Chapter 13 - Shadows in the Sun

The bathroom door was locked, steam escaping through the crack underneath as John B knocked lightly. "Sarah? We only have one bathroom, and everyone's waiting. I hate to interrupt, but—" He paused, hearing a muffled sniffle. "Are you crying? What's wrong? What happened? Is it the baby?"

"No, no, I'm fine," Sarah called out quickly, her voice trembling slightly.

"Sarah…" John B's tone softened, concern lacing his voice. He tried the handle. "Can I come in?"

There was a brief pause before the door clicked open, revealing Sarah sitting on the closed toilet seat, fresh out of the shower, wrapped in a towel. Her eyes were red, her cheeks damp, and she was furiously wiping at them with a tissue.

"I said I'm fine," she mumbled, avoiding his gaze.

John B crouched in front of her, gently taking her hands away from her face. "Hey, talk to me. What's going on? You can tell me."

Sarah hesitated, her voice breaking as she blurted out, "I'm just so uncomfortable, John B." She gestured vaguely toward her chest. "My body is changing, and nothing fits anymore—especially my bras. They're either too tight, too small, or just… wrong. It's stupid, I know, but it's driving me insane."

John B's heart twisted at the sight of her tears. He sat beside her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. "Hey, it's not stupid. It's a lot, what you're going through. Your body's doing incredible things—making our baby—and yeah, it's gonna feel different. But you're amazing, Sarah. I notice everything, and I've never been disappointed."

She shot him a look, raising an eyebrow, her lips twitching in amusement despite her tears. "Never disappointed, huh?"

John B's face turned pink, and he backtracked quickly. "I mean, it's all for the baby, right? You're a warrior, and I'm just over here trying to keep up."

Sarah let out a watery laugh, leaning into him. "You're such an idiot sometimes."

"Guilty," he said with a grin, pressing a kiss to the top of her damp hair. "But I'm your idiot."

When John B emerged from the bathroom, JJ was leaning against the doorframe, smirking. "Finally. Is the princess done yet? Some of us have a skincare routine to maintain."

John B shot him a glare. "You're pretty enough already, JJ. Don't push it." He waved him off, muttering, "I need Ki for a second."

Kiara looked up from where she was flipping through a tourist brochure, eyebrows raised as John B approached her. "What's up?"

He glanced toward the bathroom door before leaning closer. "Sarah's, uh… she's a little sensitive right now. Her body's changing, and she's feeling uncomfortable. I don't think me fumbling through trying to understand is gonna cut it this time. Maybe you could… you know, help?"

Kiara nodded immediately, her expression softening. "Of course. Don't worry, I've got this."

Kiara knocked lightly before stepping into the bathroom. Sarah had wrapped herself in a robe, her damp hair hanging loosely around her face. "Hey," Kiara said brightly, leaning against the counter. "So, John B says you're feeling a little out of sorts. Spill."

Sarah sighed, crossing her arms over her chest. "It's nothing. I'm just being ridiculous."

"Ridiculous? No way," Kiara said, her tone teasing but kind. "If I were in your shoes, I'd be crying too. I mean, you're literally growing a whole human. That's a big deal. Plus," she added with a grin, "I'm totally jealous. You've got that glowing, sexy mama-to-be thing going on."

Sarah let out a laugh, shaking her head. "You're impossible."

"True," Kiara said with a wink. "But I also have a solution. Let's go shopping. We'll find you some new, comfy, maternity bras that actually fit and make you feel like a queen again. What do you say?"

Sarah hesitated, but Kiara's enthusiasm was contagious. "Okay, fine. But only if you promise not to let me buy anything ugly."

Kiara grinned, linking her arm through Sarah's. "Deal. Let's go remind the world that Sarah Routledge doesn't do ugly."

Cleo sauntered into the bungalow, tossing a set of gloves onto the table. "Alright, lazybones, I've got us some work."

JJ raises an eyebrow. "Work? You mean, like, actual work? Not my scene, Cleo."

Cleo rolls her eyes. "Oh, poor you. Didn't realise lifting a few crates might be beneath His Royal Highness. Look, we're low on cash, and this will put some food on the table and keep us moving. It's just a couple of hours at the docks. You in or not?"

John B looks at Pope, who shrugs. "Might as well. Beats waiting around."

