Page 128 of Graves

“Caught him?”

Sam makes a face like he’s not sure he wants to know what I mean.

“Fox dropped me off after rehearsal. Koh was sitting in Luke’s car. They were talking. I went over and tried to make Koh see what a huge mistake it was to get involved with that guy again. But he wouldn’t listen. In his eyes, I’m the mistake. He grabbed some stuff and left with Luke.”

“Just like that?”

I press my lips into a thin line and nod. Before a tear can fall, I blink it away. I clear my throat, pretending it’s just allergies—which makes sense for the season.

“You like him,” Sam says, crossing his muscular arms over his chest. “That much is obvious.”

I drop my head and breathe deeply. There’s no point fighting it anymore. Sam already sees right through me. He’s always been good at spotting these things—he was the one who talked sense into me about Ben too.

This whole situation feels like déjà vu.

“I miss him,” I admit and shrug. “God… even that damn dog grew on me.”

“Have you called him?”

“Yeah. He doesn’t pick up. He doesn’t want anything to do with me anymore.” I stand up restlessly and pace a few steps. “It’s that asshole Luke. He’s got him wrapped around his finger again.”

“How do you know that?” Sam leans back and puts his feet on the edge of the table. “You haven’t really been here the last few days.”

I stop and look at the bassist, surprised.

“You probably didn’t notice,” he continues, “but you’ve been pretty out of it. Can’t blame you, especially after what happened at the concert last week.”

The memories surge up and I feel that tightness around my throat again. The bruises have faded, but the terror is still deep in my bones.

“I’m sorry to say this, but you’ve fallen back into the same spiral.”

Exhausted, I drop back into the armchair and stare at the ceiling. I knew my use wouldn’t go unnoticed, but Sam addressing it so directly… it must be worse than I thought.

“Just because Liam does it doesn’t mean you have to,” he says, careful not to spook me. “Five years is a long time, Aran. I’m sure you’ve changed. It’s okay to let that change happen.”

I can’t respond to Sam’s well-meaning words. They have the power to tear down the thick walls I built around myself with so much effort. “You playing Dr. Phil now?” I ask, sounding dismissive.

“Did you have the chance to talk to anyone in those five years? A psychologist or something?”

I can’t answer. I’m too busy trying not to fall apart. Like demons, the prison memories creep out and build into a massive wave of fights, injuries, oppression, and pure panic.

Before it all crashes over me, I shoot up from the chair again, pace a few steps, and punch my wrist repeatedly. The pain distracts me from everything trying to swallow me whole.

“Aran,” I hear Sam behind me. “No one is forcing you to do anything.”

I search for words to justify what I’m doing, but deep down, I know I took a wrong turn somewhere. The drugs were the only thing that kept me from breaking under the growing pressure of the last few days.

Unsure what to say, I turn to Sam. He can see how lost I am—otherwise there wouldn’t be a crease between his brows.

“Hey!” Fox greets us. Phone in hand, he stands in the doorway and scans the rehearsal room. “Oh! You’re already done?” Fox has always been good at reading the room. Without wasting time, he nods toward the outside. “I’ll wait by the car.”

“Need a ride?” I ask Sam as I busily grab my jacket and notebook—it’s a relief that Fox’s arrival ended our conversation.

But Sam wouldn’t be Sam if he let it go that easily. “Want to come to my place?” he asks, slipping into his leather jacket. “We could watch a movie. Or just hang out and talk. Would probably do you good.”

I appreciate the offer, but I shake my head. “Thanks, but… I’ll be fine.”

“I can come to your place too.”