Page 114 of Graves

Once Liam finishes and leaves my room, I disappear into the bathroom. I take my time, standing under the hot spray for what feels like twenty minutes.

When I finally come out dressed, Fox and Liam are sitting at the dining table drinking coffee. Koh is nowhere to be seen.

Is that a good thing?

Somehow it stings.

After what happened last night, I want to apologize to him. I tried right after he got back, but his passive-aggressive attitude made it impossible for me to say the right thing.

It was the same with Ben. I can handle straight-up aggression, but passive-aggression leaves me helpless. I feel small and lost. Words fail me, even though confronting shit should be the simplest thing in the world.

“All right then,” Fox says, standing up. “Let’s go.”

Liam finishes his coffee and follows him to the door. I just stand there, bewildered.

“Can I at least grab something to drink?”

“Haven’t you had enough already?” Liam asks, amused. “You were in the shower for almost half an hour.”

“Ha ha,” I reply without humor and grab a bottle of water from the fridge.

It’s pouring rain as we leave the underground garage and Fox drives us to the rehearsal space. Liam seems to have handled the all-nighter better than I did, but then again, he wasn’t five years clean.

I’m still surprised that I was shocked to see Liam do a line before the first concert. Maybe I’d secretly hoped he’d gotten his shit together with Greta and become the perfect family man. But even I know that was just a fantasy. Liam is Liam—flaws and all.

I pull my hood up, jump out of the car, and run after him to the entrance while Fox goes to park.

Leslie is already there, talking to Sam and Mike. The guys are lounging comfortably on the big sectional with their feet on the coffee table, while Leslie stands between two armchairs, typing on her phone.

“Hey!” Liam shouts, throwing himself onto the couch next to Mike. “What’s up?”

I greet everyone and collapse into an armchair. My body is begging for rest. Honestly, I don’t even want to be here. The thought of loud music and singing makes me nauseous.

“Holy shit, Aran!” Leslie gasps in horror.

Before I can react, she’s right in my face, touching my neck. I flinch back and push her away.

“What the hell?”

“Those are strangulation marks, for fuck’s sake!” She pulls out her phone and motions for me to lift my chin.

“What are you doing?”

“Evidence, Aran. What do you think? Those guys are still in custody. They’ll walk if we don’t provide proof other than what’s captured on film. The footage isn’t enough, and the camera missed the worst of it. I’m sure the police will contact you soon. God, I never thought he actually…”

She keeps snapping photos even after I turn my head away. She’s worse than a paparazzo, taking shots from the other side too.

“That’s enough,” I snap. “Ever heard of personal space?”

While Leslie types away on her phone, probably sending the pictures to a lawyer. “Douglas lost it. He ripped into the head of security and threatened to sue the company. Security has been doubled for the next two shows and the protocols have been tightened.”

“That was fast,” Sam notes. “Was that you or Douglas?”

“I talked him down after his meltdown. We agreed on it.”

“He treated me like a fucking slave,” I say flatly.

All heads turn toward me. The guys obviously didn’t know what happened after I left the stage, so I fix my attention on Leslie.