Cleo smirks at JJ. "Guess you'll get a real workout for once, hey rude boy"

The tourist district buzzed with life, the air filled with the mingling scents of fried conch, fresh citrus, and salty sea breeze. Sarah and Kiara strolled through the narrow streets lined with vibrant market stalls and boutique shops. Local artisans sold everything from woven bags to intricately carved seashells, while tourists meandered past, snapping photos and laughing.

"This place is wild," Kiara said, her eyes darting from stall to stall. She paused to finger a strand of colourful beads at a jewelry stand. "I mean, look at this. I could get lost here for hours."

Sarah gave a half-hearted smile, her mind elsewhere. They'd come to find a few things for her—some comfortable clothes, specifically bras that actually fit—but the vibrant chaos of the street only made her feel overwhelmed.

Kiara nudged her playfully. "Hey, you okay? You've been quiet."

"Yeah, I'm fine," Sarah said, brushing a strand of hair from her face. "Just… tired, I guess." She pulled at the straps of her too-tight bra, wincing. "And I'm ready to not feel like my clothes are actively trying to kill me."

Kiara grinned, looping an arm through Sarah's. "Don't worry, girl. We'll find you the most comfortable maternity bras this side of the Atlantic. And maybe a dress or two while we're at it."

They ducked into a small boutique tucked between two larger shops. The racks were crammed with flowy dresses and tops made for the island heat. Sarah ran her fingers over the soft fabrics, her shoulders relaxing slightly as the quiet of the store cocooned them away from the bustling street.

Kiara grabbed a few bras and held them up with a smirk. "What do we think? Fashionable and functional?"

Sarah laughed, her mood lifting for a moment. "I'll settle for just functional."

After making their purchases, they stepped back into the sun-drenched street. Sarah adjusted the bag slung over her shoulder, glancing around at the moving crowds. Her chest tightened suddenly, a flicker of unease creeping up her spine.

"Ki, hang on," she murmured, her eyes scanning the bustling crowd. The feeling was subtle at first, like an itch at the back of her mind. But then it sharpened, a heavy weight pressing down on her.

"What's wrong?" Kiara asked, turning to her with concern.

Sarah didn't answer immediately. Her gaze swept over the street, the flood of faces blurring together. And then she saw him—or thought she did. A man standing at the edge of a stall, partially obscured by a group of tourists. His build, his posture—it was unmistakable. Her heart skipped a beat.

"Sarah?" Kiara asked again, her voice sharper this time.

Sarah shook her head, her breath catching in her throat. "I…" She blinked, trying to focus, but when she looked back, the man was gone.

Her pulse thundered in her ears as she turned frantically, scanning the street for any sign of him. "No, no, no" she whispered under her breath. "I just saw him. I swear I saw him."

"Who?" Kiara pressed, grabbing Sarah's arm to steady her. "What's going on?"

"My father," Sarah whispered, her voice barely audible. Her wide eyes darted around the crowd, searching for a glimpse of that familiar face. But it was gone. There was nothing but strangers.

Kiara stiffened beside her, her grip on Sarah's arm tightening. "Your dad? Sarah, that doesn't make sense. He's supposed to be in South America."

"I know," Sarah said, her voice shaking. "I know that, but I swear I saw him, Ki. Just for a second. Right over there." She gestured toward the stall, but her hand faltered as doubt crept in. Her breathing quickened as the world around her seemed to close in.

"Hey," Kiara said firmly, stepping in front of her. "Hey. Take a breath. Look at me. Are you sure it was him?"

Sarah faltered, her eyes darting back to where she thought she'd seen him. "I… I don't know. Maybe I'm just going crazy. Maybe it's just… my stupid trauma-addled, baby brain messing with me."

Kiara placed both hands on Sarah's shoulders, grounding her. "You're not crazy. But if you're sure, we need to tell the others."

"No," Sarah said quickly, shaking her head. "No, we can't. I don't even know if it was real, Ki. It could've been anyone. I don't want to worry them over nothing."

Kiara hesitated, clearly torn, but she nodded. "Okay. Fine. But if you see anything else—anything—you tell me. Promise?"

Sarah swallowed hard, her hands trembling slightly as she nodded. "I promise."

"Good." Kiara gave her a small smile, looping her arm through Sarah's as they began walking again. "Now, let's get back to the others before JJ starts a riot over lunch."

As they made their way through the crowded streets, Sarah couldn't shake the feeling that someone was still watching. But every time she glanced over her shoulder, there was nothing but a sea of unfamiliar faces.

