Page 20 of Graves

I drop onto the bench, elbows on my thighs, and rub my face. “Luke’s like a ghost that follows me everywhere.”

When I sit up, Levi is beside me. He leans against the wall with his legs spread, tears off the bandana, and runs a hand through his brown hair.

“You regret what you did?”

“Every single day,” I admit. “I hate myself so much I can barely breathe. But it was the only way I could find any peace.”

“He controlled you and your mom for way too long. If you’d just said something earlier—”

“Don’t say that,” I snap. “That just makes me feel more guilty. I already hate myself enough.”

“Koh… I really want to help, but you have to tell me what to do.”

“You can’t do anything. Not in my current situation. I’m just stressed.”

“You walk dogs. What’s stressful about that?” he mocks.

I sigh and sit up straighter. “My living situation changed last week.”

“Really? How? You’re a house sitter.” Levi turns to me, annoyed. “And when are you finally gonna tell me why you haven’t found your own place yet? It’s not like you’re broke!”

“You’re impossible to talk to,” I say, standing up and packing the wraps into my bag.

Levi stays on the bench, scowling. “Sit down. I’m very easy to talk to.”

I narrow my eyes. Even though Levi is twenty-six—a year younger than me—he acts like my older brother most of the time. Full mafia gene from our father, no doubt. Meanwhile, I’m stuck in a quarter-life crisis at twenty-seven—probably the age when rockstars start dropping like flies.

Didn’t the media say Aran is twenty-seven too?

I shake off the thought, sit back down next to Levi, lean against the wall, and look around the gym.

The ring on our right is empty, but the place is busy—almost every machine is taken. Damian is hammering the speed bag with meditative, trance-like focus. Olena comes down the stairs and greets two new clients at the front desk.

“The owner of the apartment came back unexpectedly,” I mutter, trying to sound casual.

“Unexpectedly how? Got kicked out of wherever he was?”

I smirk. “Something like that.”

“So now you’re roommates?” Levi asks, confused. “Koh, it’s time to move your ass back to Astoria. You’re twenty-seven, not a student. Way too old for roommates.”

“Roommates.” I sigh.

I don’t touch the Astoria comment. No way I’m moving back. It’s bad enough the gym is here and I risk running into Luke three times a week.

“How long?” he asks.

“Since last Thursday.”

“And what’s your new roommate like?”

“You probably know him. It’s Aran Graves.”

“Bullshit! The Aran Graves? The punk rocker who beat Ben Jenkins to death?”

“You’re well-informed.”

“They covered it nonstop last week. The whole world knows. Aran fucking Graves, man! So? What’s he like?”