Page 68 of Scout
I thought it’d knock the air out of me. I thought I’d cry or scream or punch one of them right in the face. But when I saw Xavier walk in and check her chart, and Kendrix stand there beside me like some silent shadow, I felt… nothing. Or maybe everything. It all just blurred together.
Because in that moment, I didn’t give a single shit about the love triangle that wrecked my stupid heart. All I cared about was her.
They helped her. But none of it mattered.Not really. Not compared to the way Juniper looked at me and said,“Good,”when I told her Jennifer was gone.
I’m still stunned when I think about what she said—about the things Jennifer said before the crash.
I couldn’t breathe through half of it.
Because she’s twelve. She shouldn’t know the sound of metal folding in on itself. She shouldn’t know what it feels like to beg someone behind the wheel to slow down. She shouldn’t have been made to feel like she had to defend me—defend the life I built for both of us.
But she does and she did.
Because her mom was a selfish, irresponsible, thoughtless fucking cunt.
I step off the curb, crossing toward the Subway on the corner. The neon “OPEN” sign buzzes faintly, and the scent of bread baking hits me hard. It’s warm and weirdly nostalgic—takes me back to nights in high school when I worked two jobs and would pick up cheap sandwiches for me and Junie Boo after my shift. She’d fall asleep with a half-eaten cookie in her hand, her mouth sticky with chocolate and her toes tucked into my side on the couch.
I push the door open, and the little bell jingles.
There’s no one in line. A teenager with a bored expression behind the counter straightens up when she sees me.
“Hi. What can I get started for you?”
“My sister wants a tuna sub. On white. Black olives with vinaigrette and black pepper. A large Dr. Pepper if you’ve got it.”
She grabs the bread and starts building, glancing up. “And for you?”
I pause. “Spicy Italian. Lettuce, black olives, honey mustard. And a Pepsi. Throw in two of the cheesecake cookies too, please.”
I wait while she finishes, my hands shoved in my hoodie pocket, fingers twitching. I want to check my phone, see if the social worker followed up. Or if Junie’s texting me, asking where the hell I am. Or—God help me—if Kendrix or Xavier sent something.
They haven’t. Of course they haven’t.
Or maybe they’ve tried, but I have them blocked.
I shake my head. Not now.
It’s insane to even let my brain go there. My focus should be on Juniper—on getting her out of that hospital and into some kind of stability. Not on two men who already have each other. Who probably never wanted me in the first place. And they sureas hell aren’t going to sign up to date someone who suddenly has a kid full-time. That’s not a fantasy—it’s a fucking reality check.
How the hell am I even going to keep working for Foxy’s with Juniper in the picture? Hire a babysitter? Do twelve-year-olds still even need babysitters? What if she needs therapy? A new school? Insurance?
Fuck.
She hands me the bag and rings me up. I tap my card and mutter a thank you before heading back out into the street.
I don’t rush. I walk slow, slower than I need to. Letting the city hum around me—cars swishing by, a distant siren echoing, someone yelling on the next block. It’s all static. None of it cuts through the fog I’m in.
Because when I go back upstairs, it’s real again.
I’m her guardian now.
I’m the one who has to file paperwork and talk to lawyers and enroll her in school and figure out what to do when she has a breakdown or a period or just misses the mom she pretends not to miss.
I’m the one she needs.
And yeah, I’ll do it. I’ll do it a thousand times over. But God, I’m terrified. What if I fuck this up? What if I’m not enough?
I think of how small her hand felt in mine last night.
