Pocketful of Shame: Pocket #2 Read online

  "Fuck you, Pres," I spat defensively. "You don’t know shit about me."

  "I know you're getting angry because I've hit a nerve," he offered. "And don’t worry, I'll drop it, but just know that I was your friend, too."

  "What, you were my friend like she was my girlfriend? Yeah, I think we all know how that turned out," I sneered and then quickly shook my head, furious with myself for thinking about it. "Forget it," I muttered, bristling. "It's done with."

  "Damn, you got burned so badly that you're still on fire," he said, rubbing his jaw. "Does Romi know the truth yet?" he asked. "About how her dad forced you to break up with her?"

  I stiffened. "What are you talking about?"

  "Oh, come on, Sketch," he said in an exasperated tone. "Give it up, dude. It's so fricking obvious. Romi's old man hates your guts. Always has. There's no other explanation for your breakup. You wouldn’t have left her if your hands weren't tied. Besides, your two-week stint in the hospital on the run up to your breakup was pretty self-explanatory. Cal messed you up good, huh?"

  "No," I replied after a long pause, deciding against denying it. There was no point. It was quite apparent that Presley knew more about my life than I did. "Romi doesn’t know anything about it."

  "Don’t you think it's about time she learns the truth?" he asked.

  I shook my head. "No."

  "No?" He cocked a brow. "Care to explain your thought process?"

  "Because I don’t want to tell her, Presley," I snapped. "Because it won't change a thing. It won't make a difference. It won't change the past." Or the fact that she got with my brother. "It's done with. End of conversation."

  "Just to be clear," he started, holding up a finger. "When you say end of conversation, do you mean the end of our Romi conversation, or the end of all topics of conversation, period?"

  "Shut up."

  "Sketch?"

  "Shut up, Presley."

  "Are you mad now or something?"

  "Goddammit, Pres, shut the hell up!"

  "Okay, now you're just being plain rude."

  "I don’t know how to handle being in close proximity with you," I muttered. "You are a rare breed of human that I'm not entirely convinced I can deal with."

  He grinned. "Should I take that as a compliment?"

  "You should take it as your cue to stop speaking to me."

  "You don’t wanna talk? Fine. Not a problem. How about some music instead? You know what, I totally have a song for you," he chuckled, pulling out his phone. Scrolling for a few moments, he snickered when the sound of Eve 6's Think Twice began to play from the speaker of his phone. "It's like the soundtrack of your life, Sketch, huh?"

  "Wow, you just love stirring that shit pot, don’t you, Pres?" I countered hotly. "Just remember, one of these days, you're gonna be licking your own damn spoon, man."

  "I'm just kidding around, Sketch," he chuckled, killing the song. "Think twice before you jump to conclusions and I'll think twice before I touch your –"

  "You're not funny."

  "Really?" he laughed. "That's a shame because I thoroughly amuse myself."

  Selena Gomez's Back to You drifted from the speakers then and Presley barked out a laugh. "Now this one is fucking perfect."

  "Pres," I warned, hackles raised.

  "I'm just saying –"

  "Yeah, well don’t say it," I barked, grabbing his phone and switching off the music. Tossing it back on his lap, I added, "In fact, don’t say a damn thing."

  "Sure thing, friend." Seconds later, he added, "You do realize I meant that she'd go back to you, not Chris, right? Because Chris is dead, and even if he –"

  "Presley!"

  "Fine, I'm done."

  "Good."

  "Good." He shifted around and drummed his fingers against the dashboard. "Well, this is awkward."

  "Jesus," I muttered, shaking my head. "What's it like inside that head of yours?"

  "Fascinating," he replied. "Are you a virgin?"

  "What?" I snapped my head sideways and gaped at him. "The fuck kinda question is that?"

  "One based on burning curiosity," he replied without a hint of hesitation. "So, did you bang that junior – Blossom Hill or whatever the heck her name is?"

  "Blaire Hale," I corrected with a frown. "She's a senior, not a junior, and that's none of your damn business."

  His mouth fell open. "Wait – she's in our grade?"

  "She sure is."

  "Since when?"

  I rolled my eyes. "Ah, since the start of the semester when she transferred to Newton-Willis."

