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One would expect Holly March to be jealous of her cousins.
That would be preposterous, obviously. She is too old to feel like she's being replaced by three boys who were in dire need of a stable home. Yes, maybe she had gotten kind of used to her father's whole world orbiting around her and Healy, and maybe it's a bit inconvenient to not be able to drop by and sleep over in her old room whenever the fancy strikes her, but that's not really relevant - she loves Court, Ryland and Colt, and she's glad they're there. She'd never blame them for a fleeting, distant feeling that is probably natural anyway.
Besides, the more she looks at the men who raised her, the clearer it becomes that they have not changed a bit when it comes to managing the chaos in their lives.
“Hard case, is it?” She comments idly, parsing through the sheets of paper that lay in disarray on the desk. There is a picture of a woman among them, crumpled at the corners the way only photos that keep getting pulled out and handed to possible witnesses end up being.
Her father groans tiredly, rubbing at his forehead. “It wasn't supposed to be. Just your run of the mill cheating wife.”
“You used to say you ate those jobs for breakfast. What went wrong?”
“Yeah, well, either people got better at hiding their affairs or I'm too old to catch them in the act. Hey, can you guys pipe down a little, please?”
The last sentence is directed at the twins, who look up guiltily from their games even if the tone was barely annoyed at all. “Sorry, Uncle Holland,” they chorus, then go back to pushing their toy cars around with, to their credit, fewer crashing sound effects than before.
Holly isn’t too worried about them. They seem incredibly resilient for a pair of boys their age, and have acclimated well to the unpredictability of their new home; it would be healthier if they felt safe enough to act up and throw tantrums, probably, but there’s still time for that. For now, they go with the flow with plenty of serenity - when she arrived Ryland announced that he’d figured out why some cars went faster down the slope he’d made with books, that it was something called aerodynamics, and that Jackson had taught him that word, so yeah, she’s pretty sure they will be fine.
Court, though…
She steals a glance at the eldest of her cousins, lips pursed in thought. Court isn’t participating in his brothers’ games, even though he indulges them on most days, and his eyes keep flitting with ill-concealed stress between her father and Jackson, who’s currently standing on the porch outside and having a smoke.
Holly knows how this kind of afternoon usually works. She has seen countless of them, when she was still unofficially the third Nice Guy. She knows that both men are pissed off that they’re not making any progress with their work, and though they’re very well aware that it’s no one’s fault, they’re still keeping their frustration at bay as best as they can to avoid saying things they might regret. She knows that Jackson is taking his smoke break elsewhere with the double goal of clearing his mind and protecting the three pairs of healthy lungs they now have in the house, and that her father will join him once the dust has settled, ready to debrief more calmly over a cigarette.
It takes her all of thirty seconds to realize that Court, on the contrary, doesn’t know any of that, and approximately thirty more to decide that her plans for the day will have to be derailed.
“You’re going to go crazy all cooped up in here,” she announces loudly, putting the papers back down. “Come on boys, I’m taking you three to the beach. Let’s leave these old men to do their thing.”
She feels several astonished looks turn to her in an instant. “Beach?” Colt echoes, voice dripping with barely contained excitement.
Holly regales him with an indulgent smile, careful not to meet his older brother’s gaze in the meantime. “Yeah. It’s not the right season for swimming, so we don’t need to bring anything, but you can put your feet in the water if it’s not too cold. So? Who's with me?”
The twins let out a delighted, high-pitched cheer, but her father continues to stare at her as if she'd spontaneously grown an extra head. “You sure about this, sweetheart?”
“Of course. You guys need a break, and I need to affirm my status as their cool cousin.”
That makes him huff in laughter. “You're the only cousin they have, honey. That's an easy win.”
“You never know. I'm open to surprises. I had three cousins for years and never found out, so…”
“Touchè. Well, don’t let me stop you. You’re staying for dinner, yeah?”
“You know me so well.” She waves the two younger boys off, relishing in their enthusiasm. “Put your shoes on and get in the car, I’ll grab my stuff and be right behind you.”
They stumble over each other in their hurry to comply, and it’s only then that she allows herself to look at Court, when she knows his eldest child facade might slip off ever so slightly. As predicted, there is a stiffness to him that speaks of uncertainty, a confused, narrowed look in his eyes.
“You, too,” Holly nudges him good-naturedly. “Come on, I’m not leaving without you. You get to ride shotgun and pick the music.”
“I- I don’t know.” The boy’s glancing around nervously, like a cornered animal that doesn’t know whether to bite or not. “Is that…Can we?”
