Page 40 of Graves

Whatever it is, it’s his problem.

He doesn’t deserve to be dragged into my darkness and ruined reputation.

Kissing him was definitely a mistake. At least he came to his senses in time.

Fucking alcohol.

What if I lose control with Koh too?

I can’t let that happen.

Not that I wanted to lose control with Ben. But even if it was unintentional, I’m living proof of where that can lead.

I don’t even want to think about what I could do to him if I lose it again.

Lost in thought, I stare into nothing until I notice Koh beside me.

“Hello!” He snaps his fingers to get my attention.

I blink and look up.

He’s holding mail. “Do you know a Thomas Bailey? This was in the mailbox.”

“That’s me,” I mutter, taking the three letters.

“I thought your name was Aran Graves?”

“Thomas Aaron Bailey. Nice to meet you. Ever heard of stage names?”

Koh presses his lips together, trying not to laugh. “Welcome back to real life, where everyone wants money from you. Guess Fox isn’t handling this anymore.”

“Hm…”

Without another word, I put my dirty dishes in the dishwasher and head back to the studio. Not long after, Fox arrives and drives me to rehearsal.

Leslie and the guys are already there, talking about last night’s show. I drop my jacket, greet everyone with a handshake, and sit down next to Liam on the couch.

“You guys were amazing last night!” Leslie gushes. “Have you read the reviews? People are losing their minds.”

Mike holds out his phone, showing the selfie he took of the four of us. “This got over a million likes on Instagram!”

I force a smile and take a sip from the water bottle I brought.

“Okay, guys! The kickoff was a success. You showed everyone you’re back, and right now the tabloids love you. Now we have to keep the momentum going.”

When Leslie looks at me for a while, I raise an eyebrow like I have no idea what’s coming. But no matter how clueless I pretend to be, I know exactly what she wants.

“You can’t hide forever, Aran.”

I hold her gaze for a moment, then glance down at the coffee table like the solution might be hiding between empty beer cans and broken guitar strings.

If I want to get out of the contract without major damage, I have no choice but to play the five shows. But nowhere does it say I have to talk to the press.

“Face them,” Leslie says in a gentle tone meant to make it sound easy. “Talk about your time in prison and how it made you a better person. That’s what people want to hear.”

“Bullshit.” I glare at the ground. Her suggestion ignites a rage I’ve kept under control since I got back. “They’re just dying to watch me fail. And I’m sure as hell not talking about the last five years.”

“Why not? Aran! This is your chance to flip the narrative. Paint yourself as the victim.”