Sam.

~~~

The date night with Ray had been incredible, one of those moments that felt like it existed in its own little bubble, separate from reality. Getting to know him had become my new favorite thing, though my feelings for him still terrified me.

It was ridiculous, really—I'd only met him two weeks ago. But somehow, it felt like I'd known him for years. Maybe it was because we'd spent so much time together in such a short span, or maybe it was the way he had walked into my life just as everything else was spiraling.

His openness was so unlike anything I was used to, and that scared me too.

I'd started packing for the trip, even though the tour was still a week away. I liked being prepared; it gave me a sense of control when everything else felt like chaos. As I sifted through my wardrobe, my hand brushed against something familiar: my journal.

It wasn't really a diary—I didn't write in it every day. It was more of a place to unload when my thoughts got too heavy to carry. The brown leather cover, embossed with the family crest and my name, made it feel both personal and official. My grandfather had given it to me, and now just touching it brought a bittersweet pang to my chest.

I flipped it open, the faint scent of leather and paper wafting up, and skimmed through my last entry. Michael. His name stared back at me from the dark, jagged handwriting that filled the page. That was nine months ago, right after he died. The words were heavy and raw like I had poured out every ounce of pain I felt at the time.

I didn't want to linger there, so I decided to write about something brighter: Raymond.

2018 June.

I still can't believe he is gone, I miss my Grandpa every day, and this feeling is not something I felt before. It's different from when I missed him, knowing I can always visit or call him, this feels so permanent. The feeling of longing for his hug and voice, his always encouraging words, is killing me slowly.

It has been nine months and that feeling keeps creeping in, sometimes for a split second I forget he is dead and pick up the phone to call him, but I remember that he is gone. I found it comforting, knowing I spent as much time as I could with Grandpa and that he lived longer than doctors expected.

I recently shared my loss with Ray, and no one understood it as much as he did. He didn't say much, but I can see it in his eyes, he experienced such loss, and he knows exactly how I feel.

I still don't know so much about Raymond, but I'm starting to love the feeling of finding something new about him, it's like addiction and I get a fix every day. This feeling is new and something I needed in my life.

With Tom I always knew what to expect, I could guess his thoughts and actions. But with Ray, I can't, it's scary in a good way. Maybe the comfort I felt with Tom, knowing everything there is to know about him kept me from actually coming out of my shell, and discovering what I want in my life.

It's all because of Raymond in a way, if not for him bumping into me, I would never know about Scott, and I would probably be back in New York by now, miserable but in the comfort of Tom's arms.

Scott, I have to think about him every day, I never thought about him as much as these past days. I just want to know, why? Why does he feel the need to follow me? I am not that interesting, and my life is boring, all those photos looked exactly the same, I just wore different clothes. So it's boring, it must be very tiresome to watch me do the same things every day.

Another, thing which is bothering me, is why he never told me about his feelings. I am stupid, and I needed to listen to Molly. But I feel like if Scott had told me about his feelings, things would have been much different.

I would've shut him out, though I couldn't date him. And now the results are the same, he won't be in my life. But I would rather find out sooner than later and it feels that it's too late.

Knowing all of this earlier would save me from this shitty, dirty feeling. I feel like I haven't showered in a week if I see him or think about him for a bit longer, it's getting out of control.

I can't even pick outfits without thinking about them too much, they feel unwashed, and itchy at times, just because I wore them in the photos Scott took. I am glad to give them away, the closet needed clean up anyway.

I feel suffocated in my own home, and I always loved being here. Maybe a change of scenery will help to ease my mind and the distance will force Scott to stop. I hope it will...

The turn in my writing was almost instinctive like my mind couldn't help itself. And just like that, my journal was filled with more darkness.

Am I even capable of focusing on the good? Probably not.

Later that evening, Ray and I were supposed to go to Molly's place for a game night. She wanted a chance to talk to Ray in a low-pressure setting, which I understood. Molly had heard plenty about him from me, but she wanted to make her own assumptions. Before that, though, I had another meeting to face—one I wasn't looking forward to.

Scott.

I had been thinking about him more than usual over the past few days. The fact that he went back to his hometown gave me the freedom to go on a date with Raymond and to feel less exposed. He had texted me, letting me know he was back in Los Angeles, he hopped to meet, and Paul—the detective, insisted I meet him for lunch. Apparently, it was some kind of opportunity for his team to get into Scott's apartment, though Paul didn't go into details.

