Page 72 of Scout

I glance down at her, this little person who lost everything and still somehow smiles. “Yeah. We can ask Millie’s mom. But only if you promise not to prank call me like that one time.”

“No promises,” she says sweetly, then adds, “Bro.”

“Oh, my God.”

She laughs and hides her face in the blanket like she’s proud of herself.

I shake my head and grab my phone again, this time out of pure muscle memory. A notification pops up: a text.

Xavier: Not expecting anything back. Just… hoping you’re okay. We’re here when you’re ready.

Just that. It gets me right in the gut. I stare at the screen for a long time. I stare at the blinking cursor, a trap waiting to be sprung. Two words—just two—might undo every defense I’ve spent weeks building. But my fingers move anyway.

Me: Thank you.

Juniper snuggles closer, warm and real beside me. I tuck the phone beneath the blanket and keep folding. The world isn’t fixed. But it’s still turning.

The apartment is tooquiet without her.

Juniper left for her sleepover an hour ago, grinning as if it were Christmas morning. Millie’s mom promised to text if anything came up, but so far—nothing. Just silence. No YouTube cake videos. No mint chip ice cream battles. No sarcastic littlecomments from a twelve-year-old who somehow feels equal parts moral compass and emotional therapist.

Just me.

It’s the first time I’ve been completely alone here since the accident.

Since Jennifer.

Since the hospital.

Since Xavier and Kendrix.

I should be enjoying the break; sleep, eat something besides half a protein bar, maybe even get some Foxy’s stuff done. But I can’t settle. I’ve turned on the TV, turned it off again. Stared at my phone. Reorganized the fridge. Folded three clean towels that didn’t need folding.

And now I’m just sitting on the couch with the lights off, staring at nothing, listening to the low hum of the appliances.

I never used to notice how loud nothing is.

Part of me thought this would feel like relief. Like space to breathe. But instead, it just feels… empty.

Too much room. Too many thoughts.

I wish one of them was here.

Xavier, quiet and steady, taking up space with a soft presence and calm eyes.

Kendrix, with his restless energy and the way he used to hum under his breath without realizing it.

I pull my phone into my lap and open my gallery.

There’s a photo near the top—one I’ve scrolled past a dozen times without opening. But tonight, I tap on it.

It’s from that weekend in the mountains. The three of us, crammed together on a bench outside a tiny café with chipped paint and the best cinnamon lattes I’ve ever tasted. I’m in the middle, cheeks flushed from the cold, mouth open in a laugh I don’t even remember. Xavier’s on my right, looking at me as if I’ve just solved the riddle of the universe. And Kendrix is on theother side, chin tilted, grinning—content, certain, exactly where he wants to be.

I look so stupidly happy. Carefree. Safe.

They’re not even looking at the camera. Both of them are looking at me—as if I hung the damn moon.

My throat tightens, and I press the side button, letting the screen go black.