by Chloe Walsh
"Except that it was a surprise," I replied, cautious. "To me, at least." He continued to steal food off my plate as I spoke. "I thought you hated me. After Chris, I th-thought you despised me."
"Look, Ro, you said you wanted to be friends," he mumbled. "I said yes. No need to hash up anything else."
"But you told me you're in love with me," I breathed, heart hammering wildly against my ribcage.
"Still in love with you," he corrected with a shrug. "Same girl. Same feelings."
"Do you want to be friends?" I forced myself to ask, hardly daring to breathe while I waited for his answer. Just friends?
He paused mid-chew and locked his piercing blue eyes on me. Tilting his head to one-side, he considered me for a long moment before swallowing.
When he didn’t say anything, I reached for my soda and took a deep swig, flustered from his intense stare.
When I set the glass back down, he was still staring at me. "Say something," I begged, clasping my hands together. "Anything. Please."
"I –"
"Not that I don’t enjoy our little sparring sessions, lover, but we really need to get down to business," Presley announced, returning to the table and disrupting Sketch from whatever he was about to say.
Frustrated, I blew out a breath and reluctantly turned my attention to Presley who was rummaging around in his bookbag. Setting a notebook down on the table, Pres flipped it open and reached for a pen. "We have a lot to cover, people."
"Can I finish eating first?" Sketch asked with his mouth around a burger.
"Seriously, Sketch?" Pushing his glasses up, Presley stared across the booth at him. "Seriously? You've been eating for fifteen solid minutes. I've been counting."
"What?" Sketch huffed, looking to me for help. "I'm hungry."
I held my hands up. "Leave me out of it."
"You're always hungry," Presley replied. "And here's another thing; you are a freak of nature. Do you hear me? A freak. No one else can consume the calories you do on a daily basis and look like that." He waved a hand at him. "It's both unfair and inhuman, and, to be quite frank, I think you set an unhealthy body image standard amongst your peers."
"My peers," Sketch snickered, leaning across the table to swipe and handful of fries off Presley's plate. "The fuck are you talking about?"
"That," Presley declared, pointing at Sketch's plate. "That's what I'm talking about."
"Because I like food?" He arched a brow. "Yeah, Pres, I eat a lot because I work out a lot. I train. Hard. Every day. While you're flexing those braincells, I'm playing football or working out. And besides –" He smirked. "I'm a growing boy."
"Can't believe you're still seventeen," he muttered. "6'3 and seventeen. It's freaking ridiculous."
"I sure am seventeen, Pres. For another month." Sketch grinned. "Which makes me the innocent minor and you two the culpable adults if this shit goes south."
I laughed and Presley glared. "That's not funny."
"I’m so sorry, officer," Sketch mimicked, chewing on a french fry. "He told me to do it, and the pretty girl said she'd show me her boobies."
"Ugh!" Presley's mouth fell open. "You take that back right this instant, young man."
"Relax, I'm kidding," Sketch chuckled, nudging my shoulder with his and causing my cheeks to burn. "I'm no rat."
I couldn’t stop my smile from spreading as I listened to their banter. It had been a very long time since this version of the boy I used to know made an appearance. I missed that boy. His arm was draped around the back of my chair, and for the first time in two years, I felt a pang of something deep inside me. Something real. Something that felt an awful lot like hope. Like maybe we could really do this? Maybe, just maybe, we could pull it out of the box and fix us.
"Pres," I said, clearing my throat. "What was all of that 'Romi, you're a genius' talk about earlier?"
"Ah, yes," Presley replied, flicking open his notebook. "I have a theory."
"Jesus, here we go." Rolling his eyes, Sketch flagged the waitress over and order another coke. "Theories and codes," he grumbled, leaning back in his seat after placing his order. "Puzzles and jigsaws." Shaking his head, he folded his arms behind his head and yawned. "I'm through with this shit, Pres. You didn’t find the damn journal. You outed us on television. I'm just about done with the crazy."
"Well how's this for crazy," Presley said, leaning forward to rest his elbows on the table. "I think you and Romi might have something to do with why Chris was killed."
"What?" both Sketch and I demanded in unison.
