Safe

-58- Austin Porter

Holt Lincoln

We win the game and I booked it to the locker room, Mr. Lincoln with me so I could grab my things. The whole time Mr. Lincoln kept telling me how proud he was of me, how good I did.

I felt sick the whole time. Barely able to focus, fighting off flashbacks even when the ball was in play.

I want to go home. I want Blue.

I want to be as far away from him as I can be.

Mr. Lincoln and I step back onto the court, Mrs. Lincoln talking to Coach Mo and some other guy I don't recognize. I'm too busy scanning the faces of everyone else, looking for him.

"Here he is, the man I came to see!"

A hand juts out toward me so fast, my heart slams in my chest and I almost run, stumbling backward.

"Whoa, easy there sport."

"It's okay Holt."

I'm having a hard time differentiating between now and my past. The basement colliding with my surroundings, mixing together until I start to lose sight of what's real and what's in my head.

My hands fist in my hair wishing I could reach into my brain and tear the pieces that hold him out, I want him out of my head. I need him out.

"In for four." Someone says.

"This looks like a bad time."

A swear I can smell his cigar.

"Maybe we can sit down when everyone's more relaxed."

My knees want to buckle, the memories in my head so lucid, I'm convinced they must be real but the voices don't add up. I reach my hand down, hoping I'll be greeted by Blue. But he's not there.

"Holt's just had an overwhelming day." That sounds like Mrs. Lincoln.

I count to four, trying to focus on what I see. The shoes I have on, the weight of my gym bag on my shoulder. I let out a breath. The gym starts to fade back in, Mr. Lincoln standing in front of me, his back rigid, arms folded across his chest. I have no idea who's standing across from him.

"Who are you?" The words come out of my mouth without thinking.

This time when the man starts to reach his hand out, Coach Mo stops him. I stay partially behind Mr. Lincoln, looking at Mrs. Lincoln while I wait for an answer.

"Brad Kirk, scout for Duke University. You, my boy, are a legend in the making." He says. "I'd love to sit down with you and your parents and tell you what Duke University can offer you."

I'm not exactly sure what he's saying.

"I'm sure we can arrange something." Mrs. Lincoln says.

"Of course, here's my card." The man hands Mrs. Lincoln a business card. "I look forward to talking with you." He turns to Coach Mo and says goodbye like they're friends and I'm even more confused.

No one says anything as he walks away but I can't hold my thoughts inside. My mind still to rattled to sort through the things I should be doing and shouldn't, so I ask "why me?"

They all turn to look at me. Mr. Lincoln the first to react as he laughs.

"You don't even know how amazing you are."

———————

I'm exhausted and not just from the game.

My hair is still damp from the shower I took when we got home from the game. The ride back was spent in silence, tense and it's made me uneasy.

I wonder if I'll ever have to stop convincing myself that I can trust the Lincoln's. That this is real, this is how it's all supposed to be. The longer we drove in silence the more my uncertainty of it all grew. I feel like I'm in trouble.

I shove my hands deeper into the pocket of the hoodie I have and make my way to the kitchen. The smell alone is beckoning me there, I'm starving, and Mrs. Lincoln said she'd make her roasted sweet potatoes. They might be the best thing I've ever tasted.

As I step into the kitchen, Mr. Lincoln is gathering dishes as Mrs. Lincoln pulls a tray of diced up sweet potatoes from the oven and my stomach rumbles.

"Need help?" I ask.

Mr. Lincoln speaks first. "Could you grab some glasses bud?"

I nod my head and start for the cabinet that holds the glassware. Ever since Mr. Lincoln and I played basketball together I've been able to separate him slightly from him. His voice doesn't make me startle as much, I don't fear him as much as I did. Granted I'm still wary of him, but he's okay.

Together we set the table for the three us as Mrs. Lincoln brings the food over. Just as she said, she made her sweet potatoes, a tenderloin and green beans.

As we begin to eat, my thoughts go from the delicious food I'm eating to the game before they land on him. I'm not stupid enough to ask why he was there. I know why he was there. To remind me that he's still in control, he always will be as long as he knows where I am. The thought eats away at my insides, panic trying to close in on me.

My heart starts thudding in my chest and I have to remind myself of where I'm sitting, who I'm sitting here with.

I'm not sure I want to live my life like this. Knowing that he can follow me, that he can just show up where ever I am. I was going to run today, I would have had it not been for Coach Mo. He's another man that I still don't completely trust but maybe he's okay. It helps that he's Birdie's dad.

My appetite leaves instantly, my mind pulling up memories of him. Of being pulled from a house I felt safe in and dropped off at an aunt's house I never even knew I had. Only to find out she was married to a monster.

It took less than two weeks for it to start. It was dinner, I had pushed some asparagus to the side of my plate. It was cold and slimy and I was ten. He reached across the table and told me I was an ungrateful little shit before he swung his hand and hit me. I probably would fell off the chair if his fist hadn't been clenched around the shirt I had on.

I choked down the asparagus and fled to my room. My aunt came in later, told me he cared about me. That I just needed to follow his rules and do as he said.

I never did figure all the rules out. It was like they changed on a whim to fit his needs.

"Holt, are you okay?" Mrs. Lincoln asks.

I'm tired of living in fear.

"Honey?"

I don't want to be afraid all the time. I don't want to risk seeing him ever again. I know I didn't want to press charges, I still don't. But I don't think I can handle him appearing in my life either. If the Lincoln's are telling the truth, that I am safe, that I can trust them, I want them to make him go away.

Stabbing at the food on my plate, it takes all I have to conjure up the words.

"Austin Porter."

His name makes me sick to my stomach, my appetite probably never coming back.

"Your uncle?" Mrs. Lincoln asks softly.

By marriage. Not that it makes a difference. It's still disgusting, I'm disgusting.

Tears prick my eyes, anger rushing through me but all I do is nod.

————————

I have a crazy weekend this week. My youngest is turning 3 😱 tomorrow. And my husbands birthday is Monday so I planned him a murder mystery party in Detroit! Shh don't tell him he's the murderer 😂.