Page 61 of Scout
His sister.
“My God, are you okay?” he says, voice cracking as he fights not to break in half.
He’s at her side before I can process a word, but he doesn’t throw his arms around her.
Instead, he drops into the chair next to the bed, cupping her hands in both of his. He presses his forehead to the back of her fingers, and the girl sobs, clutching weakly at his wrists—the only strength she can muster.
“I’m sorry,” she chokes out. “I’m so damn sorry.”
“It’s okay,” he murmurs, smoothing a hand over her hair. “You’re okay, Juniper. You’re okay.”
I can’t breathe. This isn’t just some patient. This isn’t another trauma alert rolling through my ER.
It’s Scout’s family.
The same Scout I haven’t heard from in days—the one who ghosted us without a word—is here now, cradling this broken little girl as if she’s the only thing tethering him to the Earth.
And maybe she is.
I take a slow breath, suddenly hyper-aware of how thin the line is between personal and professional, between heartbreak and duty.
My hands are steady, but my chest feels like it’s caving in.
Scout lifts his head, eyes snapping to mine. There’s rage in them. Fear. Desperation.
“She’s okay, right? Why is she still bleeding? Why haven’t you fixed her? Oh, Junie…” His voice shakes.
“She’ll need staples on her scalp and stitches on her arm,” I say carefully. “But she’s stable. CT is clean. She’s going to be okay.”
His shoulders sag—just for a second—as if the weight of the world cracked him open. Then his jaw tightens.
“Where’s Jennifer? Her mom? I’m going to give her a piece of my goddamn mind. Stupid fucking alcoholic?—”
“Can I talk to you outside?” I cut in before he spirals. I can’t say it here. Not in front of her.
His head jerks toward me as if I slapped him, then back to his sister, torn—caught between staying or leaving.
Kendrix speaks up. “I’ll stay with her,” he says quietly.
Scout squeezes her hand once more, then follows me into the hallway—and I feel the weight of what I have to say settle hard in my chest.
I ease the door shut behind us with a soft click, the quiet in the corridor pressing in, tight and unrelenting.
My mouth opens—I’m about to tell him.
“Now’s not the time for whatever shit is between us,” Scout snaps, spinning on me with fire in his eyes. “You don’t get to say anything unless it’s about my sister.”
I close my mouth. Swallow hard. And brace myself for what I have to do next.
“Her mom’s dead,” I say bluntly.
He freezes, staring at me. “What?”
“Jennifer. Her mom. She coded in the ER, and we couldn’t resuscitate her. She’s gone.”
Scout sways slightly, like the floor just shifted beneath him. One hand shoots out to brace against the wall, the other drags down his face. His mouth opens, then closes again. I can see it; the moment the words hit him, sharp and final.
“Shit,” he breathes, not really looking at me anymore. He’s somewhere else, already spinning, calculating, panicking. The tremor in his jaw is the only thing moving.
