Broken Hands

136. Broken Hands

One week since everything fell apart. One week since the dust had settled, leaving behind the wreckage of choices, consequences, and pain.

Russell was recovering, already past the worst of it, his body mending faster than anyone had expected. Grayson, however, was still in the thick of it—his condition fragile, his body barely holding up. The doctors kept him sedated most of the time, not just for rest, but because the pain was unbearable otherwise. He couldn't even sleep on his own.

Alex had been splitting his time between two countries, pulled in every direction. But Grayson couldn't be moved back home yet.

The charges alone made sure of that. (Illegal possession of a firearm, robbery of a vehicle, driving without a valid license, suspected involvement in a shooting, attempted evasion of law enforcement).

The legal pressure weighed on him as heavily as his physical pain. But he wasn't even conscious enough to speak to the authorities to clear these charges.

Most days, he wasn't even awake.

The medication made him sick, left him weak, and when he did open his eyes, it was brief, unfocused, like he wasn't really there. He looked unrecognizable—pale, gaunt, his body barely more than a shell of what it had once been. Alex hated seeing him like that. Hated seeing the kid who had once stood unbreakable, stubborn beyond reason, reduced to something so frail. The doctors kept recommending more painkillers, and Alex kept nodding because what else could he do? And he was afraid—afraid that it ran deeper than the physical hurt, what if he had more mental scars? As if the ones he had were not enough!

At least Russell was healing fast. He'd be starting physical therapy soon.

Alex stepped into the sterile hospital room, the rhythmic beeping of the monitors filling the space. The scent of antiseptic clung to everything, cold and demoralizing.

Raymond sat on a chair by the bed, legs crossed, scrolling through his phone. He barely glanced up when Alex walked in.

"Hey," Alex greeted.

Raymond grunted in response.

Alex sank into the chair beside him. "How's he doing?"

"Stable," Raymond muttered. "Still asleep."

Alex nodded, then glanced at Raymond properly. "What about you? Have you gone home? Gotten some fresh air?"

Raymond hesitated like the question caught him off guard, then he lowered his phone. "No. I wanted to go back to the castle, but..." He trailed off, his gaze drifting to Grayson's motionless form. "I just can't leave. Not while he's like this." A pause. Then, quieter, "Maybe if I had insisted they didn't come along, just maybe—"

"Stop," Alex cut him off, shaking his head. "If you hadn't taken them, they would've gone on their own. You made it safer. If anything, you probably saved them from something worse."

Raymond didn't look convinced.

Alex sighed and placed a hand on his shoulder. "Go home. See Russell. Talk to Father. You need to take a break."

Raymond hesitated. "Come done sit there." Alex urged.

Raymond nodded, "Keep me posted," he said before standing up.

"I will." Alex smiled faintly.

As soon as the door clicked shut behind him, silence settled back into the room.

Alex exhaled and reached for his phone—only to freeze when the monitors spiked.

The sudden beeping filled the room, sharp and insistent.