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-57- Home (Finale)

I know I'm more of a headache than not. I've heard Mrs. Lincoln cry every night since I told her. And I've heard Mr. Lincoln strain to hold his anger in as they stay up late talking about me.

I creep down the stairs, stopping as I hear their voices carrying through the house. It's early for them to be talking about me. They must think I'm still asleep. I take a seat on the steps, my body pressed against the wall as I listen.

"He needs to Rhett." Mrs. Lincoln says.

"Honey the poor kids a mess." Mr. Lincoln's voice still makes me jump. "I just don't think it's a good idea. What if he has an episode in the middle of a game?"

"He's been playing the entire time. This isn't going to magically resolve." She takes a breath. "He needs to play. You can't tell me you don't see it. That's the one place that poor boy has any peace."

She sounds like she's crying, again.

They don't say anything for a long time but I just wait. My heart beating in my chest as I wait for their verdict. I want to play. Mrs. Lincoln is right, I need to play. But if they tell me no, I'll listen. I don't want them to send me away.

"We can't take basketball away from him Rhett." Mrs. Lincoln breaks the silence.

I hold my breath. I want him to agree more than anything.

He lets out a heavy sigh. "Alright, yeah. You're right."

I let my own breath release, deciding I'll save my question for another night. I can only handle so much. I shift, about to climb the stairs back to my room when the boards below me creak giving me away.

Wincing, I hope they're far enough away that they don't hear it but then Mrs. Lincoln says, "Holt honey? Is that you?"

My hearts already slamming in my chest as I straighten, squeezing my eyes shut.

All I see is him when I close my eyes so I snap them back open.

I quietly make my way down to the kitchen where I know they're talking.

"Yes ma'am." I say, my eyes cast down as I emerge from the shadows of the hallway.

Mr. Lincoln stands, his hands braced against the counter behind him as he leans against the wall farthest from where I am. I've noticed he keeps more distance now. I'm sorry that he realizes I need him too but I'm also thankful that he does.

"Did you hear us?" Mrs. Lincoln asks, her voice soft and calm.

I can already feel panic welling up inside me. I shouldn't have been listening in. I know better. My breath catches in my throat as I nod my head.

"It's okay Holt." She tells me.

"You're not in trouble." Mr. Lincoln says, his voice still sends a chill down my spine.

I'm staring at the hardwood floor, my blood pumping in my ears as I try and maintain the small fraction of control I still have.

Mrs. Lincoln touches my arm and I wrench it away.

"I'm sorry ma'am." I blurt. I'm not maintaining control. "I'm sorry sir."

"Holt, breathe, look at me."

She reaches for me again and my brain automatically says run.

But somehow I manage to keep my feet rooted, my eyes lifting slightly to meet Mrs. Lincoln. I'm aware Mr. Lincoln hasn't moved but I can feel tension spewing out of him as he stands as far from me as he can get.

"Do you want to play basketball?" She asks me, her hands finding my arms only this time I don't move.

"Yes ma'am." I nod, my chest is heaving.

She smiles at me. I stiffen as she raises a hand to run it through my hair.

"That's all we wanted to know." She says. "You're safe now Holt."

She's been telling me this a lot. That I'm safe. That I don't have to be afraid anymore.

Her hands leave mine and I can tell by the way they watch me that they're expecting me to ask if I can go back to my room. The words are on the tip of my tongue but as I open my mouth to ask them and my heart pounds in my chest I say something completely different.

"Will you still adopt me?"

My eyes have filled with tears. I'm terrified of their answer. Afraid they've changed their mind. Afraid they've decided that I'm too much of a hassle, that I'd be detrimental to their unborn child. That I'm disgusting.

I feel like I need to run.

I realize I shouldn't have asked as I watch tears pool in Mrs. Lincoln's eyes.

"I only need a year and then I'll leave." I plead even though I know better, I'm desperate.

I just need to turn 18. My feet won't move and I feel like the walls are starting to cave in.

Why would they want me?

After everything he's done.

After everything I've done.

"Of course." Mrs. Lincoln's words hit my ears but I'm not sure I understand. "Yes, Holt. Yes we will adopt you."

I let out a sob, my breath ragged and labored. I feel like I've been shouldering so much weight and my legs have finally given way. I crumble to the floor, my back against the wall as I bury my head in my hands.

"I'll leave as soon as I turn 18." I choke out through my sobs.

Mrs. Lincoln sinks to the floor in front of me. I brace myself as I watch her reach out and place her hands on my bent knees.

"Holt, we don't want you to leave after a year. We want you, forever." I can tell she's crying too, her voice thick from all the tears. "We're going to be a family and this is your home."

I know I need to thank them. I'm doing everything I know I shouldn't but I can't find the words because words aren't enough. Even though Mrs. Lincoln has just told me otherwise, I'm not going to stay once I turn 18. I won't do that to them. A year and then I'll leave and they can carry on with their life and the child they've been wanting. I'm just so thankful that they'll give me that year. That I won't have to go back into the system. That I won't have to risk going back to him.

Mrs. Lincoln is suddenly beside me, pulling me to her. My whole body tenses ready to fight back but then I hear her voice whisper into my hair.

"You're home, Holt, you're home."

The End
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Double update because you're awesome.

Who's gonna stay tuned for the Author's Note to follow? In the words of Blake Shelton, it'd sure be cool if you did 😉.

Also I don't have a timeline for when Safe will be ready but rest assured I won't make you wait long. I can post sooner but daily updates won't happen or I can wait and write enough so that we can keep the daily updates rolling. What would you rather have?