Ray.
~~~
"All I'm saying is you need to be more careful next time and get to know the person better before jumping into a serious relationship," Mom said, her voice clipped as she bit into her sandwich.
I leaned against the counter, watching her with a tight jaw as she sat behind the kitchen island, casually consuming her late breakfast. She didn't even look at me when she spoke, her focus entirely on the sandwich as she took another bite.
I could practically feel the weight of her disapproval in the air, hanging thick. The mood in the house was tense, every second dragging with uncomfortable silence. I had hoped Mom would be at work, but as it turned out, she had a free morning.
"Mom, you've been saying that for the last five days," I said, finally pouring myself a cup of coffee. My hand lingered on the pot for a moment longer than necessary. "It doesn't apply anymore, and it's certainly not helping now."
"It's for the future," she shot back, not even missing a beat.
"She is my future, Mom," I muttered, taking a sip from the steaming cup. The bitterness of the coffee matched the bitterness in my chest.
Mom looked up then, her eyes softening slightly, though her tone remained insistent. "Sweetheart, I like her too. But you saw how her family reacted to you."
I sighed, my shoulders slumping. "I don't have the time or the energy for this, Mom. I need to finish getting the house ready. Sam's getting discharged today."
Her expression faltered, but she quickly regained her composure. "I still don't understand. Why can't you stay here?"
I set my cup down, feeling the tension in my neck and back. "It's too crowded here."
She raised an eyebrow. "It's just me and Logan."
"Exactly," I said, my voice quiet but firm.
Nora pressed her lips together, then turned away for a moment, wiping her hands with the towel. I could feel the weight of her thoughts, her judgment. "But that house, Raymond," she persisted, her voice pleading.
"It will be fine. We need a place to stay, and I have a house. Why not use it?" I felt myself getting defensive, the words coming out sharper than I intended.
"Does Samantha know about the house?" Mom asked, her voice softer now but filled with suspicion.
"Not yet," I said, glancing at her. "I never told her. I planned on selling it." I could see the disapproval flash across her face, her lips pressing into a thin line. "Don't give me that look. I'll probably be back later," I added, brushing past her as I dropped my mug into the sink and left the kitchen.
I didn't wait around to listen to her objections. I was already done with the conversation.
Stepping out into the cool morning air, I moved quickly to my Impala, climbing into the driver's seat. The car hummed to life beneath me as I cranked the music up. As the beat kicked in, I pushed the accelerator, letting the rhythm pulse through my veins.
The drive was bitter-sweet, filled with a strange mix of hope and anxiety. I needed a fresh start, but that house... it felt like a shadow hanging over me. I was hoping that, with Sam there, maybe it wouldn't feel so heavy.
It didn't take long before I reached the place. I pressed the remote for the gate, the motor whining as it rolled open to reveal the house. My house.
The place had always looked great—at least to me. That's why I bought it in the first place. A two-story house in a decent neighborhood. No renovations, nothing extravagant—just enough space. When I moved in, it was supposed to be a new chapter. But the memories had a way of settling in with me, even though I never had the time to truly make it mine.
I pulled into the driveway, my eyes drifting over the familiar but impersonal house. There was still something sterile about it, something cold. It had never felt like home.
I inhaled deeply, trying to shake off the unease. I climbed out of the car, slammed the door shut, and moved to the back. The trunk popped open with a click, and I grabbed a few boxes—small things, just house items I needed. Logan had offered to help with the last-minute items, but I needed to be alone here. I needed to get used to the solitude, to the idea of making this place my own.
The police had questioned us twice now, digging into every detail of the mess that had become our lives. They said we needed to stay in L.A. until the investigation wrapped up, which was why I'd decided to bring Sam here. My family wasn't too happy about it, but I was done asking for their approval. I wasn't going to let them make decisions about Sam or me.
I dropped the boxes onto the kitchen island when I finally entered the house. It was exactly how I remembered it—spacious and open. The first floor was one big, continuous space. The living room connected to the kitchen at the back, and upfront, there was a foyer with a guest bathroom. Simple, nothing fancy.
