Steve honks the horn to his BMW as he sits in front of Hargrove's house, alerting Max and Billy of his presence.
As promised, he's picking them up for school.
Dustin sits beside him in the passenger seat because he'd radioed Steve that morning and had demanded that they go get pancakes at the diner.
Dustin's treat in exchange for a ride to school.
Steve had jumped at the chance; anything to get him out of the Byers' house for a bit - he was awfully embarrassed about his spectacle last night, waking them all up with his nightmare.
Steve hadn't been able to fall asleep after his discussion with Jonathan. He'd tried, but his mind kept wandering to troubled teens, and Demodogs, and Shadow Monsters, and dead dads, and hurt moms.
When the sun began to rise, Steve had given up completely and had gone to take a shower. And to kill even more time, he did his hair.
"The hair is back!" Dustin had exclaimed happily when he hopped into Steve's car, and all the turmoil of the night melted away.
Steve loves that kid so much it hurts sometimes.
xxx
"Here they come," Dustin says, nodding at the Hargroves' front porch.
In Hawkins, it's a tradition for the high school basketball team to dress up in a collared shirt and tie on the day of a game. So Steve isn't completely surprised when Billy emerges from the porch door in that very get-up, with Max right behind him.
"Oh yeah," Dustin breathes. "It's the Jefferson game tonight."
Steve had forgotten all about that; he had forgotten all about basketball, really. But the Jefferson game was a big deal - they were their biggest rivals.
"Hey Steve, hey Dustin," Max chirps as she opens the back door to Steve's car and slips across; Billy drops into the seat beside her.
"Hey guys," Steve returns. "What's shakin'?"
Max snorts and Dustin gives him a look of utter bewilderment. "What's shakin'? You are such a dad, Steve."
Steve smiles. "Yeah, yeah. How'd it go last night?" he asks as he pulls away from the house, curious to know if their parents had bought Max's cover.
He's directing his question at Billy - eyes him in the rearview mirror - because Billy is wearing his sunglasses and has the collar to his shirt popped, effectively shielding the majority of his face, and Steve can't get a read on him.
"Nothing happened, Harrington," he answers tiredly. "It was fine."
"I wouldn't say fine—" Max starts.
"Maxine," Billy warns with a snarl. "Can. It."
A hush falls over the car then.
Steve recognizes the tone in Billy's voice. It's guarded in the same way Steve's is when people ask him about his parents never being home or why they never show at his basketball games. He hates those questions.
So he makes a conscious effort to stop prying.
He clears his throat to break the silence. "So, uh, are you still going to the game tonight?" he asks.
"Yeah…" Billy says slowly, like Steve just asked the dumbest question in the world. "Pretty sure I have to show up to play."
"Wait. You're gonna play?" Steve hadn't even considered that prospect. "But your hand—"
"My hand is fine."
"Um, okay, bullshit." He's tempted to pull off to the side of the road and examine the appendage in question for himself.
"Let it go, Harrington," Billy says dully, resigned even. "I'm playing."
Steve makes eye contact with Max through the rearview mirror, and she just shrugs.
Steve decides to let it drop.
It's quiet again for a few beats until Dustin says, "Are you gonna go, Steve?"
"What?"
"To the game. Lucas says he wants to go, so I think we're all going to be there. You should sit with us, Max," he adds.
She beams. "Yeah, definitely!"
Considering Steve had forgotten about the game until five minutes ago, he isn't sure how to answer Dustin's question. "Um. I don't know if I'll go. I guess I should…"
He is part of the team, after all.
"Yeah, I guess I'll be there," he decides as he pulls his BMW into the school parking lot. "Hargrove, Mr. H said your car'll be finished by then, so I'll have Byers drive it over here before the game."
Steve hears Billy take in a sharp breath but he doesn't acknowledge what was said.
"Hey, did you hear me?"
"Yeah, Harrington, I heard you," Billy growls, voice threatening as he kicks open the passenger door. "Stop doing me favors, alright? I don't fucking want them or need them. Just… just stay the fuck away from me altogether."
