The Reckless Collision

Sam.

~~~

The shower took longer than I expected, and by the time we were ready, the bus was already waiting for us near the hotel. I scrambled to grab my essentials and hurried to prepare for the show. The guys didn't have a full rehearsal that night—just a quick soundcheck—but the rush still left me flustered.

When I stepped onto the bus, I noticed it looked cleaner than usual. The stale air was gone, replaced with something almost fresh. It didn't take long to figure out why. Louis, in his ever-dutiful way, had cleaned the entire bus. I felt a pang of guilt when I realized that while Ray and I had been tangled up in bed all day, the rest of the band had been out partying in Amstelveen—and Louis had been scrubbing floors. Sure, it was part of his job, but it didn't make me feel any less embarrassed.

Once we got to the venue, it was clear I wouldn't be in the crowd for this show. Instead, I chose a spot upstairs. It was closed off to the public, but with my all-access pass, I could watch the performance from there. It gave me a good view of the stage without having to dodge sweaty bodies or deal with overly curious fans.

As the band played, I let my thoughts wander. Watching Ray up there, commanding the stage, always left me in awe. But tonight, it stirred something deeper—something that made me want to confront the messy parts of my life I'd been avoiding.

I didn't want to keep pretending I wasn't Ray's girlfriend. Sure, Scott and the hardcore Purple Rain fans would lose their minds over it. But in that moment, I decided: screw all of them. I couldn't keep tiptoeing around their opinions or letting the fear of backlash control my life.

Scott was another issue entirely. I hadn't heard from the detective in over a week, and his last voicemail had been cryptic at best: Plan A failed. I was wrong, Samantha. That was it. No follow-up, no explanation. I figured it meant the restraining order against Scott wasn't happening anytime soon. Maybe Paul couldn't find enough evidence to make it stick.

Until I could get back to L.A. and deal with it myself, I avoided Scott altogether. I ignored his calls, let his messages pile up, and fed him excuses about traveling and time zones. But deep down, I knew the truth: I was done pretending. Whatever friendship we'd once had was long gone, and I was tired of lying to keep the peace.

Of course, the public wasn't going to be any kinder. Purple Rain fans still clung to the memory of Ray's ex, Courtney, like she was some kind of saint. Meanwhile, rumors about Ray being single were everywhere, and the private messages some fans sent him? Let's just say they weren't exactly subtle. He'd warned me about that from the start, though, so I couldn't act surprised.

Still, I knew the clock was ticking. If fans hadn't already figured out who I was, they would soon. Traveling with the band and being spotted with Ray in multiple cities wasn't exactly low-profile behavior. And thanks to my family's ties, there were enough pictures of me from events floating around online to make me recognizable to anyone who bothered to look.

After the show, Ray and I spent another night at the Radisson Blu. By noon the next day, the bus was on its way to Rotterdam. That's when I got the call from Alyssa.

She sounded worried, and it wasn't hard to see why. Something was wrong with my grandmother, Rose. Alyssa didn't have many details—only that our parents had been taking her to the doctor more often than usual and weren't saying much about it.

When I tried to get answers from Mom, she dodged my questions, focusing instead on Tom and my nonexistent relationship with him. But I couldn't stop worrying. Rose had heart problems, and when I was ten, she had a transplant. She'd been fine ever since, but what if something had changed? I hadn't seen her since April. What if I'd missed something important?