Page 33 of Graves

Please, no!

6

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Aran

“We should drink to that,” Liam shouts euphorically, raising his glass of whiskey. “Damn, you were on fire!”

I’m still buzzing when Mike presses a beer into my hand and clinks against it. For a brief moment of clarity, I stare at the cup.

It’s been five years since alcohol and drugs stopped being part of my life. The beginning was brutal—especially back then, all I wanted was to get completely wasted.

Jesus Christ. I tried to kill myself.

The first year in prison was hell. I was a wreck.

And now here I am, toasting to our success.

How fucking surreal is that?

I eye the beer warily and watch the others celebrate our killer show, drinking and laughing. I’m not scared of the beer itself. I’m scared of how good the buzz might feel.

After a few weeks in pretrial detention, I finally got some clarity and realized the drugs weren’t entirely innocent in what happened. That’s why I eventually confessed and told the judge the truth in a choked voice.

My truth, which unfortunately didn’t paint Ben in a great light and turned me into the nation’s biggest asshole.

“How dare he tarnish Ben’s good name?” or “The guy has some nerve, making shit up just to save his own ass.”

I wasn’t trying to save my ass.

I was trying to end it.

The suicide attempt was serious, but the cops found me too soon.

The fact that I’m standing here now without probation hanging over my head is still unbelievable.

Sam drapes his muscular arm around my shoulders and clinks his cup against mine. “You killed it, Aran. It’s good to have you back.”

I nod and bring the beer to my lips. The smell drags me back to the old days, and for a second, it feels like the last five years never happened.

The first sip tastes awful. The second isn’t so bad. The third is refreshingly good.

I’m soaked in sweat, rivulets trickling down my forehead. Exhausted but satisfied, I flop onto the couch next to Liam and take another swig.

“Baptism by fire,” the blond says with a wide grin. “Wasn’t so bad, right?”

“Easy for you to say. You don’t get stage fright. A few more days to settle in wouldn’t have hurt,” I mutter into my cup.

“Throw the dog in the water and it learns to swim,” Liam says. “That’s my philosophy. You did great. Professional and you fucking rocked it. Be proud of yourself.”

I force a smile, hoping it hides the fact that I nearly shit myself before the show.

It’s weird. The second Koh got out of the car, my heart started racing like I was having a heart attack.

Deep down, I don’t want to be here, but I don’t have a choice. The label has me by the balls, and I won’t be free until I fulfill the contract.

“Alex really wanted to come tonight,” Liam says, setting his empty cup on the coffee table and pouring more whiskey. “But Beth shut it down.”