"Cool your jets," Pres cut in, holding a hand up. "I didn't say ya'll killed him. I said I think you might have something to do with why he was killed. Big difference. And keep your damn voices down."
"Why?" Sketch asked, thank god, because my voice had abandoned me. "How could we have anything to do with it? More importantly, why?"
"All of this started when Chris started investigating Vic-whore-ia, right?"
"Right," we both agreed, nodding.
"Wrong!" Pres hissed, leaning forward. "Wrong, wrong, fucking wrong, guys. We're looking at this the wrong way. Open your eyes. This didn’t start with Vic-whore-ia. It started long before that. This started two years ago."
He eyed me meaningfully.
I came up empty.
"Really, Romi?"
"I'm sorry," I blurted out. "I have no idea what you're talking about."
Blowing out a frustrated breath, he eyeballed Sketch. "Think, Sketch. Come on, dude. Think."
"Romi and I broke up two years ago."
"Yes, and why did you and Romi break up?" Pres pushed.
Sketch glared. "You know why."
"Humor me."
His gaze flicked to me for the briefest of moments, blazing with heat, before returning to Presley. "Because I had no other choice."
"Yes. Good." Pres nodded eagerly. "And what else happened after you and Romi broke up? What happened that has never happened in the history of happenings?"
"Chris…" Sketch began and then stopped short, shaking his head.
"Say it," Presley coaxed. "Come on. Say the words."
"Chris got with Romi," he muttered as he stared down at his plate.
"Yes," Presley agreed. "Yes, he did. Now, why?"
"Why?" Furious, Sketch swung his gaze back to glare at Pres. "You'd have to ask her that."
"I'm asking you," Presley replied evenly. "Come on, Sketch. He was your brother. Your blood. Your other half. Why would he do that? He knew how much she meant to you. Why would he betray you?"
"He wouldn’t," Sketch bit out, clearly agitated. "But he still did. Which is why I don’t –"
"Shh!" Presley cut in. "Focus on your first answer. Chris wouldn’t. He loved you more than life, and he knew that you loved her more than life. Neither one of you would betray the person you loved unless…"
"Unless we had no choice," Sketch filled in, eyes narrowing. "What. The. Actual. Fuck?"
"Oh, keep listening, it gets better," Presley said. "Chris was seeing someone around the time ya'll broke up."
"What?" I squeaked out, mouth hanging open.
"Oh yeah." Pres drummed his fingers on the table while he spoke. "And it was pretty serious, too. A long-term deal. But one day, out of the blue, a couple of months after you guys broke up, Chris ends his relationship. No reason. No explanation. It was over." He snapped his fingers. "Just like that. The following day, he shows up to school holding hands with Romi."
"What?" Sketch narrowed his eyes. "Chris wasn’t dating anyone."
"Yes, Sketch," Presley replied. "He was."
"No," I said, agreeing with Sketch. "He wasn't. I would've have known."
"Exactly," Sketch added. "And so would I. He was my twin. No offense, Quinton, but I would know."
"Oh really?" Presley countered hotly. "Well, no offense, but did you know that your brother was gay?"
Chapter Nineteen
Sketch
Too stunned to take it all in, my first reac
tion when Presley dropped the bombshell was to laugh. Not at the fact that he was saying my brother was gay. Gay or straight, it didn’t matter a damn to me. No, I laughed because I was two seconds away from losing my fucking mind. If Pres was right, if he was telling the truth, then I…hell, I didn’t know what to think.
"It was you, wasn't it?" Romi asked, eyes glued to Presley, who was tapping on the table like Happy fucking Gilmore. "Oh my god." Clearly putting the pieces together quicker than I could, she reached across the table and placed her hand on his. "You were in a relationship with Chris?"
Presley dropped his gaze to his notebook, giving only the slightest nod in confirmation.
"Pres." Swallowing deeply, she tucked her hair behind her ears and released a sigh. "I didn’t know."
"I know." He gave her hand a small squeeze. "And it's okay, baby girl. I'm not mad."
"Uh, well, I am," I declared, glaring at the two of them. "I'm mad," I continued, knees bopping restlessly. "In fact, I'm very fucking mad."
