Page 24 of Scout
I showup to Brightwood Hills Golf Club ten minutes early because I like to pretend punctuality makes up for my lack of socializing at these things. It’s the kind of place I wouldn’t set foot in if it weren’t for a good cause.
As I step onto the main terrace, I scan the crowd. Polo shirts, tennis skirts, and those weird visors only golf people wear. I spot Dr. Lin near the bar, laughing with a cluster of people from the ER. And, of course, there he is.
Xavier.
This is the problem with fucking where you work. They don’t go away. They show up at every event and stand around looking stupidly hot in tailored slacks, and remind you exactly what it costs to let someone close.
I should’ve taken a page fromGrey’s Anatomyand banged an intern. At least they wouldn’t get invited to events like this.
“Kendrix!” Lin calls out, waving me over like we’re old friends and not people who argue over trauma bay rotations and staff shortage budgets. Xavier’s head snaps toward me. Henarrows his eyes, jaw tightening like he's holding something back.
I smile. It’s petty and smug and completely on purpose.
I make my way over, and Lin claps a hand on my shoulder. “So glad you could make it. We’re just missing my friend Stephanie, but she texted to say she’s running late. She’ll meet us on the course.”
“Great,” I lie.
We head inside the clubhouse, and she leads us over to greet Hartley and Alaska, the reason we’re here.
Hartley is the older brother of Lance, the firefighter who lost his life three months ago. Took over custody of Alaska, his niece. He’s got tired eyes, sunburned skin, and a nervous twitch in his fingers like he’s still adjusting to dad duty.
I shake his hand. “How you holding up?”
He exhales, long and slow. “Some days I feel like I’m nailing it. Some days, I wonder why my brother gavemecustody.”
I glance over at Alaska. She’s eating a cupcake with blue frosting, cheeks puffed out like a chipmunk. “She looks healthy. And about as happy as she can be, given the circumstances. I think you’re doing fine.”
“Thanks, man.” He claps my shoulder. “And thanks for coming. It means a lot. I need all the help I can get. This kid eats like a small horse, and her tuition for fancy preschool? It’s like a mortgage payment.”
I laugh. “Happy to help. Your brother was always kind when he came through the ER. I just wish we could’ve done more.”
We load up, and Lin takes the driver’s seat, because of course she does; Chief everywhere, even on the green. Xavier climbs in next to her, and I’m stuck in the back with my thoughts and my coffee. We cruise to the first hole, tires humming quietly over the cart path, and I try not to think about the fact that I’m literally riding with the man I’ve been actively avoiding.
When we get there, Lin tees up first with practiced ease. Her drive is clean and far. Xavier follows, his swing tighter, more controlled. Of course his form is good. He’s the kind of guy who watches tutorials and takes notes.
Then it’s my turn. I line up, take the shot. It’s fine. Not amazing, not awful. Which is basically the theme of my life these days.
The three of us stand there, holding drinks and awkward energy. Xavier’s sunglasses hide his eyes, but not the tension in his jaw. I sip my coffee as if it’s whiskey.
A golf cart screeches to a halt—dramatic enough to belong in an action movie.
A woman climbs out; pure sequins on top, tight white pants on the bottom, heels instead of golf shoes.
“Better late than never!” she sing-songs, as if we’re on a reality show and she’s here to drop the ratings.
Lin rolls her eyes. “Stephanie. Darling. You sure know how to make an entrance.”
“Sorry,” she says, flipping her hair like it’s part of the apology. “I got lost picking up my date. Good thing he’s as good-looking as he is.”
I turn to look.
And there he is.
Scout.
Wearing a golf outfit that looks custom-designed by the devil—tailored shorts, a fitted polo that hugs in all the right places, sunglasses pushed into his hair. Smiling sin. Blond, glowing, and entirely too composed for someone who should not be here.
What the ever-loving hell?
