Chapter 47
SAM
Sam has had the feed up all afternoon
The laptop is propped up on the kitchen island like he’s about to live-stream a cook-along. Four camera windows: hallway, living room, study, bedroom. Live and exclusive from Tom’s house.
He wasn’t all that interested in the sex. Sweet, neat, barely a whisper above vanilla. The kind of thing you could put to a Coldplay soundtrack.
What catches him is the after—the stillness, the way bodies keep talking once words are gone. Pete turns onto his side, palm open in that over-sharing way of his, eyes alive even in exhaustion. Tom listening with an almost devotional focus.
Sam leans closer, elbows on the counter. There’s no sound in the feed, but he doesn’t need it. He reads posture like other people read subtitles. It’s almost hypnotic, watching them: two ghosts bathed in afternoon light, breathing in sync, unaware they’ve become a study in tenderness.
He’s still watching when a voice snaps through the quiet.
“What the fuck is this?”
James.
Sam doesn’t startle—well, not outwardly. He snaps the laptop half-closed and turns. James stands there in gym clothes, damp hair slicked back, eyes sharp enough to cut marble.
“Keeping an eye on things,” Sam says lightly.
James’s jaw tightens. “They’re still together.”
“Looks that way,” Sam says, tone airy.
“He’s trying to get rid of me,” James mutters. “He’s planning something.”
“Paranoid is a colour on you,” Sam says, hoping humour will ground him. Sometimes it does.
“I know he’s up to something!”
For a heartbeat, it feels like calm might win. Then James grabs the nearest glass and hurls it across the room. It shatters beautifully—an explosion of light and sound that makes Sam’s pulse jump.
James storms out, door slamming behind him.
“Fantastic,” Sam mutters. “Love that for my bare feet.” He exhales and re-opens the laptop.
Pete’s now getting dressed, pulling on jeans, reaching for a shirt that’s clearly Tom’s.
He leans down, kisses Tom—quick, soft, final—and walks out of frame.
Tom stays lying there, hand pressed flat to his stomach like he’s holding himself together.
Sam closes the laptop. He dries his hands, pockets his keys, and leaves.
It’s a good day for mistakes.
It’s a fifteen-minute drive when he gets to his destination.
Tom looks surprised when he opens the door—T-shirt, socks, expression halfway between wary and polite. “Sam?”
“Tom.” Sam smiles as if this is the most natural thing in the world. “I was driving by. Thought I’d pop in.”
Tom blinks. “How do you even know where I live?”
“Pete,” Sam says smoothly. It’s plausible. He could’ve found it that way.
Tom softens a little. Then frowns. “Right. What can I do for you?”
Sam leans against the doorframe. “Just thought I’d check in. See how you were doing. I drove past the other day, and there was this bloke hanging around. Dark hair, suit, trying to get in. Looked like he knew the place. Think he had keys.”
Tom freezes for a second, his breath catching in a way that tells Sam everything. Bingo.
That was of course a lie, but he’s still dying to find out who this guy is who keeps rummaging through his house when he’s out. Maybe the direct approach is the best way.
“Ex?” Sam asks, casual.
Tom exhales. “Something like that. It’s nothing.”
Nothing is never nothing. But Sam lets it slide, smiling like it’s all fine. “Still, be careful. World’s full of weirdos.”
“That it is,” Tom says, but he’s smiling now, softening.
Sam lowers his voice, adopting the tone of a friend who knows more than he should. “Look, the house is tense right now. Over there. Pressure’s building. James is unpredictable. I know you and Pete have your little thing bubbling away, but you’d be wise to stay clear for a bit.”
“Oh, really?” Tom frowns.
“Yeah, James, bless him, he can get stressed out and take things a little too far sometimes.”
“So I hear,” Tom says quickly.
“Oh?” Sam’s ears prick up. “What has Pete been telling you?”
Sam notices Tom’s breathing is deepening. “Not just Pete. I’ve heard some other things.”
“Like?”
Before considering whether he should open his mouth, Tom continues. “The police investigations, two assault charges that got dropped, intimidation complaints. I know James has a history of this kind of thing.”
Sam’s head tilts, curious. “Police?”
“Yes, police,” Tom confirms.
“That’s not remotely true,” Sam says. “James has never been investigated for anything. Not once. He’s far too careful for that. Whoever told you that was lying—or wanted to scare you off.”
Tom frowns.
And Sam is telling the truth here. James has a temper, a dangerous temper, yes. But, Police investigations, assault charges? That is absolutely fiction.
“Oh,” Tom says, looking bemused.
Who has been lying to you, Tom? Sam wonders.
“That said, maybe you should listen to them regardless. I’m not trying to scare you,” Sam lies. “I’m trying to stop you getting burned. He’s on a knife edge. One more spark and…” He lets the sentence die.
“And what?”
“He could…snap.”
Tom studies him. “And have you seen him snap before?”
Sam’s eyes hold steady. “Yes.”
He doesn’t elaborate, but the memory slides through him like cold water. He knows very well what James is capable of. The aggression, the violence.
It has served Sam well in the past.
“For Pete’s sake,” Sam says quietly. “Keep your distance. You being around makes him nervous, and when James gets nervous, Pete pays for it.”
“Well, maybe Pete should just get out,” Tom says, heat edging. Into his voice.
There he is.
Sam laughs. “Oh no, that will never happen. Pete and James are forever.” He stops laughing. “Or until one of them is six feet under.”
Tom flinches at that. Sam notices but pretends not to. Some truths work better when they bruise slowly.
“Anyway, I’ll leave you too it,” Sam says with a smile. He steps out into the cool evening. The door closes behind him, leaving him alone with the hum of the streetlights.
He gets into the car and then laughs softly, forehead resting against the steering wheel. It’s not joy—it’s the satisfaction of a plan beginning to hum.
He wasn’t sure at first about Tom.
But now. Now, it’s time to really put him to the test.