own chair and looked towards the counter. This time, princess Poppy was no longer searching the unsuspecting crowd of coffee goers, the young and pretty girl now instead distracted by a warm banana muffin she had purchased. Rather, the newfound sweeping pair of eyes that caught onto the Deveraux siblings like a lost sailor finding an oasis in a lonely sea was none other than eighteen-year-old Luca Miranda himself. The graduated boy looked good, surprisingly—better than he had in the later years of high school when he had been in and out of class with a drug problem that even the school's educated counselor did not care enough about to attempt fixing.

With no aid from those meant to protect and support him, Willa Deveraux could not help but wonder who might have been there to help Luca out of that dark space instead. And who had not.

Willa's sage green eyes looked briefly back to her older brother's stilled expression. Hudson was frozen as he stared across the crowded coffeehouse to Luca. Neither boy said a word, neither boy even rose a hand in greeting, yet a thousand unsaid words had passed in the void between them, a conversation only meant to heard between themselves. The moment of paralleled silence was only broken when Poppy finally pulled away from the counter and grabbed her pogue friend by the arm and began pulling him towards the building's exit. Both Willa and Hudson watched them go the entire time, both holding their breath. Poppy never even noticed them, never even hesitated in the doorway. But Luca did. Yet just as quickly as he had frozen on the threshold, he hurriedly started moving again as another customer approached, the boy now walking faster this time, as if embarrassed to even be seen. And then, with no farewell at all—as if he ever owed Hudson Deveraux one, anyways—Luca Miranda ducked out of sight of the Tempest Tea and Coffee shop and was not seen again.

Minutes continued to pass by in silence, long after the two strangers had left. The stilled air of the Deveraux siblings' small bubble at the back of the coffeehouse was only finally broken by a loud honk of a car horn from outside, the unseen vehicle located somewhere just beyond the window. While Willa meant to pay the sound no regard at all, Hudson had other plans and hurriedly stood up, snapping from his horrified trance.

Willa frowned as she looked up at her towering older brother's figure, watching as he gathered his few belongings from the table. "Where are you off to in such a rush?" She questioned, her sunburnt nose scrunching.

"The beach." Hudson slipped his wallet into his back pocket and looked expectantly out the window. "You want to go surfing with Wes and I?" He invited.

"When?"

"Right now."

"Now?" Willa repeated in exasperation. "You don't even have a bathing suit. Or a board!"

"Wesley's letting me borrow his," Hudson answered with an innocent shrug. Willa could tell that he was suddenly very eager to get out of the warm and stifling shop.

Willa's brows furrowed. "A board or a suit?"

Still, even shaken, Hudson smirked. "Both."

And for now, Willa would allow herself to be baited into the calmness of her brother's forced attitude. "You're sharing boxers now?" She scoffed playfully.

"We're sharing more than that."

"Well, as long as it's not an STD."

"Willa!"

"Okay, mom, jeez!" Willa quickly set her empty up back down on the clean table, already feeling the kicks of the energy drink in her tired system. "I'm kidding. Come on, take a joke," She sighed, tilting her head quirkily. Hudson did not look amused, but she knew he was not actually mad at her. She had teased him for much worse in the past. "You guys are so cute," She consoled. "It's disgusting." But in a good way, she wanted to add.

"So, I'll take that as a 'no' on the surfing?"

Willa nodded her head as she popped the plastic lid off her cup, eager to get after the quickly melting ice cubes that gathered at the bottom, still soaked in the remnants of Redbull and raspberry. "I don't surf unless I'm drunk or stoned," She informed bluntly.

Hudson swallowed stiffly as he watched his younger sister inhale a large chuck on ice. "That's not very safe," He cautioned. Whether he meant the intoxicated surfing or the inhaling of more ice than was what was surely healthy, Willa was not sure. She could only hope that he meant the former to be more life-threatening. Because drunken surfing sounded like a hell of a lot better way to go out of this world than simply choking on a flimsy ice cube before it could melt in her mouth.

"No, it isn't," Willa replied through a solid crunch.

When Willa finally swallowed, Hudson seemed to take that as if his cue to leave. That, or Wes was making some sort of signal out the window for Hudson to hurry his ass up. After a moment, Willa finally stood up, too, knowing that it was time for her to go as well—because even if she was not surfing, there was no way she was about to wait around in a crowded coffeeshop by herself and face the secret judgement of her Figure Eight neighbors that despised her double-dealing face but idolized her piercing last name.

