Safe Hands

49. The Past Returns

School had become a different world for Grayson. In the hallways, students whispered his name, their voices carrying a mix of awe and fear. Junior high students stepped aside when he passed, their wide eyes fixed on him as if he were some kind of legend. Even among the senior high students, he'd gained a reputation, though not one he'd ever sought. The story of the fight with Miles had spread like wildfire, and no one could talk about anything else for weeks.

Miles, who had been laid off from the football team until the next semester, kept his distance. He hadn't lost his popularity, but the incident had made things worse for the usual victims of bullying. The school's chaotic energy remained the same—a world of noise and the relentless grind of assignments—but Grayson felt a shift. He was less alone now, more encouraged to turn in his work on time, and avoid talking back to teachers, at least to their faces.

Grayson sat in the library, his eyes fixed on Savanna. She was chewing on her pen, her brows furrowed in concentration as she stared at a math equation he'd explained at least a dozen times. Even with Alex's theory, it just wasn't clicking for her. She was easily distracted, and it was clear she just wanted him to do the work for her. It was frustrating, but he kept his composure. She was dumb, very dumb—but even the dumbest person could be smart if they really wanted to be.

"Go ahead, call me dumb," Savanna huffed, finally giving up.

"You're dumb," Grayson replied flatly, packing his books into his bag. "Same time, same place tomorrow, same math."

Savanna frowned, leaning back in her chair. "You're not a good tutor, Grayson. There's no life in what you do. You don't teach right."

He continued to pack his things, ignoring her attempts to provoke him. Rising from his seat without another word, he headed for detention. One hour—it wasn't bad, but he hated the way Mr. Harris would always try to talk to him like he had some deep-seated problem.

During detention, Grayson tried to focus on the graffiti he was sketching in his notebook. But as expected, Mr. Harris approached, striking up a conversation. Grayson bit back his irritation, responding as emotionlessly as he could, though his patience was wearing thin.

When detention finally ended, he checked his phone. Julian had texted—they were home. Of course, they had left him behind. Grayson trudged to the bus stop and boarded the next bus. The drive was long, the familiar landscape blurring past the windows. As the bus rumbled along, memories of his past began to surface, unbidden and unwelcome.

He remembered the days when he had to walk home from elementary school because Charlie wouldn't give him money for bus fare. The long, exhausting treks had left his body aching, and when he got home, there was no rest. Charlie always had more chores waiting for him, and on the worst nights, Charlie would come home drunk, making the next day's trek even more painful. Grayson had never understood why Charlie treated him the way he did.

He remembered his first beating vividly. He'd lived with his mother and Charlie for as long as he could remember, but one day, when he was five, everything changed. Charlie, who had always ignored him, suddenly noticed him. What followed was the worst pain of his young life—not a simple scratch from a fall or a minor cut, but real pain. Charlie had grabbed a switch from the backyard and lashed out at him, all because Grayson had been playing instead of doing chores—chores he didn't even know existed.

His mother had been out, leaving Charlie in charge, supposedly to protect him, but instead, Charlie became his tormentor. When his mother returned that night, Grayson had pretended to be asleep, his small body curled up in fear. She never made it past the door, and he heard the sounds of bottles clinking and the gruff tones of Charlie's voice. The next day, she was gone before he even woke up, and the cycle continued for months. The punishments grew worse—long hours locked in the closet, meals withheld, beatings that left him bruised and broken.