Page 23 of The Scout

What the fuck are you doing?

I shouldn’t have been here. I sure as hell shouldn’t have been watching. But I was.

Through the hotel’s front windows, I could see the lobby, the steady movement of guests and staff, the polished surface of the marble desk where she stood. Ralston was back, and she was talking to him again. That same goddamn easy smile on her lips, the slight tilt of her head, the way her fingers brushed the counter as she spoke.

And him? He was eating it up.

My fingers flexed against my thigh, an ugly heat building in my chest. I was a man who dealt in control—control over my surroundings, control over my own goddamn instincts. But right now?

Right now, all I wanted to do was walk back inside and wipe that look off his face.

My muscles coiled, the kind of tension I usually reserved for the seconds before a fight. It had been a long time since something—or someone—got under my skin like this.

She wasn’t mine.

Not yet.

I dragged a hand through my hair, forcing my breath out slow. This wasn’t about her. Not really. This was about Will. About the promise I’d made. About making sure his sister was protected, even from stupid, swaggering Citadel kids with zero fucking awareness.

I needed a vantage point. Somewhere close. Somewhere I could watch and wait without drawing attention to myself.

A narrow alley cut between two old buildings just across the street from the hotel. A café sat at the entrance, its patio full of tourists nursing overpriced lattes, but beyond that, the alleyway opened to a shadowed brick courtyard. Empty. Quiet.

Perfect.

I made my way over, stepping past the café’s outdoor seating without a glance. The moment I slipped into the alley, the world seemed to dull, the noise fading as I found a spot against the wall. From here, I had a clear sightline to the hotel entrance.

And to Isabel.

She was talking to Ralston as he sipped coffee, smiling and gesturing to his umbrella. My jaw ticked.

This was a mistake.

I should’ve been anywhere else. I should’ve been doing anything else.

Instead, I leaned against the brick, crossed my arms, and waited.

Because if there was one thing I was good at, it was patience.

And one way or another, that kid was going to learn?—

I waited.

The street was hot, the late afternoon sun stretching long shadows across the cobblestone sidewalks. The café beside me buzzed with the usual hum of tourists and locals—soft laughter, clinking silverware, the occasional rustle of a newspaper page. Normal sounds. Normal people.

But my world had shrunk to one thing.

Waiting for Matt Ralston to walk out of The Palmetto Rose.

I didn’t need to follow him. That was the rational part of my brain talking. The part that knew this kid wasn’t a real problem. Just another Citadel cadet with a pretty-boy face and a hero complex, floating through Charleston like he owned it.

But then I thought about the way he had looked at Isabel. The way she had laughed, let him lean in just a little too close.

I gritted my teeth.

The hotel doors swung open, and there he was.

Ralston stepped onto the sidewalk with that same easy arrogance, adjusting the cuffs of his crisp gray jacket like he was preparing to strut onto a goddamn parade ground. His phone was already in his hand, thumb flicking over the screen as he started walking.

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