I didn't like it, but I agreed. Not because I was scared of Scott—I wasn't. But being around him made my skin crawl in a way I couldn't quite explain.

We agreed to meet at Starbucks on Wilshire Boulevard. It was just ten minutes from my place and a spot we used to frequent during our university days. The place hadn't changed much: outdoor seating with green umbrellas, friendly staff, and coffee that was always a little too strong.

When I arrived, Scott wasn't there yet, or at least I didn't see him. I stepped inside, the familiar aroma of roasted beans and baked goods greeting me. The interior had the same white-and-brown theme I remembered, with brick accents and metal details giving it a modern touch. I ordered a coffee and a sandwich, then started for the door.

That's when I felt a hand on my elbow. I turned sharply, almost dropping my tray. "Oh, hi."

"Hey," Scott said, flashing a smile as he pulled me into a quick hug.

I shouldn't have been surprised to see him—I'd come here to meet him, after all—but something about the way he looked threw me off.

"Didn't see you," I said awkwardly. "Do you want to grab something?"

He lifted his coffee cup as if to answer my question. "Already did. Let's sit outside?"

"Sure."

We chose a table tucked against the wall, shaded by one of the green umbrellas. I liked sitting there because it gave me a view of the street, something to focus on if the conversation got too uncomfortable.

"So, what's new?" Scott asked, tilting his head with that same casual arrogance I remembered.

"Not much," I said, taking a bite of my sandwich. "Aren't you hungry?"

"I got here early," he replied, holding up his cup. "Just coffee for me now. And, as usual, you're late."

I raised an eyebrow. "I'm not late—you're early. Big difference."

He laughed, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. "Fair enough. Chicago was good, by the way. Thanks for asking."

I blinked at him, caught off guard by the sudden shift. "How was Chicago?"

He leaned back, cradling his coffee like it was the most fascinating thing in the world. "Cold. Boring. You'd hate it."

"Sounds about right," I said, though my mind was already wandering.

"You seem distracted," he said, studying me with a little too much intensity.

"No, just...thinking."

"About?"

I hesitated, unsure if I wanted to open that door. Instead, I forced a smile. "Nothing important."

Scott didn't press, but the way his gaze lingered made me uneasy. I took another bite of my sandwich, focusing on the sounds of the city around us—the hum of traffic, the murmur of conversations from nearby tables.

"My dad had gotten sick, so I went to visit him," Scott said, his tone casual as he sipped his coffee.

I set my sandwich down, realizing I didn't have much of an appetite. "Oh, I'm sorry to hear that. Is he okay now?"

He nodded, scratching his chin absentmindedly. "Yeah, he's fine. What about you? What have you been up to?"

I shrugged and took a small sip of my coffee. "Not much, really," I said. "I'm actually leaving Los Angeles in a week."

Scott leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. His sharp green eyes locked onto mine. "Where are you headed?"

"A few places, mostly in Europe," I replied, rolling my shoulders in an attempt to appear casual. "You know I've been planning this trip for a while."

"Going alone?" he asked, glancing at my plate. "Are you going to finish that?"

I pushed the sandwich toward him. "It's all yours. And yes, I'm going alone. Molly's moving to Vancouver, so it's just me now."

Scott picked up the sandwich and took a bite, his tone playful as he offered, "I could come with you if you want some company."

"That's sweet, really, but I want some time to myself," I said carefully, the lie pressing against my tongue like a weight.

Scott raised an eyebrow. "Aren't you always alone?"

I decided to shift the topic. "What happened to your hair?" I asked, gesturing at his jet-black dye job.

He smirked, brushing a hand through it. "My cousin dyed it for me. You don't like it?"

"I wouldn't say that," I said, hesitating. "It's just... different."

"I went to the game the other night—"

I tuned him out as my gaze drifted toward the street. A tall woman with sleek, black hair and long legs caught my eye. She moved with an effortless grace, and I found myself imagining her as the lead in a story I might write. She would make a stunning dancer.

"Sam!" Scott's voice snapped me out of my thoughts.

"What?" I asked, turning back to him.

"You're doing it again," he said, grinning.

I smiled sheepishly. "Sorry. You know I zone out sometimes."

"Yeah, I remember." He chuckled, shaking his head.

Zoning out had always been my escape, ever since I was a teenager. Back then, I'd pretend to listen while my parents scolded me, but in my head, I'd be writing songs or weaving stories. My grandfather used to do the same thing, and Michael always said it was one of the reasons I'd make a great writer.

