12

Romi

Sketch Capaldi was sitting in my hospital room, attempting to hold a somewhat civil conversation, and I couldn’t handle his close proximity.

Settling my hands on my lap, I gazed down at the I.V. line attached to my left hand. "What do you want me to say?" I asked quietly, keeping my head bowed.

"Maybe explain what that little stunt was about," he offered. "Flinging yourself out of trees? You don’t have wings, dumbass."

My head snapped up and I glared at him. "I'm aware."

"You know, if you were attempting to piss off the man upstairs, you didn’t need to bother." Folding his arms across his chest, he gave me a strange look. Not friendly, but not full of hostility either. "You're already going to hell, genius."

"Then I guess I'll see you there, won't I, genius?" I snapped, feeling a tiny spark of life flicker inside of me.

"Yeah." His lips seemed to twitch without his permission. "I guess you will." Forcing a frown, he sobered his features and resumed his glaring. "You're so stupid."

I arched a brow. "Wow. Thanks."

"You are stupid," he said dryly. "Incredibly fucking stupid to pull a stunt like that."

"And here I was thinking we'd just gotten past the nickname killer."

"Both names suit you."

"Clearly," I agreed flatly. "Because I'm the worst person in the world."

"You're one of them," he replied. "And quit feeling sorry for yourself. You brought all of this on yourself."

I sighed wearily. "Just go away, Sketch."

I was still feeling every ounce of the shame from letting him touch me in the treehouse, but eclipsing my embarrassment was the gaping wound he'd left inside of me. The wound that had never truly healed these past two years and was weeping and oozing from his ulterior motives.

Sketch hurt me with his words, he split me open with his kisses, and now I felt like I was drowning in betrayal.

I was pissed at him and the change in emotion was as refreshing as it was soul destroying.

Sketch didn’t budge so I turned to roll onto my side. Unfortunately, my ribs screamed out in protest, so I remained where I was, slumped on my pillows with my head bowed.

"Why'd you do it, Ro?" he asked after several minutes of silence. His voice was surprisingly gentle, and when he used that familiar pet name it reminded me of how it used to be for us.

Of what I lost.

The aching in my heart worsened to the point where I had to rub my chest to soothe the throbbing.

My lip quivered when I whispered, "You know why."

"No, I really don’t," he replied, tone quiet. "But if you say Chris, then I'm gonna lose my shit. Because if I have to live without him then so do you. " He blew out a frustrated breath. " If I can do it, wake up every morning and drag myself out of bed, then you sure as hell can."

"I can live without one of you." Trembling, I plucked at an invisible thread on my blanket and whispered, "Not both of you."

"Both." He was quiet for so long that I honestly thought that he wasn't going to speak again. Finally, he did. "What does that mean, Ro?"

"Oh, so I'm Ro again?" I whispered brokenly, feeling my eyes dampen. "Not killer?"

"Like I was Holden before you threw yourself out of a fucking tree and tried to end your life?" he growled, sounding flustered. "Stop distracting me with your bullshit and answer the question."

"What do you think it means, Holden?"

"Obviously I don’t know what it means, Romi," he countered, not missing a beat. "Otherwise, I wouldn’t be asking."

"It means that I can live without Chris," I admitted, locking eyes with him, feeling too worn out to keep him out. "It hurts, I'm broken, but I've been coping," I whispered. "I managed in juvie. I survived, okay? But being back in Pocketful? Being home and having to face your wrath every day, knowing what we used to be? It breaks me and I can't…I can't…" I shook my head in frustration, knowing that whatever way I worded this, I was going to look weak. "I can't live in this constant war with you, Sketch," I finally settled on, flinching when I heard myself speak the words out loud. "I'm tired of it and I miss you so much."

He arched a disbelieving brow. "So, what are you saying exactly? You can't live in a war with me, or you can't live without me? Which one is it, Romi, because I'm getting whiplash tryna figure you out."

"The former," I whispered and then blew out a shaky breath before admitting, "The latter." I shrugged weakly. "Both, I guess."

"Are you saying you jumped because of me?"

When I didn’t deny it straight away, a pained growl erupted from his chest.

"Oh no, no, no," he warned, uncrossing his arms so he could hold a hand up. "Don’t even think about putting this on me after what you did to my brother." His hand moved to his dark hair and he roughly dragged his hands through it. "I may have been a dick since you came home, but I had every right. And you jumped, Romi. I didn’t push you or force your hand. You jumped out of that tree of your own damn accord. That's not on me."

