I brought Tory back to my place that afternoon. She'd been quiet on the ride over, her presence heavy beside me. Once we got there, she took a quick shower, washing off whatever weight she'd been carrying, and then turned to me with those sharp, unreadable eyes. "Take me home," she said softly, almost like a plea. "I've got an early morning tomorrow—stuff to handle."
I didn't push her to explain. I just nodded, grabbed my keys, and drove her back. She didn't want to stay the night, and that stung a little—like a quiet rejection I couldn't quite place. "Why not?" I wanted to ask, but the words stayed stuck in my throat. Instead, I let her go, watching her disappear into her house under the dim streetlights. Confusion gnawed at me, but I let it slide.
It didn't even hit me until later that Christmas was creeping closer, sneaking up on me like a shadow.
With Tory gone, I fired up my motorcycle and headed into town. The wind whipped against my face as I wove through the streets, stopping at a few stores to pick up furniture for my place. It's a big house—too big, maybe—and I'd been filling it with things to make it feel less empty. Tables, chairs, a lamp with a crooked shade—random pieces that didn't quite fit together yet. By the time I was done, the sun was dipping low, painting the sky in streaks of amber.
Exhausted, I pulled into a little coffee shop, the kind with mismatched chairs and the faint hum of conversation. I sank into a seat, cradling a steaming cup. "Finally, some peace," I muttered to myself, letting out a tired breath. "Even a werewolf like me needs a break sometimes." The coffee warmed my hands, and for a moment, I let the world fade away.
Then my phone shattered the calm. Riiing, riiing, riiing.
I grinned as I answered. "Sam? Hey, beautiful, what's up?"
Her voice came through, bright but rushed. "Clark! Oh god, I totally forgot to invite you earlier—there's a party at my place tonight. You have to come, please!"
"A party?" My eyes widened, and a cold jolt shot through me. My mind raced. Wait. Tonight? At Sam's? That's where it's happening—the fight. My stomach twisted. Tory's going to be there. If she opens her mouth about last night, it'll ruin everything. Shit.
"Clark? You still there?" Sam's voice snapped me back.
"Yeah, yeah, I'm coming," I said, forcing the words out. "I'll head over now."
"Great! See you soon then. Kisses!" She hung up, her cheerfulness a stark contrast to the dread pooling in my chest.
"Shit," I muttered, shoving the phone in my pocket. "Everyone's already there. I've got to move."
I leapt onto my bike, the engine roaring to life as I sped toward Sam's place. The whole ride, a sinking feeling clawed at me—like I was hurtling toward a wreck I couldn't stop. This night's going to hell. I can feel it.
By the time I pulled up to her house, chaos was already spilling out. Shouts and crashes echoed from inside, sharp and frantic. Damn it, I'm too late. I killed the engine and bolted toward the noise, my heart hammering.
Demitri caught me at the door, his face pale. "Clark, man, you've got to help Sam! Tory's back there—she said she's going to kill her!"
"Shit!" I didn't wait for more. I sprinted through the house, shoving past stunned party guests, my boots pounding the floor. When I reached the backyard, it was already a battlefield.
Tory loomed over Sam, a mocking grin twisting her lips. Sam was on the ground, clutching her face where Tory's kick had landed. Blood streaked her cheek, but her eyes burned with defiance. Tory twirled a nunchaku in her hand, her limp barely slowing her down. "Gotta say, LaRusso, I thought you'd put up a better fight. Even with my leg messed up, you're still this weak." Her laugh was cold, taunting.
She swung the nunchaku again, catching Sam hard. A framed photo of Mr. Miyagi crashed to the ground, glass splintering across the pavement. Sam's face twisted—not just from pain, but from the sight of that broken memory. She grabbed a stick from the debris, her hands trembling with rage, and launched herself at Tory. Blow after blow, she fought back, fierce and unrelenting, until Tory stumbled, disarmed.
"I'm not afraid of you!" Sam shouted, her voice raw and jagged.
Tory smirked, brushing off the defeat like it was nothing. "Oh, keep telling yourself that."
"Why are you still smiling?" Sam snapped, breathless. "You lost, you bitch!"
"Lost?" Tory's laugh erupted, sharp and wild. "Oh, LaRusso, I won this fight last night."
Sam froze. "What the hell are you talking about?"
Tory's grin widened, venomous. "You know… last night, when I was with someone special. Just the two of us, under the stars. We kissed, held each other, and—oh, it gets better—we made love. It was incredible. I've never felt anything like it."
The stick slipped from Sam's hands, clattering to the ground. Her eyes welled up, tears spilling over as the realization hit her like a punch. She knew who Tory meant. Her voice shook, barely a whisper. "Who… who are you talking about?"
"Do I really have to say it?" Tory tilted her head, savoring the moment. "Fine. It was Clark."
The air went still. Outside, Miguel, Demitri, and Eli stood at the doorway, jaws dropped, eyes wide with shock. Sam's knees buckled. "You're lying," she choked out, her voice breaking. "This is all a lie—you're making it up!"
"Lying?" Tory tugged her shirt aside, revealing hickeys peppering her neck, her stomach, her arms. "Does this look like a lie to you, LaRusso?"
I'd been racing through the house, my damn sense of direction failing me. "Where are they?!" I growled, shoving past furniture and stunned faces. Then I heard it—Sam's anguished scream: "You're lying! This is all your lie!"
I burst into the backyard and skidded to a stop. Miguel, Demitri, and Eli were frozen at the threshold, staring at me like I'd grown claws. Before I could speak, Miguel lunged, fury blazing in his eyes. "You son of a bitch!" he roared. Eli and Demitri grabbed him, barely holding him back. "I'm going to kill you! How could you betray her?!"
Sam spun toward me, tears streaming down her face. "Clark, tell me it's a lie. Please."
Tory stepped closer, her voice smooth and cutting. "Tell her the truth, Clark. Tell her how we were together last night—how you made me yours."
The weight of their stares crushed me. Sam's sobs grew louder. "Clark, say it! What happened last night? Tell me now!"
My mind spun, trapped. Damn it, what do I do? I took a shaky breath. "Sam… what Tory's saying… it's true."
The silence that followed was deafening. Tory smirked, victorious. Sam let out a guttural cry, her hands clawing at the air. "How dare you?!" she screamed, her voice shattering. "How could you cheat on me like this?!" She stumbled back, then fled to her room, sobs echoing behind her.
Tory sauntered over and kissed me, her lips cold against mine. "Thanks for that, love," she purred. Miguel exploded again. "I knew it! You don't deserve her, you bastard!" Demitri just stared, betrayed. "Why, Clark? Why'd you do this to her?"
I pushed Tory away, my voice tight. "Not now, Tory. Go. I'll talk to you later." She hesitated, then walked off, tossing a "Traitor" over her shoulder at Eli.
I turned to the guys, guilt heavy in my chest. "I'm sorry. I need to fix this." As I moved past them, Miguel's fist slammed into my face. Pain flared, but I barely flinched. He cursed, cradling his hand. "Damn it, your face is like steel!"
Ignoring the sting, I followed Sam's scent upstairs. Her sobs bled through the door. I knocked gently. "Sam, it's me."
"Get out!" she screamed, her voice thick with tears. "I don't want to see anyone!"
"Please, I need to explain—"
"Don't call me Sam!" she spat. "You don't get to call me that anymore, you bastard!" Her crying intensified, raw and broken.
"Sam, I'm not… I'm not normal," I said, my voice low.
"What the hell does that mean?!" she snapped, anger cutting through her grief.
"Open the door. I'll tell you everything."
A long pause hung between us. The lock clicked.