Sam.

~~~

Ray stared at me with wide, unblinking eyes. His lips parted like he was going to speak, but only a shaky breath escaped. The silence was unbearable.

"Ray," I said, my voice cracking with desperation. "Where is he?"

The beeping of the monitor at my bedside grew louder, scraping my already raw nerves. The sound seemed to echo in my skull, each sharp tone a reminder of how out of control everything felt. Frustration boiled over, and I yanked the pulse tracker off my finger, tossing it to the side of the bed. The machine didn't stop; if anything, the shrill alarm only became worse.

I clenched my fists, glaring at the offending device when the door swung open with a whoosh. A woman in deep blue scrubs rushed in, her expression stern and professional.

"She's fine," Ray said quickly, standing and raising his hands like he was surrendering.

The nurse looked at him with a sharp look. "I told you to avoid sitting," she scolded as she stepped toward me, picking up the tracker from the bed. Her movements were brisk and efficient, her tone one of practiced authority. "You can't take this off," she added, sliding the scanner back onto my finger with a look that told me not to try that again.

"Why hasn't anyone informed me she's awake?" she asked, her gaze flicking to Ray.

He shrugged, shoving his hands into the front pockets of his jeans. The nurse ignored him and turned her attention to the monitor, her brows furrowing as she studied the readout. Her eyes narrowed the blue light from the screen reflected off her focused expression. Finally, she straightened.

"Everything seems normal," she said, her tone softer now as she glanced at me. "How are you feeling, Miss Morris?"

"Decent," I managed, though my throat was dry and my head felt like it was stuffed with cotton.

The right corner of her lips tugged into a crooked smile. "You should get some rest," she said. "The police will be here tomorrow morning."

"Police?" I blinked, the word punching through my foggy thoughts.

"It's protocol after a shooting, regardless of the outcome."

Her words hit like a jolt, but I masked the surge of panic by glancing at Ray. He stood beside the chair he'd abandoned earlier, one hand in his pocket, the other resting on the backrest. His head hung low, his dark hair falling over his face, making it impossible to read his expression.

"Keep your heart rate steady, Miss Morris," the nurse warned, glancing at the monitor. "Or I'll have to give you a sedative." She turned to Ray, her tone brisk again. "And, Mr. Lawrence, I told you before: no sitting. You'll rip your stitches, and I'll have to fix you up again."

"Stitches?" I repeated, my gaze snapping to Ray.

The nurse gave us both a tight-lipped look before leaving the room. The door clicked shut behind her, and the sterile quiet of the hospital room settled back over us. Ray moved closer, and my pulse betrayed me, speeding up again. A wave of dizziness swept over me, and I had to take a steadying breath.

"It's fine, love," he said softly, sitting on the edge of the bed despite the nurse's warning. "It's just a scratch."

"Let me see," I said, trying to sit up. Pain shot through my shoulder, sharp and unrelenting, and I sank back down with a groan. "What happened after he shot me?"

Ray's hand found mine, his thumb tracing gentle circles on my skin. "We don't have to talk about this now," he murmured. "You heard the nurse—you need to rest."

I narrowed my eyes at him. "You know I won't let it go until you tell me." He hesitated, his lips pressing into a thin line before he gave a small, reluctant nod. Just as he opened his mouth to speak, I blurted, "You met them."

His expression softened into a rare, wide smile that made my chest ache in a way that had nothing to do with the wound. "They weren't exactly welcoming," he said with a nervous laugh.

"No surprise there." I rolled my eyes and stared at the ceiling, the fluorescent lights glaring down at me.

"I called them after the ambulance brought you here," he admitted, his gaze steady on mine. "They came quickly."

"Yeah, they probably took the jet," I said absently, my thoughts racing.

"You have a jet?" His brows shot up, and I couldn't help but smile faintly.

"They do. Not me," I corrected. "Tell me more."

He shifted in his seat. "The three of them came. They said they left Allyssa back in New York." His voice wavered slightly. "And, well, I met them."

