The Reckless Collision

Ray.

~~~

The dining room felt hollow, an empty shell of what it had been just the night before. Back then, it had been full—voices mingling, glasses clinking, and the bittersweet buzz of shared grief and memories of Rose. Now, it was eerily still, the kind of silence that wrapped itself around you, squeezing just enough to make it hard to breathe.

I stood at the table, staring down at the wreckage of yesterday. Plates with untouched food sat like forgotten promises, wine glasses half-full and smudged with fingerprints, and crumpled napkins abandoned as if no one had the energy to discard them properly. The air still carried the faint aroma of roasted chicken and red wine, now stale and mingling with the sharper scent of lemon cleaner I had half-heartedly used earlier.

Sam had gone to bed shortly after the last of the family left. She'd whispered something about being too tired to stay up, her voice soft but edged with exhaustion. I didn't argue. She'd barely made it through dinner, her eyes glazed with fatigue and grief. I kissed her forehead as she trudged upstairs, her shoulders sagging under a weight I couldn't lift for her.

I wished I could've gone with her, crawled under the covers, and let sleep take me, too. My body screamed for rest—I'd pushed it hard just to make it here on time, and even then, I was late. But my mind... my mind refused to cooperate.

Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Tom. I saw the way he'd looked at Sam yesterday, too comfortable, too close. Worse, I couldn't shake the memory of what he'd said to me weeks ago at the restaurant, words that felt like they were lodged permanently in my chest.

A frustrated sigh escaped me as I began clearing the table, the sound of clinking plates breaking the oppressive silence. My muscles moved out of habit, the routine of cleaning keeping my hands busy even though my mind was miles away. I hated how much space Tom took up in my thoughts. The smug set of his jaw, that lingering smile when he saw us together... it was like he knew how to worm his way under my skin.

I tried to shake it off, but doubt crept in anyway, slithering through the cracks I hadn't even realized were there. Was I enough for Sam? Could I be the anchor she needed now, especially with Rose gone, leaving this massive, aching void in her life?

I loved her more than I could put into words, but lately, it felt like I was being pulled in two different directions. There was the tour, this life I'd worked so hard to build with the band, and then there was Sam, the woman who had become my home. And tomorrow, I had to leave again. Three days. That's all I could take off before I had to rejoin the others.

The guilt gnawed at me as I picked up a glass and set it on the counter a little harder than I intended. It clattered loudly, the sharp sound echoing in the empty room. I closed my eyes, exhaling slowly to steady myself. I had to tell her soon, but how? How could I look her in the eye and tell her I was leaving again when she was barely holding it together?

I grabbed a dish towel, drying the plates as the clock on the wall ticked loudly in the background, each second stretching painfully thin. No matter how hard I tried to focus on cleaning, my thoughts kept circling back to Tom. Seeing him with Sam, even for a moment, had shaken something loose in me. He still cast a shadow over us, no matter how many times she reassured me it was over.

What if she wasn't telling me everything? What if there were pieces of her heart she hadn't let go of?

I tossed the dish towel aside, leaning heavily against the counter. The house was too quiet. Too still. I missed the sound of her laugh, the way her voice filled the silence like a balm. I needed her to wake up—not just because I wanted to talk, but because her presence had a way of grounding me, pulling me back from this spiral I couldn't seem to stop.