Page 91 of Scout
“It’s not okay,” Scout snaps. “She’s twelve. She just lost everything. I can’t risk confusing her. I can’t risk looking like a goddamn mess.”
“You’re not a mess,” I say. “You’re someone who’s doing his best. Someone who’s showing up every single day.”
“I don’t know what this is,” he says again, more to himself than to us. “I don’t know where this is going. Or if it even can go anywhere. You guys are… steady. And I’m just out here trying not to screw up a little girl’s life.”
“You’re not screwing up anything,” Kendrix says. “Juniper sees you. Really sees you. She knows you love her. And she’s not confused, Scout. She’s smart. She’s intuitive as hell.”
Scout lets out a dry, miserable laugh. “She also thinks you two are my boyfriends.”
Kendrix smirks. “I mean, she’s notcompletelyoff.”
That earns him a glare, but the edges of Scout’s panic start to fray. He leans forward, elbows on knees, head in his hands. “I can’t breathe sometimes, thinking about how fast everything’s changed. I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop.”
I hesitate, then shift closer. Not romantic. Not needy. Just… there. “What are you afraid of most right now?”
He doesn’t answer for a long time. Then: “That this is temporary. That you’ll realize I’m too much. That Juniper will get taken away. That I’ll let her down. That I’ll letyoudown.”
My throat tightens.
“We’re not leaving,” I say, simple and steady. “I don’t care how messy it gets. You don’t scare me, Scout. Not the panic. Not the spiraling. Not even your weird habit of talking to the toaster.”
He lets out a breath that might almost be a laugh. “It burns everything. I’m just being honest.”
Kendrix nudges his knee. “So be honest with us, too. You don’t have to carry all of this alone.”
“I don’t know how to not carry it alone,” he admits, voice barely audible. “It’s always just been me.”
I nod. “Then let us teach you.”
He turns his head and lifts his eyes. “You’re really in this?”
“I’m in this,” I say.
Kendrix’s voice is steady. “Same. We’re here. You don’t have to have answers today. Or tomorrow. But we’re not walking away.”
Scout looks at me, then at Kendrix, gaze flicking between us—like he's trying to believe it. Then he turns his head forward again, staring straight ahead. His shoulders rise and fall as he breathes. Eyes shut.
We don’t say anything. Don’t push.
Instead, Kendrix and I each shift inward, behind him. One of my arms crosses behind his back, hand braced against the couch. Kendrix mirrors the motion on the other side. We form a quiet frame around him—close, but letting him stay still.
His breathing evens out.
“Okay,” he whispers.
We stay like that for a while, the three of us anchored to one another, no labels, no expectations. Just a quiet understanding that whateverthisis—it matters.
And maybe that’s where love begins. Not in grand gestures, but in the quiet mornings when someone stays.
Scout exhales, shaky but measured. His shoulders drop a fraction, like he’s loosening some invisible grip on himself. Not letting go. Not yet. But maybe trying.
I feel the tension still thrumming through him, the way he stays in contact with us without really resting. Like his body’s here, but his mind’s still combing through every worst-case scenario.
The silence stretches. Gentle. Safe.
Then Kendrix breaks it. “We don’t want a fantasy, Scout.”
I look at him, then at Scout. He doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t look away. Just watches Kendrix with those sharp, tired eyes that miss nothing.
