Sam.

~~~

The concert felt incredible, even with the whiskey-soaked shirt sticking to my back. The music pulsed through the air, and I let it sweep me up. Molly and I danced and sang along with the band, or at least I did. Molly tried her best, but it was obvious she barely knew the words. I couldn't blame her, there were a few tracks even I didn't recognize. They were probably new, but that didn't stop the energy from being contagious.

Scott and Rory eventually joined us after the third song, laughing and stumbling into the crowd. It was Rory, of course, who managed to spill whiskey down my back during his attempt at dancing. I yelped, but he just gave me an apologetic grin before disappearing with Scott to drink more in the kitchen again.

The band played on, each note vibrating through the room like a heartbeat. When the last chords faded into the buzz of the crowd, Molly and I exchanged glances. The living room was chaos. People dispersed in every direction, some heading upstairs, others lingering near the door. A group of girls clustered by the makeshift stage, throwing themselves at the band, who were busy packing up their instruments.

"I'm going to find Mason," Molly said, snapping me out of my thoughts. "You okay staying here alone for a bit?"

"Yeah, I'm fine," I replied with a nod. "Find me later?"

"Will do. He's probably still in the basement." She rolled her eyes. "You know how he is with concerts."

I did know. Molly's boyfriend Mason had no patience for alternative or rock music. The moment he found out there'd be a live set, he'd made a beeline for the pool table in the basement.

Molly gave me a quick smile before disappearing into the crowd. I looked around again, hoping to spot at least one familiar face, but everyone seemed like strangers. The energy of the room shifted, less focused now that the band had stopped playing. I decided to make my way to the kitchen, maybe I'd find our friends there, or at least another rum and coke.

As I moved through the narrow hallway connecting the living room to the kitchen, something caught my eye. A small table had been knocked over, its contents scattered across the wooden floor. Books lay abandoned, some trampled underfoot by partygoers too drunk to care.

And then I saw it.

The red-themed cover jumped out at me like a beacon, a stark contrast against the chaos of the dark hallway. My heart leaped, my pulse quickening as a tingling sensation spread through my hands. Swallowing hard, I bent down and picked up the book, brushing off a dusty footprint from its surface.

Detective Noah and the Man with the Red Scarf by Michael Morris.

The title was familiar, painfully so. I stared at the cover, my breath hitching. The noise of the party dulled into the background like I'd been submerged underwater.

"That's a marvelous book," a voice said, cutting through my daze.

The sound made my head snap up. It wasn't just any voice, it was low, raspy, and unmistakable. My heart skipped a beat as I looked up to see him. His black hair was tousled in a way that managed to look both careless and deliberate, and his deep brown eyes had a way of catching the light, making them seem impossibly darker.

Raymond Lawrence.

I swallowed hard, trying to push down the lump in my throat. "Yes, it is," I said, my voice steadier than I expected. The emotions from seeing the book still raced through me, leaving little room for excitement or nerves.

He gave me a small smile, one that didn't quite reach his eyes but still felt disarming. "I'm Raymond," he said, holding out his hand like I didn't already know who he was.

I hesitated, the book still clutched tightly in one hand, before finally slipping my other hand into his. "Samantha," I said, shaking his hand. His rings were cold against my palm, sending a small jolt through me. Why is he looking at me like that? His eyes seemed... kind. My mind raced for something to say, anything.

"I liked your show," I finally blurted, trying to steady my breathing and keep my voice from shaking.

"Thank you." His lips curved into a small smile as he raised a thick eyebrow. "Did you know about my band before the show?"

"Yeah," I said quickly, my voice trembling slightly. Then I corrected myself, "I mean, yes, I've known the band for a while now."

"Cool." He nodded, his expression relaxed, like we were having the most ordinary conversation in the world.

"Can I ask you a question?" I tilted my head, hesitating when I realized how awkward I sounded.

"Sure," he said, laughing lightly. His teeth caught the light as he smiled wider, and the sound of his laugh sent an unexpected warmth through me.

Up close, Raymond seemed more human than I had imagined. His outfit was simple black jeans and a red plaid T-shirt but his presence was magnetic.

I stared at him for a beat longer than I intended, then managed to ask, "Why did you guys play here tonight?"

His laugh came again, this time deeper, shaking his shoulders and making his shirt rise and fall. "My friend begged me," he said. "His lover is a fan. I think he wanted to impress him or something."

"Really?" I asked, my eyebrows shooting up in surprise. Not just anyone would perform at a house party because a friend asked them to. "What's his name?" I asked, my mind jumping to Rory. After all, this was his house.

"Scott," he replied casually, and my eyebrows rose higher.

"Scott Shaw?" I clarified, squinting slightly as I studied him.

"Yeah, you know him?"

"When you say his lover..." I trailed off, frowning. "Are you saying Scott has a boyfriend?" I shook my head instinctively. Scott is not into guys.

Raymond's eyes widened, and he covered his mouth. "Did I just out him?"

The comment hung in the air as people pushed through the corridor, oblivious to us. I ignored the question, squatting down to collect the books scattered across the floor. My heart sank a little seeing the state of them, trampled pages, bent spines.

