Page 161 of Graves

“Wait—what?” Liam asks. “Back to bodybuilding?”

“Not exactly, but maybe I can convince them to let me open my own gym.” Sam grins from ear to ear. “But if you ever need a bassist, I’m there.”

“Good to know,” I say, satisfied. “Maybe you’ll understand my sounds better than Liam.”

“Dude!” Liam protests. “I’ve got nothing against your sounds. Your rhythms were tight. It was just too abstract for my brain. I need melody!”

“You’re a drummer,” I remind him.

“I’ve clearly gone soft over the years,” he says with a shrug and a big grin.

“You still giving drum lessons?”

“Of course! Rock ’n’ roll never dies. You know where to find me.”

My gaze drifts to Alex, who’s chatting with Fox and enjoying himself backstage. I know Liam would travel the world for that kid if he had to. He’d never abandon him.

“Okay, guys!” Leslie says as she comes back in. “Press conference tomorrow. Last official appearance in front of the media. Q&A.”

“But—”

“No discussion!” she cuts Mike off. “You brought this on yourselves.”

“You’re twisting the facts a little there,” Sam sings.

“I have a meeting at three,” Mike says. “Either before or after four.”

Leslie glares at him. She’s probably still on the phone with Douglas and has been told to clean this up fast.

“Fine. Noon then,” she growls, rolling her eyes. “And yes, we’re opening the doors for the backstage pass holders soon. Behave. There are minors present.”

“Not for long!” Liam calls in a sing-song voice, eyes on his phone. “Alex, your mom’s outside.”

“No! I want to stay!”

“Sorry, buddy. Papa has to work. Fox, can you take us out?”

“Of course.”

As Liam leaves with Alex and Fox through one door, the first guests start pouring in through the other. It’s clear the atmosphere is different tonight. Maybe because everyone knows this and the next show have become farewell gigs, no one wants to dwell on the sadness—so the party hits even harder.

I talk with fans, take photos, and celebrate like there’s no tomorrow. Our backstage parties have always been legendary, but tonight everything goes full throttle.

When the promoter kicks us out around two a.m., we head back to the rehearsal space and keep going. There are about forty of us—half friends and acquaintances, half groupies and fans.

Liam chuckles. “Good thing we restocked the fridge yesterday.” We’re sitting on the couch watching a hot brunette do a striptease on the coffee table. As she stands in black heels, slowly shedding her clothes, Liam leans forward and does a line. “Want one?”

I stare at the white powder for a while, then let my eyes travel up the brunette’s long legs, over her full breasts still wrapped in black lace, and finally to her face. She smiles at me and tugs her tiny skirt a little higher.

Everything is spinning. I’m so drunk I can barely function. But one thing I know for sure: I don’t want coke anymore.

“How do you do it?” I ask, my tongue heavy. “How often do you do that shit?”

“Well…” Liam sniffs and rubs his nose. “Sometimes more, sometimes less.”

“You should quit.”

“Ha! Says the guy who’s currently shitfaced.”