The air caught in Grayson's throat as he coughed, sharp pain stabbing through his ribs with every step. His knuckles were battered, bruised, and streaked with blood, and he could feel his lip throbbing-probably split. He glanced at his cracked watch, another casualty from the fight. With a resigned sigh, he pushed open the gate, his steps heavy.
Once again, he'd broken curfew. He'd also ditched his tracker somewhere down the block, leaving no trace for anyone to track him only to retrieve it later. Stray was waiting on the porch, her tail wagging as she darted over to greet him, licking at his hand. He gave her a distracted pat and made his way inside.
The lights were still on. He muttered a curse under his breath, and just then, he heard a small gasp. Rosa stood there, her face a mask of shock as she took in his appearance. Before he could slip past, she was by his side, her eyes filled with worry as she pulled him toward the kitchen.
"What happened?" Her voice was gentle, but her eyes were intense, searching his face for answers.
Grayson forced himself to stay neutral, slipping on a calm mask. "Got jumped," he mumbled without much thought. Lying was second nature, but even he could feel how hollow it sounded. Right now, though, it was easier than the truth.
Rosa's brow creased, and her lips pressed into a thin line as she guided him to sit on a stool. She grabbed a towel and wet it with warm water, then started dabbing at the cut on his lip. "Thieves?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper as she studied his injuries.
"Yeah." His voice was flat, not bothering with any detail.
She winced as she cleaned the wound. "Let me get the disinfectant," she murmured, stepping away for a moment. He watched her go, his fingers curling around the towel as he tried to wipe the blood off his knuckles himself. The sting of his raw skin was grounding.
When she returned with the alcohol, she gently applied it to his knuckles, and though he barely flinched, her worried eyes flicked up to his. "Alex won't be pleased," she murmured, half to herself.
Grayson nodded. "I know."
Rosa's frown deepened. "Gray, I know things have been tough on you lately, but please... try to stay out of trouble." Her voice was soft but pleading, her eyes scanning his face with concern as if she knew the truth beyond his words.
"Thanks, Rosa. Really." He meant it, though his voice barely rose above a whisper.
Rosa's lips lifted in a small, gentle smile. "That's alright." She reached for a cup, filling it with tea and sliding it to him. He took it, the warmth seeping into his sore hands, and lifted it to his mouth, hoping it might soothe his raw throat-even if it couldn't touch the ache gnawing inside.
Just then, Russell strolled into the kitchen, heading straight for the fridge. He grabbed a bottle of yogurt, but when he turned and saw Grayson, he froze. His eyes widened as he took in the bruises, his mouth falling open slightly. "What the...?" He trailed off, moving closer, his forehead creased with alarm. "Grayson, what happened?"
Rosa answered for him. "He got jumped." She passed Grayson the cubes of sugar, and he took it gratefully, not meeting Russell's gaze.
Russell looked stunned, his expression caught between shock and anger. "Where?" he asked, staring at him.
Grayson shrugged, doing his best to keep his voice even. "It's not a big deal."
"Not a big deal?" Russell's voice was laced with frustration. "Did they steal from you? Why were you out so late?" His questions fired off, the concern raw in his eyes.
Grayson clenched his jaw, fighting to keep his temper in check. Russell didn't understand-he couldn't. He had bigger problems right now, problems he couldn't explain.
YOU ARE READING
Broken Hands
Teen FictionGrayson's life seems full of roses, but beneath the petals lies a tangled garden of inner battles and shadows that linger even after Charlie is gone. Each day feels as heavy as the last, yet he pushes through the pain and the trauma. Troubles arise...