“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.
Chapter 48
TOM
Sam’s footsteps are still in my head when the front door clicks shut, and he’s gone.
The house suddenly feels too quiet, like someone has turned the volume down on the world and left me with the scratches and hiss of static. My brain is a whirlwind, so much to process from such a short conversation, which felt like grenade after grenade.
Sam’s words keep looping:“He’s never been charged with anything. Whoever told you that was lying.”The small, defiant smile he gave when he said it—like he’d just baited me and watched the hook sink in.
Craig had been very clear. James had been charged, twice for assault. Investigated for intimidation. A whole catalogue of indications that painted James as exactly the sort of man who would control and abuse.
Either Sam’s gaslighting me, or Craig got it wrong? But Craig doesn’t get things wrong. Ever. Well apart from the time when he confidently predicted Olly Alexander would smash Eurovision 2024. But he never gets important things wrong.
Whoever told you that was lying.
Would Craig lie to me? I trust him more than anyone. He’s supported me through everything. My relationship with Daniel, theloss of my father. He was also a very prominent support in the late ‘90s when I tried to dye and perm my hair like Justin Timberlake, which ultimately ended up like a selection of microwaved Super Noodles on my head.
Of course, I trust Craig infinitely more than I would ever trust Sam. Either way, the not-knowing feels like a mosquito buzzing near my ear.
I stand in the middle of the living room, hands shoved into my pockets like a character in a bad romcom and try to locate the logical centre of my brain. Buster scoffs at me from a sunbeam on the sofa—he acts like he’s personally disappointed.
One more spark and he could snap.
I grind my knuckle into my forehead as I think this through. James is dangerous, this is not new information. Although this was positioned as a friendly warning, it came across more as a threat. Was Sam telling me to stay clear? Or is James genuinely going to snap at any moment.
The thought of what that means for Pete is unbearable for me. More than ever now, I want to help Pete save him from this. He needs to get out before it’s too late.