I stood still for a moment, taking it all in. I'd been so caught up in everything with Sam, I hadn't even had the chance to make this place feel like home. But now I was here, and it was all on me to make it work. I would have to explain everything to Sam soon. I had to be honest about the house's history—the plans to sell it, the loneliness that came with it. She deserved to know. But that could wait for now.
The house was a mix of neutral tones, with enormous windows on every wall that let in a flood of natural light. It made the space feel airy and bright, almost too open. Framed posters adorned the walls, and plastic plants were scattered around, giving the place a sort of cozy, lived-in vibe. I'd debated getting real flowers, but Logan had insisted they would do wonders for the atmosphere, so I caved. Honestly, it didn't seem like a big deal, but I wasn't sure how Sam would feel about it once she got here.
"Looks homey," I heard from behind me, and I jumped slightly, caught off guard.
I turned quickly, narrowing my eyes as I stared at Andrew standing in the doorway. "You fucking scared me," I muttered, my hand instinctively going to my chest like he'd knocked the wind out of me.
He grinned, clearly amused. "Logan said you'd be here," he explained, glancing around the room, his eyes trailing over the space with mild curiosity. "And you left your door unlocked."
"I didn't think anyone would just barge in," I said, shaking my head as I opened a carton box. The sound of cardboard crinkling filled the silence between us.
Andrew smirked, rubbing the shaved side of his head. "I don't remember ever needing to knock," he said casually, "but I guess that's gonna change now that you won't be living alone."
I felt a brief flash of irritation. "I didn't mean it like that," I said, pulling a stack of kitchen towels out of the box. "But I guess that's true," I added, a little quieter. Things would change, I knew that. There was no way around it.
Andrew didn't seem to take offense. "It's fine," he said with a reassuring smile. "And I'm happy for both of you, Ray."
I looked at him, appreciating the sentiment but feeling a tightness in my chest. Things were changing, and not all of it felt like progress. "Thanks," I muttered, carrying the towels over to the kitchen cupboards. "Did Logan send you to check on me?" I asked as I started to organize the towels in a drawer, trying to focus on the task at hand.
"Not really," Andrew replied, his voice light. "We haven't hung out in a few days, so I thought I'd drop by. Coffee would be nice," he added, his eyebrow quirking up in that familiar way.
I chuckled dryly, shaking my head as I finished stashing the towels away. "Take off your shoes and you might get one," I said, glancing over my shoulder toward him.
I moved to the coffee pot, thinking about how much time I was wasting trying to make this place feel right. I wasn't sure it ever would. I doubted Sam would like it the way it was now—if she didn't redo everything, I'd be shocked. But for now, I just had to get everything out of the boxes, and that was the easiest part.
As I started the coffee, Andrew went back to the foyer to take off his shoes. I filled the coffee pot, letting the scent of brewing coffee fill the quiet space. When I returned to the living room, Andrew was sprawled on the U-shaped couch, already flicking through channels on the plasma TV. The background noise from the static of the TV made the house feel a little less empty.
I placed the mugs on the oak coffee table, the warmth of the cups meeting my hands as I sat down beside him.
"So, what's new?" Andrew asked, looking at me for the first time since he'd come in, his eyes a little more focused now.
"Everything's pretty much the same," I said, shrugging as I took a sip of the coffee. It was strong like I needed it to be right now. "Sam needs help, but she refuses every damn time I try to offer it." I rolled my eyes, feeling the frustration well up again. "But, I guess, considering everything that's happened, she's doing alright. The cops want us to head to the station in a couple of days."
"Didn't they already talk to you both at the hospital?" Andrew asked, his brow furrowing slightly as he took a sip of his own coffee.
"Yeah," I said, exhaling slowly, the thought of it still fresh. "But they found something. They're gonna show it to us at the station."
"Found what?" Andrew asked, leaning forward a little, his interest piqued.
"A video diary," I said, my stomach tightening. "Scott's."
Andrew's eyes widened slightly, and his eyebrow shot up. "That's gonna be... interesting." He fell silent for a second as if considering what that meant. "How's Logan, by the way?"
I felt my jaw tighten at the mention of Logan's name. "I don't think he's doing too well," I said, leaning back into the couch. "It's not just because of Scott, though. I think it's more about David's death. He's... he's still carrying that around."