  "Well shit," he replied, sounding puzzled. "How did I not know that?"

  "Maybe because you always have your nose stuck in a book – or up my brother's ass."

  "Ya'll were getting pretty tight, though, right? You and Blossom?"

  "She's my rally girl," I replied with a shrug. "She makes these fucking insanely good cookies. That's all I really know about her."

  "Ah yes, the infamous rally girls of Newton-Willis," he mused. "I bet your assigned cheerleader is taking real good care of your needs, huh?"

  "Thought you knew better than to listen to idle gossip, Pres."

  "Well, I have it on good authority that you and Blossom Hill have shared a few dates." He waggled his brows. "Or was it Candice Myers you were supposed to be dating? Or maybe it was Marybeth Camden …or Laura Burcher… or was it Jodie DeAngelo?" He grinned widely. "Word around school is you've been a very busy boy, baby Capaldi."

  "Always happy to supply the rumor mill," I replied flatly.

  "Tell me."

  "No."

  "Why not?"

  "Why should I?"

  "Because we're friends."

  "We're not friends, Presley. We already covered this."

  "Romi thinks you fucked that Blossom girl," he offered. "We've spoken about it."

  "Yeah? Well, Romi can think whatever she wants."

  "Ah." His eyes lit up with excitement. "Is that a denial I'm sensing?"

  "More like a none of your fucking business."

  "I don’t think you fucked Blossom," he offered then. "In fact, I don’t think you've fucked anyone. I'd bet good money that you haven't touched a single other girl since the breakup. Wanna know why I think that, Sketch?"

  "Not really."

  "Because you're not normal."

  "Wow." I frowned. "Thanks."

  "Because you loved that girl more than I've ever seen any guy love a girl."

  "Can you change the subject?" I snapped. "Christ. You're like a broken record."

  "Fine. Did you know that according to the bible, oral sex is technically not a sin?"

  "Excuse me?" I spluttered.

  "Oral sex," he said breezily. "It's not a sin."

  "Okay, you can get out of my truck now."

  "Man, you have no idea how relieved that made your brother," he chuckled.

  "How the hell did Chris tolerate you?"

  "I'm told I grow on people." He smiled. "Like ivy."

  "Or herpes."

  "Nice," he chuckled. "So, did you fuck this Blossom chick?"

  "Blaire," I snapped.

  "Fine. Did you fuck Blaire?"

  "Did you fuck Chris?"

  "Nah, he was too busy fucking Romi."

  "Seriously, get the hell out of my truck."

  He threw his head back and laughed. "This is nice."

  "What exactly?"

  "Ah, you know, finding humor in the face of our imminent demise."

  "Jesus, you're something else."

  "I don’t think they fucked," he said then, drumming his hands on the dashboard.

  "Who?"

  "Chris and Romi."

  I flinched. "Just shut the hell up, Pres."

  "I'm serious," he urged. "I don’t think it happened."

  "I don’t care," I bit out, jaw clenched. "I don’t wanna talk about their sex-life."

  "Or lack of," he mumbled.

  "Whether they did or didn’t is of no concern to me."


  He rolled his eyes. "Sure..."

  "I'm serious," I growled. "I'm not gonna talk about this."

  He winced. "Because it still hurts?"

  Yes. "Because it ain't my business."

  "Why can't you just admit that you still love her and be done with it?"

  "Because I don’t."

  "Yeah, you fucking do, Sketch. It's so damn obvious."

  "I've already told you that it's done with."

  "Turn left up here."

  "What?"

  "Take the next left, dude. The motel's on the left."

  "Oh shit." Grabbing the wheel, I swerved into the inside lane and flicked on my blinker.

  "If it's done with then why are you here?" He eyed me curiously. "Skipping school and guaranteeing your ass a spot on the bench from your coach, not to mention an ass-kicking from your loving father when he and Cal catch up with you. Why are you in so much pain right now, Sketch? Why do you think you came running the moment you realized she was in trouble?"

  My jaw ticked as I took a sharp left, finally recognizing my surroundings. "Listen, asshole, I don't need a therapy session. I need a way to get Romi out of there and fast."

