Broken Hands

116. Just sneaking

The drive to Miami was dead silent, except for the heavy bass of Raymond's music vibrating through the car. Russell sat in the back, stealing glances at Grayson, who hadn't spoken a word since they left. Something was off. He couldn't quite put his finger on it, but he knew Grayson—when he wasn't eating, wasn't sleeping, and had that hollow look in his eyes, trouble was brewing.

And Russell hated it.

If Grayson didn't sleep, he wouldn't be able to ride. And if he couldn't ride, what was the point of this trip?

Russell exhaled, shifting slightly in his seat. He thought for a moment, then decided to try something—something Julian used to do. Whenever Julian leaned on Grayson, Grayson would let his guard down, even if just a little. But if Julian moved, even an inch, Grayson would snap awake in a heartbeat.

So, Russell took the risk.

He stretched out, faking exhaustion, and let his head drop onto Grayson's shoulder like it was just the most natural thing in the world.

Grayson groaned but didn't push him off. Didn't say a word. Just turned his head toward the window and kept staring out like he wasn't fully there.

Raymond caught Russell's eye in the rearview mirror. Russell shot him a small, satisfied smirk before going back to his anime, pretending like he wasn't paying attention.

A few minutes passed. Then a few more.

Russell peeked up, careful not to move too much.

Grayson was asleep.

Russell let out a slow, victorious breath and settled in.

"Boys! We're here."

Raymond's voice jolted them both awake, his hand ruffling their hair like they were kids. Russell groaned, swatting him away.

The car rolled to a stop in a driveway. It was late—too dark to make out much—but the glow of a porch light illuminated a standard-looking family home.

Russell barely processed it. He just wanted a bed.

Inside, Raymond was talking about something—where they'd be sleeping, maybe? Russell wasn't listening. He spotted a bed, and that was all he needed. Grayson had already taken Raymond's, and Russell didn't think twice before climbing in beside him.

He was out cold within minutes.

Russell dreamed about soccer—about a match where he was on the field, ready to score, when suddenly Cooper took him out, hard. Pain exploded in his legs. The game was lost. The ref blew the whistle. And then, just as Cooper was about to be hauled off to jail—

A sharp shake pulled Russell out of the dream.

He groaned, rolling over to get away from the annoyance.

But it didn't stop.

"Get up," a voice whispered.

Russell cracked his eyes open, frowning.

Grayson was standing over him, shadowed in the dark, holding up a set of keys.

Russell blinked. "Huh?"

Grayson didn't answer. Just smacked him upside the head.

Russell sat up with a growl, rubbing the spot. "Damn it! What the hell?"

Grayson's expression was unreadable. "Remember?" His voice was low, dead serious.

Russell squinted at him, still half-asleep.

Then it clicked.

"The tournament," he muttered.

Grayson nodded once.