Safe Hands

4. A new home

"Yeah, he asked me to bring him here." Peter blinked, hoping the men before him wouldn't see through his lie.

"Mm, but we would have preferred to speak to Mr. Griffin himself. He seems very busy for a guardian," one of the men said with a thick accent.

Peter smiled nervously. "I know, but he's quite the rush type. I'd like to see that Grayson is in safe hands myself if you don't mind," Peter stated.

"Mr. Smith will be waiting for Grayson. If you're requesting to escort Grayson, fine by us, but you must understand that once he gets the boy, you don't have any rights whatsoever to visit him without his permission or try to exert authority on the boy. Also, let Mr. Griffin know this. He blocked us out all these years, and we're not ready to let that happen again," the second man announced.

"Yes, sir," Peter nodded.

As they sat in the flight, Peter tried not to stare at Grayson, but the silence was killing him. Grayson, once full of words and provocations, now seemed to blend with the invisible darkness around him. He ate little in public and spoke even less, his words cold and sharp.

"Are you excited to meet your uncles?" Peter asked, waiting for a response and getting none.

"They're good-looking and seem trustworthy. You should give them a chance, Gray. Try to open up, try to forget whatever happened. Don't let it keep you down. You gotta move on, Gray." He paused, hoping for a reaction, but got nothing.

He sighed, "Look, I'm sorry for what—"

Grayson sat up abruptly, catching the attention of everyone on the flight. "I wish I was dead," he said in a hushed voice, loud enough to freeze Peter.

A flight attendant approached. "How may I help you, sir?"

"Another seat, please. I don't feel good by the window," Grayson said.

"Come on," the lady replied with a smile, leading Grayson away.

The social worker gave Peter a light glare. He sighed before slumping in his chair.

The car rolled up the long driveway, coming to a stop in front of a sprawling white mansion. The garden surrounding the house burst with vibrant flowers, their colors so vivid they seemed to leap out at you. A grand old tree, with branches like open arms, provided a canopy of shade, offering a welcoming, serene refuge. To the left, a pristine basketball court beckoned, its polished surface gleaming in the sunlight. Off in the distance, a quaint little cabin nestled at the edge of the property, completing the picturesque scene. The sheer perfection of the place gnawed at Grayson's conscience, a stark contrast to the pain that had brought them here.

They stopped, and Peter got out first, holding the door for Gray, who ignored him and opened the opposite door, stepping out with his walking aids. Peter looked disappointed as he slammed the door shut. He reached for a small suitcase, realizing it was empty.

Grayson had taken nothing, not wanting help from Peter, whom he saw as a waste of time and a liar. He gripped his stick tightly with anxiety. The house looked clean and rich, but he hated having to pretend before these strangers. They were men, adult males, and the thought made him cringe.

A hand landed on his shoulder, causing him to flinch and startling Barry, his social worker. "Are you alright, kid?" Barry asked. Grayson shrugged his hand off and joined Peter at the door, keeping his distance. He noticed the automatic gate and realized he'd have to use the backyard to escape if needed.

"Hey! Mr. Barry," a thick voice called from the door.

Grayson looked up at the man and froze. A memory flashed: when he was four, he had gone to the mall with his mom and had felt safe in the arms of a man who looked like a male version of her. Now it clicked—twins.