The Bahamian sun blazed down as the Pogues made their way to the docks, the air thick with the scent of salt and fish. Cleo walked ahead, her usual confident stride leading them toward a sprawling seafood warehouse. Pallets of fresh lobster, conch, and fish were being packed into crates and loaded onto trucks bound for freighters. The bustling scene was a stark contrast to the quiet village streets they'd left behind.

Rafi, Cleo's contact, stood by a forklift, shouting orders to the workers darting between the loading areas. His face lit up in recognition as Cleo approached.

"Cleo!" he bellowed, spreading his arms wide. "Thought I wouldn't see you again after that stunt you pulled with the rum barrels."

Cleo smirked, shaking his hand. "Come on, Rafi, that was a masterpiece. Don't tell me you didn't laugh after the fact."

He chuckled, his booming laugh cutting through the chaos. "Alright, who're these kids? They don't look like dock hands."

"They'll do," Cleo said, jerking her thumb toward the others. "We just need a quick job and quicker cash."

Rafi raised an eyebrow, giving the Pogues a once-over. "They break anything, it's coming outta your cut."

"Deal," Cleo replied smoothly. She turned to the group. "Alright, boys. Show Rafi what you've got."

John B, JJ, Pope, and Cleo were quickly put to work. Their task: pack seafood onto ice in large crates destined for export. The air inside the warehouse was cold and clammy, a welcome break from the sun but a far cry from comfortable.

JJ held up a dripping lobster, examining it with exaggerated disgust. "Seriously? This thing looks like it wants to fight me."

"Just pack it," Pope muttered, stacking another layer of ice over the fish in his crate. "It's not that hard."

JJ grinned, holding the lobster out like a puppet. "Come on, Pope. He just wants to talk about his hopes and dreams."

Cleo, passing by with a crate of fish, rolled her eyes. "If you don't shut up and move that, I'll pack you in ice next."

John B chuckled, shoving a crate onto the growing stack. "You're wasting your energy, JJ. Just focus on the money."

JJ sighed dramatically, tossing the lobster into a crate. "Fine. But only because this is for the treasure fund."

As they worked, Cleo's sharp gaze darted around the warehouse. She'd warned them that the docks weren't always the safest place to lay low, and her instincts hadn't dulled. She spotted a couple of men lingering near the far end of the warehouse, their eyes tracking the workers.

She sidled up to John B and Pope, her voice low. "We've got eyes on us. Two guys by the forklifts. Don't look too obvious, but keep an eye out."

John B glanced casually in their direction, his jaw tightening. "Think they know who we are?"

"Doesn't matter," Cleo said. "We finish the job and get out. No heroics."

After hours of hauling crates and packing seafood, the group finally finished their shift. Rafi approached with a thick wad of cash, handing it to Cleo with a nod.

"Not bad," he said. "You didn't break anything, and you didn't slow us down. That's more than I expected."

Cleo counted the money quickly before tucking it into her bag. "Pleasure doing business with you, Rafi."

Rafi leaned in slightly, his tone dropping. "You lot watch your backs. Got people asking about strangers in the area. Don't stay in one place too long."

Cleo's smile didn't falter, but her eyes hardened. "We'll keep that in mind."

The group trudged into the bungalow, tired and reeking of fish. JJ flopped dramatically onto the couch, groaning. "This better be the last time I work with seafood. I think I'll smell like lobster forever."

Kiara, seated by the window with Sarah, smirked. "Aw, poor JJ. Maybe next time, you can go sell coconuts on the beach instead."

"Don't tempt me," JJ muttered.

John B handed Cleo a water bottle, nodding toward the bag of cash. "How much did we make?"

Cleo grinned, holding up the money. "Enough to keep us moving for a bit. But we'll have to keep looking for more gigs if we're gonna make it to the next step."

Sarah, resting her hand on her belly, smiled tiredly. "At least it's something. You guys did good."

JJ leaned back, a lazy grin on his face. "Yeah, yeah. We're heroes. Now, who's cooking dinner?"

The group laughed, the tension easing for the moment as they settled into their temporary sanctuary.

The Pogues had gathered on a nearby beach, their campfire crackling and sending plumes of smoke into the salty evening air. The faint smell of charred wood mixed with the briny aroma of the seafood boil they'd thrown together, courtesy of their afternoon's work at the docks.

