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“Doesn’t matter to me.”

I have to work hard not to roll my eyes. “Okay, well, you going to invite me in so I can show you what we’re doing? You can yell at us from back there. Easier if we cut through the house, I think.”

“No!” He puts a hand up as I take a step toward him. “I can go around.” He reaches behind him to pull the door closed but stumbles, losing his balance.

“Chester!” I catch him by the arm, keeping him upright.

“I’m fine,” he says, pulling his arm away. “God dammit.”

I know that’s not directed at me, but I’m still surprised by his tone—I’ve never heard him short like this before. I watch his hands as he grips the door and doorframe to balance, ready to catch him if he falls again.

When he looks up again, he curses, rubbing his forehead with his thumb and forefinger. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. I’m just tired. Haven’t been sleeping well.”

I remove my sunglasses, and when I do, I get a better look at him. His eyes are shadowed with dark circles; the lines in his face look deeper than they did just the other day. He looks skinnier, too, and he was skinny to begin with.

“Chester, have you been sleeping at all?”

“I’m fine,” he says, waving his hand. “Just old. Gettin’ up to whizz every other minute at night takes a toll, is all.”

“When’s the last time you ate?”

“For goodness’ sake, Sasha, I’m doing fine.”

He doesn’t look me in the eye when he says that, though.

And he sounds exactly the way I did writing my mom back after I made the mistake of checking my email the other night. “I had plans for you,” she wrote. “Lots of charity events filled with more eligible bach—”

I’d snapped the laptop Griffin gave me shut after that.

I shake my head, grasping the front door handle. “All right, Ches. I’m making you some breakfast.”

“Listen, I—”

“I’m not taking no for an answer.”

I think I finally understand why Griffin likes being so bossy. When you know what needs to be done, you don’t have patience for excuses.

Finally, Chester sighs wearily and steps aside.

When I finally see past him, I have to forcibly clamp my mouth shut. I’ve been here before, and it was always a little cluttered. But more of a cozy lived-in cluttered with books stacked here and there on surfaces and some of the eclectic paintings and antler sets on the walls looking like they needed a good dusting.

But nothing like this. The place is a mess. The floor’s lined with dirt and dust bunnies, and there’s junk on every surface. Mugs line with dark, long-evaporated coffee-covered the coffee table, along with a few plates, spoons, and newspapers. Tissues and candy wrappers lie in a ring around the armchair facing the TV.

“Haven’t had much energy for housework lately,” Chester admits.

I smile. “It’s tough when you’re not feeling up for it,” I say. “Sometimes—”

But when I poke my head into the kitchen, I can’t finish my sentence. There’s so much crap on the counters they’re barely visible. The sink is filled to the brim with dishes, and there’s a terrible smell coming from under the sink.

“Chester—”

“I’m ashamed of myself, if I’m being honest,” Chester says, looking down. “All I need is a good sleep, though, and I’ll be fine.”

“There’s no need to be ashamed. Sometimes it…gets away from you.”

He doesn’t look convinced.

“Hey, you should have seen me the other night when I was looking through all those old adoption records. I fell asleep in a pile of paper. I woke up and I was wearing them like a blanket. I even drooled on some that might have been important.”