"I'm not putting it on you," I whispered, quickly wiping a rogue tear from my cheek. "I'm really not."

"But that's what you were insinuating, right?" he pressed, tone strained. "That it's my fault?"

"No," I choked out. "I wasn't."

"Then what?" he demanded. "Why'd you do it?"

"Because I was done, okay!" I shrugged. "Because I don’t have anyone else left."

His entire frame stiffened, hands balling into fists. "Yes, you do."

"No." I shook my head. "I really don’t."

"That's bullshit," he argued, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his thighs. "You still have your dad and –"

"I. Don't. Have. Anyone. Left," I bit out, feeling my tears burn my cheeks. "I lost both of you. Chris and you. My boyfriend and my best friend. I lost my friends at school. The girls on the cheer team. I lost my respect. My freedom. My shot at an out-of-state college based on my own merits and not my father's money. Hell, I'm pretty sure I lost my soul somewhere along the way, too. But most of all, I lost you –" My breath hitched in my throat and I had to take several calming breaths before I could continue. "What's left for me now, Sketch? Huh? Where do I go from here? The whole world has labeled me a killer."

And I'm so scared. I can't sleep at night. I can barely eat. I feel like someone is constantly watching me. Even in my dreams. Worst of all is that I'm afraid for you. And I can't tell you.

"If you're expecting me to feel sorry for you then you can save your breath," he replied gruffly, blue eyes locked on mine. "Because you deserve everything you're going through and more."

And that was that.

Sketch didn’t get it.

He didn’t understand my pain and he never would.

Unless I told him…

No, Romi, you promised Chris.

Heartbroken, I closed my eyes and just absorbed the sensation of my agony cutting me open. With a sniffle, I nodded. "Yeah, okay."

"Jesus Christ, I don’t even know why I'm sitting here listening to this," Sketch muttered under his breath. "I don’t need to be here." Releasing a low growl, he scrubbed a hand down his face. "I don’t owe you a damn thing."

"Then go."

"I should."

"Then do it."

"I can't."

"Why?"

"Because if I walk out of here, after vouching for you to your father, and you do something stupid, Chris would never forgive me."

"Chris is dead," I tossed back, wounded. "I killed him, remember?"

He narrowed his eyes. "Careful."

"Why did you do it, huh?" I turned the tables around and asked. "Why did you lie to my dad for me? We both know I jumped."

Now he was the one to shrug. "Don’t mistake my actions for feelings, Romi, because I don’t have any of those. Not for you. If I let your father send you away then I would never get the truth. That's my only motive here. Justice for my brother."

"Yeah, well, believe me, Sketch, you don’t want my truth."

Now he was on high-alert, shifting closer in his chair, eyes sharp and honed in on my face. "Meaning?"

"Meaning if you knew the sacrifices I've made for you and your brother, you wouldn’t be so heartless." The words flew out of my mouth like vomit and I didn’t feel guilty for it. I didn’t feel sad. I was in too much pain. I wanted him to feel something, too. I wanted him to know me again. To remember.

His chest expanded when he sucked in a sharp breath. "Sacrifices?"

"Yes," I replied, numb.

"What kinds of sacrifices?"

"You," I said bluntly.

"Me." He frowned.

I nodded. "Yes."

"Look, I'm not buying into this shit, Romi," he warned in a shaky tone. "Don’t play games with me. Not when it comes to Chris."

"I'm not feeding you any lines and I'm not playing games," I replied flatly. "Someday you might understand – I really, really hope you don't, but if that day comes, you'll get it."

"You're not making any sense," he snapped, dragging his chair all the way over to my bedside. "None of this makes any fucking sense, Romi, and you're starting to sound like a crazy person."

"Yeah, and be glad it doesn’t make sense," I shot back, voice cracking. "Thank your lucky stars that you don’t understand, Sketch. Because I do! I understand way too much and it makes me want to close my eyes and never wake up! And make no mistake about it, the shit I know is making me crazy. There's no sounding about it. I know I'm losing my mind."

His brow creased and he rested his elbows on my bed. "Romi, don’t say shit like that –"

"You can go now," I whispered, blinking away my tears. I couldn’t take another moment of this and I knew that if he kept prodding, I would cave.

"Talk to me," he urged. "Come on, Ro. I know you better than anyone. You hate keeping secrets." His gaze flicked to my hands and I saw the hesitation etched on his face before he cautiously reached for my hand. "You can talk to me. I'm not gonna be a dick, okay? I just…I need to know about Chris."