"So, you and Ray... that didn't happen, right?" Scott asked, leaning in, his brow arching inquisitively.

I stiffened, caught off guard. "What do you mean?"

"Well, you brought him to the club. I just assumed something was going on," he said, studying my reaction closely.

"We're friends, nothing more," I said, leaning back against the chair and crossing my arms.

Lying wasn't my strong suit, but I'd gotten better at sidestepping the truth. Paul had coached me on how to handle Scott—avoid certain topics and, if necessary, craft believable lies. Even so, it didn't make the act any easier.

"Oh, I thought you liked him," Scott said, his posture relaxing.

"He's nice," I said lightly, "but I'm not looking for anything right now."

"Tom troubles?" he teased, a half-smile curling his lips.

"No, Tom and I are over," I said firmly. But as I spoke, I couldn't help but wonder if Scott had seen Tom visiting me.

"For real this time?" he asked, raising a skeptical eyebrow.

"Hopefully, yeah," I said.

We finished our drinks and started walking back toward my apartment. The conversation drifted to lighter topics, and for a brief moment, it felt like old times.

"Are you hitting the gym tomorrow?" Scott asked, tilting his head as we reached my street.

Monday. Damn it. "Of course," I replied, my voice brighter than I intended.

I glanced at Scott as he asked, "Maybe we could go later in the day?"

I tilted my head, curious. "Why? Got plans?"

"I have a date tonight," he said with a slight smirk.

"That's great!" I replied, patting his shoulder. "But I can't go later than ten a.m. If I want a proper workout, I need to get it done before my conference call with Marcy and the others about the book."

"Right, the book," he said, his expression softening with what almost looked like genuine excitement. "When's it coming out again?"

"Next month," I said with a small smile. "So, who's the lucky one you're going out with?"

"Poppy," he said, his voice calm, almost too casual. "Daisy's sister."

I raised an eyebrow. "Didn't you hook up with her at that Christmas party?" Memories of him brushing off the subject flashed in my mind.

"That night's a blur for both of us," he said with a chuckle.

Blur for her, maybe. Not so much for you, I thought but kept my mouth shut.

"You should come too," he added as if the idea just popped into his head.

I blinked. "You're going on a date. Why would I tag along?" Was Ray right? Was Scott trying to make me jealous?

"It's not just me and Poppy. Daisy and Emeth will be there. Rory too. It's a group hangout."

So now it's not a date? I frowned but kept my tone light. "Right."

"You know, you could use a night out. It'd be fun," Scott said, his tone teasing.

"I try to spend as little time as possible with Rory," I said firmly. "Maybe I'll join next time." As we neared our street, a small wave of relief washed over me.

"Still mad about Molly?" Scott asked with a mocking grin. "That's ancient history. She's happy with Mason now. Why are you still dodging Rory?"

"I didn't like him before he slept with Molly," I said flatly. He already knew that, but Scott had this annoying habit of trying to smooth things over, especially when it came to his friends.

"You're so weird, Sam." He shook his head. "You'll hang out with some guy you barely know, but you can't spend one evening with Rory, who you've known for over three years."

I froze. He saw Ray.

"Who are you talking about?" I asked, forcing a casual tone as I stopped and turned to face him.

"Ray," Scott said, his confusion evident. "I saw him leaving your building the other day."

I narrowed my eyes. "Weren't you in Chicago that day?"

He hesitated, his words stumbling. "I... I saw him when I got back. Yeah, that's it. I was returning to my flat."

"Right." I nodded, pretending to buy it.

My mind raced. If he'd met Ray, Raymond would've told me. Scott had to be covering his tracks.

"So, are you coming?" Scott asked as we started walking again.

"No," I said firmly. "I'm hanging out with Molly before she leaves. You understand, right?" My voice sounded strange to my own ears, too chipper, too strained.

"Yeah, I understand," he said, his tone subdued. "If I get back early, we can hit the gym tomorrow morning."

"That sounds good," I said with a nod.

We reached our street, and I stopped in front of my building. His was on the other side of the avenue. We hugged quickly and said goodbye.

I watched him cross the street, his dyed-black hair catching the glow of the sunlight. I stood there for a moment, replaying everything he'd said, every inconsistency.

And one question stuck in my mind: Why the fuck did he dye his hair black?