Page 21 of Scout
Except to her.
Juniper is the only person in the world who makes me feel like maybe, just maybe, I’m worth something.
And I’ll be damned if she ever feels even a sliver of the shit I grew up with. If she ever feels unwanted. Or not good enough. Or like she has to shrink herself just to keep people around.
No.
She’ll have what she needs. She’ll beseen.She’ll shine.
Even if I burn myself out holding up the light.
She leans over from the passenger seat and pokes my arm. "Hey. You good? You look... spacey."
I blink. Force a smile.
"I’m good, Junie Boo. Just thinking."
"You always say that when you're sad," she mutters.
I reach over and ruffle her hair. "I’m not sad. I’m proud. And I’m gonna buy you so many Nike Pros your team’s gonna think you’ve got a sponsorship deal."
She beams.
And I feel okay.
For now.
9
Xavier
I should be focusedon work. Charts need signing. Labs need checking. Progress notes aren’t going to write themselves. But all I can think about is him.
Anything other than the image of Scout flushed and breathless in that Uber, lips parted like he was seconds from ruining me.
No wonder Kendrix fucked him.
The man’s magnetic. Effortless in the kind of way that gets under your skin and stays there. He doesn’t even have to try. He justis.
And yeah, if we hadn’t been in that damn Uber, I would’ve taken him home too. Pushed him into my bed, climbed on top of him, and made him forget about anyone else.
But no. Instead, Kendrix shoved his way into my date like it was his stage and we all ended up kissing like a bunch of horny teenagers playing spin the bottle.
Yeah. That really went according to plan.
I rub my face and return to my notes, trying to make sure the Chief has no reason to come down on my ass today. I’m almost through documenting a surgical consult when the charge nurse’s voice breaks over the intercom.
"Trauma incoming. ETA four minutes. Multiple fractures. Blunt force trauma. Construction site accident. Patient is unstable."
Fuck. Not even ten a.m.
I toss the tablet down, shove my stethoscope around my neck, and head for the trauma bay. I’m already snapping on gloves before the gurney even rolls through the doors.
It’s bad.
“Steel beam fell. Crushed his leg and part of his abdomen. Kid's mid-twenties,” the paramedic rattles as we push the gurney to a room.
The young man is covered in dust and blood and screaming in pain.