"It's okay, Sketch." Sniffling, I tucked my hands under my blanket and out of sight. "You don’t have to put on an act to get information out of me. I know you can't stand me anymore. I get it, okay?"

His nostrils flared and he continued to stare at my blanket before looking at me. "That's not what I was doing."

I stared back at him, calling his bluff.

"Fine, that's what I was doing earlier," he admitted with a sigh. "But not now."

"I didn’t kill him." I barked out a sob, feeling my pain crash over me in waves.

He flinched. "I'm not –"

"I didn’t."

"I want to believe you." His blue eyes blazed with heat. "More than anything."

"Then believe me," I pleaded.

"I can't."

"Then go away, Sketch."

"Just tell me what happened and I'll go." His tone was laced with desperation. "I swear I'll never bother you again."

I shook my head, begging him with my eyes to understand. "I can't."

"Why not?" Emotion flickered in his eyes and for once, he didn’t try to hide it. He let me see his devastation and it was crippling. "Just make it go away, Romi –" voice cracking, he whispered, "Why can't you just stop this god-awful pain inside of me and tell me the truth?"

Trembling, I turned back to face the ceiling and closed my eyes. "Because it's not safe." I could feel my tears burning my eyes as I whispered the only explanation I could give him. "We're not safe. They could be listening."

I heard his breath hitch. "What?"

I clamped my mouth shut and let my tears fall freely, knowing that I'd made a mistake that neither one of us might come back from.

"Why aren't we safe, Romi?" Sketch urged, shifting closer. "Who could be listening?"

"Them," I mumbled, cringing in self-loathing as the word slipped out.

"Who's them?" he demanded, sounding rattled.

"I can't be sure," I admitted, feeling weak. "Chris knew, but I didn’t get a good look, and he never got the chance to tell me everything before he…before he was gone."

"Jesus Christ, this is about the night Chris died, isn't it?"

"Shh." Clenching my eyes shut, I locked every muscle in my body into place, rigid and terrified. "Please don’t ask me anything else."

"Don’t ask?" His voice was torn. "How the fuck can I not ask? If this has something to do with my brother, then I need to know now, dammit!"

"No, you need to go now," I practically begged. "Please, Sketch, I can't talk about this here –"

"Don't block me out." Moments later, I felt his hand snake under my blankets and wrap around mine. His hand was warm and solid, and felt like a lifejacket being thrown my way. He stared hard at me and blew out a breath. "Something happened that night, didn't it? Something that scared you into not talking."

When I didn’t deny it, a low keening noise ripped from Sketch and he pressed his free hand to his chest as if he was physically trying to stop his heart from cracking into pieces. I could identify with the sensation.

"Fuck, I was right all along," he said, breathing hard and uneven. He yanked my hand to his chest, knocking my blanket away with the movement. "Tell me that I'm right, Romi," he begged, clutching my hand to his chest. "Say the words."

"You were right," the words were out before I could censor myself.

"And Chris? He was dead before you crashed?" he demanded hoarsely. "I was right about that, too, wasn't I?"

I stiffened.

"Don't deny it now," Sketch pleaded, knees bopping anxiously. "Please, Ro. Don’t do this to me. I have to know."

My face contorted in pain and I nodded weakly.

"Jesus Christ," Sketch choked out, dropping his head on my mattress. "I can't –" Covering the back of his head with his free hand, he fisted his hair as his shoulders shook violently. "I can't handle this."

"He made me promise not to tell you," I blubbered through my pathetic attempt of an explanation. "But his last thoughts were all about you. You should know that you were the p-person on his mind when he c-closed his eyes."

"You didn’t do it," he whispered as if in a trance. "You didn’t kill him." It wasn't a question, but I answered him anyway.

"No," I confirmed with a sniffle. "I would never hurt anyone and especially not Chris."

"What happened?" Lifting his face, Sketch stared at me as a lone tear trickled down his cheek. "Who would want to hurt my brother?"

---

Shaking my head, I slammed the heel of my free hand against my forehead. "Four."

"Four?" His eyes were glistening with tears as he reached up and pried my hand away from my face. "Four what, Romi?"

Cringing, I whispered, "Four of them."

"Four men?" Sketch demanded.

"At the restaurant." Shoulders sagging in defeat, I blew out a pained breath. "Watching us." A shiver rolled down my spine. "Stalking him."

"And they hurt him?"

I shrugged. "I don’t know."

"What do you mean you don’t know?" he snapped.