"Billy!" Max admonishes, but Billy is already out of the car, slamming the door shut and stalking into the high school.
Steve sits stunned in the driver's seat, put-off by Billy's unwarranted outburst. Stunned at how personal it feels.
"Yup. It's official. He's biggest asshole on the planet," Dustin says. "I told you."
"I'm so sorry, Steve," Max breathes. "That was… I don't know what came over him."
"It's fine," Steve dismisses. "Just… tell me what happened last night."
Screw not prying.
Max seems to hesitate briefly, but caves.
"His dad knows about the car," she tells them with a sigh. "I guess Neil was at the pub after work and saw Billy's Camaro in the parking lot, busted window and all. So it didn't matter what cover story we came up with. He knew we were lying."
"What'd he do?" Dustin asks.
"That's the weird part. He didn't do anything. He looked pissed but he just told Billy to get some sleep. Told him, 'you have a big game tomorrow.'"
Steve's stomach somersaults. "That's why he's so adamant about playing."
"Yeah."
"So Neil left him off the hook so he could play. What does that mean for tonight, then? After the game?"
"I don't know," Max breathes, and her watery eyes don't go unnoticed by Steve. But she quickly sobers. "Look, I shouldn't have told you all that. Billy told me not to. You can't say anything, okay?"
"Max—"
"We're going to be late," she cuts him off. "C'mon, Dustin." She kicks open her door and slides out. "Thanks for the ride, Steve!"
"Yeah, thanks, Steve," Dustin echoes. "Hey, if you come to the game, come find us at intermission."
Steve barks a laugh. "Intermission? Do you mean halftime?"
"Yeah, whatever it's called!" Dustin exclaims, exasperated.
"I think I'm gonna have to stay with the team, bud."
Dustin's face falls. "Oh. Right. Well, look for me in the stands. I'll wave!"
Steve can't help the smile. "Sure, kid."
"Dustin, come on," Max nags, beckoning him from a few paces in front of Steve's car.
"I'm coming, I'm coming," Dustin grouses. "Later, Steve."
"Later, shithead."
xxx
Oh fuck.
Steve hadn't prepared for this.
This moment of silence for his father before the game starts.
He's never felt so many eyes on him at once as he stands - sways, buckles, tries not to fall over - in the middle of the court.
It feels like it lasts a lifetime.
Steve's never been so thankful to hear the beginning of the Star Spangled Banner.
He'd been holding his breath and lets it out in a shuddering exhale while the pep band plays the national anthem.
Coach McGregor squeezes the nape of Steve's neck comfortingly and doesn't let go for the duration of the song.
"It means a lot to the team that you're here," Coach tells him through the applause at the end, and nudges him forward as the rest of the team gathers around. "Harrington leads the cheer!"
So Steve counts them down, the team roars "Tigers!" and the game begins.
xxx
Billy plays out of his mind.
Steve truly can't comprehend it.
He hits more three-pointers than Steve can even keep track of. Forces turnovers like he's playing against a bunch of ten-year-olds. Wrecked hand and all.
Steve overhears Coach McGregor and Coach Cantor discussing Hargrove in disbelief. He doesn't show up for practice for three days, and somehow he's playing lights out. I can't believe we thought about benching him.
At halftime, Steve sits on the bench in front of his locker while the coaches talk strategy for the next half. Hargrove sits beside him in front of his locker. They were assigned alphabetically by last name.
Steve watches him, because that's what he's been doing all night and can't seem to break the habit. Billy's cradling his left wrist and staring intently at a drain on the floor in front of his foot. The knuckles on his left hand are colored a deep purple. His right leg is bouncing up and down as he listens to the coaches. His jaw is set.
He says, "Yes, sir," when Coach Cantor tells him to keep up the good work in the second half.
xxx
Back on the courtside bench before the start of the third quarter, Steve scans the crowd for Dustin and company. His eyes land on Max first - he can't miss that fiery hair. She's standing on the landing speaking to who appears to be her mother, a woman with matching red hair. She's still wearing her coat. A man - Billy's father, Steve presumes - stands beside her, still wearing his windbreaker. They must've just arrived.
