The Reckless Collision

Sam.

~~~

There was no surprise that the show had been incredible. Every time I watched Ray on stage, my heart raced, but it never settled the anticipation that built up in me. I loved seeing him perform, loved watching how he became completely consumed by the music, the crowd, and the energy. It was like he transformed into someone else—a person who belonged in the spotlight. But as much as I loved it, every time I saw him up there, the ache in my chest grew, too.

Later that night, the tour bus rolled quietly along the highway, the dark world outside slipping by in a blur of headlights and the distant glow of city lights. Inside, everything was calm—almost eerily so. The chaos of the show was left behind, replaced by the soft hum of the road beneath us, lulling everything into a strange sense of stillness.

Ray was beside me, his body warm and familiar, the steady rise and fall of his breathing beside me like a rhythm I should've found comfort in. But I was wide awake, my mind buzzing with thoughts that wouldn't let me rest.

I turned my head slightly, the dim light from the bus window just enough to catch the lines of Ray's profile. He was staring up at the ceiling, his brow furrowed like he was lost in his own thoughts, too. The day had been heavy for both of us—Ray, stepping back into his element with the band and the fans, and me, wrestling with this new reality where I was no longer invisible. Where I wasn't just the quiet observer anymore.

My mouth felt dry as I hesitated, chewing nervously on my bottom lip. There was something pressing against my chest, something I hadn't told him yet. I hadn't meant to keep it from him, not like this. But everything had happened so quickly—first with Rose, then with the funeral, and now the tour. My book—my finished book—had become this private thing, something I'd tucked away inside myself. I wasn't sure if it was ready to be shared, or if I was ready to share me in that way.

But the moment felt right now. The darkness. The quiet. Ray beside me. It felt like it could be safe, even with the anxiety creeping up my throat, threatening to swallow me whole.

"Ray," I whispered, my voice soft but enough to pull him from his thoughts. He turned toward me, his brown eyes catching mine in the dim light of the bus. I could see the exhaustion on his face, the way his gaze softened when it met mine.

"Yeah?" His voice was rough, thick with tiredness, but still laced with concern.

I took a deep breath, shifting slightly on the small bed so I could face him more fully. I reached for his hand, my fingers brushing over the calloused skin of his palm, feeling the warmth of him sink into me. "There's something I've been meaning to tell you," I said, my heart pounding in my chest, each word feeling heavier than the last.

Ray's brows furrowed, a slight frown pulling at his lips as he stayed quiet, waiting for me to continue.

"I finished my book," I said, the words trembling out, though I tried to steady myself. "Right before Rose died. I didn't tell anyone... not even you."

The confession. It hung between us in the space that had once been so easy and light, and now it felt heavy. I could feel my chest tighten as I waited for him to react, the silence stretching, thick with expectation.

"You finished it?" His voice was soft, laced with surprise. His thumb brushed over the back of my hand, a small but steady reassurance. "Why didn't you tell me?"

I exhaled slowly, feeling the weight on my shoulders ease just a little. He didn't look disappointed. He didn't seem hurt. All I saw in his eyes was curiosity, and something else—something that looked like pride.

"I don't know..." I trailed off, my fingers tightening around his. "I guess I was scared. I didn't want to jinx it. And then everything happened with Rose, and I just couldn't bring myself to say anything after that."