Page 18 of Pocketful of Shame

"What?" I blanched. "No, dude. I'm just…surprised is all." I scratched the back of my head, feeling stumped. "You're gay, Pres?"

His lips twitched. "You really didn’t know?"

"Uh…" I shrugged sheepishly. "No?"

"Jesus." Smirking, he shook his head. "Chris was right. You really are clueless."

"How did I not know this about you?" Stepping into my boxers, I quickly pulled them up my hips. "We've known each other since kindergarten."

"That is true," he agreed, tapping a pen against his notepad.

"So," I mused, padding over to the bed. "Are you out?"

"Defineout."

"You know what I mean," I muttered, sinking down beside him. "Do your folks know and shit?"

"That would be a negative," he replied, scribbling furiously on the notepad. "I mean, I'm not ashamed or anything, I'm proud of who I am and my sexuality doesn’t define me, but you know my father, Sketch." He sighed and tossed the notepad away. "He's the definition of a good ol' boy. Not to mention the fact that our hometown didn’t join the rest of the world in the twenty-first century."

"What do you mean?"

"Pocketful, Sketch." Exhaling heavily, he flopped onto his back and folded his arms behind his head. "It's stuck in the fifties, dude. Old views. Old morals. Old politics. Old thinking. Old freaking plumbing. Oldeverything."

I thought about it for a moment before reluctantly agreeing with him. "It's bullshit. You know that, right? You are who you are, man." Sighing, I flopped onto my back next to him. "No judgement from me."

Presley nodded stiffly. "Appreciate it."

"What about your mama?" I asked, craning my neck to face him. "Does she know?"

"Yeah." He smiled. "She's known since I was ten."

"You knew since then? Hell, dude, I didn’t even know anything about myself at that age."

He choked out a laugh. "Now, don’t be lying to yourself, Holden Capaldi. You knew well and good what your preference was back then." He waggled his brows. "You sure spent enough time figuring it out with Romi in that treehouse of hers."

Smirking, I nudged his shoulder with mine. "So, I'm sexy, huh?"

He rolled his eyes. "You're alright."

"What about Chris?" I asked. "Did he know?"

"Yeah." His smile faltered for a brief moment as a surge of pain flickered in his eyes. "He knew."

"And Ro?"

"Yeah, she knows."

"Damn, Pres, think you could've given me a head's up," I chuckled, resting my hands on my stomach. "I can't believe I wasted half my life hating on you because I thought you were into Romi."

He grinned. "Ah, yes, it was truly an amusing experience watching you puff out your chest like a damn gorilla whenever I veered too close to your precious, pom-pom cheerleader."

His words hit me hard and my laughed died off. "What am I gonna do, Pres?" Admitting defeat, I let my shoulders sag, feeling thoroughly deflated. "I hurt her, man. So bad. The shit I did to her. The things I said." I glared up at the ceiling. "I was a complete monster."

"Apologize," he replied simply. "Mean it, and hope for the best."

I shook my head. "Ican't."

"Why not?"

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