Ray.

~~~

I jolted awake to what sounded like cats dying somewhere on the street, maybe. I realized I slept at Samantha's, though the bed was empty and cold. After a few moments, I figured the noise was coming from somewhere in the apartment, and I started to make out words—lyrics. I wandered to the kitchen finding the source of the sound.

The smell of coffee lingered in the air, and I smiled as I looked at Sam. Her pajama shorts moved as she wiggled her hips, making that—oh so terrible sound. There was no way I was telling her that. Her loose hair stayed pinned by the black headphones on her head, sizzling sounds barely audible as she went to the songs—the chorus of my song.

I admit it was cute to watch as she swirled the spatula in the air, wiggling her hips and slightly moving her feet. The roasted meat smell reached me as I pressed my shoulder to the doorway, my hands intertwined on my chest. Since she was—let's call it singing—my song I had a good idea when the song would end, so I stayed like that, just enjoying the view.

"Good morning," I said, my voice was raspy from sleep when I knew the song had ended and before another one would have a chance to start.

She blinked and swallowed hard, her cheeks turning crimson as she glanced at me through her shoulder. That's when I realized I was still just in my briefs. I ran a hand through my hair, grinning as I saw her trying to focus on the stove.

She turned around, shutting off the stove. "Morning, did I wake you?" she muttered, eyes darting everywhere except me.

"Not really, do I smell coffee?" I teased, stepping closer.

"Yes, help yourself," she said quickly, moving to the other side of the counter like she needed distance to think clearly. I didn't mind—I liked knowing I had that effect on her.

While I poured a cup of coffee, I noticed the way her shoulders seemed tense, even as she tried to hide it. She glanced at her phone again, her brow furrowed, and I decided to ask.

"You okay?" I asked, leaning against the counter.

She looked up, hesitating. "It's just my sister. Family stuff."

"Want to talk about it?"

Sam shook her head but offered a small smile. "Later, maybe."

I nodded, deciding not to push her. After breakfast, I left her apartment to run a few errands, but I couldn't shake the thought of her. There was something different about her—a strength that hid just beneath the surface. She carried a weight she didn't talk about, but it didn't seem to drag her down. It just made her shine brighter.

That evening, I stood on the sidewalk, waiting for her. She told me to meet her outside, but she hadn't mentioned what the plan was. I looked around, hands in my pockets, when the unmistakable growl of a motorcycle engine caught my attention.

My jaw nearly hit the pavement as Sam pulled up on a Harley, her black helmet tilted back just enough to reveal her smirking face. She was decked out in black jeans, a leather jacket, and boots that screamed confidence. The streetlights reflected off her bike, making the polished chrome gleam.

She extended a helmet toward me. "Well? Are you getting on, or should I leave you here?"

I laughed, shaking my head. "I didn't know I signed up for the coolest date of my life."

"You haven't even seen the rest yet," she said, raising an eyebrow. "Come on, we don't have all day."

I climbed on behind her, feeling the rumble of the engine beneath me as I wrapped my arms around her waist. Her hair smelled faintly of coconut, and the warmth of her back against my chest made the ride even better.

Twenty minutes later, we parked near the edge of Elysian Park. Sam didn't say much, but the small smile on her lips told me she was excited. We walked another ten minutes, the city's glow fading behind us as the trees thickened and the noise of traffic gave way to the rustle of leaves.

When we reached the spot, I understood why she brought me there. The view was breathtaking. The city stretched out below us, a sea of lights flickering against the darkening sky, while the stars above seemed to faintly echo them. Sam leaned against a tree, looking out over the city with a kind of quiet reverence.

"This place is incredible," I said, stepping closer.

"It's one of my favorites," she admitted, glancing at me. "I used to come here all the time when I first moved to LA. It's peaceful."

I studied her face, lit faintly by the glow of the city. There was something vulnerable about her at that moment like this place wasn't just a favorite spot but a piece of her story.

"Thanks for sharing it with me," I said softly.

She turned to me, her expression warm. "I wanted to."

I reached for her hand, pulling her gently toward me. "So, what's next on this mysterious date?"

She grinned. "You'll see."

And as I looked at her, standing there in the quiet beauty of the park, I realized I didn't care where the night took us. Just being with her was enough.

Our next stop, a large swing set, stood at the top of the hill, offering a sweeping view of Los Angeles. The city's sprawl stretched endlessly, cars looking like small ants crawling back to their caves. The park was vast, one of the oldest in L.A., but this spot—the swings—felt oddly intimate.

