Broken Hands

28. Too soft

The ride home was filled with a suffocating silence. Alex gripped the steering wheel as he stared at the road, his thoughts brewing like a storm he was barely keeping at bay. He had plenty to say—so much he could almost feel the words pressing against his throat. But he held back. He needed to let Grayson sit with the weight of what he'd done, to let him settle in his own thoughts rather than panic over impending punishment. What Grayson needed was understanding, the knowledge that, despite his mistakes, his family wouldn't abandon him. Because deep down, Grayson was just a kid—one who'd been forced to grow up too fast, who thought he could handle the world alone.

Alex stole a glance in the rearview mirror, catching sight of Grayson staring moodily out the window. He looked like he'd rather be anywhere but here, his brows knit in frustration as he gazed at the passing trees. Alex could see the tension simmering in him, the quiet anger building.

They pulled into the driveway just as the first drops of rain began to fall, signaling the slow descent into winter. Alex shut off the engine and got out, watching as Grayson quickly unlocked the door and made his way inside, his shoulders tense. Alex followed him up to the porch, bracing himself for whatever might happen next.

Inside, Grayson froze, his face paling as he spotted Damien sitting on the couch, a coffee mug in hand as he watched the evening news. Alex didn't like how the boys seemed to tense up around Damien, but he understood it. He'd been the same way when he was younger.

Damien's gaze locked on Grayson, cool and unreadable, before Grayson broke eye contact and bolted up the stairs, disappearing down the hallway without a word.

Alex moved to the couch, dropping his keys and laying his coat over the back as he loosened his tie. He settled in next to Damien, who hadn't taken his eyes off the TV.

"Keep this up, and you'll be old before you know it," Damien said, his voice casual, though his tone didn't match the tension hanging in the air.

Alex rolled his eyes but said nothing, too preoccupied with his worries about Grayson to care much about his own aging.

Damien finally shifted, casting a sidelong glance at Alex. "What a mess. I want the whole story, Alex. How did it get this bad?"

"It's not that bad—it's just mistakes," Alex replied defensively. "Grayson's made a few bad choices, sure, but he's a good kid. He'll get through this."

Damien leaned back, draping his arm over the top of the couch. "Then why didn't you tell me sooner?"

Alex's gaze drifted to the black brace around Damien's left arm, the one hiding the scar left from a gunshot wound. "You got shot, Damien. I didn't want to overwhelm you with more problems."

Damien raised an eyebrow. "I didn't say I'd be overwhelmed."

Alex sighed, running a hand over his face. "Grayson's a good kid, Damien. He's just... going through a rough patch."

"And he's dragging you through it with him. Belonging to a gang, assaulting another student, getting expelled, sneaking out at night, taking a lot of risks—all sounds like things a 'good kid' wouldn't be mixed up in."

Alex bristled. "He's struggling, Damien. We're trying to help him through it."

Damien scoffed. "Sometimes, people create their own struggles, Alex. That's what happens when you think rules are optional. When you push yourself past the point of reason, you fall into foolishness."

"It started with him breaking curfew," Alex said, his voice heavy. "I tried talking to him, tried to set boundaries, but he saw it differently. We fought, and then he just shut me out completely. Maybe if I'd been less strict, if I'd given him more freedom, he wouldn't have felt the need to hide everything from us."

Damien shook his head, a faint, sarcastic smile on his face. "Your fault? No, your real mistake was being too soft. You've treated him differently from the others. Grayson doesn't respond to softness, Alex. He needs boundaries—boundaries with real consequences. You made him think he could get away with anything, and now he doesn't know what a limit is. You can't expect him to understand balance when you've overlooked his actions time and again."

Alex ran a hand over his face, struggling with the weight of Damien's words. "Are you saying I should've... hit him?"

Damien's gaze was steady. "I didn't say that. But discipline isn't about softness or hitting. It's about teaching him that actions have consequences. Grounding him won't work. Grayson thrives in silence; he doesn't need to leave his room. You know that. He grew up differently, Alex."

Alex exhaled, feeling the tension drain from his body. "I know, but he's been through so much, Damien. I can't bring myself to hurt him or add to his struggles. He barely sleeps at night, and he's struggling with everything."

Damien nodded, his face unreadable. "So, you pity him? You're letting him risk throwing away his life because you think disciplining him might damage him? Because from here, it looks the same."

Alex shut his eyes, his voice barely above a whisper. "I don't pity him. I love him too much to do something that might push him away or hurt him even more."

Damien took a slow sip of his coffee, his gaze steady. "Alex, Alex... Look, I don't blame you. Maybe I shouldn't have been away so long."

Alex shook his head, a weary sigh escaping. "What do we do now, Damien?"

A heavy silence hung between them until Damien finally spoke. "I'll see to it tomorrow. Right now, we all need some quiet. Time to take this all in. By the way, what was he in the hospital for?"

Alex looked down, almost ashamed. "A kind woman found him in the street. He'd passed out with drugs in his system... fentanyl. Blues."

Damien's face hardened, and he set down his coffee. "He's using drugs now?"

"I don't think so... at least, he's never shown signs. He always just looks... somber. Tired maybe." Alex's words were uncertain, laced with guilt.

Damien leaned back, taking another sip with a measured calm. "Grayson's good at hiding things. Don't worry, I'll get him straightened out. He'll be better than before—trust me." His tone was firm, almost like a promise to himself.

Alex shot him a wary look. "Damien, be gentle. He's been through enough. The last thing he needs is more trauma."

Damien reached for the remote, clicking the volume up on the TV as if to shut down further argument. "You tried gentle, Alex. This time, we'll take a different approach."

Alex opened his mouth to respond, but his phone buzzed, cutting him off. Seeing the number, he took a breath, then picked up. "Mr. Smith, the case has been transferred to higher authorities in San Francisco," a voice informed him, cool and direct.

Alex pinched the bridge of his nose. "Wait—so the team has to relocate? They can't just shift the case without notifying us first. I don't need this right now. This is the last time I take a contract with them if they're going to keep playing around like this." He was tense, clearly frustrated.

"Understood, sir," the voice on the other end replied.

"Notify the team," Alex instructed, exhaling heavily. "We're moving tomorrow." He ended the call with a frustrated swipe.

Damien looked at him, eyebrows raised. "I'm barely back, and you're off."

Alex slumped into the couch, defeated. "I hate this."

Damien smirked, leaning in. "So... when are you finally retiring?"

Alex shot him a look. "The day you do, Damien. Oldest first."

Damien rolled his eyes as Alex stood to leave. "Tell the boys!" Damien called after him.

"Sure," Alex muttered, half-heartedly, his voice fading down the hall.

A/N

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