Broken Hands

57. Always at fault

Damien's calm was surreal. He stood at the police station counter, signing off on the paperwork with a measured, deliberate motion that set Grayson on edge. Grayson recognized this facade all too well—the kind of calm that concealed a storm, simmering beneath the surface. Damien wasn't just angry; he was ready to unleash it, and Grayson felt like he was sitting on a powder keg.

Grayson shifted uncomfortably, acutely aware of Damien's piercing eyes that hadn't even glanced in his direction yet. The man's jaw was hard, his movements precise, and even the way he nodded at the officer who handed him back his ID carried a weight that made the air feel heavier.

When Damien was like this it could only mean one thing, huge trouble.

Grayson's mind raced as he stood to the side, tapping his foot nervously. He hadn't thought through how Damien would react to this—the breaking curfew, the forbidden motorcycle ride, the police arrest. And Aiden. Oh, Damien had warned him about Aiden. Reckless, unpredictable friends, he'd said.

None of it was Grayson's fault—at least, that's what he kept telling himself. The black car had chased them, forcing them to speed. They hadn't been joyriding; they'd been trying to survive. But Damien wouldn't see it that way. He'd see the danger, the recklessness, and maybe even the hints of Grayson slipping back into bad habits and purposefully disobeying him. And that thought made Grayson's chest press.

"Let's go," Damien said finally. His voice was low, even, and cold. The kind of tone that promised there was more to come but not in public.

Grayson stood quickly, glancing at Aiden, who followed silently. They walked out of the station, Damien leading the way like a grim shadow.

Grayson didn't even try for the front seat; he slid into the back with Aiden. The silence was a silent death sentence, and Grayson struggled to regulate his breathing. Inhale through the nose. Exhale through the mouth. He couldn't afford to lose it, he couldn't concentrate on what Damien would do that would be too much, nor could he think of anything else. He desperately tried to suppress his thoughts. What had happened with Amber or what will happen with Damien.

Aiden fidgeted beside him, casting concerned glances his way. Grayson didn't acknowledge him. He couldn't. He was using every ounce of control to keep himself from having a melt down.

The hum of the engine filled the silence until Damien's voice broke through like a lightening. "Where do you live, Aiden?"

Aiden straightened, his voice shaky. "Down the road to the left, sir."

Damien nodded once, his grip on the wheel firm as he turned into the street. They pulled up outside the modest house with the porch lit with beautiful LEDs.

"This time it is not our fault," Aiden whispered, glancing at Grayson as he climbed out of the car.

But Grayson barely heard him. His focus shifted to Damien, who, to his horror, opened the driver's side door and stepped out.

Grayson's eyes followed Damien panic spreading as he watched him stride toward the house.

Aiden froze on the porch, his shoulders tense. The door opened, flooding the porch with warm light as someone inside allowed Damien in.

Grayson's throat tightened. He shoved his trembling hands into his pockets, squeezing them into fists as his mind spun with every possible scenario. What was Damien saying to them? Was he making sure Aiden never came near him again? Was he threatening Aiden's family?

Of course not, Damien would never do that.

Maybe

Seconds felt like hours. Grayson shut his eyes, trying to block out the anxiety mounting up to his head. His breaths came shallow and rapid, and he fought to steady himself, but the silence of the car felt like it was pressing in on him, suffocating him.