The Reckless Collision

Chapter Sixty-Six

Tom glanced over my shoulder toward the table where Sam sat with Molly and Andrew, their laughter rising above the hum of the dining room. His gaze softened, the edge in his tone replaced by something sadder. "She seems happy."

"She is happy," I said, meeting his eyes with unwavering certainty.

"Until you leave, right?" His words were sharp, cutting through the moment.

"I leave for work," I replied, my voice steady despite the jab. "And she's fine with that."

Tom raised an eyebrow, a smirk playing at the corner of his lips. "Until you get married, have kids, and everything else. Do you really think you can give her stability?"

"I'm already giving her that," I said, my voice firm, though his words stung more than I wanted to admit.

Tom finished his drink in one quick gulp, setting the glass down on the bar with a soft clink. "We'll see," he said, his tone a mix of challenge and resignation.

And with that, he turned on his heel and walked away, his departure marked by the faint echo of his polished shoes against the tiled floor. I stood there for a moment, watching him go, a mix of relief and frustration swirling in my chest.

Exhaling deeply, I ran a hand through my hair and glanced back toward the table. Sam caught my eye, her smile radiant, her laughter filling the space between us. She was happy, and no words from Tom could change that.

I pushed aside the unease he left in his wake. She was mine, and she'd chosen this life with me. That was all that mattered.

I looked down Sam lay draped over me, her warm limbs tangled with mine beneath the sheets. The soft light sifting through the blinds painted yellow streaks across the room, while the stillness of the morning hung around us like a fragile cocoon. My fingers traced absent patterns down her spine, more out of habit than intent, but my mind wasn't in the moment.

Last night's encounter with Tom had left a bitter residue in my chest, a weight I couldn't seem to shake. His words, his demeanor—everything about the way he'd looked at Sam—still chewed at me.

Sam shifted slightly, her head resting against my chest, and murmured sleepily, "Mmm, what time is it?" Her voice was soft, lazy, and it sent a familiar warmth through me despite my turmoil.

"Still early," I said, my voice low and steady. I didn't want to think about time, about how soon I'd be boarding a plane to L.A., leaving her behind for who knew how long. The image of Tom's smirk at the restaurant crept into my mind again, the way his eyes had lingered on her like he still had some kind of claim.

Sam stirred again, her eyes fluttering open as a lazy smile spread across her face. "Good," she whispered, pressing a kiss to my chest. "We have time then."

I nodded, though my heart wasn't entirely in it. I cupped her face gently, pulling her into a slow, lingering kiss, as if trying to anchor myself in the present, to reassure myself that she was here, with me, not him. But even as our lips met, my mind was restless, questioning everything I hadn't been able to ask her.

She pulled back slightly, her brows knitting together as she studied my face. "Are you okay?" she asked softly, her concern as familiar as the lines of her face. "You seem... distant."

"I'm fine," I said too quickly, forcing a small smile. "Just thinking about the tour, I guess."

Her fingers brushed through my hair, a comforting gesture that only made the guilt settle deeper in my chest. For a moment, I thought she might press me, but instead, she leaned in closer, her lips brushing against my ear as she whispered, "Then stop thinking."

She kissed me again, more insistent this time, pulling me back into her world, her touch demanding my full attention. I let go, losing myself in the warmth of her body and the familiar rhythm of our connection.

When we finally lay still again, the quiet sex aftermath pressing down on us, I could feel her watching me. Her fingers lightly traced my jaw, her voice soft. "You're really quiet this morning."

I kissed her forehead, hoping the gesture would push aside the worries clawing at me. "Just trying to make the most of this moment," I murmured. It wasn't entirely a lie, but it wasn't the truth either.

Sam smiled faintly, though there was something in her eyes—an understanding that I wasn't ready to acknowledge. "Just because you're leaving doesn't mean we lose this," she said.

I nodded but didn't respond. I couldn't bring myself to tell her about Tom. Not yet. This morning was too fragile, too precious to break apart with the weight of that conversation.

Eventually, she stretched and slipped out of bed, her loose hair falling in waves down her shoulders as she headed toward the bathroom. I watched her go, a strange blend of longing and unease twisting in my gut.

I loved her. I was certain of that. But as the sound of the shower filled the room, I wondered if love alone would be enough to keep us together through everything that lay ahead.

Later that morning, Sam drove us to the airport in her Impala. The car hummed softly beneath us, the dashboard glowing faintly in the overcast light. A quiet rock tune played on the radio, filling the spaces where words felt too heavy.

Andrew sat in the backseat, his energy as boundless as ever. "Man, it's going to be insane," he said, leaning forward between the seats. "New cities, new fans. Elena—or whoever we pick—is gonna give the band a fresh sound, don't you think?"

"Yeah, definitely," I said absently, my gaze fixed on the blurred cityscape rushing past the window.

I couldn't stop replaying the scene with Tom in my head—the way he'd looked at Sam like he still owned some part of her past, a part I'd never seen. It wasn't that I didn't trust her. But the idea of someone knowing her in ways I didn't, having memories with her that I'd never share—it chewed at me in a way I couldn't quite articulate.

"Ray?" Andrew's voice cut through my thoughts. "You good, man?"

"Yeah, sorry," I said, forcing myself to turn toward him. "Just got a lot on my mind."

Andrew grinned, oblivious to the tension. "You've been quiet all morning. Must be the setlist, huh?"

"Yeah," I replied flatly, glancing at Sam. She was focused on the road ahead, but the small crease between her brows told me she'd noticed my mood.

Andrew, undeterred, kept talking, his enthusiasm spilling over. "Man, I'm stoked for L.A. It's been too long. You guys are gonna love what I've been working on—new energy, you know?"

I nodded again, forcing a smile. "Yeah, should be good," I said, my tone barely masking the weight still pressing on my chest.

Sam glanced at me briefly, her eyes searching, but she said nothing. As the city fell away behind us, I tried to push aside the tension, the questions, and the doubts. But they clung to me, persistent and unrelenting, even as the distance between us. Can I truly make her happy long-term?