Kismet

Chapter 24 Kobe

Kobe

émeric had been obsessed with The Simpsons Game since the first time we ventured to House of Targ.

I dropped enough money on the damn thing that he should have held the high score.

Sadly, émeric’s skills at video gaming were not on par with other kids his age.

He didn’t have a home system, and the laptop I’d bought him the previous year to help with school was functional at best and didn’t have the graphic capability to run even the most basic online game.

He wrenched the knobs and pounded the colored buttons, chanting, “Come on, come on, come on,” but even Marge and her bullet-powered vacuum cleaner were no match for the horde of mobs chasing him down the street, and he quickly died a pixelated death.

“Dammit.” He slapped the machine as the Game Over sign flashed. “That was bullshit. I totally had that guy.”

“Language. Here.” I handed him back his half-empty fountain drink. “Joust is free. Wanna try a few rounds?”

émeric sucked hard from the disintegrating paper straw, visibly perturbed. “No. I hate that one. You say bullshit all the time, by the way. Why can’t I?”

“I’m thirty-two years old. When you’re my age, you can say whatever you’d like.”

“Mom lets me say swear words.”

“I’m not your mother.” I checked the time. It was getting on five o’clock. Encroaching holiday notwithstanding, the crowd had thickened with the later hour.

“Can we play Police Trainer?” émeric asked.

“Go for it. Are you hungry? I should order food before it gets too busy.”

“Yes, yes, yes. I’m starving. Can I have the pizza perogies and cheesecake ones for dessert?”

“Kid size or adult size?”

émeric guffawed and stood taller. “Do I look like a kid?”

I laughed and ruffled his hair. “Not at all. Where did I get that idea? Here.” I handed him some tokens. “Go play a few rounds. Meet me at a table when you’re done.”

I ordered food and responded to a text from Elifet, who had invited me over for a beer later.

We hadn’t seen each other in a couple of weeks.

Between the case and my new infatuation with a certain pathologist, I barely had time for my best friend.

As much as I would have loved to spend the night in Dominique’s bed, he’d put me off until the following day, and I was trying hard not to be disappointed.

Beer with a buddy would help. Otherwise, I was at risk of moping around the house, and that wasn’t attractive.

While émeric played Police Trainer, I secured a table and sat, waiting for our order to be called. Part of me wanted to shoot a text to Dominique, but I didn’t want to smother the guy, so I didn’t.

A teen working behind the food counter shouted my order number just as émeric slipped into the seat across from me. “Good timing.”

As I grabbed our dinner, a boy of about eleven slyly grabbed someone’s fry order from the countertop and bolted to the front doors.

I’d been watching him for the past ten minutes and could tell he had no money and was lingering, hoping for a handout.

I’d seen him ask a few people if they had extra change.

The kid was fast and out of reach before I realized what was happening. In truth, I didn’t make much effort to stop him.

The guy working noticed the thievery and shouted after the kid. He looked ready to strip off his apron and chase the boy down.

“Hey,” I said, grabbing the guy’s attention. “Chill. I got it.” I slipped an extra ten bucks across the counter. It was more than enough to cover the small plate of fries.

“You don’t need to do that,” the employee said.

I shrugged, unable to explain the impulse to a stranger. “Make a new batch for the customer. No loss for you.”

The guy shook his head, clearly unimpressed, but he turned back to the kitchen area without saying another word and shouted to the cook for another small fry.

Collecting my order, I brought it to the table where émeric waited impatiently. He wasn’t so different than the skinny boy with slippery fingers. Hungry and poor.

émeric had a habit of inhaling food or overfilling his mouth to the point his cheek swelled like a chipmunk’s. It was a heartbreaking habit born from the fear of not knowing when he might have another decent meal.

“Slow down and chew, bud. It’s not going anywhere.”

He tried, and I didn’t remind him again.

It wasn’t his fault. Delphine struggled to buy groceries most months, so when I took him out to eat, émeric often gorged.

He was underweight and improperly dressed half the time.

I made it my responsibility to ensure his basic needs were met as often as possible.

Trips to the mall for a new hoodie or the trendiest Air Jordans—whatever the kids were wearing—wasn’t unheard of.

I did what I could to give him a better childhood than I’d had.

The kids at school made fun of émeric’s situation—as nine- and ten-year-olds are wont to do—but I’d been hearing about one particular boy named Christopher Bryan for the past two years.

“Everyone hates him,” émeric told me regularly. “He’s such a bully.”

