"Finn, no one is watching!"
"I'M watching! I'M the crowd! The crowd is going wild!"
Holt does eventually jump—climbing up while Finn provides unnecessary commentary ("Look at that form! That confidence! That complete lack of fear of death!"), and when he launches himself off, it's with none of Finn's mayhem, just clean and controlled, and he barely makes a splash. When he surfaces, Finn slow-claps.
"Show-off," Finn says. "Some of us don't have your grace and poise."
"Some of us practice," Holt replies.
"BURN! Did you hear that, Scout? He's burning me! In public!"
A little kid with goggles on his head paddles over to Holt, clearly working up courage. "Are those real tattoos?"
"Yeah," Holt says, crouching in the shallow water so the kid can see better.
"All of them?"
"All of them."
"Even the wolves?"
"Especially the wolves."
The kid considers this seriously. "Are they nice wolves or scary wolves?"
"Both," Holt says, equally serious. "Depends on the day."
"That's cool." The kid splashes him and swims away giggling, and Holt just shakes his head, almost-smiling.
I'm floating nearby, watching this interaction, and Finn swims up beside me. "He's actually a giant softie," Finn stage-whispers. "Don't tell anyone. It'll ruin his reputation."
"Your secret's safe with me."
"Good, because—OH!" Finn's face lights up. "I just had the best idea. Marco Polo. Everyone's playing. Right now. I'm making this happen."
"Finn—"
"MARCO POLO!" he yells to the entire swimming hole. "MANDATORY! NO EXCEPTIONS!"
"No one's playing Marco Polo with you!" someone shouts.
"YOU DON'T KNOW THAT YET! GIVE ME FIVE MINUTES!"
Eventually, the mayhem mellows. Families start packing up, heading home before dinner. Teenagers migrate to the far end of the pool, their music getting quieter. And I find myself floating on my back, eyes closed against the sun, just listening to the sounds around me—water lapping against rock, distant music, someone laughing, a dog barking.
"You look peaceful," Holt's voice, close enough that I open my eyes and find him nearby, watching me with that steady attention.
"I am peaceful." I right myself, pushing wet hair out of my face. "This is—it's really nice. Thanks for coming out. I know Finn basically forced you, but still. Thanks."
"Finn suggested it," he corrects. "I could've said no."
"Yeah, but you could've said no to a lot of things and you didn't." I'm not sure what I mean by that exactly, but he seems to understand.
We float there in silence that doesn't need filling, and I find myself studying him—the way he moves in the water, compensating for the prosthetic without thinking, the tattoos rippling under the surface when he moves, the complete ease in his expression. Not tense. Not guarded. Just... Holt, relaxed and content and maybe even happy.
"Can I ask you something?" I venture.
"Depends on the question."
