I shake my head. Everything went kind of fuzzy after I saw the line,‘identified the deceased as Robert Henry Lee.’
“They found him over by the storm drains.”
“Shit,” I mumble.
Kai runs a hand through his hair, eyes narrowed.
“What?”
“Nothing, just…” He sits on the coffee table, facing me. It groans under his weight, but he doesn’t seem to notice. “They say he died last Saturday.”
My mind scrambles to make the connection. When it does, I sit forward in a rush, perching on the edge of the cushion. “The football match?”
Kai nods slowly. “The football match.”
My face goes cold. “You said Bastian gave him a whole wad of cash so he’d leave,” I mumble through numb lips.
“Fuck,” Kai mutters. “You think…?”
“He went to go score,” I say woodenly, my eyes focused on nothing, my mind focused on the memory of the rage on my father’s face as he confronted me outside the stadium that Saturday. “Not his usual dealer. Probably ripped him off. Impurities and shit.”
Kai is silent again.
Too silent.
When I blink and force myself to look at him, he’s watching me warily. “What?”
“You got into it, didn’t you?”
“Into what?”
There’s pain, and just a little bit of pity in Kai’s green eyes as he leans closer, fingers meshed under his chin, elbows propped on his knees.
I’m not sure which infuriates me more—the pain or the pity.
“When did you start using, Haven?”
I snort at him. “Fuck off.”
But he just keeps staring at me with that awful expression. “You addicted?”
“God, Kai, I’m not a fucking junkie!” I shove to a stand, wincing when I put too much pressure on my sore foot.
“Sure sound like one.”
“Bound to pick up a thing or two when you’ve been living with them your entire fucking life,” I spit out, going to the kitchen to pour myself a glass of water.
I stare past the cutesy lace curtains into the massive boughs of the oak tree beside the Airbnb. Nature has always calmed me, but it’s doing a shit job of it today.
Despite what I said, none of this makes sense. Bobby was a rare breed—a careful junkie. To my knowledge, he’d never ODd. Got dope sick a few times, but always recovered quickly.
Unlike me, he hated the outdoors. He’d get stoned at home, or in his car—before I stole it—but never outside in the open. He was too paranoid for that, always going on about people stealing his stuff when he was shitfaced.
ODing by the Agony River doesn’t make sense.
“I don’t buy it,” I say grudgingly. “He was too careful to OD.” I glance at Kai over my shoulder. “It say anything else?”
“Nope.” He looks up from the paper, shoulders lifting as he takes a deep breath. “You know who you could ask.”
