Broken Hands

70. Aiden's on the brink

Grayson strolled down the street, his feet scraping against the cracked pavement. The fading evening light stretched shadows across the road, and the air carried a faint chill that hinted at nightfall. He was still a few blocks from home and had no plans to linger. Homework awaited, then sleep, and then another day of enduring Durham's relentless grind.

His thoughts drifted, unbidden, back to Savanna. Her embrace lingered in his mind like the echo of a melody, warm and comforting. He could still feel it on his skin, soft yet grounding, a moment of peace that surrounded him. He wished he'd stayed longer, and listened to her chatter about Maya and Phoebe or her plans for applying to a university nearby. Her voice had a way of quieting his restless mind. But curfew loomed, as did his constant effort to avoid causing trouble.

As he rounded the corner, his phone buzzed in his pocket. He fumbled for it, pulling it free from his blazer.

"Aid," he answered shortly.

"Grayz, you gotta come to my block. Now. Please," Aiden's voice came through, rushed and strained.

Grayson glanced at his watch—6 p.m. Curfew was in an hour. "I can't—"

"Please, it's urgent!"

Grayson sighed, cutting the call and picking up his pace. He moved quickly, glancing at his watch every few minutes, the urgency in Aiden's voice gnawing at him.

When he arrived, Aiden was perched on the low fence outside his block, a cigarette burning between his fingers, its ember glowing red against the deepening dusk. The shadows seemed to swallow him where he sat, his dark skin blending seamlessly with the night.

Grayson approached and sat beside him, setting his bag and blazer on the side. "What's up, Aid?" he asked, noticing the uncharacteristic lack of energy in his friend. Aiden was never the one to stay calm.

Aiden turned his head slowly, offering a dull handshake. "Hey, Grayz."

Grayson studied him, his usual sharpness dulled by a faint unease. "Sitting here with a smoke in hand, brooding in the dark? That's your thing when you're trying to keep it together."

Aiden exhaled, a bitter laugh slipping through the smoke. "Yeah, well... my life's a mess, man." He flicked the cigarette absently. "Want a drag?"

The acrid scent of nicotine curled through the air, teasing Grayson's senses. His body yearned for it, like a starving dog, just one drag or two. But his mind snapped back with a warning—CONSEQUENCES.

He shook his head. "I quitted," he said simply, though the admission felt heavier than he expected.

Aiden's eyes widened in surprise. "Why?"

Grayson shrugged. "It was screwing up my health, and too many people cared and it wasn't worth it."

Aiden let out a low whistle, nodding slowly. "Tried quitting once. It's brutal. Like starving for a whole year and still craving more."

Grayson nodded. "Yeah. Luckily, I wasn't hooked and I had a good reason. I found other ways to deal with the cravings."

Aiden smirked faintly, his expression tinged with mischief. "Don't tell me you're on the pills now."

"Not the hard stuff," Grayson admitted.

Aiden nodded again, drawing a deep drag from his cigarette and exhaling a thick cloud of smoke. He leaned back, his voice dropping. "You're a good kid, Grayz, better than me, you're trying so much. But my parents? They don't see it. My mom's always saying, 'That white boy could do anything and get away with it, but you? You can't. They'll shoot your ass before you even blink."