Page 59 of Pocketful of Shame

"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."

"But you were only a baby," I whispered, horrified.

"What kind of tests?" Pres asked, brows creased.

"Like I said, I don’t remember," Sketch grumbled. "I don’t…" He blew out another breath and ran a hand through his hair. "I don’t have any memories of back then."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean I couldn’t tell you shit about what happened before my fourth birthday," Sketch bit out. "I took a lot of different medication for whatever the hell they thought was wrong with me, and there's nothing there." He tapped his temple. "It's blank."

"Jesus Chris," Presley breathed.

Sketch shrugged. "Anyways, Mama didn’t want me anywhere near my brother after the fire. Said I was evil. My dad convinced her to let me stay. After that, he moved our family to Pocketful," he explained, voice flat and empty. "Dad already had property there, but we'd been living at his home in New Orleans when the fire broke out. I guess he wanted somewhere quiet to raise us, somewhere I could be kept out of sight until they figured out what the hell was wrong with me. I always assumed that's why Cal has such a problem with me."

Stunned, I placed a hand on his arm. "Why didn’t you tell me?"

"I swear I didn’t keep it from you on purpose." His voice thick with emotion now. "I just…I didn’t want you to be afraid of me," he admitted, tone anxious, blue eyes full of remorse. "You were the first friend I ever had and I didn’t wanna scare you off –"

"I amnotafraid of you," I cut in fiercely. "And you couldn't have scared me off, so put those thoughts out of your head."

Relief flickered in his eyes. "Really?"

I opened my mouth to respond, but Presley got in there first.

"I'm sorry, but did anyone else hear what I did?" he demanded, appalled. "You said that sheletyoustay? Like you were an unwanted family pet?" He shook his head. "This has to be the most disgusting form of child abuse I've ever heard."

"Iwasn'tabused," Sketch growled, instantly on the defensive. "I've always been well taken care of, so don’t look at me like that."

"You wereneglected," Presley countered unapologetically. "Emotionally starved, and purposefully isolated from your family. That's child abuse, and I'm sorry if you don’t understand that, Holden, but that's what it is."

"She was scared," Sketch snapped, bristling. "She thought she was doing what was right."

"Are you for real?" Presley's mouth fell open. "You're actuallydefendingher?"

"She's my mother," Sketch ground out. "She gave me life. I'll defend her until my last breath."

Presley gaped. "Why?"

"Because that's what a son is supposed to do," Sketch hissed, hands balling into fists. "She did her best –"

"For Chris," Presley muttered, disgusted. "Not for you."

"Fuck you," Sketch snarled. "You don’t know what I put her through."

"Supposedly," Pres hissed. "How do you know if it really went down like that? You said it yourself that you don’t remember. You have a four-year block in your brain, dude. Anything could have happened to you in that space of time. It's weird and hella suspicious."

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