Broken Hands

143. Peter's Perez's

The morning light seeped through the blinds, casting pale streaks across the room, but there was nothing warm or welcoming about it. It felt cold, detached—just like everything else lately.

Grayson sat on the edge of the bed, his fingers brushing over the rib brace before he secured it in place. A sharp, burning pain spread through his side, forcing him to clench his jaw. Every breath felt like punishment, a reminder of the decisions that had landed him back here instead of at the castle for the holidays.

His bags were still at the castle, but he wasn't sure if he'd be going back. If he should be going back.

His gaze drifted to the oxygen mask resting beside him on the nightstand. Just looking at it made his stomach twist. The damn thing made his nostrils raw, and even though he was told he still needed it, he wasn't putting it on.

Standing, he moved toward the mirror, catching sight of his reflection. He paused.

He looked different. He felt different.

His hair was neatly trimmed in a low buzz-cut—too neat, like someone had cut it while he was out cold. His face was marked with fading bruises, his skin paler than usual. The cut on his lip had nearly healed, but when he touched it, he still felt the faint sting. His fingers drifted up to his temple, to the exact spot where Mandor had pressed the gun.

His breathing slowed.

His eyes shut for a second too long, and the memory rushed in like a forceful tide. The cold metal. Mandor's voice, low and taunting. This is where it ends, kid. He should've pulled the trigger before Perez intervened.

Grayson's eyes snapped open, and he exhaled sharply, grounding himself back into the present.

He was alive. That should have meant something.

But did it?

Everyone acted like it was over. Like things had settled. But they hadn't.

His back still ached from the wound that had barely begun to heal. Russell—would never play soccer again. The sport was his life, and now it was gone. And Rita... she saw him as a threat. Maybe Nora did too. Neither of them wanted him near their family.

Damien was mad. No, beyond mad. Low-key disappointed but masking it with that cold logic of his. Alex—he was exhausted, worn out by all of it. Raymond? The man was in disbelief, maybe even feeling betrayed.

Julian... Julian had been shaken to his core. Kid might develop trust issues because of this. Or worse, he'd start worrying too much, constantly checking up on them, scared they'd disappear.

And him?

He caused all of this.

That thought alone was enough to bury him.

But he had to fix what he could. Not that anything was fixable. Not really. But maybe he could make it less chaotic.

His phone buzzed against the nightstand.

Grayson blinked, his thoughts scattering. He hadn't realized he turned the damn thing on last night.

He glanced at the screen.

Savanna.

His hand moved automatically, almost reaching for it—then he stopped.

A familiar thought sank in. How long before she gets hurt?

Russell had already gotten caught in the web. Savanna had barely escaped. What made him think it was over?

He thought it was over two years ago, too. Well a big mistake!