Page 16 of Pocketful of Us

"Because I was trying to protect you –"

"Oh, would you give it a damn rest with the'I tried to protect you'bullshit," Pres growled, tone dripping with disgust. "You didn’t protect Sketch and you didn’t protectChris! One was shot and the other is dead! It's official; yousuckat protecting people, dude, so just own it!"

"You know, my wife never liked you, Quinton."

"Oh really? Well, that's a shame because your sonreallyliked my dick."

"Another reason Cal gave Christopher his blessing and not you, Jacob," Dad replied calmly. "What?" he added, turning his attention back to Presley. "You don’t think I know that my son was gay? And as for you two being secret lovers? I've known for years, Quinton."

"Stop!" Presley's entire frame grew rigid and then he was on the move; jerking out of his seat and pacing the warehouse like a madman. "Don’t go there."

"My son loved you very much." My father's tone was mild and laced with melancholy. "I can see why. Loyalty. You have it in spades." He offered him a sad smile. "You were, as a romantic might say, the love of Christopher's life."

7

Sketch

Looking physically wounded from my father's words, Presley staggered backwards and pressed a hand to his chest.

Dad had struck a nerve deep inside of him and he was trying not to hemorrhage.

I knew how he felt.

I was bleeding out, too.

I didn’t know who the real me was and it killed me.

"Then why didn't you say something when itmattered?" Presley demanded, visibly shaking. "Why didn’t you stop all of this from happening!"

"Tell me how I could have stopped any of this?" was my father's weary response.

"You could have stopped Cal Dillon from sentencing your son to death, for one!" Presley snarled.

"I didn’t expect Cal to shoot Jacob in the fucking chest!" Nostrils flaring, my father's breathing quickened as his outrage grew. "I dideverythingI could to save his life," he added. "Everything! He's here right now because of my quick thinking."

"Not Sketch, you incessant prick.Chris!" Presley screamed, voice cracking as he threw his hands in the air. "You let it happen! You let him kill Chris and you did nothing to –" His voice cracked and he dragged in a long, pained breath before hissing, "How could you do that, huh? How could you sit back and let that mob bastard have your son whacked!"

"You're mistaken," my father replied with a shake of his head. "Chris's death was an accident."

"Oh my fucking God!" Slapping the palm of his hand against his forehead, Presley barked out a humorless laugh. "You're unbelievable. After all he's done, you'restillcovering for him."

"Quinton, I don’t know who you've been speaking to, or where you're getting your information, but Chris's death was an accident –"

"He wasassassinated!" Presley snarled, throwing my brother's journal at my father. When it fell to the floor at my father's feet, Pres stalked over and snatched it up. "It's all in here," he told my dad, hands visibly shaking as he flipped through page after page of Chris's thoughts – of his warnings. "He wrote it all down. Every threat doled out and every dirty damn attempt on his life."

"I don’t understand," my father whispered, eyes laced with confusion.

"Oh, you don’t?" Presley's tone dripped with sarcasm. "Well, let me spell it out for you so that there is no more confusion on the matter. Yoursonwasmurdered. As in slew, slain, executed, slaughtered! He was massacred; slowly, painfully, and in the cruelest of ways, by a bunch of goons on the orders ofyourole' buddy Cal."

"No." Dad shook his head, turning a deathly shade of white. "You're wrong. His death was an accident. That, I am absolutely certain of. I read the autopsy report. There was a car accident. Romi was driving –"

"He waskilledand it was no accident," Presley seethed. "Who did y'all pay to cover it up, huh? Must've cost a pretty penny to bribe the Sheriffandthe coroner all in one night. Filing false police and autopsy reports, not to mention concealing bullet holes on a mangled corpse had to have been pricey. Although, what am I saying," he laughed humorlessly, "money's never been much of an issue for y'all, has it?" He shook his head in disgust. "Did Cal hire the same crew to take us out at that diner in El Paso, too? Get a two-for-one deal? Pay for one son's death and get the other one free. Did they throw in mine and Romi's deaths for free, too, or did y'all pay extra for those intended bullets?"

Silent, my father remained completely motionless, eyes glued to the journal in Presley's hand.

A beat passed and still he didn’t respond.

"Nothing to say?" Presley sneered. "Hmm? Is there nothing you would like to add to this delightfully depressing equation?"

---