Saving Scout O'Brian (REMASTERED)

Eight

Evelyn

I blew out a low breath of cool air as Kona and I walked along the beach, my fingers flexing on the leash as my conversation with Scout played over and over in my mind. My jaw clenched, her dark gaze burned into my mind, the cold fire in them had my blood heating just thinking about it. I had tried everything to shake her from my mind, from drinking too much wine, to contemplating medication. I felt like I was going insane and it has only been a little over two weeks of knowing her. The thing is, Scout may be nineteen, and a senior in high school, but she was years older in life experience. What high schooler has successfully saved enough money to buy their own home? Granted, it was probably dirty money, but still, it's an incredible milestone at her age. Not to mention, her daughter. Kona looked back at me in annoyance when I inadvertently jerked her leash, my vision flashing to the paperwork on my desk, to the girl that had become pregnant at thirteen years old.

When I first read it, I wanted to throw up or beat the fuck out of someone. Maybe both, honestly. And I know what you're thinking; "What? School transcripts do not show pregnancies" and you're right, they don't. Police and hospital records do, however, and I am not ashamed to admit that I have connections in both. Connections that would cause me a world of hurt if they got out, but I was so enamored by her that I had to know if I should be worried about a drug dealing ex boyfriend chasing her and Charlotte down. Thankfully, that isn't the case, but unfortunately, the reality is likely much worse. I pulled myself away from her file when they started detailing injuries, the magnitude of what she had suffered at a young age was enough to turn even my stomach.

And I have personally looked death straight in the eyes.

I zoned out as we walked, Kona's tongue lolling happily out of her mouth as she trotted beside me, her ears pricking up as a we neared where I knew Scout's house was. The heady thump of base was loud even down here, and I shook my head, wondering how this girl could've managed a house party at five in the afternoon on a Sunday. But as we rounded the bend, the sand evened out and I saw her, my mouth immediately going dry. It was not a house party, but something I never expected. I always envied Katie's house for the double ended garage that led to a patio facing the beach, and currently said garage was wide open, a punching bag hanging from the ceiling inside.

I just stared, hopelessly ensnared by the muscles in her back as she beat the bag into submission, her tightly wrapped hands held level with her face as she danced from foot to foot, nervous energy thrumming through her body. Clad in just a sports bra and spandex, I could see damn near every mouthwatering part of her, from her muscled thighs to her six pack, up to the soft swell of her breasts and her angular jawline. She was cut to perfection, like a marble sculpture come to life, and easily the most terrifying thing I had ever seen. A snarl on her lips, she leveled the bag with ferocity, hitting it so hard that it hit the wall.

I swallowed tightly, and Kona barked at a passing runner, nearly sending me into the air.

Scout's eyes cut to the beach, and I felt the shiver go down my spine when her eyes caught mine, her fingers gently stopping the punching bag as she turned towards me. Her chest heaved, sweat rolling down her skin in between her breasts, down her thighs, illuminating the bold lines and strokes of her tattoos. Medusa's head of snakes seemed to come alive, writhing, hissing, desperate to escape their prison of skin. Barefoot, she padded over to her speaker system and turned the music down. I tried to focus on anything other than the sharp pang of desire I felt when stepped out onto the patio. She leaned her arms over the railing and stared at me, her eyes darker than I had ever seen them, a cold smirk turning up her lips.