Raymond crouched beside me without a word, lifting the small table and setting it upright against the wall. Together, we carefully gathered the books and stacked them on the surface. His unexpected help caught me off guard, but I didn't say anything, just nodded my thanks before heading toward the kitchen.

I barely made it through the archway when Scott's voice rang out. "There you are!" he called, stretching an unsteady hand toward me. He sat perched on the kitchen countertop, a red plastic cup in one hand. "Are you hiding from me?" His smirk was slightly crooked, evidence of how much he'd already had to drink.

"I'm not hiding," I said, taking the cup he handed me. I sniffed it cautiously, the scent of rum hitting my nose.

Scott rolled his eyes. "What, you don't trust me?"

"I just wanted to know what I'm drinking," I said, taking a sip. The tingling burn of the rum and coke on my tongue wasn't bad. "And you didn't stay for the whole show," I added, narrowing my eyes at him.

Scott waved dismissively, but his gaze shifted to the doorway behind me. "Ray, man, great show!" he yelled, waving Raymond over. Then, gesturing toward me, he added, "This is Sam, the friend I told you about."

"So Sam is a nickname for Samantha," Raymond said, laughing softly as he joined us. "Scott, when you mentioned her earlier, I thought you were talking about a guy." He raised an eyebrow, glancing between us.

I blinked in confusion, trying to process what he'd just said. Does Scott not have a secret boyfriend? The realization made me wonder if Scott had been telling people I was his girlfriend instead.

Raymond's eyes flicked to mine, and for a second, he blushed, his smile turning timid. I hid my laugh behind another sip of the cocktail.

Scott didn't seem amused. He stared at us, squinting like he was trying to piece something together. The tension made me squirm.

"We met in the hallway," I said quickly, motioning between myself and Raymond, hoping to shift the conversation. "Have you seen Molly or Mason anywhere?" I glanced around the kitchen, trying to shake off the awkwardness that had settled between us.

The kitchen was a haze of movement and noise, the air thick with the scent of alcohol and the pounding rhythm of the dance music from the living room. Scott's voice broke through the chaos, sharp and pointed.

"Ray, why would you think that?" Scott asked, his tone accusatory. His gaze shifted to me, and for the first time, he seemed to register my earlier question. "You lost her again?" he added, finally addressing me.

Before I could respond, Scott's attention shifted toward the doorway, and his face lit up. "There they are," he yelled, pointing.

I followed his finger to see Molly skipping toward us, her arms swaying theatrically at her sides. Mason, meanwhile, leaned against the doorframe, his arms crossed over his chest, his expression a perfect mask of boredom. His messy brown hair stuck out at odd angles, but his green eyes were locked on Molly as if she were the only person in the room.

"Sam!" Molly's voice cut through the noise, and she waved enthusiastically as she weaved through the crowd by the keg.

Relieved, I broke away from the guys and moved toward her. As I passed a gang of girls giggling near the beer keg, I caught snippets of the guys' conversation still lingering behind me.

"I can see you're popular amongst the men, as always," Molly teased when I reached her, her tone dripping with mockery.

I rolled my eyes, leaning in closer. "I think Scott is telling people I'm his girlfriend," I whispered, glancing quickly toward the guys to make sure they weren't listening. "Maybe not everyone, but he told Raymond."

Molly's eyes narrowed as she scanned the group near the kitchen island. "Raymond? And why do you care?"

"I don't care," I insisted, though my voice lacked conviction. "I'm just saying what happened."

The truth was, I usually didn't care what people thought. Life was easier that way. But for some reason, the idea of Scott spreading rumors unsettled me. How long had this been going on? Could that be why guys in our circle barely notice me?

"Is Raymond the guy from the band?" Molly raised an eyebrow, her tone skeptical.

"Yeah." My gaze drifted back to the guys. Molly's scrutiny made me squirm. "What were you saying before?" I asked, trying to change the subject.

"Oh, right," Molly said, suddenly remembering. She shifted her weight, placing one hand on her hip. "We're going home."

"What?" My voice rose in disbelief. "Why? Don't leave me here alone."

"Mason has an audition tomorrow, and I have work. Not all of us can sit around at home all day and still be millionaires." Her tone was sharp, each word laced with judgment. As per usual.

The jab hit harder than I expected. "Right, Molly. Like I chose that money and how I got it," I snapped before turning on my heel. I drained the rest of my drink in one angry gulp, feeling the burn of alcohol in my throat as I walked away.

I glanced over my shoulder just in time to see Molly and Mason disappearing into the living room, leaving me standing alone in the kitchen. Maybe coming to this party had been a mistake. Staying home with a blanket and a bad TV suddenly seemed like a dream compared to this. Everything reminded me of my grandfather tonight, first his book on the floor, and now Molly exploding about the money again.

Grabbing a bottle of Captain Morgan and a Coke from the counter, I slipped toward the back door. Scott was too engrossed in a heated discussion with Raymond and the band's drummer Logan to notice me slipping past.

The porch was dark and quiet, the only light coming from the dim glow of the kitchen windows. A chill wind swept over me, raising goosebumps on my arms.

I sank onto the wooden steps, the weight of the night pressing on me. The bottles rested in the curve of my arm, and my empty cup dangled loosely in my fingers.

Am I really this fucked up? I wondered bitterly, staring into the shadows of the yard. Even at a party, surrounded by people, I still ended up alone.