Gene Simmons, a member of “KISS”, was shocked by the death of Ace Frehley. He emotionally revealed Ace Frehley’s final encounter…. “MAYBE IT WAS GOODBYE”

 

 

 

 

 

Gene Simmons had seen many dark nights in his life, but none felt as long or as heavy as the one when he received the news.

Ace Frehley, his brother in music and chaos, was gone.

The world knew them as rock gods, larger than life, untouchable.

But behind the face paint, behind the roaring guitars and the pyrotechnic explosions, they were just men who had once dreamed of conquering the world together.

When Gene first met Ace back in the early days of KISS, he remembered being struck by his reckless energy — that mischievous grin, that wild spark that made audiences fall in love with him instantly.

He was unpredictable, magnetic, and sometimes dangerous.

But Gene never imagined the fire that made Ace a legend would also be what consumed him in the end.

The last time they spoke was a few months before Ace’s death.

 

 

 

 

 

It wasn’t during a tour or a public event — it was a quiet dinner at a small restaurant in Los Angeles, far away from the noise of fame.

Ace had called him out of the blue, saying he wanted to catch up.

Gene almost didn’t go; life had been busy, and their friendship had grown complicated over the years.

But something in Ace’s tone convinced him otherwise.

That night, Ace seemed… different.

He laughed, but his laughter didn’t have the same fire.

He talked, but his words carried a weight that Gene couldn’t quite understand at the time.

At one point, Ace looked across the table and said softly, “You know, man, we did something no one thought we could. We made people believe.”

Gene nodded, smiling, not realizing it was a goodbye hidden behind nostalgia.

 

 

 

 

 

When he said goodbye that night, Ace hugged him — longer than usual, tighter than before.

Now, looking back, Gene can’t shake the feeling that Ace knew something.

He’s replayed that moment a thousand times in his head, wondering if he missed a sign.

After the news broke, Gene stayed silent for days.

The media rushed to report it, fans flooded social media with tributes, and the world tried to make sense of how another rock icon had fallen.

But Gene couldn’t bring himself to speak.

When he finally did, his voice cracked on every word.

He said, “Maybe it was goodbye.”

It wasn’t just a statement — it was an admission of guilt, of confusion, of heartbreak.

 

 

 

 

 

He revealed that Ace had confided in him about feeling haunted by his past — the fame, the mistakes, the people he’d lost along the way.

There were things Ace never wanted the public to know, struggles that didn’t fit the image of a guitar hero.

In private moments, Gene had seen the pain behind the jokes, the exhaustion behind the smile.

He’d once told Ace, “You’ve got to take care of yourself, man. You’re not invincible.”

Ace had just laughed and said, “None of us are, Demon.”

Now those words ring in Gene’s head like an echo that won’t fade.

At the memorial, surrounded by old friends, fans, and cameras, Gene couldn’t hold back his tears.

He spoke about Ace not as a rock star, but as a brother — stubborn, brilliant, frustrating, and unforgettable.

“He changed the sound of KISS,” Gene said quietly. “Without Ace, there is no KISS”.

 

 

 

 

 

As the candlelight flickered against the black-and-silver guitars on display, the silence in the room felt sacred.

People who had known Ace for years said he’d been distant lately, avoiding calls, staying home more often.

Some say he’d been working on a personal project — one he never got the chance to finish.

Others believe he’d been struggling with old demons, trying to make peace before it was too late.

Whatever the truth, Gene believes Ace left behind something far greater than music.

He left behind a legacy carved in rebellion and heart, in riffs that still shake arenas decades later.

“He wasn’t perfect,” Gene admitted, “but that’s what made him real.”

In the weeks following Ace’s passing, Gene found himself returning to that final dinner spot, sitting at the same table where they last spoke.

 

 

 

 

 

He’d order Ace’s favorite drink — a simple scotch on the rocks — and stare at the empty seat across from him.

Sometimes he swears he can still hear Ace’s laugh in the air, the same wild, infectious sound that once filled stadiums.

“Maybe it was goodbye,” he whispered again, but this time, it sounded less like sorrow and more like gratitude.

Because for all the chaos, all the fights, and all the years in between, Gene knew one thing for sure.

Ace Frehley would never really be gone.

 

 

 

 

 

He lived on in every guitar solo, every fan who painted their face like a spaceman, every echo of KISS that still thundered through the speakers.

And maybe, just maybe, that final goodbye wasn’t the end.

It was just the last note of a song that would play forever.