Page 29 of Pocketful of Shame

"Are youinsane?"

"Do it, Sketch."

"Why can't you do it?"

"Because you can't drive for shit right now and I'm not the one that can pull her out of this."

"Well I can't, okay? Ican't!"

"Don’t be a baby."

"I'm not a fucking baby."

"God help me, if you don’t get your ass in the backseat and calm her down, I will make it my life's mission to torment you –"

"Alright!" The sound of a car door slamming filled my ears seconds before another one opened. Moments later, Sketch was climbing into the backseat alongside me and the familiar scent of freshly cut grass, soap, and peppermint was filling my senses.

"It's okay." His hands were like lightning bolts of heat on mine, causing my skin to warm and tingle. "Shh, you're okay."

I wasn’t okay, didn’t think I would be again, but I didn’t argue with him. I could see no good that could possibly come from this, but I continued to spill my secrets. They would be as frightened as I was. That wasn’t a victory. That was a travesty.

"You've been protecting me," he continued. "It's my turn to return the favor."

"You can't."

"I can try."

"Hedied, Sketch," I strangled out, pathetically seeking out the warmth of his chest. "He fucking died right there in the passenger seat and there was nothing I could do but watch it happen!" Messed up or not, the steady rhythm of his heart was grounding me. "After that, I did exactly what Chris made me promise him." Sniffling, I tried to catch my breath before choking out, "I crashed the car – just like he told me to. Except I messed up, because I should've taken myself out with him!"

A shudder racked through Sketch's huge frame and after a moment's hesitation, his arms came around me, unbuckling my belt and pulling me onto his lap. "No, you shouldn’t have."

Several minutes of tense silence had settled between us and my heart was bucking around nervously. Did they all hate me? Blame me? Think it was my fault? Was it? God, I was so confused, it was hard tobreathe.

"And that's it?" Sketch finally broke the silence. "That's how my brother died?" His voice was hoarse, his eyes bloodshot. "He accepted it."

Numb, I clasped my hands together and nodded weakly. "I tried to take him to a hospital, I tried so goddamn hard to change his mind, but he wouldn't listen. He said that it wouldn’t matter because they would keep coming for him." My breath hitched in my throat, but I forced the words out, "He said he was a dead man." A sniffle came from the front seat and my heart cracked clean open. "I'm so sorry, guys."

"Yeah," Pres strangled out, voice thick with emotion. "Me, too."

"Is there anything else?" Sketch demanded, tone shaky. "Ro, if you know anything else, you have to tell us now."

"It's all cloudy," I strangled out, way past my breaking point. "I can't think straight."

"Romi –"

"That's enough, Sketch," Presley barked from the front seat. "For now."

For now.

A shiver rolled through me at the thought.

Chapter Eight

Sketch

Later that evening, we were checked into a nearby motel that accepted cash, and I wasn't feeling nearly so homicidal. Relieved not to be spending the night behind the wheel, I carried a comatose Romi into our room before making a second trip for our bags. She passed out in my arms earlier and hadn't woken up since.

Still reeling from her reluctant revelation, I set our bags by the door and stretched my arms over my head, feeling my muscles click back into place. My t-shirt, still damp from her tears, was irritating the hell out of my skin so I yanked it over my head and tossed it on a chair.

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