Broken Hands

43. Despair

Julian groaned as sunlight streaked through the blinds, cutting across his face like sharp blades of light. It was another lazy Saturday, but he had already mapped out a schedule in his mind—one that would involve everyone pitching in. Cleaning the house, maybe trying to cook something edible for once.

Dragging himself out of bed, he shuffled to the bathroom, the chill of the tiles against his feet waking him further. The shower was quick, the cold water doing the rest of the job. He toweled off and pulled on a pair of brown cargo pants and a navy blue T-shirt with a cartoon shark printed across the chest to march his enthusiasm for the day.

The hallway was quiet as he made his way to the kitchen. Inside, the faint aroma of waffles greeted him, though the sight of Russell fumbling with the syrup bottle gave him pause.

"Morning," Julian greeted, grabbing a plate. He took a tentative bite of a waffle, grimacing slightly. It was chewy but not disastrous. "You're improving," he muttered between bites.

"Yeah? Thanks," Russell replied, grinning as his fingers danced across his phone screen.

Julian placed his plate down and stood abruptly. "I'm gonna drag Grayson out here. He has to try these."

Russell reached out, stopping him mid-step. "Don't bother. He's not here. Left with Dad earlier this morning. Something about weekend detention."

Julian froze, his fork hovering mid-air. "Weekend detention?" he repeated, his voice rising with disbelief.

Russell nodded solemnly. "Savanna was probably right. Durham doesn't sound like the healthiest place to be."

Julian sat back down, his appetite fading. "That's insane. What kind of school even does that?" He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck as he mulled over the information. "We should've seen this coming."

"No way, just like we didn't see you and Judith coming." Russell pointed out.

Julian grinned, "hey, that's not the same."

Russell raised a brow, "I bet you speak better French than aunt Lauren."

Julian shook his head, "No match! She's half French."

Russell laughed.

Just then, Damien walked in, his presence commanding as always. He looked between the two boys, his brows raised. "What are you two scheming about now?"

"Nothing," Russell replied quickly, earning a snicker from Julian.

Damien leaned against the counter, his arms crossed. "How's soccer going, Russell?"

Russell straightened. "Pretty good. Got a game next week. Coach says we have to use stamina to win so more practice."

"Good," Damien said with a nod before turning his gaze to Julian. "And skating?"

"Still working on my spins," Julian admitted sheepishly.

Damien smirked faintly, though his tone was firm as always. "Keep at it. I'm glad to see you're all working to improve."

Russell and Julian both nodded at the encouragement.

Julian hesitated for a moment before asking, "What about Grayson? How's he doing with Durham?"

Damien's expression turned unreadable, his tone softening just a bit. "He's learning."

The words hung in the air, heavy with unspoken meaning, before Damien turned and left the room.

Later that afternoon, the doorbell rang, and Savanna strolled in with her usual casual confidence. Her dark curls bounced as she scanned the room. "Where's Grayson?"