"They didn't let you in the room?" I guessed, reading between the lines. Ray nodded, his shoulders slumping slightly. "How rude was my dad?" I asked, already bracing myself for the answer.

"Rude enough for me to understand what you've been saying about them all this time," Ray admitted, his voice laced with both irritation and exhaustion.

I let out a weak laugh that quickly turned into a wince. "What time is it?"

Ray pulled out his phone and glanced at the screen. "Almost midnight," he said, looking back at me. "Logan and my mom were here earlier, but they left when your family arrived. The guys called, but I told them to wait until tomorrow to visit."

"Tomorrow," I echoed, clinging to the hope of seeing familiar, comforting faces. My chest tightened as I asked, "And what about Scott? And the police?"

"Darling..." Ray hesitated, his lips pressing together in a tight line. The look in his eyes made my stomach sink.

"There's no need to drag this out," I said firmly, cutting him off. "Just tell me. I'll find out eventually anyway."

"I'd rather you found out later," he muttered, his jaw clenching.

I stared at him, silently pleading. He looked utterly drained, with dark circles under his eyes and his hair disheveled. Guilt twisted in my gut as I realized he must've spent the entire day here, waiting and worrying.

I glanced at the window. The blinds were drawn tight, the white slats hiding any view of the outside world. Everything felt so closed off, suffocating.

"So, the police are coming because of the shooting," I said slowly, piecing things together. "Does that mean they arrested Scott?"

Ray's head dropped low, his chin nearly touching his chest. "They're coming for details, I guess," he said quietly. "I already spoke with them." His eyes flicked up to meet mine. "They asked about Scott, why I was there, and..." He paused. "About Paul."

"Paul?" My voice rose, sharp and startled.

"Shit," Ray cursed under his breath, rubbing the back of his neck. "Look, love. I got to your apartment building and heard yelling coming from inside. The old guy—Joe, right?—was in the hallway, hiding near his doorway."

"Joe," I whispered, picturing the familiar neighbor.

"Yeah. He told me he'd already called the cops. I recognized Scott's voice, so I figured things were bad. I ran to Paul's apartment, hoping he could help. I know he'd abandoned your case, but I thought maybe..." His voice trailed off.

"And?" My heart raced, the steady beep of the monitor growing faster in time with it.

"He didn't answer the door," Ray said. "But it wasn't locked. I went in." His expression darkened. "I found him in the kitchen, Sam. He was dead."

I blinked, struggling to process his words. "Paul's... dead?" Ray nodded grimly. "When? How?" I swallowed hard, my throat suddenly dry. "When?"

"There aren't many answers yet," he said, his voice low. "But it looked bad, Sam."

A memory surfaced, sharp and sudden. "The smell," I whispered. "I noticed it in the stairway when I came back that day. It was awful. I thought about telling the building supervisor, but then..." My voice wavered. "Then Scott came, and everything went blurry."

Ray reached for my hand, his touch grounding me. "You need to rest," he said gently. "We can talk about this in the morning."

"But he wasn't old," I argued, my voice barely above a whisper. "What could've happened to him?"

Ray stared at me for a long moment, his gaze heavy and somber. "The working theory is that Scott might've killed him."

My breath caught in my throat. "Why? Why would he do that?"

Ray didn't answer right away, his silence unsettling. Then it hit me—a memory, hazy but undeniable.

"Scott knew," I murmured, more to myself than him. "He asked about Paul, he already knew Paul was dead."

Ray nodded, confirming my suspicions. "The cops think so too. They're still investigating. Two teams are working the case until they can piece everything together."

My mind raced, connecting fragments of memory and fear. I wanted answers, but exhaustion tugged at me, making my thoughts sluggish. Desperate to change the subject, I latched onto something else.

"The nurse said you have stitches?" I raised an eyebrow at him, trying to lighten the mood even slightly.

"It's just a bruise," he said, lifting his shirt to show me.

