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.
The soft creak of the stairs broke through my thoughts. I turned to see her standing in the doorway, her hair slightly messed up from sleep, her oversized sweatshirt hanging loosely off one shoulder. She looked so small, so fragile, and yet there was something steady about the way her tired eyes found mine.
"You didn't have to clean up," she said, her voice hoarse and quiet.
I shrugged, offering a faint smile. "Couldn't sleep," I said, my voice sounding rougher than I intended. "Figured I'd do something useful."
She walked toward me, her bare feet making soft padding sounds against the floor. When she wrapped her arms around me, pressing her cheek against my chest, I let out a breath. I wrapped my arms around her, pulled her close, and pressed a kiss to the top of her head.
For a moment, everything felt right. The warmth of her against me, the steady rhythm of her breathing—it was enough to quiet the noise in my head. But then, like an unwelcome guest, the thought of tomorrow barged back in. I had to tell her. I couldn't keep avoiding it.
We sat at the kitchen island not long after, the silence between us heavy but not uncomfortable. I'd thrown together a simple breakfast—leftover rolls, cold cuts, and some fruit I'd arranged on a plate in an attempt to make it look like I'd tried harder than I had.
Sam picked at her food, her fork scraping against the plate absentmindedly. Her pretty blue eyes drifted in and out of focus, the weight of the last few days still clinging to her like a shadow. I wanted to say something, to ask if she was okay, but the words stuck in my throat.
Finally, I set my fork down, the sharp clatter of metal against ceramic louder than I'd intended. Sam's head lifted, her tired eyes locking onto mine. I swallowed hard, feeling the weight of what I needed to say pressing against my chest like a physical thing.
"We need to talk, love," I began softly, the words coming out quieter than I'd planned. My voice felt as fragile as the space between us, and I hated how exposed I sounded.
Her brow furrowed, concern flickering in her gaze. She set her own fork down, leaning slightly toward me. "About what?" she asked, her voice calm but tinged with worry.
I looked down at the table for a moment, rubbing the back of my neck. The words were there, circling in my head, but none of them felt right. I took a deep breath and met her gaze again. "About yesterday. About Tom."
Her expression shifted slightly—a flicker of recognition, a shadow of something she tried to hide—but she didn't speak. She waited, giving me the space to continue.
"I know this isn't the best time," I admitted, my throat tightening as I forced the words out. "But... I can't stop thinking about it. Yesterday, seeing him, seeing you two together—it messed with my head. And then there's..." I hesitated, looking for something in her expression, some kind of reassurance that would make this easier. "There's something I didn't tell you. I ran into Tom at a restaurant a while back. He said some things—things that made me question everything. And now, after yesterday..." I trailed off, shaking my head. "I can't stop replaying it."
Sam leaned back in her chair, her arms crossed loosely over her chest. Her face softened, but there was a hint of disappointment there, too. "Why didn't you tell me you saw him, darling?" she asked, her voice gentle but firm. "You know Tom. He does this. He knows exactly how to plant seeds of doubt."
Her words hit me like a punch to the gut, but I didn't interrupt. I clenched my jaw and listened, my fingers drumming absently on the edge of the table.
"He tried the same thing with me yesterday," she continued her tone steady but laced with frustration. "Tom is trying to create cracks where there aren't any. That's what he does. He wants you to doubt yourself. And he wants me to doubt us. But none of it matters, Ray. None of what he said matters to me. You're enough. You've always been enough."
Her words were reassuring, but the sting of doubt still lingered. I stared at her, my chest tight, the familiar bite of insecurity refusing to let go. "But how do I know that for sure?" The question slipped out before I could stop it, quieter than I'd intended, and so raw it made me wince. "How do I know I'm not just... another distraction for you? Especially now, with everything going on. With Rose. With the tour. With... him."
Sam's expression softened even further. She reached across the island, her hand warm as it slipped over mine. Her fingers squeezed gently, steadying me in a way I hadn't realized I needed.
"Ray," she said, her voice soft but unshakable. "Look at me."
I lifted my eyes to hers, reluctantly at first, but once I met her gaze, I couldn't look away. Her eyes were tired but steady, filled with something I didn't think I deserved.
"You're not a distraction," she said firmly, her fingers tightening around mine. "You're my partner. My home. I know it's hard right now—with everything we're both dealing with, it feels impossible to hold it all together. But we're in this together."
I felt a lump rising in my throat, but I forced myself to stay silent, letting her words settle. Her words hit me hard, cutting through the spiral I'd been stuck in. For a moment, I just stared at her, unsure of what to say. The warmth of her hand on mine, the conviction in her voice—it felt like a lifeline, pulling me back from the edge.
I exhaled slowly, feeling a weight lift, even if it hadn't disappeared entirely. "I just... I don't want to lose you," I admitted quietly, the words cracking as they left my lips.
