Broken Hands

32. The Fight

Russell weaved through the crowded hallway, muttering hurried apologies as he ducked under a student's precariously balanced volcano project. His breath came short by the time he broke free from the chaos, his eyes locking on Amber Woods ahead. She walked with her friends, red hair catching the light and tumbling down her back like flames. Her copper eyes darted toward him as he called out, "Amber!"

She turned, her hair swishing dramatically as her gaze met his. She was beautiful in a quiet way, the kind that went unnoticed because she usually kept her head down. But today, there was something in her stance—confidence simmering just beneath the surface.

"Hi, Russell," she said softly, a small, polite smile on her lips.

"Didn't mean to startle you," he said, forcing a casual tone as he rubbed the back of his neck.

Amber tilted her head slightly. "What's up?"

Russell hesitated for a second, then cut to the chase. "It's about Grayson. Can we talk? Just for a minute?"

Amber exchanged a look with her blue-haired friend, who nodded and walked off with another girl dressed head-to-toe in black. Amber gestured for Russell to follow her, leading him to the rooftop.

Once there, her demeanor shifted. She crossed her arms, leaning slightly against the railing, her voice firm. "Okay, what's this about?"

Russell cleared his throat, unsure how to phrase it delicately. "You knew about Grayson's gang...how?"

Amber shrugged, her expression unreadable. "We're dating. Of course, he'd tell me something like that."

Russell's brow furrowed. "He didn't tell us—his family."

Amber's lips twisted into a wry smile. "Maybe because you don't pay attention. Grayson feels suffocated sometimes. When he needs support the most, it's not there. That's why he leans on me." Her tone was tinged with pride, but her words stung.

Russell stiffened. "That's not true. We've always been there for him. Has he been telling you otherwise?"

Amber's copper eyes locked on his, sharp and unyielding. "He doesn't have to. It's obvious."

"What do you mean by that?" Russell asked, his voice rising slightly.

She tilted her head, almost pitying him. "Ever notice why Grayson always wears long sleeves? Or why he keeps a blade on him?"

Russell bristled. "That's none of your business," he snapped, his protective instinct flaring. She didn't have to know Grayson was insecure about his scars.

Amber didn't back down. "And there it is. Denial." She rolled her sleeve up, revealing pale scars crisscrossing her forearm. Her voice softened as her gaze dropped. "I've been where he is, Russell. Without me, you might've already lost him."

Russell's throat tightened, his words caught somewhere between disbelief and anger as he tried to make out what she meant when she mentioned the blade, "Grayson doesn't self-harm," he finally managed, though his conviction wavered.

Amber glanced at him one last time, sadness written across her face. "You're blind if you think that." She walked past him, leaving Russell rooted to the spot, his mind racing.

The bell rang, jarring him back to reality. The hallway was a cacophony of noise as students poured out of classrooms, eager to leave. Russell spotted Julian among a group of friends, and when their eyes met, Julian broke away, sensing something was wrong.

"What's up?" Julian asked, falling into step beside him.

"Later," Russell muttered, his jaw tight.