Kiara crouched by the fire, expertly stirring the steaming pot balanced on the makeshift grate. Lobster tails, shrimp, crab claws, corn, and potatoes swirled in the bubbling broth, their fragrance making JJ groan dramatically.

"Hurry up, Ki!" JJ whined, sitting cross-legged on the sand, an empty plate in front of him. "I'm wasting away over here. Look at me. Skin and bones."

"You had two sandwiches an hour ago," Pope shot back, lounging on his elbow while cracking open a beer. "You'll live."

"Barely," JJ muttered, clutching his stomach dramatically before flopping onto his back. "Just let me die here on the beach like the starved Pogue I am."

Kiara rolled her eyes, laughing as she pulled a steaming crab claw from the pot and held it in front of JJ's face. "Here, you big baby. Eat."

JJ sat up instantly, snatching the claw with a triumphant grin. "I take it all back. You're my favourite Pogue."

"Yeah, yeah. Just crack it open before I change my mind," Kiara said, shaking her head as she handed out more plates.

Sarah leaned against John B, her hand resting lightly on her belly as she watched the scene unfold. The firelight danced across her face, and she couldn't help but smile.

John B glanced down at her, his arm draped over her shoulders. "You okay?"

"Yeah," Sarah said softly, her smile widening. "This is nice. I kind of forgot what it feels like to just... be."

"Enjoy it while it lasts," John B murmured, pressing a kiss to her temple. "You know it never does."

Sarah nudged him with her elbow, though her smile didn't falter. "Thanks for the reminder, Mr. Sunshine."

JJ, now several bites into his meal, perked up suddenly. He wiped his hands dramatically on his shorts and looked around the group. "All right, listen up. We've got a new member of the crew here—Sarah Routledge—and there's one rite of passage she hasn't passed yet."

"What now, JJ?" Sarah asked, smirking as she raised an eyebrow at him.

"The Woogity," JJ announced, grinning. "It's sacred Pogue tradition. We don't let just anyone in without it."

Kiara laughed, leaning back on her elbows. "Oh, come on. The Woogity? Really?"

"Absolutely," JJ said, unbothered by her teasing. He turned to Sarah with mock seriousness. "It's the official Pogue handshake. Invented by us. Perfected by Rocket Power."

Sarah gave him a skeptical look, but John B was already nodding. "It's true. No one's officially a Pogue without it."

"Well, I wouldn't want to offend sacred Pogue traditions," Sarah said dryly, standing up and facing JJ. "So how does it work?"

"Simple," JJ said, stepping closer and holding out his hand. "Slap, snap, slide, and Woogity Woogity Woogity!" He demonstrated with exaggerated flair, then motioned for her to try.

Sarah mirrored his movements, smacking his hand, snapping her fingers, and sliding their palms together before they both wiggled their fingers, chanting "Woogity Woogity Woogity!" in unison.

The group burst out laughing, clapping and cheering as JJ gave Sarah a playful shove. "Congrats, Routledge. You're officially one of us now."

Sarah laughed, shaking her head as she sat back down. "You guys are ridiculous."

"Yeah, but now you're ridiculous with us," JJ said, raising his soda in a toast. "To Pogues—and to the newest member of our squad!"

The group clinked their cups together, their laughter ringing out across the beach as the stars began to twinkle above them.

Not far from the beach, hidden among the palms where the firelight couldn't reach, a figure stood silently, watching. His face was partially obscured by the shadows, but his stance was rigid, his posture tense.

He'd been following them since the tourist district, staying just out of sight, blending into the crowds when necessary. The girl had almost seen him earlier—he was certain of it. But she hadn't been sure, and that uncertainty had kept him safely hidden.

Now, as he observed the group laughing and bonding by the fire, a mixture of emotions churned within him. The girl—Sarah. She was unmistakable, her golden hair catching even the faintest light, her smile so familiar it made his chest ache. But it was more than that. Her hand frequently drifted to her stomach, resting there in a way that suggested something more.

He clenched his fists, the implications settling heavily in his mind. She wasn't the girl he remembered. She was someone else now—someone he no longer had control over.

His gaze shifted to the boy sitting beside her, arm slung around her shoulders. He exuded confidence, protectiveness, and something else—something that made the watcher's jaw tighten.

This wasn't over. Not by a long shot.

The figure melted back into the darkness, leaving no trace of his presence behind. But his eyes lingered on the group one last time, burning with a quiet, dangerous determination.