Page 76 of Scout

“No,” he says. “It’s a door cracked open. You always wait, Xavier. I’ve seen you do it a thousand times. You wait and wait and wait, and hope someone else makes the first move. But Scout doesn’t need distance. He needs us.”

“He needed us before and we didn’t show up.”

“Exactly why we don’t make that mistake again.”

I press the heel of my palm to my temple before adjusting my glasses. “I don’t want to make it worse.”

“And I don’t want to do nothing.” Kendrix stares me down. “So I’m going to court. To sit in the back if I have to. Just to be there. You can come or not. But I’m done pretending we didn’t screw up something worth fighting for.”

He turns back to the stove like the conversation’s over.

I lean against the doorway and close my eyes.

God help me... I think he’s right.

And I think I’m more afraid Scout’s okay without us than I am of hearing him say we’re not welcome.

28

Scout

I’ve worndress shirts before, usually for work, sometimes just to look decent. But this one feels different. It’s crisp and pale green, the kind with stiff collar points that never quite sit right. Paired with black slacks. No tie or jacket. Still, it feels formal in a way that makes my chest tight. This is for court. This is real. This is permanent.

I stare at myself in the mirror for the third time. Something’s off. Or maybe it’s just me—not sitting right inside my own skin.

Behind me, Juniper sits on the edge of the bed in a pink floral dress and her favorite worn-out sneakers, swinging her legs and munching a granola bar like we’re heading to a school talent show.

“You nervous?” I ask, mostly to hear something besides my heartbeat.

She shrugs. “Nah. You look nice, though. Kinda like a lawyer. Or a guy pretending to be one.”

I snort and adjust the tie again. “Thanks. Just going for ‘not a total mess.’”

“You’re pulling it off,” she says around a bite. “Barely.”

She grins, and I give the room one last sweep—wallet, phone, folder with every possible document we might need. I double-check my phone for the address, the time, the million reminders I’ve set. Court’s at nine a.m. sharp, and my lawyer will meet us there.

A few minutes later, we’re in the car. I help her buckle her seatbelt, trying not to hover.

As I slide the car into gear and head toward the courthouse, my thoughts spiral.

It’s been almost two months since the accident. Two months of waking up early, making school lunches, learning what snacks Juniper actually loves, and figuring out how to be a full-time guardian.

I’m not bringing in as much money right now. I only take bookings on weekends or during the day when Juniper’s at school. Sometimes not at all. It's not sustainable, but it’s necessary.

About a week ago, I broke down and told her everything. No sugarcoating. No hiding.

She blinked, nodded, and asked, “So… an escort?”

I don’t even want to know how she knows about escorts at her age. But I gave her a grim no. She figured it out fast—especially when I admitted that’s how I met Kendrix and Xavier.

Then came the real kicker—I told her the whole story. How they both hired me to make the other jealous. How I fell for both of them. How it exploded in my face.

She giggled and kicked her feet like I’d pitched her the next big Netflix drama.

“You should write a book,” she said, licking cookie dough off her spoon.

Honestly? Not the worst idea. Especially now that work’s slowing down.