Page 69 of Scout
And then I think of Kendrix’s hand resting on the armrest beside me, close enough to touch.
And how I didn’t.
Because I can’t afford to fall apart again.
Not now. Not when she needs me to keep it together.
I stop at the corner, looking at the hospital. Big and sterile and fluorescently lit behind its thick glass windows.
I take a deep breath, square my shoulders, and start moving again.
Because I’ve got a job to do. And right now, that job is delivering a tuna sandwich and a soda to the only person in the world who’s ever loved me without strings.
And maybe, just maybe… if I keep moving forward, one small step at a time, I’ll figure out the rest too.
The lobby doorsslide open with a hiss. I don’t make eye contact with the front desk clerk. I don’t want to talk. I don’t want anyone to ask how I’m doing. I want to get to my sister, give her this dumb sandwich, and try to pretend like I’ve got a handle on everything. Because right now, I don’t.
I take the elevator to the floor she’s on, tapping my foot against the tile as it climbs. I step off and make the familiar walk to her room. She’s out of the woods. Physically, anyway.
Emotionally?
No clue.
I pause at the door, take a deep breath, and push it open.
The first thing I see is Junie Boo sitting up a little straighter in bed. Her face is pale but her cheeks have color again. Her hair’s been brushed—probably Kendrix’s doing. He’s sitting beside her, in the chair I’ve barely left since last night. Xavier’s standing near the bathroom door, probably just finished washing his hands or resetting the heart monitor again, trying to keep busy.
They both look up when I walk in. Kendrix even starts to stand as if he’s going to offer help.
I pretend I don’t see it.
“I come bearing gifts,” I say, holding up the bag.
Juniper grins a little. “Tell me that’s my Dr. Pepper.”
I hand her the soda and her sandwich. “One tuna with all the weird shit you put on it. Extra napkins. You’re welcome.”
She peels it open as if it’s wrapped in gold. “Heck, yes.”
I drop into the chair on the other side of the bed, across from Kendrix, and pull out my sandwich.
“What’d you get?” Juniper asks between bites.
“Spicy Italian, olives and honey mustard,” I say, unwrapping it. “My fallback when my life’s burning down.”
“You say that as if that’s not your usual,” Juniper mumbles through a bite.
“Fair,” I admit.
We sit there in silence for a while, chewing. The sound of plastic wrappers and rustling napkins the only thing filling the air. It’s not awkward—not with her, at least. It’s quiet, but solid.
I steal a glance at Kendrix. Then at Xavier. They’re both watching me.
I look away fast.
The walls feel tight again. Pressing in. I’m still not breathing right.
I take a long sip of my Pepsi and try not to think about how everything’s changed in twenty-four hours. I have a kid now. A real, actual human being who depends on me. Not just for dinner or school pick-ups. For everything.
