Broken Hands

62. Explosive truth

Alex sat at the edge of his bed, the glow of his laptop illuminating his face in faint, shifting hues. The silence of the house settled heavily around him, broken only by the occasional creak of the floorboards as the old house settled into the night. He was wrapping up some documents but finding it hard to focus. Lately, the thought of switching careers lingered more persistently in his mind. Something less demanding. Something that would allow him to be present—really present—for Julian.

Grayson and Russell would be leaving for college soon, and Julian had another year of high school to navigate. Alex was determined not to miss any part of it. Julian's mother rarely showed up, her guilt or her busyness—he wasn't sure which—keeping her at a distance. Alex had stopped trying to reach out; her peace wasn't something he wanted to disturb.

He sighed and rubbed his temples, the glow of the laptop dim against the shadows, when a voice broke through the stillness.

"Can we talk?"

Alex jumped, his heart lurching at the unexpected intrusion. He turned sharply to see Grayson standing in the doorway, almost swallowed by the darkness of the hall.

"You startled me," Alex said softly, his voice tinged with surprise.

Grayson didn't move, his figure rigid against the doorway.

"Switch on the light," Alex said, his eyes flicking to the clock on the bedside table. 1 a.m.

But Grayson didn't comply. Instead, he stepped into the room, bypassing the light switch entirely, and sat heavily on the edge of the bed beside Alex. His gaze remained fixed on the floor, refusing to meet Alex's questioning eyes.

Frowning, Alex leaned over to switch on the lamp. The warm, muted glow filled the space, casting long shadows across the room but leaving much of it steeped in semi-darkness. He studied Grayson, his posture tense and hunched over, elbows resting on his knees.

"Nightmares?" Alex asked, closing his laptop and setting it aside.

Grayson shook his head. "Just..." he started, his voice trailing off into a sigh. He looked distant, lost in his thoughts.

Alex waited, his concern mounting.

"When you asked this morning if I was taking the prescribed pills..." Grayson began, his voice low.

Alex nodded, his expression neutral.

"Well..." Grayson faltered. "I lied."

The admission hung in the air. Alex didn't react outwardly—he'd already suspected as much—but he stayed silent, giving Grayson space to continue.

Grayson inhaled deeply, holding up a small pill bottle in his hand. His grip on it was tight, almost desperate.

"I tried a different one. Took a higher dose. I thought it would work better, but it didn't. Which is why I collasped. The nurse was right," he admitted, his voice barely audible by the end.

Alex reached for the bottle, his fingers brushing against Grayson's as he took it. His heart sank as he read the label. This wasn't what had been prescribed. He recognized it as one of the medications the therapist had explicitly cautioned against.

"Why?" Alex asked, his voice carefully controlled.

Grayson tensed, his hands curling into fists in his lap. His jaw tightened before he finally shrugged. "I was stressed. And worried. But that's no excuse. It was stupid," he admitted, his voice heavy with regret.

Alex nodded, hiding his shock behind a mask of calm.

Grayson hesitated before speaking again, his voice even quieter. "And... about the bike. I wasn't riding it. My friend was. We got chased by a car in the dark. The brakes gave out. When we saw the cops, we tried to slow down, to get help, but we couldn't. We had to jump off."