Quickly, with Willa's head down and Hudson's held high, the two siblings walked towards the exit with their empty cups and tossed them into the trashcan that was already beginning to overflow with hurried business. "Please don't get yourself killed today, yeah?" The eldest Deveraux pleaded as he held the door open for his sister.

Willa's face paled slightly at the underlying weight in Hudson's words as they walked outside and into the humid heat of the island's popular boardwalk, her emotionless face striking cold against the blaring hot sun above. Little did Hudson know that his little sister had nearly been killed on multiple occasions with in the past three days. And he would never know if she had any say about it. "I'll try not to," She assured lightly, stiff as a board in her movements. But Hudson was not able to notice her swift change of behavior, the boy already distracted by his waiting partner up ahead. "Tell Wesley I said hi."

"Will do," Hudson promised warmly as he began walking away from her. "Later, Wil."

Willa stood idly on the wooden planks of the boardwalk and rose an awkward hand towards Wesley Nations as her older brother climbed into the passenger's seat of Wes' vehicle. The former waved back, and then, without another word, they were gone, heading back towards the Figure Eight—back towards the sandy beaches that promised of a relaxing day and no worries at all. For the briefest moment, Willa suddenly wished that she had taken her brother up on his invite to surf. Because if she had, she would not be standing so exposed on the open boardwalk like she was right now. For all she knew, the gunmen who were determined to take everything from Willa were watching her right now. Maybe they were just waiting for Willa to take a step closer to the rickety dock so that when they finally shot her, the waves would catch her limp body and carry her far, far away from the Outer Banks forever, gone without a trace.

Behind Willa, the gentle (yet sinister) waters lapped against the nearby docks, the marsh and the ocean mixing as one off in the faraway distance. Though the water seemingly called out to the Deveraux daughter, she dreaded facing it. The last time she had been out on the water, she had nearly taken a bullet to the head.

Willa hoped today that she might not have to face the barrel of a loaded gun again. But as she had already told herself and her newfound pogue allies before, things were likely going to get worse before they got better. Hell, who was Willa trying to fool? Things were worse. What was worse than worse itself? She was in danger. John B., Kiara, Pope and JJ were in danger. All of their families were in danger. And it was all their faults.

With that uncertainty resting dangerously heavy on Willa's shoulders, there was no saying how today might end, either. But—despite that fear, despite that pain—the weight of the world did not stop Willa from thinking that thought maybe, just maybe, she might have a free day.

"Hey, kook bait!"

And then Willa Deveraux turned back around and finally braved looking out towards the open water beyond the marina where a small boat was approaching the nearby dock and four young and expectant faces were looking at her, waiting for her to join them in their next planned strike in their frantic search for the legendary Royal Merchant treasure.

She thought wrong.

~~~~~~~~~~

hi everyone.

first off, i just want to apologize for how much i have been slacking on this story.  it's been five weeks since my last update, and in those five weeks, my life has been extremely hectic.  my head just hasn't been in the right place for writing.  i've been ill, work has been crazy, i've had the worst writer's block ever... life has just been a real shit show.  but i'm here because this website is my happy place and writing is my stress reliever.  of course, i'm still not entirely satisfied with this chapter, but i really wanted to get a chapter out for y'all because you deserve it.  and i want to thank everyone for sticking with this story and supporting this story, and supporting willa and myself because it really means the whole world to me.

since i've been gone i've gained so many new readers and fans, and just.. from the bottom of my heart, thank you for choosing this book.  thank you for trusting this journey.  thank you for being a fan.  i love you.  i appreciate you.  unfortunately, i hope you all can understand that i am still not in the best place for writing.  i'm trying to bounce back, but its been difficult.  i hope i can get another chapter to you guys sooner.  that is my plan.  but plans can change quick.  just bare with me, please.

now, in regards to this chapter, i hope you all enjoyed it.  i know not a whole lot happened.  this was very much a dialogue chapter with a lot of coffee contemplation.  there was no pogue interactions unfortunately (but what i have planned for the next chapter should really make up for that).  but anyways, what did you all think?  what do you all think of hudson?  how are we feeling about willa?

and i know it's selfish to say, but feedback truly does help with writer's block.  i appreciate it so much.  so, if its not too much to ask, instead of just a simple 'good chapter!' or 'can't wait for the next one!'... can i ask, what did you really enjoy about it?  what are you looking forward to seeing next?  of course, you don't have to do this.  i know it can be difficult.

again, thank you all so much for reading this story.  thank you for waiting it out with me.  the best is yet to come.  and can i get a woogity-woogity for outer banks season two confirmation?! can't wait!!!

stay safe and well.

--B.