Page 23 of Scout

By noon, I’ve taken a consult, drained an abscess, stitched up a kid who fell off a skateboard, and reassessed three patients who were close to discharge. And still—still—I feel like I’m in some parallel version of myself. Like part of me never left that Uber.

The Chief sees me in the hallway and gives me a nod of approval. I return it. Smile just enough to be polite. Pretend I’m not unraveling slowly internally.

I grab a protein bar from the vending machine and head to the break room, sinking into a chair for the first time in hours.

There’s a half-cup of lukewarm coffee in front of me I don’t remember pouring. My phone sits face down beside it like it might detonate if I so much as touch it. The second hand on the wall clock ticks too loud.

None of it helps.

I keep thinking about what Kendrix said. The way his voice cracked, just barely. The way he leaned in like he was trying to pull the truth out of me with his breath alone.

This is why we aren’t together anymore.

He’s not wrong.

Idoshut down. Idoplay it cool until it’s cold. Because if I let anyone in too far, they’ll see it. The mess. The want. The parts of me I can’t ever quite control.

And Scout... Scout slipped under my defenses like he was built for it. Kendrix saw it. Hell, hefeltit. And I don’t know what burns more, knowing they’ve already had each other, or knowing I want them both.

All of this, every single second, is starting to feel like a fuse.

And I don’t know what will happen when it finally runs out.

The door swings open, and Dr. Lin, our Chief of Emergency Medicine, steps inside with the kind of calm that comes from being in charge too long to flinch anymore.

She doesn’t sit. Just stands beside me, sipping something that actually smells fresh and expensive.

“I heard you ran the trauma like a machine this morning,” she says, eyes scanning the whiteboard posted near the sink.

I nod. “Steel beam fell on a kid and crushed his leg and abdomen. He’ll need surgery, but he made it.”

She finally looks at me. “Good work.”

I don’t say thanks. I just nod again, because small talk isn’t my strong suit right now. Not when I still feel like the floor underneath me is a little too soft.

She doesn’t seem bothered by my silence. Just steps closer, sets her mug down. “Listen. I’m hosting a golf outing this weekend. Fundraiser. For that firefighter, Lance? Lost his life in the line about three months ago.”

I nod. Of course I remember. We worked on him for forty-five minutes in Trauma Bay Two. No one left that shift the same.

“It’s open to the public,” she continues, “but I’ve invited the board. A few of my doctors. The ones I like to keep close.”

There’s a beat.

Then she glances down at me, a little smile tucked in her cheek. “You included.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Yeah, I can make that happen. Not much of a golfer, though.”

She chuckles. “Don’t have to be. Just show up and open your checkbook to support Lance’s little girl.”

I soften, just a little. “Will do.”

She nods once and grabs her coffee. She’s halfway out the door before turning back. “Wear sunscreen. Last year, Dr. Patel burned so bad he had to use aloe for a week and no one let him live it down.”

I actually laugh, and she winks before disappearing into the hallway. The second the door closes, I exhale hard.

10

Kendrix