He’s looking at his uncle as he asks that, even if he’s clearly trying to be subtle about it. It fills the young woman with a surge of pity that comes out of nowhere - for both of them, honestly, because her father has always been everything but cruel to children. Irresponsible, yes, and a pain in the ass more often than not, but only metaphorically, not literally. The only thing Holly’s ever had to expect on bad days was an extra bottle of beer laying around, and that was when she was Court’s age, before Jackson came in and set him straight. It must destroy him, that his nephews (or at least the eldest of them) might watch him with that kind of fear in their eyes.
And still, he grins that shit-eating grin of his, gesturing at Court with practiced ease. “Sure. Have fun. We’ll be fine over here- we’ll get takeaway for when you guys come back, okay?”
Court looks like he wants to protest more, but his brothers are already barreling out of the house, giggling and proudly telling Jackson that we’re going to the beach with Holly!, so he’s left with seemingly no alternative. After a brief hesitation, he stalks off to follow in their wake - his uncle’s smile thins immediately once he’s turned away, more concerned than anything, but Holly simply kisses him on the cheek and mutters “I got it,” before going to see the damage of three little monsters piling up in her car.
The ride goes through mostly without a hitch. Ryland and Colt clamor in the backseat, chattering nonstop, but Court remains quiet, even from his privileged passenger spot. The music, too, he only deigns to choose when the other three insist, and even so he just fishes one of Holly’s tapes out at random and spends the rest of the drive staring out of his window, deaf to any comment about the songs playing.
It’s a little windy when they arrive at the beach, but as Holly had predicted (and hoped), the weather holds well enough for that time of the year. The twins are quick to discard their shoes and socks and stumble towards the shore, fidgeting impatiently through their cousin’s safety debrief - which is pretty quick, to be fair; it mostly consists of don’t wade in deeper than your ankles or we’re going home. They don’t really have any beach toys with them, but they seem perfectly content to splash and run after each other, the area surrounding them mercifully empty and thus lacking any old geezer who’d complain about the sand their feet are spraying around.
Court…continues sulking. Perhaps it’s an uncharitable description, but Holly doesn’t have any better words for a young teenager who refuses to unclench like that - he sits down beside her when she finds a good spot to lounge on, close enough to the waterline that she can intervene in case of need but not so close that she’ll get soaked by Ryland and Colt’s antics. She’s gone barefoot as well, but he simply curls in on himself like a sullen little snail, knees pulled up to his chest with his chin pillowed on them.
Holly lets him stew for a bit, craning her head back to feel the breeze on her face. She had errands to run, in truth, but this took priority. Besides, he doubts the boys will complain about having to make a pitstop on the way home, especially if she gets them something as a reward for their patience - it’s been a hot minute since she’s bought them any bullshit to crowd their house with, after all. She can’t be caught slacking off when she could be exasperating her father instead.
Meanwhile, Court hasn’t uttered a single word. When she decides that enough time has passed and turns to look at him again, he’s still in the same pose, and she has to stifle a sigh, though her expression softens. She loves him so much, stubborn, protective kid that he is. She doesn’t even have to wonder if she was the same at that age, because Jackson likes to remind her that she was worse.
“You know they weren’t mad at you guys, right?” She murmurs, as gently as she can.
Despite that, Court flinches slightly, a fleeting thing, his face soon just as pinched as before. “I know.”
“They weren’t even actually mad at each other, either. They’re two hotheads who spend their lives joined at the hip. I’d get pissed a lot more often than they do if I was living like that.”
“Uh-uh.”
“Court.” She knows better than to touch him unexpectedly when he’s like this, but she still inches closer, trying to coax him into looking at her. “Nothing’s going to happen. It’ll pass. Maybe they’ll do something disgusting to blow off some steam while we’re out, but that’s it. They won’t take it out on anyone.”
“How do you know?” The boy spits out through gritted teeth. His eyes are glued to his brothers - Ryland has started digging a hole in the wet sand with his hands, while Colt’s pant legs have come undone from where Holly had haphazardly rolled them up, now damp and grimy up to the knee.
She sighs again, shrugging. “Almost three decades of experience, my friend. They’ve never once laid a finger on me. The closest they ever came to that was beating up a guy who tried to kidnap me. And they sure as hell aren’t starting now, either- they’re too old to pick up new hobbies.”
“You can’t be sure of that.”
“Yeah, I can. They’re big softies, the both of them, and besides, they know I’d come steal you all for myself if they made you upset.”
Her joke doesn’t really appear to land, but Holly doesn’t mind too much. She’s got a tough crowd today. Instead, Court finally meets her gaze with a somber look on his face that nevertheless seems to have an edge of desperation in it as well, as if a part of him was begging to be proved wrong despite his best intentions.
“Mr. Healy said it’s fine if I don’t believe things are going to be okay yet,” he says, so quiet it’s almost drowned by the noise of waves crashing against the shore. “That I can take my time with it. But I just- sometimes it just doesn’t feel real. And if I’m wrong, that’s one thing, but what if I relax too much and something happens to Colt again? Or Ryland, this time? I always had to hide them when Dad had a bad day, but I don’t know where to hide them now.”
