Broken Hands

111. Raymond and Miami

Raymond hopped into the truck with effortless ease, slamming the door shut behind him. He kicked on the engine and pulled out onto the road, humming as Dolly Parton's 9 to 5 blasted from the speakers.

"Seatbelt," he reminded casually, bobbing his head to the music.

Grayson tugged the belt across his chest, buckling it without even glancing down. His mind was elsewhere, drowning in the storm that had been raging since last night. Sleep had eluded him, and today only made things worse, the sun was too bright and the music was too loud. He had questions—too many—and no answers in sight.

He knew digging into those files would do this to him. That was why he had left them buried for so long. But now that the truth had clawed its way out, it was impossible to ignore. It felt raw, like a fresh wound torn open. And beneath all the confusion and pain, that familiar resentment was back and it burned in his chest.

A bunch of people had decided the course of his life before he even had a chance to live it. They made the choices, and he suffered the aftermath. What would life have been like if things had been different? If he had grown up in the castle, surrounded by family instead of being trapped in Charlie's hell? Would he still be this... Dysfunctional?

"Gray," Raymond's voice cut through his thoughts.

Grayson blinked, glancing over briefly before staring back at the road ahead.

"Russell and Julian told me about yesterday," Raymond continued. "If you wanna go home, it's fine. You just have to say it."

Grayson shook his head. Home meant facing Alex and Damien, and he wasn't ready for that. The castle was the better option—for now. "I'm fine."

Raymond looked like he wanted to push further, but the buzz of Grayson's phone interrupted him.

Grayson glanced at the screen. Mr. Advocate. Alex.

He silenced the call.

Raymond arched a brow. "Go ahead."

"I don't want to talk to them right now," Grayson muttered, leaning back into his seat, eyes following the blur of trees outside the window.

Raymond nodded, watching him for a moment. "Still mad at them? I never got the full story. What happened?"

Grayson exhaled slowly, already hating the thought of explaining himself again. "They want me to go to college. I don't want to go to college. It drives me insane. I want to do moto racing. They think it's not worth it. I told them the truth, got yelled at, got hit, then Damien said it wasn't happening. So, I walked out. End of story."

Raymond pressed his lips into a thin line, eyes thoughtful. "Sucks." Then he went ahead to add, "You wanna do moto racing. Why?"

Grayson turned his head slightly, shooting him a look. "Because I enjoy it. You know that."

Raymond shrugged. "Yeah, I know you love riding. But the competition—why that?"

Grayson hesitated. His mind was too cluttered, too restless to give a perfect answer. "Because... it's even better. And I don't get pulled over by the cops for speeding."

Raymond let out a quiet chuckle, nodding. "I get that. But if you're serious, it's not just about riding fast. First, you'd have to get enrolled in a center, get trained properly, learn the ins and outs of professional racing. If you get validated, then you can start competing."

Grayson frowned slightly. "I already know how to ride."

Raymond shook his head. "There's always a professional way to do the things we learned naturally."