Chapter 46 Kai
Kai
“Kai. Kai!”
I surface groggy as fuck from a nap that, judging from the bedroom light shining into my eyes, looks like it nearly turned into an all-nighter.
Rain drums against the window, but that’s nothing new.
It’s been pissing down every day Saturday’s game.
I’d counted on the fact that Bobby’s arrival would mess her up so bad she just couldn’t anymore.
So imagine my fucking disappointment when she struts into AHC on Tuesday, shoulders back, chin up, like she’d physically walk over anyone who tried to stop her.
Meanwhile, I’d been feeling guilty for hooking Nora up with Bobby’s contact info. Not even sure why the hell I still had it, but I guess a part of me knew it would come in handy one day.
All that guilt evaporated as soon as Haven’s ass came through Rooke’s classroom door Tuesday.
Most fucked up of all?
I should’ve been pissed.
So why the fuck a bolt of pride struck me is anyone’s guess.
Riversiders are as tough as rusty nails—and twice as nasty. Mess with us, and you’ll be limping for a week, and you’ll need to get a fucking tetanus shot.
Rooke kept eyeing Haven like she was a piece of meat, and I expected to see her simping after him. But she surprised me again. No smoldering stares for our fucked-up professor, just frosty indifference.
And it looks like he finally got the message, because he left both of us alone, communicating with me via short, professional text messages and single-syllable instructions the whole week.
This week should have been a fucking cake walk.
But my brain’s so addicted to cortisol, it’ll throw anything on the fire to keep it going.
Like the video Haven kept begging me to send her.
How many times have I watched it this week?
How many times have I tried to delete it?
Too many.
Too. Fucking. Many.
And if that wasn’t enough, there’s Ezra.
I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop, and the anxiety is fucking killing me. Questions I can’t answer keep playing on repeat like a song I can’t get out of my head.
Why has no one done anything? How can I go around drinking and partying when I should be suspended, or doing community service? I should be punished for the shit I’ve done, but it’s like no one cares.
That dread expectation feels like a grenade with the pin pulled out sitting in my pocket, waiting to blast a hole in my gut.
Someone grabs my shoulder and gives me a hard shake.
“Kai!”
“Fuck, what?” I mutter, squinting up at Blake through burning eyes.
“Come on, dude, wake up. Nolan got some premium shit from his cousin’s roommate.”
I give him the finger and roll over, pulling a pillow over my head. Then the smell of weed hits my nose through the fucking pillow. I roll onto my back again, staring blearily at the bong hovering above my head as Blake starts to tip it over.
“Rip it, or drink it.”
I should be threatened with bong water more often because, fuck, that’s the fastest I’ve ever gotten out of bed. The fact that the water in that bong hasn’t been changed since rush sure helps.
That shit stinks.
Plus, bong rips help with the memories.
As should the line of coke I’m about to snort off one of Blake’s phone screens. Turns out Nolan’s ‘premium shit’ came in a tiny baggie all the way from Miami.
Weird how I’ve never done coke before, but ever since I snorted those lines off Haven’s ass, I’ve been accepted into some elite coke-head gang. People just know. And now it’s my turn to corrupt innocents to the dark side.
“Looks like baby powder.” Kruger squints at the fat line from less than an inch away, prompting Nolan to yank him away by the shoulder.
“It’s premium!” Nolan snaps, looking ready to punch anyone who argues.
“That’s what you said last time, and I couldn’t feel my face for two days,” Blake says as I take the rolled-up twenty he hands me.
“Poor baby.” Nolan stands, bouncing on his heels. “Want me to call your mama?”
Blake gives him the finger without looking. “Want me to call yours? She left her number last time.”
I snort the line, and immediately regret it as the coke stings its way up my nose and down the back of my throat. I sniff hard, eyes watering as numbness spreads over my face.
“Fuck you,” Nolan says.
“Kruger, you’re up,” I manage in a thick voice.
“Dude…I dunno…”
“You wanna play or not?” Blake says, already chopping up a new line on his phone. “No one works my kitchen sober. Especially you. Your reaction times are way too slow.”
I listen to them bicker as I sink back into the couch, blinking hard as I run my hands down my numb face. I don’t feel like I did at Rooke’s house. This shit is fierce, and raw, and makes me want to go cannonball the pool.
Then again, I had molly and a shit ton more weed and booze in my system that night.
“Fucking peer pressure,” Kruger mumbles as takes the twenty from Blake and sits forward to snort his line.
“Anyone got gum?” I ask, realizing I’m clenching my teeth almost exactly like the molly I didn’t have is kicking in.
