Sam.

~~~

Adjusting to the new house was harder than I'd anticipated. Even with Ray's help rearranging the kitchen and bedroom, the place still felt unfamiliar—like I was a guest in someone else's life. I'd never been great at adapting to new environments, but I had to admit, each day brought a little more ease. Slowly, routines formed, and with them came a tentative sense of normalcy. Still, I couldn't shake the feeling of being stuck in an endless loop of overanalyzing everything around me.

My thoughts always seemed slow, tangled in knots I couldn't unravel. I kept questioning the people in my life, their motivations, and their actions. Trust felt like a distant memory. Scott's betrayal had cracked something in me that I wasn't sure could be fixed. If he could deceive me for so long, who else might be capable of the same?

He lingered in my mind more than I cared to admit. Late at night, I wondered what my life might've looked like if I'd never met Ray. Would I still be with Tom? Maybe. Probably. Ray had disrupted everything, forcing me to confront changes I didn't know I needed. Most of them were good—life-changing even—but one of my best friends was now dead, and that wasn't something I could easily reconcile.

Scott had been my best friend, hadn't he? I clung to the good times, as though holding onto them might justify my misplaced trust. But deep down, I finally understood my parents' criticisms. I had no legacy, no achievements, nothing to show for myself. My life felt adrift, aimless. You need to grow up, I told myself nightly as I lay awake, staring into the dark void of the bedroom.

Sleep had become a luxury I rarely afforded myself. The constant ache in my shoulder didn't help. I used to find comfort in the sound of Ray's deep, even breathing beside me, but lately, even that wasn't enough to lull me into rest.

When the first rays of sunlight peeked through the unsealed windows, I gave up on sleep entirely. The soft glow painted the bedroom in muted shades of gold and gray, making the space look colder than it felt. Quietly, I slipped out of bed, careful not to wake Raymond, and walked to the window. The view from the second floor stretched over a significant portion of the city. Each morning, it seemed different—alive in a way I struggled to feel.

I grabbed the silk robe hanging on the back of the chair and wrapped it around myself, savoring its cool touch against my skin. My bare feet tapped against the floor as I made my way downstairs. The chill of the black tiles seeped into my soles, grounding me.

A rattling noise from the kitchen stopped me mid-step. Spot, Molly's dog, dashed around the kitchen island, his collar jangling with each step. He skidded to a stop in front of me, his tongue lolling out as he panted. His sudden appearance startled me, but his soft brown eyes and wagging tail melted my initial apprehension. He licked my hand, his warm tongue a strange but comforting sensation.

Having a dog in the house felt odd, yet somehow right. Raymond had suggested Molly stay with us instead of the hotel, and I'd loved the idea of having her around. But something about Molly's extended visit didn't sit right with me. What was meant to be a brief trip had stretched into two weeks, and there were no signs she planned to return to Vancouver anytime soon. Taking Spot with her to Los Angeles had seemed strange at the time, but now it felt deliberate.

Something's going on with her, I thought as I scratched Spot's head, his fur soft beneath my fingers. But I didn't want to pry—not yet.

I washed my hands and started the coffee maker, grateful for the rhythmic hum of the machine breaking the silence. Spot settled behind me, his quiet presence soothing. Coffee had become a ritual for me in this house, a tether to normalcy. These early mornings, born out of sleepless nights, felt strange but necessary.

With my mug in hand, I stepped onto the terrace. Spot bounded into the backyard, sniffing the grass before darting toward the pool. I sank into the wooden swing set near the water, the seat creaking softly as I swayed. The sound, coupled with the bitter heat of the coffee, offered a small reprieve from the thoughts that never seemed to leave me.

Scott's death still felt unreal. I'd missed his funeral, and though I vaguely remembered him pulling the trigger, part of me refused to believe he was gone. Everyone said he was dead—Ray, Molly, even the police reports—but my mind clung to doubts. Maybe it was grief. Maybe it was guilt.

I sighed, watching Spot chase a bird in the distance. The house had become a sanctuary for the last few days, a place to hide from the world. But that peace would end tonight. We'd agreed to a housewarming party—a necessary step, I knew, but one I wasn't ready for. The internet lagged again, leaving me unable to finish notes on my phone.

"You know, you could just stay in bed," Ray said, his voice breaking the quiet.

I slightly jerked in my seat, turning, I saw him standing in the doorway, his hair tousled from sleep, a drowsy grin tugging at his lips. His presence, as always, was equal parts grounding and disarming.