My breath caught as I saw the white bandage on his side, covering the spot where the bullet must've grazed him. "You saved my life, love," he said, his voice thick with emotion.

I stared at the dressing, my chest tightening. "The bullet went through my shoulder and hit you," I whispered, the reality settling in. "It was bad," I said, sinking back onto the bed, my body heavy with fatigue. "Wasn't it?"

"I thought I lost you." Ray's voice cracked, and his eyes shimmered with unshed tears. "I was scared... and angry." His words hung in the air, heavy with emotion. My throat tightened as I looked at him. "Why would you do that?" he asked, his tone quieter now, almost pleading.

"Because I..." My voice faltered, the words catching in my throat.

He shook his head, a sad smile tugging at his lips. "I know," he said softly. "That was more of a rhetorical question." His attempt at lightness, however faint, barely reached his eyes.

"What happened after the shooting?" I asked, my voice trembling.

"The ambulance came," he said, his tone distant. "I rode with them to the hospital."

"Okay," I said slowly. "And what happened between those two events?"

Ray glanced toward the window, the light from the hallway casting a faint glow on his profile. His silence was deafening, and my chest tightened as dread curled in my stomach. Then, like a bolt of lightning, the realization struck me.

"He shot himself," I whispered, the words tasting bitter as they left my lips. My vision blurred as tears spilled down my cheeks, hot and unrelenting. "Why did he do it?"

The steady beeping of the monitor quickened, matching the erratic rhythm of my heartbeat. Before Ray could answer, the door creaked open. I wiped at my cheeks hastily, glancing over to see my father stepping inside, finishing a phone call.

"Okay, bye," he said briskly, tucking his phone into his jacket pocket. His sharp black suit looked flawless, as always, but his tired eyes betrayed him.

"How are you feeling, sweetheart?" he asked, leaning over to kiss my forehead. His usual stern demeanor softened as he studied my face. "Are you in pain?"

"The pain is manageable," I replied, though my voice was barely above a whisper.

"Tom and Mom are waiting in the car," he said, straightening up. "I came to check on you before we head out." His gaze flickered to Ray briefly, and the tension between them was palpable. "You need rest, and we're all tired."

"You can stay at my place," I offered out of habit before the reality hit me. "Wait... my apartment is a crime scene." The words tasted foreign, yet their weight was undeniable.

"Yes, honey," Dad said with a nod, his hands resting in his suit pockets. "We're staying at a hotel. We'll be back in the morning." He turned his attention fully to Ray, his voice hardening. "Raymond, you should go. Samantha needs to rest."

Ray didn't flinch. His jaw tightened, and his gaze never left mine. "I'm not going anywhere," he said firmly. "She might need help."

"There are nurses for that," Dad countered, stepping toward the door. "But not all of us can afford to stay up all night. Some of us have work in the morning. Goodnight, sweetheart," he said to me, his tone softening as he left the room without waiting for a response.

"I'm sorry," I said, my voice trembling as I turned back to Ray.

"It's okay," he murmured, taking my hand in his. His thumb traced soothing circles over my skin, grounding me. "How are you really feeling?"

I knew what he meant. He wasn't asking about the pain in my shoulder or the dull ache in my head. He was asking about the storm raging in my mind.

The quiet settled over the room like a thick fog, and in the stillness, the memories clawed their way to the surface. The sound of Scott's body hitting the floor echoed in my head, heavy and final, and I couldn't stop the shiver that ran through me.

Tears welled in my eyes again, spilling over as the weight of it all crushed me. Ray leaned closer, his warm hand brushing against my cheek.

"It's okay, love," he said, his voice steady and comforting. His thumb gently wiped the tears from my face. But it wasn't okay. A sob ripped through me, loud and raw, shaking my entire body. "Just try to calm down," Ray said, glancing at the monitor as the beeping quickened. He pulled me closer, wrapping me in the warmth of his presence. "I've got you. Just breathe, darling."