Behind us both there’s the sound of a key in the front-door lock. Chase visibly panics, moves two steps away from me as Alex lets herself in. She turns, takes in the thickness of atmosphere in the room. In the silence, the rain hammers outside.

“Hi. What’s … what’s going on?” She looks from my face to Chase’s and back again.

“Nothing,” we say in stereo sound. Her face is sweet, but there’s something scribbled under the surface of her, a more jagged outline in red, like anger. It reminds me of her at fourteen, acing tests while she acted out, angelic to everyone who wasn’t looking properly. But I’ve always seen through her. Always.

“C’mon. What were you two talking about?”

“We were just having a chat,” Chase says. He doesn’t go to her. He doesn’t touch her, doesn’t kiss her.

Alex moves toward me by the couch. “That sounds nice. Ruth, you should be lying down. The baby, remember?” Her voice is altogether too saccharine, but I sit down. She’s about to say something else, but her phone dings. She pulls it out of her pants pocket. Her eyes dart to the screen as she sets it on the coffee table. Quickly I shoot a look at Chase. He’s barely keeping his head above water.

“So what else have you—” she begins, but the phone dings again.

“Who’s texting you?” Chase asks.

“I’ve no idea. It’s my work phone, and I’m off duty.”

“Then let me see it,” Chase says, his hand out.

“Chase.” Alex swipes the phone off the table and puts it in her back pocket. “It’s just work. Calm down.”

“Is it really work, or is it Eli?” I ask.

She sets her jaw, her cheeks gathering fire. “What are you talking about?”

“Was he here?” Chase asks quietly. “Did this Eli guy come to our apartment?”

“No,” she says, crossing her arms.

“He was here,” I say. “I know he was.”

“He texted Ruth about you,” Chase adds.

“And I’m starting to think you know exactly where that coffee tin is,” I say, emboldened by Chase’s support.

Alex’s face is blotching. “What the fuck is wrong with both of you?” she says, but she doesn’t move. It’s a pathetic defense, and even Chase realizes it.

I hand her my phone and show her his texts; she reads them, her lips silently shaping the words. For a second I wonder if she’ll whip the phone across the room. “So some drug dealer says he came here. And you believe him? Are you really that dumb? And Chase”—she turns to him and he bristles—“I expected more out of you. Is this what you two have been conspiring about?”

“She told me that—”