Austin tosses me a pack. “Grinding already? Fucking lightweight.”
“I’d like to keep my enamel,” I say, popping two pieces in my mouth.
“That’s it, boys! Let’s get ready to flambé!” Blake claps his hands just like Rooke loves doing in his class, but I forgive him, because seconds later, I’m fucking soaring.
A bottle of tequila appears, and it says a lot that I throw back every shot handed to me. I fucking hate tequila. Once I’ve puked up enough of one type of liquor, it’s dead to me.
But I forget about it tonight as me and the guys play Overcooked on the PlayStation.
Coke seems to give me amnesia.
Rooke? Who the fuck’s that?
Haven? Just some random charity case from the sticks.
The bong does another few rounds. We order pizzas, crack open more beers, do more shots. Someone mentions a party, but we’re too busy trying to max out our score to leave the frat house.
Blake channels his inner Gordon Ramsey, screaming at us to pick up the pace as we try to coordinate a burger assembly line that’s rapidly descending into chaos, our fried brains overheating as we try to remember who the fuck’s supposed to be chopping veggies and who’s burning the patties.
“Those burgers look worse than my fucking crypto portfolio!” Blake shrieks, while Austin just giggles like a fucking girl and keeps throwing lettuce at the wrong station.
After a short coke break, we’ve just gotten our shit together with thirty seconds left on the clock, when Jace walks into the TV room.
Everyone stops what they’re doing, even Blake, who’s panting like a husky in summer, his controller clutched in white, shaking hands.
“Yo, what’s up, man?” I call out when Jace just keeps standing there like a fucking narc.
“I’m back from the hospital,” he says.
“Good for you.” I glance at him, then back at the game. A small fire has broken out at the fries station. “Guys, guys! Who’s on fries?”
“You, you fucking idiot!” Blake yells.
“Visiting hours are over.” I hear Jace sniffing from the archway. “But I’m guessing you didn’t have any plans to go see him today. Or yesterday, according to the hospital’s sign-in sheet. Or ever.”
He just keeps standing there, silent, after that pronouncement. Because that’s how he talks—like he’s giving a sermon.
I glance at him again, and then back at the flat screen as the timer runs out.
“Fuck!” I stand, slamming the PlayStation controller into the couch cushion where I was sitting.
Jace doesn’t even blink.
Fucking reptile.
“You’re fired, Kai,” Blake says, calm but for the shake in his voice. “Get out of my kitchen.”
“The fuck you looking at?” I bark as I storm past Jace, my thumb already slipping behind the waistband of the black Brunello sweatpants I threw on before coming downstairs.
I’ve been holding in this piss for like half an hour. Now that I’m unemployed, I can sort that out and avoid Jace’s accusing stare. Always loved me a twofer.
“Anyone who hates a brother or sister is a murderer. John 3:15,” Jace intones.
“John can suck my—” I cut off, throwing him a glare as he follows me to the guest bathroom just around the corner. “Jesus, you wanna come hold my dick for me, or what?”
His expression, like the bible chick who got turned into a pillar of salt, solidifies. Yeah, my mom dragged me to church a few times before I knew to make myself scarce on a Sunday morning.
“Your brother won’t be coming home any time soon.”
I was closing the door in his face, even though hardly any of us ever bother when we’re just taking a piss. But I stop, because suddenly the tequila feels like it wants to come back up.
“Yeah?” I try for cool and detached, but my voice just sounds weak. So I harden it. “You miss your little fuck buddy, huh? Maybe if you pray a little harder, he’ll come back. Then you won’t be so lonely anymore.”
There’s a flash of surprise on Jace’s face a second before I slam the bathroom door closed.
There’s barely enough space to turn around in this closet of a room, but I throw the toilet lid down and sit in a rush. Shove my hands in my hair and grip tight enough to make my scalp sting.
“As the Campaign Manager of this fraternity,” Jace says through the door, “I’m in charge while Ezra’s—“
He pauses when Blake’s yell cuts through his voice. “I’ve seen better organization in a pump and dump scheme! Who the fuck is on bun duty?”
“When you’re done in there, you’ll join us in the War Room for an emergency caucus,” Jace continues in the same dreary tone as before.
I hear the whining and the bitching from the next room as Jace proclaims the same bullshit unto the other frat bros.
Jesus, how I wish I hadn’t lost control the night of the Rain Dance. Not when I beat the shit out of Ezra—because fuck it, that asshole deserved it and I’ll fucking die on that hill—but what came after.
As in everyone who literally came after.