Broken Hands

153. Kill it!

Alex's announcement that he and Nora were getting back together wasn't exactly unpredictable. But Grayson had noticed the signs—the little moments, the close interactions. Julian, on the other hand, wasn't expecting it, and he was so overjoyed

Grayson wished he could tell him that, he saw it coming.

But ever since the party, Julian had seemed to take a step back from him. Their conversations weren't the same. He still tried sometimes, but there was distance, and Grayson didn't know if it was because Julian had finally given up or if he was just too caught up with schoolwork.

Maybe it was for the best.

"Over there," Senior Smith whispered, breaking through Grayson's thoughts. "She's a big one."

Grayson followed his gesture, his gaze landing on the deer standing in the clearing.

The older man handed him the rifle. "It's all yours."

Grayson reached for it. The rifle felt like a heavyweight in Grayson's hands, a tool he didn't know how to wield. The cold metal sank into his palm, sending a chill up his arm as he aimeed. His fingers brushed the trigger, but he didn't squeeze, didn't move. He was numb, detached from everything around him. His body was still, but his mind was a swirl of thoughts. The world around him was frozen, the quiet hum of the forest the only sound as his breath came slow and steady.

Senior Smith's voice cut through the stillness, low and calm, like the rustle of leaves in the wind. "Steady now. Aim at the heart. Breathe. Then pull the trigger when you're ready."

Grayson's gaze locked on the deer. His eyes traced its lithe form, its muscles flexing as it grazed, unaware. The wind tugged at the leaves, the scent of pine thick in the air. His heart hammered in his chest, but his face was a mask of stillness, void of emotion. The world felt strangely distant, as if he were watching it through a fog.

Everything slowed.

His hands moved automatically, shifting the rifle into position. His finger hovered over the trigger, sweaty. He breathed in deep, the air sharp and biting against his throat. As he exhaled, he let his finger press down, the sound of the shot ringing out like thunder in the silence.

The deer's body jerked violently, the crack of the bullet meeting its flesh echoing in the air. For a split second, time seemed to freeze, the animal's body twisting in a final, desperate attempt to escape but it crashed. Its legs flailed, its head jerking back as the life drained from its eyes. The blood bloomed from its chest, spreading out onto the forest floor like a dark, spreading stain.

The deer collapsed, its body crumpling to the earth in a heap.

Grayson's hand still gripped the rifle, the barrel warm against his palm. His breath came in sharp, jagged gasps, but his face was a blank canvas. No relief. No satisfaction. Just emptiness.

"Good shot."

Senior Smith's voice was thick with approval, his hand slapping Grayson's back with a force that almost made him stumble.

"Help the men haul it to the sled. We'll get it to the truck."

Grayson nodded, his movements stiff and mechanical as he lowered the gun and turned toward the fallen deer's direct, feet catching up to the men around them, Senior Smith's team. Up close it looked worse. But Grayson helped them touching the warm lifeless body of the animal, blood smeared on his palms as he gripped the animal's limbs, his fingers trembling ever so slightly. The sight of the creature's blank eyes, its expression frozen in death, twisted something inside of him. The blood was thick, pooling around his hands, and staining his clothes.