Broken Hands

37. R A Y

Raymond placed a hand on Grayson's shoulder, his grip gentle but firm. "They're strict because they care. Damien's not just being hard on you for the sake of it."

Grayson swallowed hard, his voice dropping. "I love riding, though. Do I have to give it up?"

Raymond offered a small smile. "Not entirely. I ride sometimes too, you know."

Grayson's eyes lit up faintly, hope flickering through the cloud of disappointment. "Really?"

Raymond nodded, his voice steady. "But here's the thing—you need to do it responsibly. Supervision matters. Life comes fast at your age, but it's worth slowing down to think before you act. Our hearts don't always lead us the right way."

Grayson frowned thoughtfully, his hands fidgeting with the hem of his hoodie. "So... what now? They'll never let me ride again after hearing all this."

Raymond's smile widened. "Hey, that's fine. You can ride with me. I'll make sure you're safe."

Grayson's face lit up fully this time, a rare, genuine smile breaking through. "Fine."

The rush of wind against Grayson's face felt exhilarating, almost meditative. The hum of the motorcycle beneath him was like a soft heartbeat, steady and reassuring. He wasn't defying anyone this time, no adrenaline-fueled rebellion or reckless defiance. It was freedom, pure and simple—freedom with a safety net. For the first time he was riding, it felt right.

Raymond cruised alongside him, his own bike moving effortlessly, a picture of calm control. "See?" Raymond called over the noise. "You don't have to go full throttle to enjoy it. Sometimes, slow and steady is where the joy is."

Grayson shot him a glance, his lips curving into a faint grin. He adjusted his grip on the handlebars and focused on maintaining the smooth pace Raymond had taught him. The world around them seemed to blur, not in speed but in tranquility. It was just the road, the bikes, and the quiet camaraderie between them.

After a while, they pulled up to the rental garage. Grayson swung off his bike, stretching out his legs with a contented sigh. "Not bad," he admitted, his usual guarded expression softening.

Raymond smirked as he paid the fees. "Not bad? You were glowing out there, kid."

Grayson didn't deny it, a quiet pride flickering in his eyes. They climbed into Raymond's car, where Paul Anka "Put your head on my shoulder" crooned gently through the speakers. Grayson leaned back, Stray's soft snores from the back seat adding to the serenity of the moment.

Back home, Grayson pushed the door open, Stray bounding in happily ahead of them. Raymond followed, clapping a hand on Grayson's shoulder. "You nailed it out there."

Grayson shrugged but couldn't hide his grin. "Guess I'm a natural."

"Natural at being hungry, maybe," he teased, flopping onto the couch. "What do you say we whip up something to eat? I've been practicing my cooking skills."

Grayson raised an eyebrow but nodded. "Why not? Let's see what you've got."

The kitchen quickly filled with a chaotic harmony of clinking utensils and playful banter. Raymond read out the instructions with exaggerated seriousness, while Grayson executed them with a mix of concentration and smirks.

"Stir, but not too hard," Raymond directed.

Grayson paused mid-stir, quirking an eyebrow. "You mean like this?" He exaggeratedly churned the pot, sending noodles flying.

Raymond groaned dramatically. "You're hopeless! But at least you're entertaining."

Laughter filled the air as they worked together to create a surprisingly decent macaroni and cheese. Grayson plated the food with mock precision, mimicking a professional chef. "Bon appétit," he declared, handing Raymond his plate.