Holly wagers she could pinpoint the moment her heart breaks clean in two, if asked. “Oh, Court.”
She wishes she could hug him, wrap her arms around him and hold him together as tight as she can. That’s the one tight she’s certain to have inherited from Holland March - he has always been very physical in reassuring her, squeezing her shoulders to ground her, shielding her from danger, enveloping her as if he could be her whole world. It wasn’t always her most favorite quirk of his, but she understands, now, where it came from. Sometimes that’s all one can do in the face of a problem.
She wonders, distantly, if these three have allowed her father to close the distance like that yet, if he claps Court on the back to congratulate him, if the twins have let him pick them up when they’re tired and whiny. Somehow, she doubts the answer can be yes to all of those musings, and as such, she has to stop herself before she crosses that line.
She holds her hand out, though, open and inviting as she continues, devoid of any pressure. “You won’t need to hide anywhere anymore. None of you will. Your father’s an asshole, and I hope he never sees the outside world again, but even if he does, he won’t hurt any of you guys again. And neither will my father, or Jackson. You just need to remember that until it starts feeling real, okay? I’ll keep saying it, too, if it helps.”
It hangs in the air between them for an interminable pause, the only sounds cutting through the ones coming from the sea and the children’s delighted screams. Then, slowly, Court reaches out and takes her hand into his. “Okay.”
His fingers are sweaty, and they’re clinging a little too tightly onto her. It’s still the best thing that has happened today, so Holly feels herself crack into a broad smile as she squeezes back, just as firmly.
Silence falls between them again, but it’s a warm, companionable kind of silence, the kind that doesn’t need a justification. Still, it doesn’t last long; as if sensing a lull in their attention, as little kids are wont to do, Ryland comes running up to them, holding something aloft in his hand. “Court, look!”
He skids to a halt next to his brother, beaming as bright as the sky above, and grabs a hold of Court’s free hand to press his prize into its palm. “Look! It’s pretty, right?”
Holly leans in, joining in Court’s puzzlement as they peer into his hand. It’s a small rock, likely plucked from the hundreds of them washed over by the sea, mostly smooth aside for a couple rough edges where it must have been chipped by something. It shines softly in the light, a dark gray veined with white - it will most likely turn dull and dusty once it dries up, but like this, under the sun and still damp with saltwater, it has a certain beauty to it, definitely enough to catch the attention of a curious child.
“Looks great, bud,” Court says, turning it around in his fingers, some of the worry lines on his young face softening when he gives his brother the hint of a smile. “Good catch.”
It shouldn’t be physically possible for Ryland’s grin to grow even wider, and yet, somehow, it still does. “Cool. It’s for you!”
“For me?”
“Yeah! Like a present. ‘Cause it’s pretty.”
The older boy makes a strange noise, then, almost as if he was choking on something for a split second. “Thank you,” he replies, swallowing hard before he adds: “Why don’t you find one for Holly, too? To say thanks for bringing us here today. She needs her own pretty rock to take home.”
Ryland nods vigorously and darts back towards his twin, who’s observing the now much larger hole in the sand with unnerving interest. Holly wonders if he would even manage to jump in, and briefly debates stopping him just in case, but that’s the grown-up part of her talking. Her bad-influence-cousin side is louder and saying she wants to see what he does, anyway, so that’s out of her hands.
Besides, she has much more pressing matters to focus on. Namely, the way Court still hasn’t let go of her, nor the rock, clinging onto both of them like a lifeline even as he keeps staring at nothing in particular. The young woman’s smile dims into something gentler, more private, and she lets him mull it over for a bit before she speaks again. “They’re sweet when they’re not screaming, aren’t they?”
To her shock and delight, he scoffs, shaking his head. “Don’t let them hear you say that, they’ll take advantage of it so bad when they ask you for things.”
“Heh, I’ll survive. I used that trick long before they were born- you need to give me a call if they try it on Healy, though.”
“Sure.” A brief pause, and then: “Holly?”
“Yeah?”
“Earlier you said he and Uncle Holland might do something disgusting to distract themselves. What…what did you mean by that?”
It takes every fiber of Holly’s being not to burst out laughing right in his face. “Okay, you know when I was babysitting you guys and we were watching movies after your brothers went to bed, and you made me turn off the TV after the lady on the screen started taking off her dress-”
“Okay!” Court cuts her off, standing up abruptly. “I get the picture, thanks.”
It can’t be helped. She has to laugh, then, and it grows even louder when he lets go of her hand at long last to kick off his shoes and jog over to his younger brothers, so distracted by his outrage he forgets his sullenness-
Or the fact he’s still clinging onto the pebble Ryland gave him, buried tight in his fist like a secret.