Page 90 of Scout

I don’t say anything. I just let my fingers drift to his knee, then thigh. He lets it be there, something solid and steady in a world that’s been anything but.

Scout rests his head on the cushion behind him. It's not long before his shoulders drop and his breathing evens out.

I study him in the dim light of the TV. The way his lashes rest against his cheeks, the faint crease between his brows that softens when I run my thumb in slow circles over the denim of his jeans.

Scout’s chest rises. Falls.

He’s not asleep. Not fully. But he’s let go. He’s let us in. That’s more than I could’ve asked for three weeks ago.

I glance across Scout’s chest at Kendrix. Our eyes meet.

His mouth quirks into the faintest smile.

I return it.

This—whatever it is—it’s not perfect. It’s not polished or figured out or labeled. But it’s real. It’s breathing, slowly, carefully.

And as Scout shifts, turning slightly toward me in his half-sleep, I feel the word echo again.

Safe.

I wrap my fingers around his. Hold gently.

I don’t know what comes next. But for the first time in a long time, I’m not terrified of the answer.

I just want to be here.

Right here.

With them.

I wake up warm,stiff, and tangled somewhere between a denim-clad thigh and an arm that’s definitely not mine. The TV’s still on; some late-night cartoon muted.

I blink blearily, taking stock. My glasses are crooked on my face; I must’ve fallen asleep in them. One lens is fogged slightly, and my mouth hangs slack with sleep.

Scout’s in the middle, tucked against my chest, one of his legs slung over Kendrix’s lap like it got thrown there in a dream. His head’s on my shoulder. Kendrix’s hand is somewhere near my hip. We look like a messy game of Jenga no one’s winning, but no one wants to move either.

For a moment, it’s quiet.

Then I feel it—the subtle shift of breath. Scout stirring.

His body stiffens like a pulled wire. One hand curls in on itself. I hear the sharp inhale before I see his eyes fly open.

“Oh fuck,” he says.

“Morning to you too,” Kendrix mumbles beside him, voice thick with sleep.

“No… shit. You guys… you stayed over.”

I sit up slowly, careful not to jostle him too much. “Yeah. You said we could.”

“I know, I know, I just—” He scrubs a hand over his face. “Shit. Juniper. She could be back any minute. I can’t have this. She doesn’t need to come in and see a boypile on the couch. I’m supposed to be her stable adult, not—” his voice breaks, “—not whatever the hell this is.”

“Hey.” I touch his wrist, gentle. “She’s still at Millie’s, remember? You said overnight.”

“She could come home early. What if she forgot something? What if Millie’s mom sends her home for breakfast?”

“She won’t,” Kendrix says quietly, sitting up too. “But even if she did, it’s okay.”