Page 115 of Shattering

He exhaled an' rubbed a hand over his face. "I've been doin' more sports-related injuries, developin' a niche—shoulder surgery, mostly. A lot of rugby players. Makes sense, right? I like the work. Feels good to be needed like that."

He glanced back up at the sky, where the sun was fully breakin' through now, bathin' the grave in warmth. "I should go. Cadi'll be waitin'. Tomos has trainin', an' I'd bet good money Niamh's terrorizin' her latest nanny by now. The last one found a caterpillar in her shoe and quit."

He stood, brushin' the dirt off his knees. "I'll be back, Mam."

With one last look at the headstone, Gray turned an' walked away, the sun at his back.

Extra chapter

Callum sat on the edge of his bed, rubbing a hand over his tired face as the early morning light seeped through the curtains. Yorkshire had been a fresh start, but ghosts had a way of following, settling into the cracks of his life. He had made peace with a lot of things—or at least, he told himself he had. But guilt was a stubborn thing, burrowing deep into his bones.

His mother was declining. Slowly, painfully. The once-formidable woman was now a frail shadow, Parkinsonism stealing more from her every day. He visited as often as he could, holding her papery hands, watching as she tried and failed to form words. The last time, she had gripped his fingers tightly, tears rolling down her face, as if she still carried the weight of their shared secrets. He had told her it was alright. That it didn't matter anymore. But they both knew that wasn't true.

His phone buzzed on the nightstand. He glanced at the screen—Cadi. She called now and then, always polite, never the friend she had once been. But they both knew why she still called.

He swiped to answer. "Mornin', Cadi."

"Morning, Callum. How's your mum?"

"Same. Worse." He sighed. "Thanks for askin'."

"Of course." A pause. "Tomos wants to talk to you. If you have time?"

His chest ached at that. "Always."

There was a shuffle, then Tomos' bright voice filled the receiver. "Uncle Callum!"

Callum's lips lifted in the first genuine smile of the morning. "Hey, lad! What's the craic?"

"Ma's making me tie my hair back. It's stupid."

Callum chuckled. "Aye, that's rough. What happened to that 'manbun' dream, eh?"

Tomos groaned. "I'm workin' on it. But she says it gets in my eyes when I play. And Da says I look like a lost Viking."

Callum laughed. "That's not the worst thing in the world. You'll be scarin' defenders off the pitch in no time."

"That's what I said! But Mum just gave me the look."

"Ah, the look. Can't argue with the look."

Tomos huffed. "Anyway, are you comin' to my birthday this year?"

Callum hesitated, gripping the bedsheet. "Dunno, lad. That's..."

"It's okay," Tomos cut in quickly, like he didn't want to make things awkward. "Just thought I'd ask."

Callum swallowed the lump in his throat. "I'll try, yeah?"

"Okay! Gotta go! Mum's givin' me another look."

"Right. Behave yourself."

"Never!" Tomos declared before the call ended.

Callum stared at the phone for a moment before setting it aside. These conversations were the highlight of his day. The one connection that still felt real.

After showering and dressing, he stopped by his usual coffee shop on the way to work. The barista, a shy university student, lit up when she saw him.

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