Samantha led the way, her hair catching the fading sunlight, a streak of auburn glinting as she turned to glance back at me. She had told me Elysian Park was special to her, and I could see why. There was a calmness to it, though beneath that calm, I sensed something bittersweet lingering in her thoughts.

"Have you ever been here before?" she asked, her voice carrying that casual curiosity she always had, though I could hear a thread of something deeper.

I smirked, glancing around. "Logan tried to drag me on a hike here once, a while ago." I pointed toward the base of the hill where a cluster of trees cast long shadows. "I ended up sitting somewhere down there and smoking pot instead."

She laughed, shaking her head as we kept climbing. "So, Logan. He likes outdoor stuff?" Her question came with a tilt of her head as if she were trying to piece together an image of my brother.

I chuckled. "Not really. That was his attempt at getting me out of the house. Back when... you know, things got bad." I hesitated for a moment but kept walking. "When that fan situation went too far, I got paranoid. Depressed. I barely left my house for weeks." I tightened my grip on her hand, glancing at her.

"I know what you mean," she said softly, her tone heavier now.

I squeezed her hand, meeting her gaze. "And that's why you're coming on tour with me," I said with a grin, trying to lighten the mood and maybe get a positive answer. "No way Scott's following you all the way through Europe."

She smiled, but I could tell the mention of Scott weighed on her. By the time we reached the swings, the air between us had shifted. She had set up a small picnic—just a blanket with some fruit, biscuits, and juice—but it was the thoughtfulness and simplicity of it that hit me. I grew up in a middle-class family and money was tight at times, but Sam grew up in a prestigious family on top of that she was a millionaire. And yet when I looked at her I saw none of that.

I lay on my side, propped up on an elbow, watching her as she sat cross-legged, staring out at the city like it held all the answers. There was a certain magic to the way she looked at things like she could see something the rest of us couldn't.

"So," she started, her voice breaking the quiet, "speaking of Scott... you never really told me how you guys know each other."

I picked a grape from the bunch she had brought, rolling it between my fingers before popping it into my mouth. "Through my brother," I said casually. "They met at the gym. Worked out together a few times, and hung out. Logan liked him back then."

She tilted her head, curious. "Liked him? Like... liked him?"

I laughed, lying back on the blanket with my arms behind my head. "Yeah. He had a crush on Scott. Even after he thought Scott had a boyfriend, Logan still wanted to hang out with him."

"Wait—why did he think Scott was into guys?" she asked, shifting her position. Her hair fell over one shoulder, and I couldn't help but watch the way her expression shifted between confusion and curiosity.

I smirked, looking up at the sky. "When I got home after that party, Logan told me about it. Apparently, Scott was all over him—complimenting his biceps, and the way he talked... Logan swore Scott had a thing for him. Turns out he didn't, though. Logan's got a terrible gaydar."

Her laugh was soft but genuine, and for a moment, I just listened to the sound of it. Talking with her like this felt easy. Natural. It wasn't like when I had to filter myself around others, either to protect the band's image or because I didn't trust them enough to open up. With Sam, there was no mask.

She rested her head on my stomach, lying on her side so she could look at me. I kept my arms behind my head, gazing down at her, letting the moment settle before she spoke again.

"Tell me more about Logan," she said, her voice light but insistent.

I raised an eyebrow. "Didn't I already tell you about him the first night we met? Or did you forget that too?"

She grinned, poking me lightly in the side. "No, I didn't forget. But I want to know about him as your brother, not just as your bandmate."

I sighed, thinking it over. "Logan's... complicated. He likes to paint, usually while he's high. He's into girls and guys, but he's got major commitment issues—not that he'd ever admit it." I glanced at her, gauging her reaction, but she just waited, patient. "We look alike, but we're different. He reminds me of Tod when he was our age."

Her brow furrowed slightly, and I knew she was piecing something together. "Tod?"

"My dad," I said quietly. "Well... he was my dad. I told you before, I don't really have a father anymore."

Her expression softened. "What happened?"

I hesitated, the words catching in my throat. "Tod died about eight years ago." My chest felt tight, the memory creeping in despite my best efforts to shove it back down.

She reached up, her hand warm against my cheek. "I'm sorry," she said gently. "How did it happen?" Her touch steadied me, and for the first time in a long while, I felt like I could talk about it.

