Broken Hands

36. R A Y M O N D

Dread clung to Grayson like an unwelcome shadow as he sat on the garden bench, the late afternoon sun casting long, golden streaks across Rosa's meticulously maintained flowerbeds. The garden, usually a calming haven, seemed to amplify the weight pressing on his chest. He sighed, his fingers brushing absentmindedly against the watering can beside him. Rosa's absence was obvious as the black hole in the middle of the universe—her laughter, her constant reminders, her warmth. Grayson missed her, even the nagging.

Determined to keep the garden alive for her, he stood and grabbed the pump. Water arced gracefully, glinting in the light as it rained over the plants. For a moment, he allowed himself to focus solely on the task, pretending that life was as simple as tending to flowers.

Stray burst into view with a flurry of energy, barking furiously as she chased a squirrel across the yard. Grayson jumped at first, his heartbeat quickening, but rolled his eyes as he realized the source of the commotion. "Seriously?" he muttered under his breath, watching Stray's failed attempt to climb the tree after the fleeing rodent.

He turned off the water, set the pump down, and headed back into the house. Stray followed close behind, her tail wagging enthusiastically. Grayson envied the dog's carefree nature.

Inside, Damien was grabbing his keys, his expression as strong as ever. Grayson immediately braced himself for whatever was coming—it was better to be prepared around Damien. The man had a knack for turning even the most mundane interactions into a lecture.

"I've got something to deal with," Damien announced, his tone clipped as he rolled up his sleeves.

Grayson raised a brow but said nothing. How was that his problem?

"And I'll be gone until late," Damien added, finally glancing at him. Relief spread through Grayson, his mind already celebrating the prospect of having the house to himself. A silent "thank you" danced on the edge of his lips.

But, of course, there was a catch.

"I don't trust you alone," Damien said, his tone sharp enough to slice through Grayson's fleeting moment of joy.

Grayson stifled a groan, his hands slipping into his hoodie pockets. Here we go.

"So?" Grayson asked flatly, his voice carefully controlled.

"I called someone to come over," Damien replied, like it was no big deal.

Grayson's jaw tightened. A stranger? Great. This could only end in disaster. He was already conjuring up worst-case scenarios when the doorbell rang, jolting him from his thoughts.

"Guess he's here," Damien said, motioning toward the door.

Grayson dragged himself to open it, already steeling himself for the intrusion. But the moment the door swung open, his frustration melted into genuine surprise.

"Hey! Hey!" a familiar voice rang out.

Grayson blinked, staring at the blond-haired, blue-eyed figure grinning at him like a ray of sunlight breaking through storm clouds.

"Uncle Ray?" Grayson's lips twitched, fighting the urge to smile. This was not what he had expected—but it was so much better.

"One and only!" Raymond announced, then he spotted Damien, "Damie!" he boomed, stepping inside and pulling Damien into a bear hug that was returned with all the enthusiasm of a brick wall. It was typical Damien—cold and unmoving, like a rock destined to sink any ship that crossed its path.

Raymond turned, his bright energy lighting up the room. "So, what's the plan?" he asked cheerfully, clapping his hands together as if they were about to embark on a grand adventure. Even Stray barked in agreement, clearly feeding off his infectious excitement.