Page 29

A noise comes from Aran’s bedroom. Fox goes to check and I follow.

I totally get why Aran wants to skip the show. I remember how wiped out I felt after my own attacks.

Sure enough, Aran is sliding down to the floor, back against the bed, hands covering his face. The closet door is open and slammed against the dresser beside it.

“You okay?” Fox asks, worried. “What happened?”

“I can’t, Fox. I…”

“Yes, you can. You’ve got this.”

Fox helps him up and steers him toward the shower. When he starts pulling Aran’s pants down, I turn away. That’s when I see the photo of Ben Jenkins and Aran on the wall. It’s a great shot—full of joy that Aran doesn’t have anymore.

As soon as I hear the water running, I leave the room. Pixie comes racing in with the sock, jumps on the bed, and makes herself comfortable next to the pillow.

Aran actually made the bed. That surprises me—until I remember that in prison, that kind of order is probably expected.

Maybe the lack of routine is messing with him.

“Pixie, come on. That’s not your bed.”

She stretches out on the blanket and yawns, so I pick her up and carry her out into the living room. I set her down and drop onto the couch with my phone. Nahla texted, asking if I want to grab a drink.

Great. Just what I need.

We’ve known each other since high school and meet up for beers regularly. She’s my best friend and knows almost everything about me—except the Jerry thing, of course. Without her I never would’ve left Luke. She’s my conscience and the person who kicks my ass when I need it.

If she found out I had two tickets to Grave Sinner and didn’t tell her, she’d murder me.

So much for a quiet Sunday night.

“Got tickets for Grave Sinner. You in?”

“Are you serious? When? How? Where?”

“The Vanguard. Meet there?”

“Yayyy! Best friend ever!”

Ten minutes pass before Fox comes back, followed shortly by Aran. He’s wearing fresh jeans, a Sex Pistols T-shirt, and a bunch of bracelets and chains on his wrists. He holds his leather jacket in one hand, fingers twitching against the collar. His damp hair sticks out in every direction again. He’s visibly worn down, but he seems to have accepted his fate. When he sees me, he pauses.

“You’re coming too, right? I got you tickets.”

I’m not sure if it’s a question, a statement, or a quiet command, but his blue eyes plead with me, fear swimming there.

How could I say no?

“I’m coming. With my friend Nahla.”

Maybe the show will go down in history, and I’ll get to watch Aran Graves crash and burn on his big comeback.

It is a comeback, right?

I mean, how good can the band possibly be? They only had ten days to prepare for this first show.

This is a once-in-a-lifetime chance to see them embarrass themselves in front of the world.

Or watch Aran Graves get torn apart.