Page 12 of No Good Fight

She lowers herself onto the edge of the bed, hands tucked between her knees. “I thought maybe I forgot.”

“You didn’t.”

“I forget things all the time.”

“Not that.”

Her eyes lift to mine, and the look she gives me is careful enough to cut.

I move back to the window because I need something to do with my hands that isn’t touching her. The lock is garbage, which doesn’t surprise me. Cheap metal, loose screws, and a frame old enough that a good shove in the right spot would pop it without much effort.

“What else has happened?”

She goes too still behind me.

That’s an answer in and of itself, but I need her to tell me what I’m not seeing.

I keep my voice even while I tighten one of the screws with my fingers just to keep from turning around too fast. “Alex.”

“There were calls,” she says finally.

I close my eyes for half a second.

“When?”

“This week.”

“How many?”

“I don’t know. Three, maybe.” I hear the hesitation there. It’s been a lot more than three. “Blocked numbers. I didn’t answer.”

Good.

Not good enough.

“What else?”

She laughs once, brittle and tired. “You keep asking that like you already know there’s more.”

“I know you. And I know that there’s no way in fuck you’d be worried over three weird calls and your window being open.”

The words come out before I can stop them.

The room goes quiet.

I glance back and find her staring at me like I just put something dangerous in the space between us. Maybe I did. Maybe I should stop being surprised every time the truth slips its leash around her.

She looks away first, reaching for a hair tie on the nightstand and twisting it around her fingers without using it.

“There were flowers.”

The air in the room seems to change.

“What kind?”

“White roses.” She drops the hair tie and wraps her arms around herself. “They were outside my door Monday night when I got home. No card.”

I nod once and look back at the window because if I look at her too long, she’ll see everything.