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-45- Someone

Hannah "Birdie" Morrison

The energy on the court is insane and it's spilled over into the stands where all of us watching are yelling as one body. Everyone that is except for Holt.

He's been tense the entire evening. Quiet and rigid in the backseat of the Lincoln's car as they drove to the game. Jumpy and silent as we filed into the arena, eyes darting back and forth as he tried to take in his surroundings.

And even now as we watch the Pistons push the ball down the court, his eyes are glazed over, every muscle coiled, breathing shallow.

I look over at him, studying his profile, wondering how much different he'd look without all the pain that's constantly etched into his features when my eye catches Kendra's. She's doing the exact same thing I am.

She gives me a small smile but it's not happy. It's every bit as anguished as Holt seems to be.

The crowd erupts around us, Mr. Lincoln jumping to his feet as he yells along. Holt jerks violently in his seat and I've completely lost interest in the game.

"Want to take a walk?" I ask, careful not to lean to close to Holt while I shout my question at him.

His eyes meet mine bewildered and I wonder if he actually sees me or not.

"Walk?" I yell again, motioning between the two of us just as the excitement starts to settle.

He nods his head and as I shimmy my way past him I tell the Lincoln's what we're doing.

I turn around once I'm standing on the stairs and see that even though Holt has nodded to a walk he hasn't actually made a move to go on one. So I wave my hand at him, beckoning him towards me.

It takes Kendra saying something to him though before he stands up. I watch him dart past Rhett, head hanging low as he does.

Rhett watches his back as he takes the last couple steps to the stairs and I notice how his usually easy going demeanor has dampened.

"Come on." I toss the words out over my shoulder as I skip down the stairs.

This time Holt's at my heels as we spill out of the stairwell and into the common area of the arena. For as many people that are watching the game, it seems as though there are just as many not watching, instead lingering around the stands selling food and beer and merchandise.

I flash Holt a smile, hoping that it'll calm whatever is going on within him. He looks like he might run.

"Holy cow it's crowded." I mutter, falling into step with the sea of people walking.

Maybe a walk wasn't a good idea.

We're forced to walk single file and I can't stop myself from checking on Holt every other step. Each time I look back, he's curled himself inward even more.

I can feel my heart start to beat harder as I realize I've probably just led Holt to a place where he's even more uncomfortable and the last thing I want to do is witness another panic attack let alone cause it.

We pass by a wall packed with different stands, a line of people milling about at each. I'm just about to suggest we turn back when there's a break in stands and an open area that leads to the stairs that lead out and I feel relief wash through my body because it's mostly vacant.

I double check to make sure Holt's still with me but as I glance back I see him several feet back, an obstruction in the sea of people that part around him. He's staring up ahead, panic in his eyes.

I don't feel like he's going to run anymore. I know he will, I've seen that look before. So I do the only thing I can think of and dart through the crowd, shoving a couple of people out of my way before I'm standing in front of Holt. He mumbles something that I can't make out and he's not responding to my voice so I grab his hand, ignoring when he tries to jerk it from my grasp and I pull him.

He doesn't come that easily but he also doesn't fight me that hard and within a few minutes I've managed to get us through the crowd to the stairs.

"Sorry." I say, my fingers still wrapped around his hand. He's staring down at them. "I had no idea it'd be so crowded out here."

"I-I..." he pauses, his head slowly lifting until our eyes meet. "It's okay."

"Why'd you stop?" I ask.

I know I should let go of his hand but if I'm being honest I'm not convinced he'll stay so I don't.  He looks over his shoulder, scanning the crowd.

"I-I thought I saw someone." His voice is tight, panic still hanging off the edges of his words.

It doesn't take a genius to figure out that "someone" isn't a friend. And I have no idea who "someone" is but I scan the crowd for them anyway.

"Why're you holding my hand?" Holt asks, drawing my attention away from searching for someone I don't know.

He's back to staring at our hands and I instantly let go feeling my face flush.

"Sorry." I stare at my feet. "I thought you might run like at...the..."' I let my words trail off, embarrassed that I was holding on to him.

We stand there silently. I can't help but replay the last few minutes in my mind. Wondering if maybe it's all in my head and Holt has it together more than I think.

I've almost got myself convinced I'm crazy and overbearing when Holt says, "I'm not handling this well."

He runs a hand through his hair, taking a seat on one of the steps. His dark hair is a mess now as he hangs his head.

"You're fine." I say.

He gives a dry laugh, shaking his head. This is the first time Holt has acknowledged that he's not okay. And I'm not sure what to say or do.

I take a seat beside him, allowing plenty of space so I don't make him uncomfortable. His head tips to watch me, maybe to check that it's me or to make sure I'm not too close. He blows out a breath, lacing his fingers behind his neck, elbows resting on his bent knees.

Part of me hopes he suddenly opens up. That this is a moment where he starts to share pieces of himself. Maybe it'll help him. But mostly I'm just worried and a little curious as to why Holt is the way that he is. How the pieces of information I know about Holt fit into the puzzle because right now it feels like I'm trying to put pieces that don't belong to the same puzzle together.

But he doesn't open up. He doesn't elaborate on how he's not handle this well. He doesn't tell me who "someone" is.

Instead he says, "Thanks for coming."

I don't even care that I'm missing the game. He looks over at me, exhaustion spewing out of him but there's a tiny smile on his lips. And that's enough.

"Of course."

                            ————————

Halloween was cold and wet and within the first five minutes my kid tripped and broke his bulldozer and then the rain ruined the rest 🤣. He still wore it like the champ he is though haha.