Page 25 of Pocketful of Shame

"Good idea," I agreed. "Hey, Ro?"

"Yeah, Sketch?"

"Think he'll ever stop being mad at me?"

Her smile fell. "I don’t know."

"Oh." I nodded. "Hey, Ro?"

"Yeah?"

"Think my mama will ever stop being mad at me?"

Tears filled her eyes and she launched at me, wrapping her arms around my neck so tight that my body grew hot in the small space. "I'll never be mad at you," she vowed, hugging me tightly. "And you'll always be my best friend, and my favorite, and I'll always sit with you at lunch and in class. I'll always play with you at recess and…and I'll buy a big ole house when we're grown and we can live there together. Just us. No mean grown-ups. I'll take care of you. Best friends forever."

"You planning on marrying me or something, Ro?" I laughed, patting her back. "Gotta live with your husband when you're grown. It's the rules."

"'Ew," she replied. "I'm not living with my husband. I'm living with you."

"Okay," I chuckled. "It's a deal."

She grinned at me and held her pinkie finger out. "Best friends forever?"

I hooked my pinkie around hers and nodded. "Forever…"

"Yoo-hoo…earth to Sketch? Okay, dude, you really need to stop staring through the window at her. It's really creepy. And when I say creepy, I mean Ted Bundy kinda creepy." Presley's voice dragged me from my thoughts and I spun around to find him watching me with a curious expression etched on his face.

"What?" I grumbled, snatching the burger he was holding out.

"Nothing," he replied. "Nothing at all."

The back door of the truck swung open not a moment later and a droopy-eyed Romi appeared. The minute my eyes landed on her, I had to suppress the shiver threatening to ripple through me.Fuck.

Presley was the first to react, rushing towards her. "Miss Dillon, just the girl we were looking for." He beamed. "I'm gonna need to pick that pretty brain of yours – whoa, baby girl, mind getting back in the truck? You're gonna blow our cover in that hospital gown."

"Sorry," she replied, sitting back on the edge of the seat with her legs dangling out, feet bare. Resting her elbows on her thighs, she tucked her hair behind her ears and exhaled heavily. The gray hoodie she was wearing belonged to me and swamped her tiny frame. Rolling the sleeves up several times, she blew out a shaky breath and whispered, "I just really need to pee."

"Can you hold it until we find a place to check in to?" Pres asked with a frown. "I really don’t think you should be out and about right now."

"Um…" Squirming in obvious discomfort, Romi shrugged. "I, uh, guess?"

"She needs to pee, dude," I snapped, instantly flustered. "No, she can't fucking hold it."

When her eyes landed on me, I felt the tension seep back into my body at a rapid pace. There was a gaping ridge between us, so many fucking mistakes made on both sides, and I felt the weight of each one of them as we stared at each other. Being face to face like this after so much had happened made me feel acutely vulnerable. Worrying her bottom lip, Romi released a heavy sigh and shook her head. "I really can't."

Unable to take her gaze a second longer, I rounded the truck and yanked open the tailgate. Rummaging around in my duffel bag, I grabbed a pair of sweats before making my way back to where she was sitting. "Here. Put those on if you're going inside." Thrusting the sweatpants on her lap, I quickly walked away, feeling my heartrate spike and my body temperature increase. My throat felt like sawdust and my heart was still crushed to pieces. Shit, I was never going to survive this road trip.

Chapter Seven

Romi

Sketch came for me. In the midst of my inner turmoil – and there was amountainof issues to weave through – that was all I could focus on. Presley, I could understand coming to help, but Sketch? His presence here blew my mind. Aside from one semi-civil conversation at the hospital in Lake Charles, we were far from being on good terms.

"Atta girl," Presley coaxed, keeping an arm around my waist as he led me out of the diner bathroom and back to the parking lot. "I've got you." Walking with a boot was difficult, but it was the fog in my brain and weakness in my limbs that made it so much worse.

"Oh god," I groaned when we stepped back into the afternoon sunshine and my eyes landed on Sketch, leaning against the side of his truck. His big arms were crossed over his chest, his piercing eyes hidden behind a pair of Ray Bans. He was staring straight at us, brows furrowed, legs crossed at the ankle. "How am I gonna do this, Pres?"

"Be near the moody, brooding, tattooed jock without weeping?" he offered with a chuckle. "I'll let you know when I figure it out, baby girl."

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