"Sketch," Romi gasped, elbowing me in the ribs. "Don’t be a jerk."
"Oh, please." I rolled my eyes. "I don’t care that Chris was in a relationship with Pres. I care that Chris was in a relationship with you."
Her cheeks turned bright pink and she dropped her gaze to her hands.
"He was gay?" I looked to Pres. "Chris was gay?"
Presley nodded. "Yes, he was gay, Sketch, and no, I'm not joking around. I'm being one hundred percent real with you here."
"Then why did he ask me out?" Romi blurted, looking dumbfounded. "Why did he lie to me?"
"You tell me," Presley replied with a shrug. "Because I've been dying to know why I was tossed aside for a vagina."
"Yeah, fuck this." Furious, I jerked to my feet. "Let me out, Ro," I instructed, needing to get out of this damn booth before I blew a fucking head gasket. "I need to not be near people right now."
"No, you need to stay," she argued, catching my wrist. "Because we need to figure this out."
"What's to figure out?" I demanded, allowing her to pull me back down. "I think it's pretty fucking clear we've all been played."
"Yeah, but why?" she countered, keeping ahold of my hand. "Just calm down and breathe." Giving my fingers a reassuring squeeze, she turned back to Presley and said, "We're listening, Pres. Tell us what you're thinking."
"Okay. Here's what I know." Clearing his throat, Presley quickly continued, blowing my fucking mind with his theories. "Chris was gay and I'm not talking bi, or curious. He was gay, okay?" He looked at me when he said, "For Chris, getting with Romi would feel the same as you getting with me. Think about that for a second."
My brows furrowed. "Then why?"
"That's the whole point," Presley growled in frustration. "Your brother was a freaking genius and that's not an exaggeration. Every decision Chris ever made was thoroughly thought through with detailed care and precise planning. He wasn’t rash and he didn’t rush into anything. He was a natural problem solver who looked at a situation from all angles before deciding the right path to take. Hell, when I first told him how I felt about him, he took three whole weeks to think over his damn feelings, which is why I know he wouldn’t rush into a relationship with anyone, much less someone he wasn't remotely attracted to – no offense, baby girl."
"None taken," Romi replied, looking a little sick.
"Did you sleep with him?" he asked then, turning his gaze on Romi. "Did he go that far with you?"
"Ah, hell no," I growled, rising to my feet again, feeling my blood turn to lava in my veins. "Let me the hell out of this booth. I’m not fucking around here –"
"Sketch, stop," Romi snapped, pulling on my arm. "Just sit down. You're making a scene."
"I don’t give a damn," I bit out, chest heaving. "I'm not listening to this. Now let me out of this damn booth, Romi."
"Oh my god, just stop!"
"So I can listen to the gory details of what you and my brother got up to behind closed doors?" I glared at her. "No fucking thank you."
"There are no gory details," she snapped, looking flushed. "He never laid a finger on me." Grabbing my shoulders, she pushed me back down. "Because I didn’t want him to," she continued, red-faced. "I wasn't ready and he didn’t push. So yeah, we kissed and snuggled, but that was it. Nothing else happened."
"You kissed," I said, folding my arms across my chest, tone laced with disbelief. Telling Romi I still had feelings for her this morning had wounded my pride and made me look like a sucker, and this fine display of emotion wasn’t doing me any favors, but I had to protect myself. My heart couldn’t take another hit. Listening to tales of her time with my brother was my cut-off point. "A whole year of dating and all ya'll did was kiss and snuggle?" I shook my head. "Don’t bother lying to me. If ya'll need to discuss this, then do it when I'm not around."
"I'm telling the truth," she declared passionately, daring me with her eyes to call her a liar. "And you can believe it or not, but it won't change the fact that the only penis I've ever touched is tucked in your pants."
"Ah, hell," Presley muttered. "This couldn’t get any more awkward."
"I'm a virgin," she twisted the knife by saying, keeping her whiskey-colored eyes glued to mine.
"I was wrong," Pres groaned, dropping his head in his hands. "Shit just got more awkward."
