Ray.

~~~

We all had cleaned up, and I stayed on the bus with the guys, trying to shake off the adrenaline still pumping through me. Louis was out cold in one of the bunks, his snores loud enough to cut through my inner turmoil. I leaned back against the couch's leather, watching Sam scroll through her phone. She looked exhausted but composed like she was trying to pretend nothing had happened.

When the rest of the guys finally climbed onto the bus, their energy hit like a whirlwind—loud, chaotic, and completely draining. Andrew flopped onto the couch across from me, shaking his head as if trying to shake off the night. Gabe and Adam didn't bother saying much, heading straight to their bunks to crash. That left the rest of us—me, Andrew, Logan, and James—lingering in the sitting area with Samantha.

"Sorry we were so slow," Andrew muttered, looking at Sam with an apologetic shrug. His elbows rested on his knees.

"Too slow?" Sam raised an eyebrow, her voice tinged with genuine surprise. "How did you even find me?" Her gaze flicked to me, questioning.

James leaned forward, lowering his voice as if we were in on some big conspiracy. "I spotted you first. We were looking for you because someone"—he shot me a knowing look—"was freaking out."

I rubbed the back of my neck and glanced at her, guilt tugging at me. "You said you'd be back before the show started," I admitted, reaching for her hand. My fingers slipped between hers like it was the most natural thing in the world. I brought her hand to my lips, kissing it softly. "I was worried."

Her face softened as her thumb brushed my cheek. "I'm sorry," she said quietly, her voice full of genuine regret. "I got caught up at the caricature museum. It took longer than I expected."

Before I could respond, James butted in again. "And then I saw some guy checking you out," he said, motioning toward me with his chin. "So, I told Ray."

Andrew chimed in, smirking. "And then Ray told me."

"Yeah, we were keeping tabs on you," I admitted, glancing at Logan, who glared at us with his arms crossed like an annoyed small child.

Logan let out a dramatic sigh. "Of course, no one bothers to tell me anything, as usual," he said, his tone dripping with sarcasm.

"Don't make this about you, brother," I said, narrowing my eyes at him.

Logan threw up his hands. "I just don't want her thinking I don't care, because I do," he said, shooting Sam a look that I could only describe as pleading.

Sam tilted her head, giving him a small smile. "I know, Logan. I appreciate it," she said gently, her voice softening the tension in the room.

Andrew broke the moment with a laugh. "If we'd known you were going to break the guy's nose, we wouldn't have bothered coming to your rescue!"

"I didn't break—" Sam started, but James cut her off, grinning.

"She didn't need any rescuing, clearly," he said, his laughter contagious enough to make even me crack a smile.

The conversation stretched on, the tension from earlier fading as we joked and teased into the early hours. The groping incident and everything else that happened that night became the main topic of conversation, with every guy chiming. By the time the sun rose, I felt a little less angry, but only because I knew she was safe. Still, I couldn't shake the bitterness of it—the thought of that guy, what he'd tried to pull.

When we finally crashed, the bus had already crossed into the Netherlands. I barely registered the movement as we drove, exhaustion taking over. By the time we woke up, we were already in Amsterdam.

Sam and I had booked a room at the Radisson Blu, while the rest of the band stayed with Logan's friend in Amstelveen. They were planning a night out, but I had other plans.

The hotel room was cozy, a mix of elegant modernity and understated charm. A minibar stood neatly on the right side of the room, complete with a coffee maker perched on top. Mirrors lined the wardrobe doors, reflecting the small living area—a white leather couch, two armchairs, and a coffee table. The bed, tucked toward the back, looked inviting, though the room itself felt oddly dim despite the mostly white decor.

Sam dropped her luggage near the closet and disappeared into the bathroom while I flopped onto the bed, rotating the TV toward me. The mattress was soft, but my thoughts were anything but. I couldn't shake the lingering frustration from last night—the guy at the club, the comments on the fan videos James had shown us earlier.

I heard the shower turn on, the steady stream of water muffled behind the bathroom door. I tried to focus on the TV, but my mind wandered to Sam. She'd been quiet this morning, more than usual. Those videos probably didn't help.

