Graham went still, his eyes locked on Rick. “What did you say?”
Rick realized what he’d said and tried to smile it away. “I’m saying you can make them pay attention. That’s what we do.”
Graham’s eyes narrowed. “No. That’s what you did ten years ago. When you were hungry and you listened. When you took direction.”
Rick felt his temper snap. “I listened. I did everything you told me. I smiled when you told me to smile. I went on those stupid interviews. I sang the song until my throat was raw. I gave you everything.”
“And you got everything,” Graham replied. “For a while, but nothing lasts forever, Rick.”
The words hit hard. Rick shoved his chair back fully, but Graham didn’t flinch. He just watched, as though he’d been waiting for Rick to explode because of what he was saying.
“Graham—”
“Sit down,” Graham said.
Rick blinked. “Excuse me?”
“Sit down,” Graham repeated in a firm voice. “You’re getting emotional, and it’s not helping.”
Rick’s hands clenched. “Don’t talk to me like I’m a child.”
Graham’s voice stayed level. “Then stop acting like one.”
That did it. Rick didn’t remember crossing the room or picking up the knife next to Graham. The cold metal felt right in his hand. It wasn’t a small one either. A steak knife with weight to it.
Next to him, Graham’s chair moved. “Rick, what the hell—”
Rick turned and faced him, the knife clenched in his fist.
Graham stood, hands out slightly, trying to calm him. His face had finally lost its composure. It held surprise and a hint of alarm. Maybe even some fear. “Put that down,” Graham said, voice firm. “Now.”
Rick’s breathing was loud. He could feel his pulse in his fingertips wrapped around the knife. Everything in him screamed. The humiliation, rage, and panic of being told he was nothing.
Graham took a step forward. Rick took a step forward, too. The distance between them closed. Rick didn’t think. He drove the knife into Graham’s stomach then stared at it, his eyes locked on where the handle protruded.
Graham froze, his eyes widening. His gaze dropped to the knife, then lifted to Rick’s face. Rick held onto the handle, ignoring the sticky, wet warmth spreading over his knuckles.
Graham’s mouth opened. A breath came out in a harsh, stunned sound. “Why?” Graham whispered.
Rick stared at him. For a second, he couldn’t move. He couldn’t even process what he’d done. Graham’s hands came up, fumbling for the knife, trying to grab it, and Rick yanked it free and stared at the blood spilling from the wound.
Graham staggered back and clamped a hand over his stomach. His other hand gripped the edge of the table as his face twisted in pain, shock, and disbelief.
Rick’s vision narrowed. The room seemed too bright, each sound too loud. He panted as his grip tightened on the knife in his hand. “You don’t get to do that,” Rick said, voice ragged. “You don’t get to end me.”
Graham’s mouth moved, but no sound came out. Rick stepped closer and stabbed Graham again. This time higher. Graham’s body jerked with the impact. His hand slid off the table and he weakly lifted it to push Rick away.
Rick pulled the knife out and stabbed again and again. He kept doing it until Graham’s legs gave out and he hit the floor, his legs knocking the chair sideways.
For a moment there was nothing but silence. Rick stood there with the knife in his hand, his chest heaving. Blood dotted his shirt, and there were warm splashes of it on his face.
He stared down at Graham’s body. His eyes were open, fixed on nothing. His mouth hung slightly open, his skin losing color now that his heart had stopped pumping blood around his body.
Rick’s hands began to shake as he continued to look at the body. The knife suddenly felt like it weighed ten pounds. He lowered it slowly and placed it on the table. He backed up until his calves hit the dining chair, then he sat down hard.
For a long moment, he just stared at Graham. This couldn’t be real. He’d gone to dinner. He’d gone to talk. To convince Graham. To get him on side. He’d wanted… he’d wanted someone to believe in him again.
Now Graham was dead on his dining room floor.
