I blink back the sting in my eyes. “What happened?” I ask softly.
Juniper shifts on the bed, tugging the thin blanket up to her chest as if it could protect her from the memory.
“She showed up and acted normal at first. Said she didn’t remember ‘agreeing to let me stay with you this weekend.’” She air-quotes with her good arm. “Then she started driving. Fast.Her voice got all slurry, and I could smell it. That same old cheap crap she always drank.”
I feel my stomach clench.
“I asked her to slow down. Begged her to pull over. She just kept going. Talking about how you spoil me and if you really cared, you’d give her money to help her do all the shit you do for me. Said you’re always trying to ‘steal me’ from her.”
She swallows hard, eyes flicking to the ceiling like she’s afraid they’ll spill if she looks at me.
“Then she hit the guardrail. Screamed something about going to hell in a handbasket. Jerked the wheel. And the next thing I know, we’re flying into trees.”
I climb onto the bed beside her, careful of her bandaged arm, and wrap an arm gently around her shoulders. She leans into me on instinct.
I lean down and kiss her forehead, brushing her hair back gently. “You’re safe now. I’m gonna take care of you, Junie Boo. I promise. It’s you and me, kid. From now on.”
She finally turns her head, rests it against my chest. Her breathing slows. No tears, just quiet.
Her words echo in my head.“I didn’t want her to die, but I’m not heartbroken.”
I’m not either. The grief I feel is twisted and bitter, laced with relief and something close to rage. If Jennifer weren’t already dead, I swear to God I would’ve hunted her down and killed her myself. What kind of mother drives drunk with her kid in the car? What kind of person crashes through a guardrail and into a tree with her child in the passenger seat?
A fucking selfish, thoughtless, dangerous piece of shit—that’s who. A cunt. There’s no poetic way to say it. She could’ve killed Juniper. And Junie’s all I have. The only thing in this world that matters.
I rub my thumb over the back of Juniper’s hand. Her skin is warm, dry now, not clammy like it was when she first got here. Her breathing’s even, steady. But her eyes—they’re open and watching me.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper. “I should’ve known she’d pull something like this.”
Juniper just shrugs. “You couldn’t have. She sounded normal. She was smiling when she pulled up.”
I nod. But inside, the guilt coils tighter.
There’s a knock at the door and a woman steps in. Early forties maybe, business casual, with a clipboard tucked to her chest and a badge clipped to her belt.
“Scout Hastings?” she asks.
I nod, standing up.
“I’m Hillary. I’m the hospital’s social worker. I’ve been in touch with family services. Given the circumstances, Juniper’s being released into your care when the doctors give her the all clear. Someone from the department will be in contact with you to start the formal guardianship process.”
Relief hits me so fast, I almost sit back down.
“There are no other living relatives on file,” Hillary continues. “And based on the information you provided—and the fact that you’re listed as Juniper’s emergency contact—we’re comfortable letting her go home with you when the time comes.”
I nod, my voice thick. “Thank you.”
“That said,” she adds, “you’ll want to consult with a family attorney. As long as you’re stable, employed, and have a safe home environment, there shouldn’t be any issues. But an attorney can expedite the process and handle the legal work so you can focus on helping your sister heal.”
“Yeah,” I say, already reaching for my phone. “I know who to call.”
Hillary gives me a small smile. “She’s lucky to have you.” She squeezes my shoulder and leaves us alone.
I walk back to Juniper’s bedside, sit down, and brush her hair behind her ear again. “You’re coming home with me.”
She doesn’t say anything, just threads her fingers through mine.
I pull up my contacts and hit the number for the lawyer who handled my dad’s estate… and all that mess with Jennifer a few years ago.