"I can't think straight, okay?" I cried out. "It's like there's a block in my brain." Trembling, I shook my head. "I'm scared to remember." A pained sob tore from my chest, causing my body to tremble and shake. "I'm so sorry. I want to tell you, more than anything, but I just can't –"

"It's okay." He was trembling right along with me but he offered my hand a reassuring squeeze. "You don’t have to say anything," he coaxed hoarsely. "I'll ask the questions and you can just nod or shake your head, okay?" Sniffling, he cradled my hand in both of his, thumbs tracing my flesh as if he could coax the words out of me with his touch. "That way you're not saying anything."

"I can't –"

"Don’t be scared," he hurried to add, leaning closer. "I won't let anyone hurt you, I swear."

His face was right there in front of me, with less than a few inches between us. I could see his pain. I could feel mine.

For the first time in almost a year, we were on the same page again and it gave me no comfort. Because this was bad. Worse than bad. I'd broken my promise to Chris, and, in doing so, I had just endangered Sketch's life.

"I need to know what happened to Chris – to both of you," he begged, his words barely more than a pained whisper. "I'll protect you from whatever you're scared of. I know I've been a dick, okay? I know I've been cruel, and I'm not gonna sit here and lie by saying I'm sorry when I'm not sure if I really am, but I swear to God that I will keep you safe, Romi."

"You don’t get it," I squeezed out, forcing myself not to look away. "If I tell you anything and you react badly then we both die. I've already told you too much. This is serious. It's not a game." Sniffling, I added, "And I don’t care what happens to me anymore, but I made a promise to your brother that I would protect you. It was all he cared about, Sketch. Even when he was struggling to breathe…all he kept saying was don't tell my brother."

A knock sounded on the other side of my hospital door and I stiffened, feeling a wave of terror like no other wash over me.

"Victoria?" my father's voice came from the other side of the door. "Can you get the door for me, darlin'? My hands are full."

"Oh God." Feeling frantic, I turned back to Sketch, clutching his hand so tightly in both of mine that my nails dug into his skin. "Please don’t say a word about this when they come in here."

"What?" Sketch shook his head, clearly appalled by my request. "Romi, you just told me that my brother was murdered –"

"I know," I whisper-hissed. "I know, okay. But you can't talk about this to anyone. I'll explain better, okay? I promise I'll find a way, but you need to give me some time to figure this out and stop asking questions about Chris," I urged, my words a hushed whisper as the door handle twisted. "Don’t talk to anyone, Sketch. You can't trust them."

"Who?" he demanded, voice thick with emotion. "Who can't I trust?"

I opened my mouth to respond but he quickly cut me off.

"Don’t even think about trying to shut me out or backpedal now," he growled. "He was my brother. I deserve to know the truth about what happened to him. My parents deserve to know what happened to their son–"

"No!" I strangled out, chest heaving at the thought. "No parents and no cops. They can't know about this. You can't trust anyone."

He gaped at me. "Why the hell not?"

"Chris told me not to trust anyone," I hissed. "He said the only people we can trust is each other and Presley."

"Presley?" Sketch gaped. "What the hell does that douche have to do with any of this?"

"I don’t know, but Chris said that you and Presley were the only people in the world that I could trust." Shaking my head, I resisted the urge to scream as I struggled with my words. "Nothing in Pocketful is what it seems," I whispered, giving him the very same words Chris had given me moments before he died in my arms. "It's all a lie."

"What's a lie?" Sketch demanded, panicked.

"Our lives," I blurted out. "It's a coverup – that's what Chris said. He found something, Sketch. He asked the wrong questions to the wrong people and it got him killed. So don’t go digging around in this. Don't go looking for trouble. Not when it's right on our doorstep."

It was at that precise moment that my father marched back into the room, armed with two coffee cups and Victoria close on his heels.

The moment Dad's eyes landed on our joined hands, his brows shot up in surprise. "It's a never, Holden? Really?"

Sketch kept his eyes locked on mine, not answering my father.

"Please," I mouthed, begging him with my eyes not to fail me now. Discreetly, I pressed my finger to my lips and slowly shook my head.

The look he gave me was so intense that I felt myself shriveling under the pressure. I could feel the tension emanating from his body as he continued to squeeze my hand like a vice grips.

Finally, after what felt like a lifetime, he blew out a breath and released my hand. Discreetly wiping his damp cheeks with his hand, he shoved his chair back. "I'll come back, Romi." He kept his eyes on me as he slowly rose to his feet. "We can talk then."

"Yeah." I sagged in relief and nodded. "Okay."

Giving me one final, indistinguishable look, Sketch turned on his heels and stalked out of my hospital room, not bothering to say goodbye to either my father or Victoria.