Chapter 38 Scout
Scout
Idon’t fall asleep right away.
That’s the first thing I notice.
Not because I can’t.
Because I don’t want to.
The room is quiet, the kind of quiet that doesn’t press or demand anything from me. The kind I’m still learning how to exist in.
Logan hasn’t moved.
I can feel him there without looking.
Steady.
Grounded.
Present.
Not watching like I’m a problem to solve.
Watching like I matter.
That difference still catches me off guard.
I shift slightly under the blanket, turning just enough so I can see him.
He’s sitting in the chair, arms relaxed, posture easy—but not careless. Like he could be on his feet in a second if he needed to.
“You’re not going to sleep, are you?” I ask softly.
His eyes lift to mine.
“Not yet.”
“Because of me?”
“Yes.”
No hesitation.
No deflection.
Just truth.
Something in my chest tightens—not uncomfortable.
Just… unfamiliar.
“You don’t have to do that,” I say.
“I know.”
A pause.
“I want to.”
That lands deeper than it should.
Because there’s no obligation in it.
No expectation.
Just choice.
I study him for a moment, the low light softening the edges of everything, making this feel separate from the rest of the world.
Safer.
“You always this stubborn?” I ask.
A faint hint of something shifts in his expression.
“Only when it matters.”
“And I matter.”
Not a question.
His gaze holds mine.
“Yes.”
Simple.
Certain.
I look away first.
Not because I have to.
Because I feel it.
That weight.
That pull.
The way something is shifting between us, getting stronger instead of quieter.
“Come here,” I say before I can overthink it.
He doesn’t hesitate.
Of course he doesn’t.
Logan moves from the chair to the edge of the bed, sitting carefully, like he’s aware of every inch of space between us.
Not closing it.
Not yet.
Giving me the choice.
Always.
I shift slightly, making room.
He doesn’t speak.
Doesn’t rush.
Just waits.
That patience again.
It does something to me every time.
“You make it hard to hide,” I admit quietly.
“I’m not trying to make you hide.”
“I know.”
A beat.
“That’s the problem.”
His brow furrows slightly.
“Why?”
Because I don’t know what to do when I don’t have to.
The thought lingers.
Honest.
Uncomfortable.
Real.
“I’m not used to… this,” I say instead.
“This?” he repeats.
“Being seen,” I answer.
The words feel bigger than I expect.
But I don’t take them back.
Logan’s expression shifts.
Softer now.
Not weaker.
Just… closer.
“You don’t have to be anything different,” he says.
“I’m not trying to be.”
“Then what are you doing?”
I exhale slowly.
“Figuring out what it feels like not to disappear.”
That lands between us.
Quiet.
Important.
His hand moves then—slow, deliberate—resting lightly over mine where it’s curled in the blanket.
Not gripping.
Not claiming.
Just there.
Warm.
Steady.
I don’t pull away.
My fingers shift slightly beneath his.
Testing.
Feeling.
Choosing.
“You’re still here,” he says quietly.
“I know.”
“And you’re not going anywhere.”
Not a question.
Not this time.
I meet his eyes again.
“No.”
The word feels different now.
Stronger.
His thumb brushes lightly across my knuckles.
Just once.
Grounding.
And something in me settles.
Not completely.
Not permanently.
But enough.
“I didn’t think it would be like this,” I say softly.
“What?”
“After everything.”
A faint pause.
“What did you think it would be like?”
“Quieter,” I admit. “Colder. More… controlled.”
“And this isn’t?”
I glance at our hands.
At the way he hasn’t moved away.
At the way I haven’t either.
“No,” I say.
His gaze holds mine.
“Good.”
The word is quiet.
But it carries.
I shift slightly closer—not a lot, just enough that the space between us isn’t quite so defined anymore.
He notices.
Of course he does.
But he doesn’t comment.
Doesn’t push.
Just stays.
Matching.
That balance again.
“You make it easier,” I say.
“Easier to what?”
“Stay.”
That hits.
I see it in his eyes.
The way something in him locks in a little deeper.
“You don’t have to make it easy,” he replies.
“I know.”
A beat.
“But I want to.”
Silence settles around us again.
Soft.
Steady.
Not the kind I was raised to fear.
The kind I can finally breathe in.
His hand shifts slightly, still resting over mine, his presence solid beside me.
And for the first time in a long time—
I let myself lean.
Just a fraction.
Not collapsing.
Not depending.
Choosing.
My shoulder brushes his.
He doesn’t move away.
Doesn’t tense.
Just… stays.
And that’s all it takes.
Because this—
This isn’t pressure.
This isn’t control.
This isn’t something I have to shrink to survive.
This is something I can step into.
Slowly.
Carefully.
But fully.
“I’m glad you stayed,” I whisper.
Logan’s voice is just as quiet.
“I’m not going anywhere.”
And this time—
There’s no hesitation in me at all when I believe him.