Connor plucked the empty glass from Asher’s hand and threw a blanket over his sleeping classmate as he stood.
“Finally.” Oliver muttered. “Never thought he’d go down.” He tucked the game controllers away and stood next to Connor. “How much did he have?”
“Enough. Apparently,” Connor breathed out and headed into the kitchen.
“I know but still…”
With a final glance at their sleeping houseguest, Oliver wandered over to join Connor in the kitchen. He leaned over the counter and watched while Connor put dirty glasses in the dishwasher.
“Hey, can I ask you something?” Oliver asked, plucking up an empty bottle to tuck it away in the recycling.
“Shoot,” Connor answered, wondering if the dishwasher was full enough to run. Sometimes Oliver got pissed if Connor ran it and it wasn’t full ‘enough.’
“What did he mean?”
Connor knew exactly what Oliver was asked about but stalled anyway. “What are you talking about?”
“Asher. When he said that – that his dad was murdered. Murdered to cover something up. He said it happens all the time.” Oliver paused then and Connor didn’t look up, couldn’t look up. “What did he mean, Connor?”