The Reckless Collision

Sam.

~~~

LAX was as chaotic as I'd imagined it would be—people rushing in all directions, voices blending into a constant hum, and the distant screech of luggage wheels on the tile. Logan had grabbed a trolley earlier, and we loaded it with our suitcases while he took charge of steering. The three of us—Logan, Ray, and I—headed toward the check-in counters. My fingers were threaded through Ray's, a small reassurance in the sea of bustling travelers.

As we walked, my eyes caught a stack of black trunks and guitar cases perched on a nearby cart. Two men stood near them, chatting casually.

"That's the band's equipment," Ray whispered, leaning in close enough that his breath tickled my ear.

I nodded, though my attention was elsewhere. My pulse quickened as the realization hit me—I was about to meet two more of Ray's bandmates, two more important pieces of his life. It felt like a lot, almost too much. But then I glanced up at Raymond, and just like that, the anxiety settled. He had that effect on me—an unanticipated kind of calm.

One of the guys stepped forward, breaking away from the carts. He was tall and broad-shouldered, with a buzz cut that highlighted a single sharp line above his right ear. His skin was deep ebony, and a silver eyebrow ring gleamed when it caught the light. His dark eyes locked onto mine as a warm smile spread across his face.

"Hi, I'm Andrew," he said, pulling me into an unexpected hug. His grip was firm but friendly.

"Hi," I managed, awkwardly patting his back with one hand while the other remained clasped in Ray's.

"It's nice to meet you," he added, stepping back but keeping his smile.

Andrew Kerr. I recognized the name. He was the band's bassist and, from what Ray had told me, his best friend since childhood.

"I'm Samantha," I said, returning his grin. My gaze flicked to the second guy standing a few steps behind him.

"I'm James," he said, extending a hand. His voice was smooth, and his gray eyes had a piercing quality to them. I shook his hand lightly.

James Brown—the newest addition to Purple Rain. He had an almost ethereal appearance, with pale skin that made his blond undercut and darker facial stubble stand out. He reminded me of someone from a gothic painting, all stark contrasts, and haunting features.

"Nice to meet you both," I said, trying to keep my tone steady even as nerves bubbled beneath the surface.

James gave a polite nod but motioned toward the carts. "We should head to the check-in counters," he said, his voice practical.

Ray and Logan pushed the luggage while the rest of us followed, weaving through the crowds of people. Before long, we were checked in and made our way toward the gate.

On the plane, I was fully prepared to sit apart from Ray. After all, the guys had booked their tickets months ago. But when we reached our seats, Ray guided me toward the window seat and sat down beside me.

"Logan traded with you," he said casually as if it were no big deal.

I glanced back toward my original seat, catching a glimpse of Logan's man bun sticking over the top of the seat. "That was nice of him," I said, buckling my seatbelt.

Ray took my hand again, our fingers naturally intertwining. He leaned closer, his voice low and teasing. "Alright, spill it. What did my mom say to you?"

I turned to face him, meeting his dark eyes. "Nothing much," I replied carefully. "She just mentioned your ex."

He scoffed, shaking his head. "Mom hates Courtney," he muttered, his tone edged with frustration. "But you don't need to worry about that."