Page 35 of Graves

All these people are treating me like some kind of demigod—another reason not to turn my back on the wolf in sheep’s clothing. Wouldn’t have surprised me if one of them pulled a gun and blew my brains out while I was busy forcing a polite smile.

Maybe that’s why I’m so wrecked. Yeah, I put on a good show, but the whole time the crowd was worshipping me, I watched them with deep suspicion.

Leslie assured me they checked for weapons at the door. It didn’t calm my nerves.

Even though I don’t find my life particularly worth living right now, I’m nowhere near suicidal.

All I want is to get these five shows over with. Somehow. Maybe by the end I’ll have found my place again—or at least a sense of how I want to live. I spent five years in prison, and the only thing I’m good at is this.

But mostly, I have to make it to the end. If it had been up to me, tonight’s show wouldn’t have happened at all.

Instead, I tell myself I should be grateful to the label. The media attention is guaranteed, and that’s an invaluable stepping stone back into the business. If we play it right, the world will be open to us again—new contract or not.

“Aranator!” Sam calls. “We gotta capture this!”

Mike throws his arms around my neck at the same moment Liam joins in, and Sam snaps a selfie of all of us. I’m caught off guard but glad I trained myself over the years to wear a blank expression in situations that freak me out.

The backstage party is in full swing, and I’m already on my second beer. After five years of sobriety, I feel the alcohol already—but it’s a good thing. It loosens me up and makes it easier to talk to everyone.

By midnight, the chaos is over. Liam and Mike head off to another bar. I let Fox drive me home.

I’m pretty drunk when I step into the apartment. Five years ago, I could kill a whole bottle of vodka. Today two big cups of beer are enough to blur my vision.

To my surprise, Koh is sitting on the living room couch with the dog, typing on his phone while CNN plays silently on the TV.

“Hi,” I say, heading for the kitchen.

“Hey.”

I yank open the fridge door and stumble back a step—I somehow didn’t expect it to open so easily.

I have no idea what I’m looking for. Beer?

“What’s this?” I ask, pulling out a half-full bottle.

“That’s ouzo,” Koh answers, watching me warily. “You can have some if you want.”

I stare at the bottle and remember the old days.

Better not touch it or I’ll finish the whole thing.

“We got any beer?” I ask, putting the bottle back.

“Yeah.”

Koh suddenly appears right beside me. I flinch sideways. “Fuck! Don’t sneak up on me like that.”

He nudges me aside and bends down. Behind some takeout boxes are two more beers.

“Here.”

“Thanks. Let’s drink to it.”

Koh hesitates, but then gives in and nods. Maybe it’s my big grin that convinces him. We open the bottles—I’m a sucker for Japanese beer—and clink them.

“To the first show!” I say solemnly. “Four more to go.”

“What do you mean?”