Andrew nodded slowly, taking another sip of coffee. "Yeah, it's not surprising. I think we're all carrying that around." He set the cup down carefully, looking at me with a knowing look. "It's like we've all been avoiding the word 'suicide' for years."
I swallowed hard, feeling the weight of those words press into my chest. "It's like it's always there, lurking. You don't think about it until something triggers it."
Andrew nodded again, his expression somber. "It really hits him, but I guess that's normal."
I let out a long breath, rubbing my face as the guilt stirred in me. "I wasn't sensitive enough when I told him about Scott," I admitted, my voice lowering. I could feel the shame in my stomach.
Andrew shook his head, a slight smile pulling at his lips. "It's fine, Ray. You were in shock. And at the end of the day, Scott shot himself. There's no delicate way to put that, no matter how you say it."
I exhaled sharply, my hand curling around the coffee cup. "I guess so. But I've been thinking a lot about David lately. Don't you think we all remember him that way? I mean, when we hear about a suicide, we think about him." I gulped the last of my coffee, the bitterness matching the knot in my chest.
"I do," Andrew said quietly, his voice low. "I've thought about him too."
We both fell silent for a moment, the weight of his words hanging in the air. David had been our band's lead vocalist when we were just kids, and then he'd ended it all before we even had the chance to reach any real audience. The music we recorded with him was still out there, some of it floating around on the internet, but most of it locked away with Logan.
The news hit us all hard, but it broke Logan the most. He and David had been dating for only a few months before David took his own life. Everyone knew David had struggled with depression for years, but just before his death, he seemed better. He was more upbeat, more alive.
That's what made it harder to understand. He didn't leave a note or any explanation, no real reason for why he'd made that decision. It was that lack of closure—the not knowing—that haunted us the most. None of us could figure out why he'd decided to leave, and that uncertainty was like a weight we couldn't shake off.
The room stayed quiet as we lost ourselves in our own thoughts, the tension thick in the air. Then, a melody broke the silence, my phone buzzed in my hand, and I saw the name flash on the screen. I declined the call without thinking.
"Who was that?" Andrew's voice pulled me back to the moment as I turned away from my phone.
"Cortney," I said, glancing down at the screen to check the messages that had piled up.
"She probably saw the articles." He was right; the press had been all over the situation.
"Maybe," I muttered, scrolling through the texts. "But she's been calling me for a week now, even before the shooting."
Andrew raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"
"She wants another shot," I said, the words tasting bitter in my mouth. I looked up at Andrew, meeting his gaze.
He let out a laugh, and I couldn't help but smile, even though I didn't feel like it. "Yeah, and even without Sam in the picture, I wouldn't go for that," I added, shaking my head.
Andrew shrugged an amused glint in his eyes. "Who knows? You went back before, even though we all told you it was a bad idea."
I felt my chest tighten. "I know," I said, running a hand through my hair. "But it was like I couldn't see clearly. Like I was under her spell or something. It wasn't until my bank account started showing me just how far she'd pushed it that I snapped out of it."
Andrew laughed, his voice light. "It won't be a problem with Sam." He paused, his grin widening. "She's got way more money than you do."
I let out a dry chuckle, the tension in my body easing just a little. "Yeah," I said, a little too quickly, "speaking of Sam... I need to go pick her up."
Andrew started heading toward the foyer, clearly excited. "Can we have a welcome-home party or something? Or is it more of a housewarming thing?"
I thought about it for a second. "Maybe tomorrow?" I said, glancing down at my phone again, and checking the time.
"Sure," Andrew said, his voice upbeat. "Her friend staying with you?"
I hesitated, the words catching in my throat. "I'm not sure," I said with a nervous laugh. "Molly's at the hotel, and Sam doesn't even know about the house yet."
Andrew stopped mid-step, his eyes widening. "Ray, what the hell?"
I ran a hand over my face, feeling the weight of it all. "I'll tell her everything," I said, feeling my chest tighten with the unspoken words. "I swear, I will."
Andrew gave me a long look, his eyebrows furrowing as if weighing my words. He didn't say anything, but I could tell he didn't entirely buy it.