Page 87 of Graves

I shake my head in disbelief. We both know that’s impossible in this short amount of time.

The world wants to see me on my knees begging for mercy. That’s something I’ll never do—I’d rather put a bullet in my head.

Leslie takes me to the artist lounge, which is stocked with comfortable seating, a TV, snacks, and plenty of drinks. It would actually be the perfect place to relax before a show.

Brandon and the rest of the band are already there. Liam is sprawled on the couch messing with his phone, while Sam and Mike are lounging in the armchairs, chatting.

My eyes lock onto the lighting rig set up in the back around two chairs. I freeze in the doorway, and a woman walks toward me.

“Mr. Graves,” she says, pushing up her glasses and extending her hand. “I’m Angela Knight from Music Rexx. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

She’s in her thirties, wearing bright pink pants and a sleeveless white top. Her copper-red hair falls in soft waves over her shoulder, and she gives me a warm, professional smile.

I shake her hand while glancing at Mike. His nod tells me she’s okay. Still, I swallow hard and give her a cautious nod.

“Right this way, please.”

She leads me past the couches and gestures to the lit-up chair.

“Can I…” My throat is bone-dry and I clear it. “Can I get something to drink?”

“Of course.” Angela turns around, and Fox is already there, handing me a bottle of water.

“Thanks.” I take a long swig.

A makeup artist appears beside me and powders my face. “So you don’t shine on camera,” she says apologetically before disappearing again.

Angela settles comfortably into the armchair opposite as the cameraman positions himself behind her.

Since the no-go list wasn’t accepted, I have to brace myself for anything. My only comfort is that it’s not live.

The lights burn hot, and I feel sweat forming on my forehead.

“Uh… can we dim the lights a bit?” As soon as the words leave my mouth, I notice the pills starting to kick in. My tongue feels a little heavier, but I feel good. My pulse slows, the tightness in my chest eases, and the pounding in my head gradually fades to something bearable.

That’s it… I think with satisfaction as the cameraman lowers the lights.

“Thanks,” I murmur, taking another sip of water.

“Okay,” Angela says, crossing her legs. “Steve, you ready?”

“Yep, ready,” the cameraman answers.

My gaze drifts to Liam, still on the couch. He gives me a thumbs-up and an encouraging smile. “You got this,” he says. Then his brows pull together. He’s got that laser focus and immediately clocks what’s going on. When a grin spreads across his face, I turn back to Angela.

It feels like my whole body has powered down—yet I’m weirdly energized and buzzing.

“Aran Graves,” the reporter begins, tossing her copper curls over her shoulder with one hand. “It’s a huge honor to have you on the show today.”

“Thanks for having me,” I reply stiffly, setting the water bottle on the table beside me.

I would’ve liked to keep holding it, but even I know that wouldn’t look good.

“How are you doing?”

Angela sounds surprisingly genuine, catching me completely off guard.

“Uh… good?” I can’t keep it from sounding like a question. “I think… good,” I add.