Page 155 of Graves

“That’s bullshit!” Nahla protests. “Why would you think that?”

“He basically threw me out.”

“Oh, come on! That guy is completely into you!”

“How would you know?”

“Because of this.” Nahla holds up her phone again and plays the clip of Aran punching Luke. “God, I could watch this a hundred times!” She grins, leaving the phone between us. “He destroyed Luke—and I mean properly. Koh! Don’t you see what he did for you? He’s your protector! It’s so romantic!”

Nahla’s excitement is less contagious than she probably hoped, but I manage a small smile as I watch Aran on the screen.

“He was in withdrawal,” I say. “He didn’t look good. This concert series is killing him. It hurts to see him like that. I wish I could do something.”

Nahla takes my hand and squeezes it. “Maybe you don’t have to do anything specific. Maybe it’s enough to just text him and tell him about your day. That would be a start.”

It’s so simple, so obvious—and yet Nahla’s words almost bring tears to my eyes. Even though today, for the first time in a while, I smiled without any weight on my shoulders.

33

—

Aran

The last few days have been brutal and exhausting. I’ve tried to stay away from alcohol. Unsuccessfully. The future looming over me feels like a sword of Damocles, a constant threat that keeps me from stepping out of line. Which is absurd, because I have no idea where I’m supposed to go anyway.

I keep telling myself that what I’m doing here is enough. It may not be important, but it still brings me joy as I sit on a couch beside Sam, giving an interview.

It’s okay. Definitely easier than the first one I had to do alone. The guys handle everything that isn’t directly about me. I just have to sit there and nod occasionally.

This time the reporter focuses much more on the songs and the recent shows instead of interrogating me. It’s nice to see that there are still people who care about the music first. That thought inevitably leads me to wonder whether that’s still true for me.

I love music. That will never change. Since coming back, I’ve already written five new songs—two of them with Liam. Even in the past few days, I’ve spent most of my free time in the studio, working on my disturbing samples.

I still have no idea what I want to do with them, but it feels good to dig into the noise inside my head. Whether that material will ever be usable remains to be seen.

“That was easy,” Liam says once the reporter and cameraman have left the backstage area and we’re alone again. “Looks like the whole Grave Sinner drama has died down.”

“Yeah,” I agree. “The paparazzi have finally packed up in front of my building.”

“Let me guess,” Mike grins from the drinks table as he pours himself an orange juice. “You’re still using the back entrance anyway.”

A faint smile crosses my face, which I wash away with a large gulp of vodka. “Three days ago, I used the front door,” I tell them. Mixed feelings rise in my chest when I think about what happened afterward.

It was so fucking close.

Koh would have jumped. I’m sure of that now.

It’s not the memories of Ben that have been keeping me awake at night—it’s the worry about Koh. That distant look in his eyes when he stared at me, confused, then tried to convince me everything was fine. Just thinking about it leaves me unsettled.

I reach for my phone, figuring mindless scrolling on Instagram might distract me. The second a message from Koh pops up on the screen, my heart skips a beat.

Is everything okay?

Is he all right?

What happened?

We haven’t heard from each other since Monday morning.