  "You're still burning, yet still willing to go to war for the person who sparked the match," he mused. "Very admirable. That's hardcore dedication right there – or blind devotion. Hell, maybe it's love." He shrugged. "I'm unfamiliar with the inner workings of the human heart, but being in love seems kinda dangerous, if you ask me. Especially if it rouses idiotic urges of tomfoolery such as –"

  "Pres," I snarled. "Focus on Romi. I want her out of there."

  "Right." Shaking his head, he tipped the remaining M&Ms into his mouth before checking his watch. "Look, pal, these things take time. It's not as simple as walking into a locked tight psychiatric facility and asking for our friend back."

  "They have her strapped to a goddamn bed," I bit out, furious. "Like an animal. She's not dangerous, Pres. She's a terrified teenage girl and they're treating her like a second-class citizen."

  "On her father's orders," he reminded me.

  "Fuck her father," I snarled. "Fuck Cal Dillon. No-good piece of shit."

  "Yes, I agree. Fuck him and the horse he rode in on, but this – " He waved a hand around aimlessly, "Romi being in there? It's a sensitive process, Sketch." He sighed wearily. "You need to exercise some patience. I can get her out, but we need to be smart about it."

  "I'm sorry, but my patience checked out a long time ago. And you weren't the one looking through that window," I practically roared, outraged. "While you were playing inspector fucking gadget and flirting with the nurses, I was watched that bitch stick Romi with a damn needle. Again. While I stood back and did nothing. Again!"

  "Oh, I'm sorry, Popeye the fucking sailor man, what would you suggest we do? Barge in and steal Olive Oil away from the medical professionals, bash them over the head with a six-pack of spinach, incite a manhunt that, more likely than not, results in your arrest, and then spend one to five years in the state penitentiary?"

  "Yes," I huffed. "That's exactly what I suggest we do." I frowned. "Minus the jailtime."

  "Now you're just being ridiculous." He blew out a frustrated breath. "Look, I have the codes for the building, I have the rotation schedules. I have the swipe card. The props. It all took time – persuasion, patience, and yes, a little charming of the ladies – but it's a done deal. We've got this, Sketch. We're all set."

  "We need to get her out of there, Pres," I said, unable to mask the pain in my voice when I pulled into the parking lot of the rundown motel. "I need to get her out of there."

  "And we will." Placing a hand on my shoulder, he gave me a reassuring squeeze. "Tonight."

  "Tonight?"

  "Yeah, we'll only have the night staff to deal with," he explained. "Sleep-deprived medial staff, outnumbered and stretched to the pin of their collar? It's perfect, Sketch. I have everything we need. I'll get us in there, man. I promise."

  I considered it for a moment before nodding. "Tell me the plan."

  Chapter Three

  Romi

  "Chris? Is that you?" I demanded when my phone finally began to ring over an hour and a half later. One hour, he'd promised. Sixty minutes. I was supposed to call Presley, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t just leave. Not when I had no idea what was happening. "Chris?" Plugging one ear with my finger, I hurried out of the restaurant with my cell pressed to the other. "Chris, can you hear me?"

  A pained, gurgling noise filled the line, causing my blood to run cold.

  "Oh my god," I strangled out as a sob escaped me. "Did they hurt you?" Reaching into my coat pocket, I retrieved the set of car keys he'd left behind. "I'm coming to get you, okay? Just tell me where you are."

  "Ro –" His words broke off, replaced with a fit of coughing. "No, don’t come find me. Just…run."

  "Run where?" I demanded, frantic now. "Where are you?" Tears stung my eyes and I broke into a run, shoving my way past a loved-up couple on the otherwise empty street. "What's happening here, Chris? I'm scared, okay? I need to find you."

  "You gotta…run," he spluttered. "Get out of Pocketful, Ro…take Sketch and go..."

  "Chris, I'm not in Pocketful," I cried, barreling down the sidewalk in the direction of a little back street. Ten streets, ten turn offs, I repeated in my head. I remembered it was a twenty-minute walk from the restaurant to his Rover because we'd had a huge fight about it. I thought he was being ridiculous parking so far away when I had four-inch heels on. Rounding the corner, I hurried down the pitch-dark side-street, feeling my body spike with adrenalin. "I’m in the city, remember?" Moving on instinct, I veered left down another desolate alleyway and then another one, desperately trying to remember where we had parked. "It's our anniversary. We were having dinner and you just –"

  "Protect him, Romi," Chris choked out, clearly struggling to breathe. "Promise me that you'll keep my brother safe."