"I've been awake for an hour before deciding to get up," I said, glancing up at Raymond as he leaned against the doorframe. Something was off in his face—too pale, almost weary. I stood, placing my phone on the glass table. "Are you okay? You look a bit pale."

"I'm fine," he replied with a small shrug. "Probably just need coffee." His gaze shifted to the empty cup sitting on the table. "I'll get you another one, and then we can plan the shopping."

"Ugh, fine," I groaned, rolling my eyes. Shopping had never been my idea of a good time.

When Ray returned with two steaming mugs, his lips curved into a playful smirk. "I can see my spot's been taken," he teased, nodding toward Spot, who was sprawled across the bench beside me.

"Oh, yes," I said, stroking Spot's warm fur. The dog snorted softly, his tail giving a single wag in response. "A non-verbal partner might be better for me anyway. At least he doesn't tell me what to do or drag me into shopping trips."

"He snores," Ray countered, setting the cups on the table.

"At least he has that going against him," I quipped, grinning as I tapped Spot's back lightly. "Come on, buddy."

Spot heaved himself off the bench with a dramatic sigh and plopped onto the cool pavement, immediately curling up and dozing off again. Ray slid into the seat beside me and took my hand in his, his thumb tracing gentle circles over my skin.

"Alright," he began, his voice warm and coaxing. "I'll handle the party prep—food, drinks, all of it. You can go out with Molly and pick up a new outfit. Have a little girls' shopping spree."

I raised an eyebrow. "I just need one outfit, Ray. That's not exactly a spree."

"You should get more stuff," he pressed, and I shot him a look. "I don't mind you wearing my clothes, but we need some normalcy."

"I'll be getting all my things back tomorrow," I reminded him, sipping my coffee. "It's not that big of a deal."

"We should talk about that," he said, leaning back slightly. "What are you going to do with the apartment now?"

"Sell it," I answered without hesitation. The thought of living there again, after everything that had happened, made my stomach twist. "But not yet. I'll wait until things settle. I can't go back, not after... everything. Besides, the price has dropped." I hesitated before continuing, staring down at the coffee swirling in my cup. "They're selling Paul's old place too, for way less than before—probably because of the shooting."

Ray's gaze softened as he listened, silently encouraging me to go on.

"I looked at the listing just to get an idea of the market. It's not like I need the money, but I think I'll give whatever I make to my parents. They bought the place for me, so it's only fair."

He nodded thoughtfully. "What about the furniture?"

"I'll sell it too," I said, motioning to the house around us. "There's no point in taking it to New York. This place is fully furnished, anyway." I paused, meeting his eyes. "We should talk about our living situation too."

Ray leaned back against the swing's frame, letting out a small sigh. "We can move to New York in a week or so," he said. "They're clearing the apartment tomorrow, so we just need to pack."

"Are you sure about New York, Ray?" I asked, watching his reaction closely.

"Yeah. Why?"

"You've bought so much for this place," I said, gesturing at the house. "It feels like a waste to stay here for just a couple of weeks. I mean, it's your money, but it still seems... unnecessary."

He tilted his head, considering my words. "Good point. I just wanted you to feel comfortable, love."

"I know," I murmured, my chest tightening slightly at his sincerity.

"We'll sell this place too," he said, his tone resolute. "And start fresh in New York."

"Fresh start," I echoed softly, nodding. The idea was appealing, but my mind wandered to Scott. His life, so full of potential, would never get a fresh start. The thought clenched around my heart like a fist.

"You're still upset about the funeral, aren't you?" Ray asked his ability to read me both comforting and unnerving.

"Yes and no," I admitted, staring into the black depths of my coffee. "His parents must be devastated. And his cousin..." My voice wavered as I thought of their closeness. "They were inseparable, Ray. And I wasn't there. I couldn't be there. I'm the reason he's dead."

"You're not," Ray said firmly, taking my coffee and setting it aside. He scooted closer, wrapping his arms around me. I leaned into him, resting my head against his chest. His heartbeat was steady, grounding. "He knew he was cornered," he murmured into my hair. "And he made his choice."

We stayed like that, wrapped in each other, the silence between us no longer uncomfortable but relieving. There was a time I would have filled the stillness with nervous chatter, but that had changed. Everything had changed.

As I closed my eyes, I realized the answer to a question that had haunted me. Why had I jumped in front of the bullet that day? It wasn't bravery. It wasn't selflessness. It was selfishness—pure and simple. I wanted to save Ray for myself. If I didn't change, that same selfishness would destroy me.