Fans had caught everything on camera, of course—grainy, dark clips of us jumping off the stage, silhouettes moving in the chaos. The comments were relentless, speculating about Sam, about why we'd gone after her. Some were supportive, others not so much.

When she finally came out of the bathroom, her hair damp and her expression thoughtful, I sat up. "Hey," I said softly, my voice cutting through the quiet.

She looked at me, her eyes searching mine. "Hey," she replied, her voice steady but distant.

I patted the space beside me, and she walked over, sitting down with a sigh. "Talk to me," I said, brushing a strand of damp hair from her face.

For a moment, she hesitated, and then she leaned into me, her head resting against my shoulder. "It's just... everything," she murmured. "Last night, the videos, the comments. It's a lot."

I wrapped an arm around her, pulling her close. "Let them talk," I said firmly. "None of it matters. What matters is that you're okay."

She nodded, her breath warm against my chest. At that moment, nothing else mattered—not the band, not the fans, not the chaos of last night. This was the moment I realized. I love her. I knew she was not ready to hear it, and I knew I was falling for her way before, but at this moment. Her in my arms, my lips pressed to her temple, and her hands trailing my forearm tattoos were perfect, nothing else mattered—just her.

There were no real guesses about her yet, but I knew Samantha wasn't comforted by that. She hated attention, hated the spotlight, and most of all, hated the gossip that came with being "Raymond Lawrence's girlfriend." She'd told me that much. Her plan to stay invisible? It was already unraveling, though she clung to it like a lifeline. Deep down, I think we both knew our relationship would come to light eventually, but neither of us expected it to happen so soon.

I took her in as she leaned back from me, her skin looked fresh, glowing even, but I could see the faint shadows under her blue eyes. Sam had always been confident—at least, that's what I'd admired about her from the start. But something was different now.

She stood back from the bed, but I stepped in behind her and wrapped my arms around her waist, she was startled but relaxed after a few seconds. "I'm sorry," I murmured against the curve of her neck, my lips brushing her skin.

She tilted her head slightly. "Why do you keep apologizing? You didn't do anything wrong." Her voice was soft but firm, the way it always was when she wanted to reassure me. She turned in my arms, her hands coming up to rest lightly on my neck.

"I know this isn't what you wanted," I said, resting my chin on her shoulder, and pulling her closer.

She sighed and leaned her head against mine. "I'm still a nobody," she said quietly, but the tension in her voice betrayed her.

I pulled back, studying her face. "Not for long," I said. "You know that, don't you?" I cupped her cheek, my thumb brushing over her skin. She avoided my gaze for a moment, her lashes sweeping down.

"Yeah, I know," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.

I hesitated, searching her eyes when she finally lifted them to meet mine. "Are you okay with that?" I asked. I hated the uncertainty in my voice, but I needed to hear her answer.

"I don't know," she said honestly, holding my gaze. There was no hesitation, just a raw honesty I'd come to expect from her.

I kissed her forehead lightly, then stepped back. "I'm gonna shower, alright?" She nodded, giving me a small, understanding smile.

This was the worst part for all of us—people thinking they could meddle in parts of our lives we wanted to keep private. Under the hot stream of water, I tried to shake off the weight of it all. The comments, the videos, and the way people were already speculating about her. She compared herself to my ex—Courtney before and the comments didn't help with that part. And it's not like we ever officially announce things in our personal life.

Sam wasn't just beautiful; she was everything. Her mind, her heart, her sharp humor—they outshone anyone else. But how could I convince her of that when she was her own worst critic?

Outside of music and the stage, we were just like anyone else. Guys and I were used to it and knew what we signed on to when entering the scene, and with time, it got harder to hide anything from fans. I still tried with Sam, just because she said she didn't want that type of attention early on.

When I came out, towel-drying my hair, Sam was unpacking her luggage. The sight of her—focused and methodical—grounded me in a way I didn't expect. She looked up briefly, offering me a smile before returning to her task.

