"I don't care if you take da bed," Dusty told him, following his gaze and imagining his concerns. "Dey didn't die in it, if tat's what you were wondering. Dey went out under te old cypress, where I found em. I imagine he shot her in de head first, den himself. He'd already dug da graves. Maybe he thought about laying her in it before he finished himself off, but decided to just end it early. Tey were probably both sick. I just finished it for dem. Laid em to rest, and I expect da sickness to come for me next, but it never did." For the same reason it never took Caelan after the death of his friend.<br/><br/>"I never said it was," he said, absent of anger or irritation. "Only you rely on luck, of which I know betta." For Dusty, it wasn't a brag to have done stupid shit and lived to talk about it. That was just playing the odds.<br/><br/>"If you don't want to be treated like an invalid, don't fucking act like one," Dusty snapped back. "And don't get pissed off at me because your daddy ain't neva taught you shit." He leveled a hard warning stare across the table at Caelan. "I made no complaints about showing you<i>my world</i>, and all dat you don't know about it. If da insecurities settling in, do someting about it. You want to stop learning about my world, den you just let me know. I take you home, and we leave it at that. Tomorrow, though. Like I said, not a good time to be out on da wata now."