Page 56 of Pocketful of Shame
"Ugh!" Presley's mouth fell open. "You take that back right this instant, young man."
"Relax, I'm kidding," Sketch chuckled, nudging my shoulder with his and causing my cheeks to burn. "I'm no rat."
I couldn’t stop my smile from spreading as I listened to their banter. It had been a very long time since this version of the boy I used to know made an appearance.I missed that boy.His arm was draped around the back of my chair, and for the first time in two years, I felt a pang of something deep inside me. Something real. Something that felt an awful lot like hope. Like maybe we could really do this? Maybe, just maybe, we could pull it out of the box and fixus.
"Pres," I said, clearing my throat. "What was all of that 'Romi, you're a genius' talk about earlier?"
"Ah, yes," Presley replied, flicking open his notebook. "I have a theory."
"Jesus, here we go." Rolling his eyes, Sketch flagged the waitress over and order another coke. "Theories and codes," he grumbled, leaning back in his seat after placing his order. "Puzzles and jigsaws." Shaking his head, he folded his arms behind his head and yawned. "I'm through with this shit, Pres. You didn’t find the damn journal. You outed us on television. I'm just about done with the crazy."
"Well how's this for crazy," Presley said, leaning forward to rest his elbows on the table. "I think you and Romi might have something to do with why Chris was killed."
"What?" both Sketch and I demanded in unison.
"Cool your jets," Pres cut in, holding a hand up. "I didn't say ya'll killed him. I said I think youmighthave something to do withwhyhe was killed. Big difference. And keep your damn voices down."
"Why?" Sketch asked, thank god, because my voice had abandoned me. "How couldwehave anything to do with it? More importantly, why?"
"All of this started when Chris started investigating Vic-whore-ia, right?"
"Right," we both agreed, nodding.
"Wrong!" Pres hissed, leaning forward. "Wrong, wrong, fucking wrong, guys. We're looking at this the wrong way. Open your eyes. This didn’t start with Vic-whore-ia. It started long before that. This started two years ago."
He eyed me meaningfully.
I came up empty.
"Really, Romi?"
"I'm sorry," I blurted out. "I have no idea what you're talking about."
Blowing out a frustrated breath, he eyeballed Sketch. "Think, Sketch. Come on, dude.Think."
"Romi and I broke up two years ago."
"Yes, and why did you and Romi break up?" Pres pushed.
Sketch glared. "You know why."
"Humor me."
His gaze flicked to me for the briefest of moments, blazing with heat, before returning to Presley. "Because I had no other choice."
"Yes. Good." Pres nodded eagerly. "And what else happened after you and Romi broke up? What happened that hasneverhappened in the history of happenings?"
"Chris…" Sketch began and then stopped short, shaking his head.
"Say it," Presley coaxed. "Come on. Say the words."
"Chris got with Romi," he muttered as he stared down at his plate.
"Yes," Presley agreed. "Yes, he did. Now, why?"
"Why?" Furious, Sketch swung his gaze back to glare at Pres. "You'd have to ask her that."
"I'm asking you," Presley replied evenly. "Come on, Sketch. He was your brother. Your blood. Your other half. Why would he do that? He knew how much she meant to you. Why would he betray you?"
