He turns on the tap, splashes cold water over his face, watching it stream down, drip onto the counter. The bathroom smells faintly of cedarwood and expensive soap, like every room in this house.
Sam pushes him. Samlovesto push. That’s what tonight was — hot skin, sharp noises, Sam’s mouth running until James shut it. He enjoyed the way Sam’s body strained, the way he gasped for breath, the way power tilted the world back into place.
Control — he hates losing it.
The house felt unsettled tonight. Too much laughter downstairs. Pete’s voice brighter than usual. And that man — Tom — sitting on his sofa like he belonged there.
No idea what he’s getting himself into, the fucking idiot.
It’s a reminder of how fragile balance can be. One wrong piece on the board and the whole game tips.
James wipes his face with the back of his hand, stands straighter. He has made mistakes before. He has trusted the wrong people, letthem get too close, let them think they had a say. It cost him then. It will not cost him again.
He won’t be made a fool of. Not by Sam. Not by Pete. Not by anyone.
Lately, Pete has been testing the limits, letting new faces through the door, laughing too easily. To James, this only means that he’s contemplating a world without him. It’s a dangerous habit. Pete forgets who keeps the lights on, who gave him the life he now takes for granted.
James presses his hands against the counter, feels the veins in his forearms tighten. Pete needs reminding. Not with words — words can be twisted, ignored.
But reminders that settle deep, that reset the balance.
When James steps back into the bedroom, Sam is still on the floor, pulling himself together, a bitter twist to his mouth. James doesn’t raise his voice — he doesn’t need to.
“Out,” he says.
Sam hesitates for half a second, then smiles. “Of course, darling.” He slowly picks up his clothes and slinks out without another word.
James strips back the duvet, lowers himself into the bed with a sigh. The room is silent now, just the hum of the house around him. His sanctuary.
He will keep it that way — whatever it takes.
Chapter 22
SAM
In the bathroom, Sam yanks his jeans back on, the zip catching for a second before sliding shut with a harsh rasp. His t-shirt is damp from the sweat still on his body, sticking to him, cold now.
He looks into the mirror, checking the red marks around his neck. He hopes they’re gone by the morning. He’s not really a turtleneck guy. He doesn’t want to have to explain away bruises again over brunch.
James’s bedroom light is off, door closed. Sam turns and pads down the hallway, bare feet silent against the polished wooden floor. The house is still, the kind of stillness that makes you feel like you shouldn’t breathe too loud.
He pulls on his trainers by the door, glances back toward the stairs.
No movement. Good.
Sam’s skin hums with restless electricity. He knows he won’t sleep tonight. He never can, not after nights like this. His body is wired, his brain buzzing, like someone’s turned all the dials up too high. He needs an outlet, a way to get the noise out before it eats him alive.
And then his eyes catch on Tom’s coat, hanging on the back of the chair by the door.
Tom.
What do we really know about Tom?
Sam slips a hand into the coat pocket, fingers brushing against metal. Keys. He pulls them out, holds them in his palm, feels their weight.
Things are good between him and James. But Pete. Pete is reckless. Always has been. Throwing himself into someone new without a second thought, without a second’s consideration about what it does to the rest of them.
He’s built something here — something good. It’s taken years to get this balance right. James can be… difficult, but Sam has learned how to keep him steady, how to keep the storm from breaking too often.