The rest of the day was quiet, lazy even. We spent most of it tangled up in each other on the bed, sleeping off the exhaustion from the tour, or watching random shows on TV. There was peace in those moments like we'd built a cocoon that the outside world couldn't invade.

The next morning, I woke early to find Sam already dressed and flipping through the guidebook she'd got when we checked in. She had this spark in her eyes, a look that said she was ready to explore. Over breakfast at a small café near the hotel, she talked about the museums she wanted to visit, her excitement bubbling up in a way that made me smile.

Our first stop was The Rembrandt House Museum. The place felt like stepping into another time, with its narrow hallways and carefully reconstructed furniture. Sam walked through the space with this quiet awe, her fingertips trailing over the wooden banisters as if she could feel the history in them.

At one point, she turned to me, her eyes wide. "Can you imagine living like this? Painting every day in a space like this?"

I shrugged, grinning. "I can't paint to save my life, but if it made you this happy, I'd give it a shot, Logan for sure would join you."

She laughed, her cheeks flushing as she shook her head. "You're impossible."

The Museum of Bags and Purses was her pick, and I'll admit, I wasn't thrilled about it at first. But as we walked through the exhibits, even I had to admit it was fascinating. The craftsmanship, the designs—it was art in its own way. And the tea they served at the end? Lavish didn't even begin to describe it. Watching Sam sip from the delicate porcelain cup, her eyes sparkling with happiness was a memory I'd carry with me for a long time.

In those moments, I didn't care about the videos or the comments. All I cared about was her, the way she looked at the world with wonder, and the way she let me be part of it.

We were both drained after hours of wandering the city, so taking a boat tour along the Amstel River felt like the perfect way to wind down. As the boat glided through the water, I couldn't help but admire the way the golden light of sunset reflected off the historic buildings, painting the city in warm, intangible hues. Samantha leaned against me, her head resting lightly on my shoulder, her soft sighs betraying her exhaustion. The peacefulness of the moment settled over us like a blanket, a welcome reprieve from the bustling streets.

By the time we returned to the hotel, the day's adventures had caught up with us. Sam went straight to the bathroom for a shower, and I couldn't blame her. Touring with the band had its challenges, especially for someone like her, who appreciated small luxuries like consistent showers and personal space. She never complained, though—not about the cramped bus, the endless noise, or the chaos of traveling with seven guys. She made it all look easy, even when I knew it wasn't.

The sound of running water pulled me toward the bathroom. Steam rolled under the door, curling out like an invitation. I didn't think twice before stepping inside. The sight of Sam under the warm cascade stopped me in my tracks for a moment. Her skin glistened, droplets tracing streams down her curves, and the serene expression on her face made my heart clench.

I slid behind her, my hands finding her hips like they belonged there. The warmth of the water soaked through my bare skin.

"I hate shower sex," she said, her voice light and teasing as she scrubbed her arm with a sponge.

"Do you?" I asked, pressing a kiss to the curve of her neck. Her skin smelled faintly of coconut soap, and the heat of her body under the water against mine sent a bolt of electricity through me.

"Mm-hmm." She tried to sound firm, but the soft moan that followed gave her away.

I trailed kisses up the back of her neck and toward her ear, lingering just enough to feel her shiver under me. "Who said anything about shower sex?" I murmured against her ear. "I'm just here to clean myself."

The sponge slipped from her hand, landing with a soft splash on the shower floor. She turned to face me, her hands sliding through my chest and up to rest on my shoulders. "Then maybe I should leave you alone?" she asked, arching an eyebrow. The playful glint in her eyes challenged me, but I could see the flicker of desire she couldn't quite hide.

I couldn't help the grin that stretched across my face. "Cleaning can wait," I said, cupping her face with both hands. My thumb brushed over her cheek, and then I leaned in, capturing her lips with mine.

Her soft gasp melted into the kiss, and for a moment, the rest of the world ceased to exist. The shower's spray turned hotter, or maybe that was just us. Either way, I didn't care. Sam was in my arms, and for now, that was all that mattered.