Page 43 of Graves

I’ve held strong so far.

But sometimes the pull for relief becomes so strong it’s hard to resist. It lurks deep inside me, waiting for the right moment to reach out and offer comfort.

“Koh.” Nahla leans forward and searches my eyes. “I’m just worried about you. We’ve known each other forever. Talk to me.”

I’ve known Nahla since we were fourteen. I’ve helped her through countless heartbreaks, listened when her alcoholic father got to be too much, and celebrated her Broadway successes with her. I trust her completely—even if I’ve never told her about Jerry.

When the waiter brings my wine, I pick up the glass and clink it against hers.

“It’s not Luke,” I mutter, washing the words down with a big sip.

Nahla drinks too and sets her beer back down. She waits, curious. I shake my head almost imperceptibly, barely able to believe what I’m about to tell her, especially after the conversation we had last Sunday.

“When I got back from the concert, Aran was already home. We… Ah, fuck, I don’t even remember what we talked about. But then…” I lean in and lower my voice. “We kissed.”

Nahla’s mouth falls open. “You kissed—”

“Shh!” I hiss. The music is loud, but the nearby patrons are only a few feet away. “He kissed me,” I correct quickly, even though I know that’s only half the truth.

“Okay, but you kissed him back. And then?”

I shrug and lift the glass to my mouth. “Then I came to my senses and pushed him away.”

“You…” Nahla stares. “You push him away after you—after you fucking kissed Aran Graves! Super-hot Aran Graves! Poor sexy Aran Graves!”

“The guy just got out of prison.”

“So what? That’s not a reason! You had the chance to have really good sex, Koh. Fun! What the hell is wrong with you?” Nahla flings her hands up and shakes her head in disbelief. “I mean… Aran Graves! And you’re giving me this lame excuse. Your family is one of the two most powerful mafia clans in New York. Why the hell do you care if he killed someone?”

“You don’t understand,” I say, pretending the topic is closed. But it isn’t. I don’t even understand what happened myself.

“Explain it to me,” Nahla demands. “Because from where I’m sitting, there’s zero reason to push that man away from your bed. What was so terrible that you did it anyway?”

“I didn’t—”

“Details don’t matter.”

I sit there paralyzed, staring at her red-painted lips. I know Nahla. She won’t say another word until I give her the truth.

Yes, I’m aware this is my truth. One that probably no one else would understand. I barely understand it myself—it’s as twisted and complicated as I am.

To show she’s on my side, Nahla even rests her hand on my forearm. I take another sip of wine and set the glass down.

I’m no better than Aran Graves, I want to say. But different words come out. “Why do you think I became a dentist?”

“You’re basically a prodigy,” Nahla answers matter-of-factly. “Otherwise, you wouldn’t have finished your bachelor’s at nineteen and opened your own practice at twenty-three.”

“I want to help people. Do good. I’m not like my brother.”

“I know that.”

Only Levi knows I chose this path after killing Jerry to clean up my karma. Apart from swearing to myself never to tell anyone about Jerry, I can’t get the words out—no matter how much I want to tell Nahla everything. I just can’t. Besides, this isn’t the right place. Every cop in the city knows who my father is. Loud music or not, I’m not stupid enough to confess to murder in public.

“Could it be you’re judging Aran too quickly?” Nahla asks carefully. “I mean… according to the court, it was more of an accident than intentional murder. He served his time, and five years changes a person.”

“You’re surprisingly well-informed,” I said with a sigh.

“Uh oh,” Nahla says, eyes darting past me. “Speak of the devil.”