Today, it was more accounts of Christopher’s bad behavior as émeric hoovered perogies.

“Jessica Albert said he snapped her bra in the hall before PE, and last week, he stole Miranda Makkai’s granola bar from her lunch bag.

She punched him in the face. His nose bled everywhere.

It was so funny. The teacher didn’t see it happen, but Miranda got in trouble even though Chris started it. It’s such bullshit.”

“Hey.” I glared across the table.

“It is. Chris had to see the nurse, and he got to go home early, but Miranda got detention.”

My inside voice said, Christopher deserved the punch, but my outside, more responsible voice said, “Violence isn’t the answer.”

émeric rolled his eyes. “Don’t be such a cop.”

I arched a brow. “Excuse me?”

“Everyone hates Chris.”

“So you’ve said.”

“Come on, Kobe. If a guy is mean to everyone all the time, he deserves to get his lights punched out.” émeric tried and failed to hide a giggle. “And by a girl. It was so epic. Sucks she got in trouble though.”

“Why not tell a teacher if he’s bullying so much?”

“Because all they do is tell him to stop. Talking to him doesn’t help. Guys like him just want to hurt people.”

émeric was right—although I couldn’t admit it aloud—and those types of people got worse as they aged.

I thought of Jesse and how every single person we’d talked to recognized the sadistic monster behind the charming smile.

He was known to everyone on campus, no matter who we talked to.

Was he a grade school bully at one time, stealing granola bars, snapping girls’ bras, or teasing children who didn’t live as privileged a life?

Was Christopher a future Jesse in the making?

Telling the teacher hadn’t worked for the young women we’d interviewed.

Neither had a petition with hundreds of signatures.

Filing a report with the police hadn’t helped Blaze.

It had only made things worse until she had no choice but to drop the charges.

The female population and their concerns had been dismissed, and Jesse had continued his reckless advances.

Until someone punched his lights out for good.

How far had he taken it? Had his vile behavior caught up with him?

Not for the first time, I wrestled with the idea that whoever had killed Jesse had done the campus a favor. Fuck that punk. Maybe I was wrong, and his murder had nothing to do with assaulting women, but every time I tried to venture in a different direction, a niggling in my gut pulled me back.

Was Jesse’s murder the adult equivalent of Miranda What’s Her Name punching Christopher in the nose?

émeric slapped the table, startling me out of my thoughts. “Kobe, you’re not listening.”

“Sorry, bud. What were you saying?”

“Tell me everything.” Elifet landed on the couch beside me, two sweating bottles of beer in hand. He passed me one and held his up to clink necks.

TSN played in the background, recounting details of a recent football game I’d missed.

I took a long pull from the bottle, sighing as the cool ale ran down my parched throat, then I obliged my best friend’s request. Learning that my absence as of late had everything to do with the handsome pathologist I’d been lusting after had piqued Elifet’s interest.

“I’m afraid to say too much and jinx it.”

“Oh, stop. That’s not a thing. Hang on.”

Elifet clicked off the television when it switched to a commercial, then aimed a different remote at his sound system and put on music instead, the volume low so we could chat. Elifet loved indie bands. The quirkier the better.

“Okay, go. You have my full attention. What’s he like when he’s not… autopsying?” Elifet made a face, still not comfortable with what my job entailed—which clearly transferred to Dominique’s profession as well.

“He’s amazing. He has a quiet aura. Tends to be reserved. He’s a good listener.”

“Your opposite.”

I chuckled. “I guess. We’re taking it slow. He lost his wife two and a half years ago, and this is his first time venturing back into the dating scene. He’s a little frayed around the edges.”

Elifet had been about to sip his beer, but he lowered the bottle again, eyes widening. “He lost his wife? As in, she died? I didn’t know he was married.”

“Neither did I. He has a daughter, too. What’s worse? His wife died the day she was born.”

“Oh shit. That’s horrible. What happened?”

“I don’t know. Complications during labor, maybe. Does that still happen in this day and age? If she was sick beforehand, the stress of childbirth could have been too much. I haven’t asked. It’s a touchy subject, and he’s reluctant to talk about it.”

“Christ. That’s intense.”

“I know. Hence my caution. Rue wasn’t sure it was wise to pursue anything, but…”

“But you’re you, and you’ve wanted to shag that guy since the day you laid eyes on him.”

“Nobody in North America says shag.”

Elifet shrugged, unaffected. “My mother says shag all the time.”

“That’s… concerning.”