Max waves goodbye to her mother and then descends the stairs to sit with guys. Dustin is waving furiously in Steve's direction, and Steve appeases him with a wave back.
Steve looks back up at Mr. Hargrove, who is now leaning on the railing over the stands, his eyes trained on his son as he finishes warming up in the allotted time before the second half begins. Even from a distance, Steve feels intimidated by the man.
Billy hasn't looked up at the stands once since the start of the game.
Steve hopes it stays that way.
xxx
At the close of the game, Hargrove is surrounded by his team, and fans, and parents, all congratulating him on the win.
They hadn't beaten Jefferson in fourteen years, and thanks to Billy, they ran away with this one: 68-52.
Mr. Hargrove hasn't left his spot at the railing, his eyes haven't left his son.
Billy sees him now. He keeps glancing up at him as he shakes the hands of parents, wearing a forced smile on his face.
Steve notices how he's slowly backing up towards the exit of the gym, leading to outside. Notices how his face is pale and slick with sweat.
Billy slips out the door the first second he gets a chance, and Steve follows.
He could use some air, too.
xxx
Steve finds him a couple paces to the left of the door. "You alright, man?" he asks.
Billy's right arm is bracing the brick wall and he's leaning his forehead against the meat of his wrist. He doesn't say anything back.
Steve swallows hard. "That was a helluva game you played."
Still, no response.
It's dark, but Steve can see that Hargrove's body is trembling. Quaking even.
Steve takes a step closer, worried now. "Billy—"
"No, stop," Billy warns, low and choked. "G'na be sick." His left arm is outstretched — an attempt to keep Steve from coming any closer.
Steve comes to a halt abruptly, recognizing that it's not a prediction, but present reality. In the same breath, Billy bows his head and retches. Saliva floods out of his mouth followed by a swill of stomach contents, meeting the asphalt with an echoing slosh.
Steve watches helplessly as Billy takes in gulps of air, trying to abate the nausea. It's to no avail, and he spends a couple more minutes heaving up bile and a whole lot of nothing before Steve dares to speak. "Hey, you're okay," he says softly, but it sounds lame and unnecessary to his ears.
Billy doesn't acknowledge him in the slightest, but his body does end its upheaval. He pushes away from the wall and backs up so there is a good distance between him, where he got ill, and Steve.
He turns his back to Steve and folds at his waist to hold onto his knees. His breaths are still coming in gulps, and when he exhales, it's shaky. He continues to spit strings of saliva to the ground.
Steve stands rooted to the spot, surprised at how much he's itching to provide Billy some kind of comfort, he just doesn't know how. "Hargrove," he says tentatively. "Are you alright? Can I get you some water or something?"
Billy straightens up then and runs his hands through his hair. He shivering now, because he's covered in sweat and it's a chilly November evening, but seems to relish in the cool air. He rolls his shoulders backwards, cracks his neck, and turns on his heel.
He checks Steve in the shoulder on his way back inside.
"I told you to stay away from me."
xxx
Steve remains standing outside for a moment, feeling numb, the dismissal stinging just as much as it had that morning.
But he pushes it down and follows Billy inside.
The gym has cleared out considerably. Mr. Hargrove has left his post on the landing. Billy is collecting his water bottle from the bench.
He tucks it under his arm before heading for the locker room.
Steve calls out to him. "Hargrove, wait."
Billy pauses by the locker room door, and turns back to face him.
"Your keys," Steve says as he approaches, and tosses him the keys to his Camaro. He'd slipped another key on the ring, too.
If Billy needs somewhere safe to go tonight, Steve wants him to have it.
Billy snatches they keys out of the air and looks down. He recognizes the foreign key almost immediately. "What the hell, Harrington?" he growls, meeting Steve's eyes. "Your house key?"
Steve senses he's going to protest, but doesn't give him the opportunity. "Just take it," Steve says, leaving no room for argument, arms folded across his chest. "Swallow your fucking pride, and take it."
Hargrove turns his head away, biting down hard on his lower lip. He clears his throat, nods once, then pockets the keys in his breakaway pants.
He disappears into the locker room without another word.