Her expression softened even more, and she leaned across the table, brushing her fingers lightly over my knuckles. "You won't," she whispered. "You won't lose me, Ray. I'm here. And I'm not going anywhere."
I closed my eyes for a moment, letting Sam's words settle in, feeling the weight of her trust and belief in us. It was everything I needed to hear, but there was still something gnawing at the back of my mind, something I couldn't shake no matter how hard I tried.
"There's something else," I said, my voice low, and I could feel the shift in the air as her eyes met mine, her expression already changing in preparation for the words I wasn't ready to say.
I opened my eyes, and as I spoke, I saw the flicker of worry in her eyes, the realization that this conversation was far from over. "I have to leave tomorrow. I can only take three days off from the tour, and the band's waiting for me in London to rejoin them."
I watched her hand tighten around mine for a second, her knuckles pressing pale against my skin, but she didn't pull away. I saw her process my words—how quickly she understood, how fast the disappointment flashed in her eyes, before she nodded slowly, her face setting into something more resigned than I wanted to see.
"I figured you'd have to go back soon," she said, her voice softer than usual, as though it hurt her to admit it. "I just... I didn't realize it would be so soon."
My chest tightened with guilt, the words cutting deep as they left my mouth. "I hate leaving you right now," I confessed, my voice strained. "Especially after everything that's happened. But I can't let the band down either. They're relying on me."
She gave me a sad smile, the kind that didn't quite reach her eyes. "I know. I know you have to go. It's just... hard, that's all."
I squeezed her hand, wanting so badly to pull her into my arms, to take away the heaviness hanging between us, but I couldn't change what was coming. I had to go, and she had to stay, at least for now.
The silence that followed hung between us, thick and heavy. It pressed on me like the weight of everything we'd both been through—the grief, the uncertainty, the pressure of what lay ahead. Just as I was about to speak again, Sam took a deep breath, her fingers still laced with mine.
"Maybe I could come with you," she said, her voice barely above a whisper, and the words took a moment to register.
I blinked, caught off guard by the suggestion. "Come with me?" I repeated, my heart skipping a beat. The idea of her beside me, of not facing this world alone— it was like a light breaking through the clouds.
Samantha nodded, a quiet, thoughtful expression on her face. "Yeah. Maybe it's time we both get away from here for a while. Rose was the reason we moved to New York in the first place. Now that she's gone... maybe it's time to rethink where we belong."
Her words hung in the air between us, and I felt a rush of relief flood through me. I hadn't expected this, hadn't even let myself hope for it. But the idea of her with me, on the road, made everything feel lighter, less burdensome. A weight I didn't even realize I was carrying seemed to lift.
"Are you serious?" I asked, my voice thick with emotion. "You'd come with me on tour?"
Sam smiled, the kind of smile that felt like sunshine after a storm, warm and genuine. I hadn't seen her smile like that in days. "Yeah, I did it before. And we could use the time together. I don't want to stay in this big house by myself. It doesn't feel like home without her here. Maybe... maybe we need to figure out what our next step is."
A lump formed in my throat as I reached across the table, pulling her into my arms. I held her tight, the weight of everything—the uncertainty, the grief, the confusion—melting away in that moment. I pressed my lips to the top of her head, feeling her relax in my arms, feeling like we could face whatever came next together.
"I love you," I whispered into her hair, my voice thick with everything I couldn't quite say.
"I love you too," she murmured back, her voice soft but steady.
She pulled back slightly, her hands resting lightly on my chest, her eyes still soft from our conversation, but there was a quiet strength there now, a sense of resolution that made my heart swell.
"So..." she began, her voice tentative but hopeful, "You're okay with me coming with you on tour?"
I let out a long breath, a small, relieved smile curving my lips. "More than okay," I murmured, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. "I want you with me, love. Always. This tour... turned out to be a lot, and I don't know what's going to happen next, but if you're there, it'll be easier."
"I need to get the ticket," she said.
"We will fly back with jet," I said, Sam lifted your eyebrow. "How did you think I got here? Your dad called and offered the jet with a promise to take me back to London. Your parents coming around, love." I grinned, remembering the time I promised to win over them.
She nodded slowly, then shifted the conversation. "Speaking of my parents," she said, her voice tinged with uncertainty, "I need to tell my dad I'm not taking the job. I've thought about it enough."
"Good idea," I said, giving her a reassuring smile. "He's gonna be mad, though. About the job and the tour."
"Yeah," she admitted.
"Then we are set for the road," I grinned, the weight of our decision hanging over us but suddenly feeling a little lighter.
I felt a rush of hope. We were moving forward, not just physically but emotionally, and the thought of facing it together made everything seem possible.