Stunned, I could do nothing but stare at her. I didn’t have a response to that. I could barely suck enough air into my lungs to breathe, let alone speak. My chest was heaving. My legs felt like jelly. The fuck was I supposed to say to that?
"He wasn't cruel, Sketch," Pres offered, brown eyes glued to my face. "Chris wasn't reckless and he wasn't blind. He knew how much she meant to you. He also knew the real reason you broke up with her, therefore, you can be damn sure he had a good reason for doing what he did. Whatever was going down, whatever Chris was involved in, getting with Romi was his only choice. And maybe I'm clutching at straws when I say this, but don’t you think it's strange that all of your and Chris's problems revolved around Romi? The minute you guys broke up – something that was orchestrated by her father – everything went downhill. I'm dumped, you're devastated, she's in denial, and Chris is acting like an entirely different person. He starts digging around in her stepmother's business and suddenly there are men in black cars following him around. He's keeping secrets. Acting all jumpy and constantly on edge. Plus, he's not even getting his dick sucked – something I can assure you Chris enjoyed immensely and on frequent intervals. And after all that sacrifice, he dies while on a date with her? Why is it that Romi is at the center of every problem you guys have ever had –"
"Hey, watch it," I warned, narrowing my eyes, acutely aware of the girl shaking beside me. "She's not the problem here."
"I didn’t do anything," Romi choked out, eyes filling up with tears. "I didn’t hurt Chris." She sank back down on the seat and folded her arms around herself protectively. "I told you the truth." Head bent, she stared down at her lap. "It wasn't my fault."
"He knows that," I told her, glaring across the table at him. "Don’t you, Pres?"
"I'm not saying you did anything wrong, baby girl, and I'm not blaming you," Pres hurried to say, sounding guilty. "But there's something very wrong about this whole situation and I'm trying to figure it out." He pushed his hands through his curls, his frustration evident. "Why is it that Cal Dillon terrorized you into staying away from Romi, but had absolutely no problem with Chris dating her? Ya'll were twins. You shared the same damn womb for nine months," he argued, pushing his glasses up his nose. "So, what's it all about, Sketch? What's the problem here? Help me piece this puzzle together because I can't do it on my own. What am I missing?"
Chapter Twenty
Romi
There was a long stretch of silence after Presley's questioning where both boys were locked in a stare down. Finally, Sketch broke the silence with a heavy sigh.
"I don’t know," he said quietly, resting his elbows on the table. A vein ticked in his temp
le as he stared down at his hands in defeat. "I guess I'm hard to love."
That quietly spoken confession cut me deep and I bled out for him, feeling every ounce of his confusion and pain. "You're not hard to love, Sketch," I croaked out, placing a hand on his bouncing knee. I knew I should feel mortified over my declaration, but I didn’t. It was the truth and I could deal with it later. Right now, he needed comfort and reassurance. "You're not."
"Come on, Sketch," Presley groaned. "You've gotta give me more than that, dude. If Chris was right, and we're in trouble, I need to know everything. Even if you don’t think it's important, I need all of the information you guys can give me. It's the only way I have a chance of figuring this out."
Sketch's nostrils flared, a telltale sign of his obvious discomfort, and he continued to stare at his hands before blowing out a harsh breath and leaning back in his seat. "I did something when I was little." His brows were furrowed, his expression pained. "It's probably why Cal didn’t want me near Romi."
"What did you do?"
"Does it really matter?"
"At this stage, everything matters."
"I, uh –" Shaking his head, he turned to look out the window before continuing, "I hurt Chris."
Pres leaned closer. "Hurt him how?"
"I don’t remember." Jaw ticking, Sketch swallowed several times before continuing. "I was really little at the time and I…" He shook his head and drummed his fingers against the table. "I guess I used to have these violent episodes."
"Episodes?" I whispered, turning to look at him.
He nodded stiffly, not meeting my eye. "And, uh, well, I started some sort of fire in our house with matches and the whole place burned to the ground." He shrugged. "Apparently, I did other stuff, too, but the fire was Mama's last straw. They got Chris out in time, but she separated us and had me sent for tests. Said I was too dangerous to be near him."
