Page 47 of Scout

So I got better. I did more.

I mapped out my whole damn life in color-coded notebooks and chased achievement like it was oxygen. Medicine made sense. It was structured. Controlled. I could master it.

People? Not so much. Love? Even harder. Because when you grow up thinking love is something you earn, not something you deserve, eventually you forget how to ask for it at all.

The sliding door creaks behind me, and I blink out of the memory. Kendrix steps out onto the deck. He’s got his coffee inone hand, the other rubbing the back of his neck. He looks like something out of a dream and a bad memory at the same time.

"Can I sit with you?" he asks quietly.

"Yeah," I respond.

He sits, folding into the chair beside me.

"Can I ask you something? And can you… for once, try to answer me truthfully? With actual emotion?" he adds.

I sigh, long and slow. “Sure.”

I don’t want to do this. Not now. Not here. But I owe him more than avoidance.

"Why weren't you like this when it was just us?" His tone isn’t accusing, but it cuts anyway. "Why does Scout get this more open version of you? And I got the hard exterior with ten-foot concrete walls?"

"Kendrix—"

He cuts me off gently. "No. I'm not mad. Maybe a little hurt, yeah. Because for a long time I thought I wasn’t enough. But seeing you open up now, with him… I don’t know. I guess I’m happy someone’s breaking those walls down. I just wish it had been me. If you wanted to explore something with someone else, all you had to do was ask. I’m not old school. I would’ve tried. For you."

I turn in my seat, setting my mug down. My chest is tight.

"Is that what you think?" I ask, my voice rough. "That you weren’t enough?"

He swallows. "What else was I supposed to think, Xavier? You wouldn’t talk to me. You’d come home, eat, fuck me, talk about the hospital, and shut down."

"You’re everything to me, Kendrix."

He looks away.

"Then why wouldn’t you let me in?"

"Because I didn’t deserve you yet,” I tell him, and something in my chest cracks.

His eyes snap back to mine.

"Don’t you see?" I say, my voice breaking a little. "I’ve always felt like I needed toearnthe good things. Even you. Especially you. That’s why I pushed so hard at work. Why I took extra shifts. Why I kept climbing, chasing whatever title or approval I could get. Because somewhere deep down, I believed if I just becamemore—if I hadenough—then maybe you'd finally love me."

Kendrix stares at me, jaw tight. His coffee forgotten.

Then he sets the mug down on the deck and drops to his knees in front of me, hands coming up to cup my jaw like I’m the only thing anchoring him.

"Xavier," he says, soft but firm, "I think I’ve loved you since our first date."

My breath catches.

"I didn’t need you to be more. I just needed you to show up. To let me in. You didn’t have to earn me. You already had me. And yeah—I deserved more. I deserve more. But I wanted it from you."

I grab him before he can say another word, crashing our mouths together. It’s not slow. It’s not gentle. It’s years of unsaid things, late nights spent wanting, and silent wounds, all bleeding into one kiss.

"I love you," I whisper against his mouth. "I love you so goddamn much."

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