Humor danced in Elifet’s eyes. He was properly dressed that evening in business attire, a requirement for his office job.

It hadn’t stopped him from undoing half the buttons on his shirt, exposing his chest, and rolling the cuffs to his elbows.

I was glad he’d kept his pants on. The man had a tendency to prance around in underwear.

He wore a gold chain with a crucifix around his neck—a gift from his grandmother—and often toyed with it when he was thinking, running the cross over his bottom lip like he was doing now.

“Could it have been cancer?” he asked. “I’ve heard about people being diagnosed in early pregnancy and refusing to abort their babies. They have to forgo treatment while they’re expecting. It’s risky, and if the cancer is aggressive…”

“That’s what I was thinking. Dom mentioned she was sick.”

“Damn. That’s rough.” Elifet kissed the golden cross and let it fall. It came to rest between his pecs. “So he’s raising the kid himself.” It wasn’t a question.

I shared about Cosette, about our dates to the Apothecary and the café near Dominique’s house. I told Elifet about the few nights I’d stayed at Dominique’s and the way I’d witnessed a change in his demeanor, less reservation and more commitment.

“His walls are finally crumbling. I wasn’t sure at first if he was ready to date, but this past week, he’s been way more relaxed.

He smiles and laughs and talks about his past with greater ease.

His sense of humor is kind of out there.

” I laughed, remembering the earlier quip about his stiffy. “It goes with the job.”

I turned to my best friend, abandoning my beer on the coffee table. “Somehow, I haven’t frightened him off yet. My stupid mouth has gotten away from me a few times while in his presence, but he doesn’t flinch. Do you know how refreshing that is?”

Elifet tsked, a shit-eating grin on his face as he slapped my knee. “Oh, Kobe. Kobe, Kobe, Kobe.”

“What?” I glowered, shoving his hand away.

“You realize you’ve fallen for the guy, right?”

I scoffed. “No, I haven’t. I like him. A lot. It’s too soon for love, but he gets me. No one ever gets me. I even told him about Mexico—”

“No way. And the car in the pool?”

“Well, I didn’t go into detail, but… sort of. Yes.”

Elifet sipped his beer, nodding approvingly. “Yep. Definitely love.”

“Lust. It can’t be more. Christ, we haven’t even slept together.”

Elifet’s brows winged up, but before he could inject an opinion on that accidental revelation, I clarified. “We’ve gotten each other off plenty. He’s not celibate. We just haven’t… done everything.”

“A blow job is still sex.”

“I’m trying really hard not to push him or come on too strong. You know what I’m like. Guys hate being smothered, and I’ve fucked up enough relationships by doing exactly that.”

“Because you’re needy, and you’ve been searching for a replacement family since you were sixteen.”

“I have not.”

“You know, many people go into relationships wearing fake glossy finishes over their real selves, then they wonder why things don’t work. It’s better to stay true to who you are.”

“I’m trying.” Except I wasn’t always sure the real me held much appeal.

“Kobe, you have a nasty habit of molding yourself into what you think other people want instead of being yourself.”

“I’m not doing that this time.”

“Are you sure?”

“I think so. I’ve told him about my family. He’s heard my less-than-couth commentary about work. My flaws are shining in all their neon glory… some of them. Not all.”

“Aww.” Elifet leaned over and ruffled my hair. “My boy is growing up and falling in love with a single dad. Soon you’ll be married and having more rug rats.”

I chuckled. “Hardly. Between my mountain of unattractive flaws and Dominique’s tragic past, we’re fumbling along, but what we have would not qualify for the next Hallmark love story.”

“It’s still syrupy sweet.”

“Whatever. I feel like at any moment he’s going to decide he’s not ready for this and walk away. How can you be married to someone for fifteen years and not struggle to move on? God, am I rebound? I am, aren’t I? Fuck.”

“You’re not rebound.” Elifet slapped my thigh. “It sounds like he’s into you. He invited you for Christmas, for fuck’s sake. That’s a big deal.”

“You’re just glad I won’t be sitting at home moping.”

“Maybe. Although I’m mildly hurt that you readily agreed to spend the holiday with your sexy pathologist, and yet you refuse me every year.”

“I feel inferior around your perfect family. Besides, your mother doesn’t get that we aren’t dating.”

Elifet laughed. “She’s old-fashioned and doesn’t like to admit her son shags a revolving door of nameless hot men he finds at the club. Plus”—he patted my cheek—“she likes your baby face.”

I pushed his hand away. “Stop. Get me another beer and find a game on TV.”