"No point." Sighing, I bowed my head and dropped my hands to my hips. "She's not ready to talk and we're not gonna force her."
"We're not?"
My head snapped up. "No, Presley. We're not."
"Feeling a little protective there, Sketch?"
"Careful."
"What about you?" he asked then.
My eyes narrowed. "Whataboutme?"
"Well, think, Sketch." Removing his glasses, he blew onto each lens before wiping them with his sleeve. "Was there anything out of the ordinary that you and Chris spoke about before he died?"
"Dude, my brother was fucking my girl," I growled. "We weren't exactly swapping secrets before he died."
He placed his glasses back on his nose. "You guys were fighting?"
"Well, no. Not exactly fighting." I blew out a pained breath. "I mean, we still talked and hung out and stuff. We were just…distant."
"Hmm." He clicked his tongue and scribbled something down on his notepad. "Interesting."
I bristled. "Asshole, if you write my name on that list, I will legit snap your neck."
"For how long?" he asked then, confusing the hell out of me.
"How long what?"
"How long were you and Chris estranged for?"
"We weren't estranged, Pres," I snapped, agitated. "We were just –"
"Distant," he filled in impatiently. "Yes, yes, I know, but for how long?"
I glared at him, suspicious. "What does it matter?"
"He was protecting us from something," Pres replied, tone sharper. "You were the one he was most insistent on being kept out of this…whatever the hellthisis." He waved his pen around aimlessly. "Therefore, I need to know everything that went down between you two. Every teeny, tiny, insignificant detail. How else am I supposed to come up with a theory or crack the damn puzzle he left behind?"
"Jesus Christ, Pres, I don’t know." I blew out a frustrated breath, brain officially fried. "For a while."
"And what constitutes asa whilein the land of Sketch Capaldi. Hmm? Hours, days, weeks, months –"
"Since Romi," I barked, running a hand through my damp hair. "Okay? Happy now? Since they started dating."
"That far back?"
I nodded stiffly, feeling the familiar pang of pained betrayal hit me square in the chest.
Presley made an O shape with his lips. "Well then."
"Don’t give me that look," I warned, pointing my finger at him. "You havenoidea what that was like for me. Having to watch that. Them. Together. After –" I shook my head, feeling my entire body tremble. "I did my best to deal so don't you dare judge me for taking a step back."
"Oh, you'd be surprised what I understand, my friend," he replied with a sad smile. "And I'm not judging you."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"Nothing," he replied with a shake of his head. "It is, as you said earlier, irrelevant."