"He was an addict—hard stuff, mostly meth. That's why Logan and I never ventured into anything harder than weed. Not that it made our lives easier. Pot-smoking is our only exception," I said, my voice quieter than I intended.

Samantha's expression softened, but her question came quickly, her tone probing. "Is there a reason you call him by his name instead of 'Dad'?"

I hesitated. The words were heavy, like pulling weights I wasn't sure I could lift. "Tod put my mom through hell," I admitted, the bitterness scraping my throat. "He'd be fine for months, acting like he had his life together—work, family, the usual routine. Then, out of nowhere, he'd disappear for weeks."

Sam stayed silent and turned to me, her brows furrowing in concern. She didn't push me, just waited, her silence giving me space to continue.

I drew in a deep breath, the memories rushing back like a storm. "My mom would go looking for him. She always found him—sometimes strung out, sometimes worse—and dragged him to rehab. He'd come home, clean for a while, promising us he'd change. But he never did. It was a cycle that went on for years."

I could hear the strain in my voice, and feel it in my chest. The cool night air did little to ease the heat rising under my skin. Sam must have noticed because she let go of my hand shifting away on the blanket. Maybe my story was weighing on her too, or maybe she thought resting her head on me earlier had made it worse.

"One day," I said, my voice faltering, "he disappeared again. My mom searched everywhere, but after three weeks, the cops showed up at our door. He'd overdosed. Just... gone."

The silence between us was deafening. Sam's eyes glistened in the dim light, and she reached out, her hand brushing my cheek in a soft, grounding touch.

"I'm sorry, Ray," she whispered.

I shook my head, the motion sharp. "I know he's dead, but I can't forgive him. I can't even call him 'Dad.' He never deserved that title." The words hung in the air, bitter and unyielding.

We shifted the conversation after that, trying to find lighter topics to fill the void. By the time we packed up the picnic, it was nearly ten, and the park was closing. As we strolled back toward Sam's bike, hand in hand, another thought surfaced—one I hadn't been able to shake.

"Did you tell your parents about the trip?" I asked, keeping my tone casual as we walked at an easy pace.

She glanced at me, confused. "Trip?"

"You're coming on tour, right?" I raised an eyebrow, a teasing smirk tugging at my lips.

She laughed, the sound easing the tension that had been hanging between us. "Yes, I'm coming. I told my sister but kept the details vague. Since I'm using my old phone to talk to my family, I'm not sure if I should tell them anything right now."

I nodded, though I couldn't hide the relief I felt at her answer. The idea of her not coming with me was something I didn't want to consider. Selfish? Maybe. But I didn't care.

"Did you tell your parents about me?" I then asked.

"Not yet," she said. I raised an eyebrow, curious but cautious. "There's a reason for that," she said, and I knew I wasn't going to like it.

"Tell me," I pressed.

"My mom still hopes I'll end up with Tom," she admitted, the name hitting me like a jab to the ribs. "And my dad? He expects me to come back home and work for him..." She trailed off, her voice heavy with frustration.

I stopped walking, turning to face her. "I'm not going to lie," I said, my voice firm but tinged with humor. "As the new boyfriend—" She winced, and I smirked. "What's that? Don't like the title?"

"It's not that," she sighed, rolling her eyes. "Okay, maybe it is. I just don't like labels like that."

"That's fine," I said. "We'll come up with our own terms," I lightly brushed her lips with mine as her hands rested on my shoulder. "Where was I?" I asked. "Oh, right, I'm not going to lie as a new man in your life, I feel threatened by Tom, considering what you told me last night. And to know that your parents like him, it's scary. But you chose me. And given how adorable I am, they're going to fall in love with me pretty soon." I shrugged with laughter.

"You are adorable," Sam smiled and pecked my lips.

We reached the parking lot, and she straddled her bike, her movements fluid and confident. Watching her, I couldn't help but feel a pang of jealousy.

"What?" she asked, catching the expression on my face.

I grabbed the spare helmet and chuckled. "I'm jealous."

"Of what?" she asked, genuinely surprised.

"I've had a hell of a time learning to ride a motorcycle," I admitted, feeling sheepish. "Still not great at it."

She burst into laughter, the sound bright and infectious. "Ray, you sound like a kid jealous of his friend's toy!"

"Yeah, well," I said, laughing along, "the feeling's about the same."

With her laughter still ringing in my ears, I slipped on my helmet, already thinking about the next adventure with her. Whatever label we chose, this was exactly where I wanted to be.