Page 28 of Graves

“Okay, Aran, trust me—this is just stage fright. Remember? You used to get it before every show. But you always went out there and had a great time. So please, go shower and get dressed.”

There’s no point fighting it anymore. I may be free, but I’m still chained to a contract that controls my life until I fulfill my obligations.

I just hope that somewhere in all of this, I can find joy in performing again. Because right now, all I want to do is jump out the window.

5

—

Koh

I’m suddenly not sure what to think of Aran Graves anymore. It almost looked like he was torturing himself on purpose. Who the hell willingly watches Today with Donna—aside from a few million housewives on a slow Sunday afternoon who are Team Ben Jenkins?

I almost feel sorry for him.

Almost.

Ugh…!

The guy probably lost his mind in prison.

I know that’s just wishful thinking. I’m only trying to distract myself from my own weaknesses. At least I have myself under control.

Or am I kidding myself?

Would I have gone crazy if they’d thrown me in prison?

Thank God for the Mafia and my father, who knows how to clean up a crime scene properly after revenge.

Aran is still a nervous wreck, too weak to even argue with Brandon Fox, who keeps telling him to get in the shower.

I catch myself staring at Aran’s sweaty torso. He’s covered in tattoos, but the ones on his forearms are so dense they reach all the way across the backs of his hands like armored sleeves. The designs on his chest are scattered across different sizes. The most striking one is a thick brushstroke that, to my surprise, forms the Japanese kanji for “cold.” It also means “dignified.” Him wearing it like a medal on his right pec impresses me more than it should. The strokes snake beautifully over his shoulder.

His lean body looks way too good. This is wrong. I shouldn’t find the guy attractive, but I do. I stand by the fridge, secretly watching him, wondering how he could fall apart like that.

I know panic attacks. I had them myself right after what I did to Jerry. My father had zero patience, but Selene—his wife—discreetly took me to a therapist. I picked up a few tricks there.

Never in a million years did I think I’d use them on a fallen rockstar.

“You’re coming too, right, Koh? Aran got you two tickets,” Fox says, snapping me out of my thoughts.

“What?”

“To the concert, obviously.”

“Grave Sinner? Why would I—”

Why the hell would I go watch a punk rock show? I don’t even listen to punk. Sure, I know a few Grave Sinner songs—who doesn’t? You couldn’t escape them five years ago.

“I…”

“Come on, Koh! It’s a chill Sunday night. Or do you have other plans? This show is going to be historic. I’m sure you’ve got a friend who’d love to come.”

Pixie finds a sock and tears across the living room with it.

“I can’t leave the dog alone.”

“Dog?” Fox looks baffled. “Since when is there a dog here?”