Broken Hands

146. Words of Wisdom

Alex's car rolled into the driveway, its tires crunching softly against the gravel before slowing to a stop. Grayson barely noticed. His gaze was fixed on the giant trees swaying in the wind, their branches trembling like outstretched hands. He reached for the handle, but Alex's voice cut through the quiet.

"Keep your phone next to you. I'll check in often."

Grayson paused, fingers hovering over the handle, then gave a short nod.

"No going past these gates," Alex continued. His voice was firm, stern. "Not without my consent or Damien's. Just the two of us. No one else."

Another nod.

Alex sighed, running a hand through his hair, his fingers dragging through the strands like he was trying to ease something off his mind. "I would've taken you to the hospital to see Russell and Julian, but you need rest. And with Damien not home..." He exhaled, as if explaining himself would somehow make it easier. "I have a flight to catch."

Grayson didn't respond. He barely even blinked.

Alex hesitated before adding, "I'll be back tomorrow at noon. Or Damien will."

His stare lingered, but Grayson only nodded. His voice felt foreign to him, but he forced it out anyway. "That's fine."

The door unlocked with a soft click, and Grayson stepped out, the cool air hitting his face. He barely made it two steps before he heard the other door open.

They walked together toward the entrance, greeted by butlers who offered warm smiles and polite bows. Grayson barely acknowledged them. He felt Alex's eyes on him, as if he was reluctant to leave, but duty pulled him away—he had to go see Senior Smith in a separate building, far off from here.

A butler stepped forward, leading Grayson inside. The familiar hiss of the oxygen tank trailed behind him, but he didn't complain. He knew the way, but he let them guide him anyway. The hallways blurred past him, cold, indifferent.

The butler stopped at the door to a large room, holding it open. "If you need anything, sir, just press the button on the wall. I'll be at your service."

Grayson gave a single nod. The butler left, shutting the door with a soft click.

Silence.

He took in the room. Three beds. The space they once shared—before everything shattered. It was here that they had crafted their reckless, self-destructive plans. And it was here that Russell had chosen a fate that was never meant to be his.

Grayson sat on his bed, his ribs flaring with pain, but he ignored it.

His mind drifted back to Mrs. Denise. For the first time, he had answered her questions without anger, without shutting down. And yet, there was no relief. She had praised him, called it a step toward healing. But he had seen the confusion in her eyes—like she was searching for something in him that wasn't there.

He glanced toward the closet, then stood, careful not to let the pain rise. His thoughts shifted to Damien. The way his voice had sounded over the phone. Not just disappointed. Fed up.

And yet, he knew Damien cared.

That's what scared him most.

His phone buzzed, the sound slicing through the silence. He reached into his pocket, pulling it out.

Bleached Face: Hey, are you on?

Grayson stared at the screen.

Memories crashed into him—Marvin High, the way they met, the bond they built. The things they had been through. And now?