Page 48 of Scout
Scout
I only meantto open the deck door a little. Let some fresh air in. Maybe hear the wind through the pines and pretend for five more minutes that this isn't going to end.
But the second I step toward the open slider, I freeze.
Their voices carry, low and serious.
“Why weren’t you like this when it was just us?” Kendrix asks. His voice is rough, honest. “Why does Scout get this more open version of you?”
I stop breathing.
There’s a pause, and then Xavier answers, “Because I didn’t deserve you yet.”
My lungs feel like they’ve been wrapped in barbed wire.
I listen—because I’m weak and human and maybe deep down, I just wanted proof. That this was real. That maybe I belonged here.
But I was wrong.
I was a detour. A paid-for, temporary distraction while they figured their shit out.
I should feel proud. Ididwhat I came here to do. Got them talking. Got them back together. Mission accomplished, right?
Then why does it feel like my chest is caving in?
“I think I’ve loved you since our first date.” Kendrix’s voice, low but clear.
I freeze. My heart kicks against my ribs like it wants out.
Then Xavier, barely above a whisper but sharp enough to cut. “I love you so goddamn much.”
The words hit like a punch to the gut; hot and hard and humiliating.
I back away slowly. Quiet. Careful. The wood floor feels too cold under my feet and the air too sharp against my skin. My brain is screamingget out, get out, get out.
My bag is still by the couch. I grab it, fingers fumbling as I shove my charger, some clothes and lip balm into it. I don’t even double-check the bathroom. I sneak back through the house as quietly as I can, slipping out the front door like a ghost. The morning air bites at my skin as I step off the porch and make my way down the gravel drive, heart thudding so loud I swear it echoes.
At the corner of the desolate street, I pull out my phone and Google the nearest cab service, thumbs shaky. I find one and call the number directly.
“Where you headed?” the dispatcher asks, voice gruff.
I give him the address to my apartment. My voice cracks halfway through.
He quotes me the fare.
It’s absurd. Highway robbery, really.
But I say yes anyway, because what’s the price of heartbreak?
“We have a driver in the area, he’ll be there in five,” he tells me.
“Thanks,” I say, even though there’s nothing to be thankful for.
I end the call and shove my phone into my pocket, wrapping my arms around myself as I stand there, waiting, trying not to fall apart.
The drive is quiet.The kind of silence that swells inside your chest and pushes against your ribs like grief. I lean my forehead against the window and try not to think about their hands on me. Their mouths. Their laughter.
I wasn’t theirs. Not really.