  "Safe from what? What are you talking about!" I cried out hoarsely. "Stop it, Chris. I don’t like this. You're scaring me, okay? It's not funny!"

  "Save yourself and my brother," came his ragged response. "Promise me…you'll protect him from the truth, Romi."

  "Truth?" I shook my head, feeling tears burning my cheeks. "What truth, Chris?" Sniffling, I hurried on, feet pounding against the sidewalk. "I think I'm lost, Chris." A sob escaped me. "Please just tell me where you are!"

  "Trust no one, Romi. It's a lie. All of it. Don’t trust these people. Protect my brother and get out of Pocketful." A pained groan filled my ears before he continued, "Don't let him avenge me. He'll die trying –"

  A horrendous banging noise tore through the night, piercing my ears and causing my heart to flatline.

  I knew that sound.

  Gunshot.

  For a few terrified moments, I remained frozen to the spot in the dark street, eyes wide and mouth agape, while I tried to register where the noise had come from. It sounded close, too close for comfort, too close to come from the other side of a phone.

  Panic stricken, I looked around, seeking help and finding nothing. Dread settled deep in my stomach. Something wasn't right. Where was everyone?

  "Chris?" I breathed, panting erratically into the phone. Pressing a hand to my chest, I backed up against the nearest wall and whispered, "Are you still there?"

  Nothing.

  Oh god, this is bad.

  "Chris?" I squeezed out, trembling from head to toe. "Please answer me."

  Silence.

  This is so bad.

  The sound of my own breathing, loud and uneven, filled my ears and I pushed off the wall, feet moving me forward against my better judgement. Scurrying down another alleyway, I continued to sob into the phone. "Chris?" Sniffling, I tripped over my own high heel before quickly righting myself. "Please don’t do this to me. Keep talking. Please!"

  "That's enough, boys," a male voice boomed, causing my feet to halt and my heartrate to spike to dangerous levels. "Pretty boy's a goner
."

  In the distance, at the very end of the unlit street, four looming shapes came into focus. Eyes squinting, I forced myself to make sense of what I was seeing, witnessing. A familiar, silver Range Rover parked up ahead, and the men from the restaurant next to it. All four men were there, standing over a slumped figure on the ground.

  I could hear the man's voice both floating through the air and through the phone, and it was at that exact moment that I knew it was Chris he was referring to.

  "Kid's finished," one of them said. "Bleeding out like a stuck pig. Be dead in an hour. Nice and slow. Painful as promised."

  "Take the damn picture and let's bounce," another one said. "I don’t like this."

  "Don’t like what?"

  "Being out in the open like this."

  The first one chuckled darkly. "The boss man's untouchable, asshole."

  "Hear that, kid?" Rearing back, one of the men kicked the limp frame on the ground. "You can't win in this world. The good guys always finish last."

  "Yeah," the cruel-voiced one sneered. "And snitches get stitches, little man."

  "Or caskets, in your case."

  "Thought you were so damn smart, didn’t you? Gave us a good chase, too, kid. Running us around in circles for months, thinking you were actually gonna outsmart us. Should have kept your nose out of business that didn’t concern you." The man laughed harshly. "You know, I'm actually gonna miss this little game of cat and mouse we've had going."

  Slapping a hand over my mouth, I slowly backtracked, not stopping until my body was pressed firmly against the side of a dumpster. Keeping a death grip on my phone, I slowly lowered myself to the ground, ignoring the puddle of muddy water I was kneeling in.

  "What about the girl he was with?" another voice asked, and I had to bury my face in the curve of my elbow to keep from screaming. "Should we go back for her?"

  "No…" a gurgling voice cried. "She doesn’t…know…anything."

  Oh god, Chris!

  "Ah, don’t worry, kid," the first guy said. "We ain't gonna touch your pretty little girlfriend tonight. Boss man's got bigger plans for that pussy."

  Knees bopping restlessly, I curled into the smallest ball I could and held my breath, petrified beyond belief.