Jackson Stiles, Road to Redemption (38 page)

This is my life now. I finally find someone I might wanna spend more than a few weeks, tops, with, and I have to share her with my sister-in-law, a.k.a. the mother hen of mother hens.

Fine.

It’s not the end of the world, I suppose. Plus, I told the kid I’d visit him over at child services and figure out what the fuck is going on with him. He’s not eighteen yet, so someone’s gotta raise him. It can’t be me, that’s for fucking sure. I’m in no way the right guy for that job.

“The answer is me, by the way.” I pull my jeans back on and zip them up.

“What?” She’s still breathless. Content.
Much better.

“
I
look good on you.” I wink, and she smiles an evil grin up at me.

And Green is back.

“THIS IS A BIG STEP for you, Jackson.”

“Yeah, well…” I shrug off what I can only assume is supposed to be a compliment, and Lana laughs.

She takes out her favorite pen to write something down into her super-secret fucking notebook, which I plan to steal one day. Something tells me she’s not writing about what a well-rounded individual I’m becoming.

“You’re not worried that having someone move-in with you will put a damper on your daily rituals?”

“The fuck are you talking about, Lana? I don’t have any─”

“I’m talking privacy, Jackson. And yes, you do.”

Before I can contradict her ass, she points them out.

“Like working on your cases into the wee hours of the morning and pacing the local Wawa while the late night news is on. Shall I continue?”

“You creep me the fuck out the way you know that shit.”

A stray, blue thread on the arm of Lana’s patient chair bothers the fuck out of me. I pull at it, then flatten it down.

“I pay attention to the things you say, Jackson. Plus, you’ve paced my office more times than I can count, in case you forgot.”

Okay, she’s got me there. I pull at the thread again. Then flatten it. Then pull at it again. Then flatten it.

I look up at my therapist with genuine despair lurking behind my words.

“I don’t know what the hell is gonna happen with this. I don’t exactly have a choice.”

“Everyone has a choice.”

Here we go. “Is this where you tell me, deep down, I
want
my dad to live with me?”

She purses her lips and doesn’t answer.

“’Cause I don’t.”

Her eyebrow raises above and beyond her thick, black-rimmed glasses.

“He doesn’t have anywhere else to go. The motel is kicking his ass out because he’s a goddamn mess, and Nick said─”

“Nick said it would do you some good. I think it will, too.” She writes something else into her notebook.

“Plus, it’s temporary.”

“Of course.” She nods.

“Frodo hates him.”

Lana’s lips tilt upward again.

When she closes her book, she folds her hands neatly in front of her and leans forward.

“Talk to him, Jackson.”

The suggestion makes my gut sour and my chest cave inward.

Talk to him.

Like it’s the easiest thing in the world.

Not that we don’t have a whole lot of bullshit to weed through, between the shitty way he raised his kids to being connected with a psychopath who felt it necessary to kill kids in order to get drugs legalized. Who’s still at large, by the fucking way.

“He’s only human,” she adds. To which I huff out in semi-sarcastic amusement.

“I beg to differ.”

Her assistant breaks in on the intercom.

“Hi. Sorry. Your one o’clock is here.”

Lana sighs and nods. I’d almost guess she’s sad about what’s going down today.
Almost.

She takes a thoughtful moment before speaking again.

“And this Anonymous person?”

“Gone.”

Another nod. “What about Miss Green’s love interest?”

The thought of that dickhead still pisses me the hell off. “Ditto. Into the wind.” I peek out the top-floor window at the cold day waiting outside. A slight shiver runs down my spine, and I’m not exactly sure it’s because of the cold. I glance back over at Lana and fight back the aggravation that former boy-toy douche-nozzle instills in me. “Within three hours, he’d made like he was never there.”

“Interesting. And the police? They don’t─”

“Have a fucking clue where to even start. Nick says his connections in the tristate area don’t have a record on Connor Reed. Anywhere.”

I find myself laughing on the inside at dick-twat’s name.

Pretentious bastard, sounds like a polo-wearing, pressed khakis kinda fucker.

What did Green see in that fuck?

Lana lets out a heavy sigh like it’d been sitting on her shoulders the whole time. She knows I’m not gonna let him off that easy. I’m not sure if she’s proud or worried.

“I’m sure you’ll work it out, Jackson.”

“Maybe.”

She lets me think about how I feel about that, which is not really fucking good, gotta tell ya.

“I guess that’s it for us.” She covers the anxiety in her eyes with a smile.

Funny. I thought I’d celebrate with a few or ten drinks by the time I heard her say those words. Now, I find myself wanting to avoid my freedom. For obvious reasons.

Although there’s at least one reason I can think of that still makes me want to scoot the fuck on out.

“Okay then.” I push up onto the arms of the chair I’ve called home for the past hour and clap my hands together. “We good?”

She pulls the slip of paper I need out from between a folder and hands it to me.

“We’re good.”

“You rock, Lana.”

“I know.” She smirks over at me. “Please don’t come again.”

“Ouch, that hurts.” I grab my chest but I’m smiling, dammit.

Kill me now.

“Not for legal reasons, anyway. For social visits, you’re welcome anytime.”

“I can’t make any promises,” I tell her honestly. ’Cause who knows when the next bad guy,
or supposed good guy,
is gonna drive me to physically harming them again.

Lana shakes her head, and I go without another word. I wave and wink to the receptionist.

“Do we need to schedule another date, Mr. Stiles?”

“Hell, no, Tracy. I’m out of here.” I show her my graduation documentation, and I swear she looks disappointed.

Out in the bright white hallway, I shut the door behind me, fold up the piece of paper I need to show the circuit courts that I’m sane, and check my phone for messages.

There’s one from Ma, two from Dad,
ugh
, and another from Nick. I call the lesser of the three evils.

“Hey, Nickie.”

I smile, knowing that nickname annoys the shit out of him about as much as mine annoys me.

“Dude, I just got off the phone with Walker. He told me the good news.”

“He’s being indicted?” ’Cause that shit’s cause for some celebrafuckery.
Next on the list, Graham Black.

“No, asshole.”

“Thomas has his number?”

“Jackson.”

So serious, my brother.

“Okay, I give.” I press the elevator button and wait.

“That you’re getting an accommodation, dude.”

Shit, he practically sounds giddy. I’m sure it would do his rep a ton of good to have his troublemaking brother sit on a bench and get a shiny new medal for helping the city out.

“Yeah, that’s not gonna happen.” I should have known Walker was serious.
Dick
.

“What? Come on, Jackie. It’ll be great. Maybe even, you know, you might wanna actually consider coming back to the force after all. I mean, with this under your belt, they might even skip over all the other bullshit and promote you directly to detective.”

The doors open, and I pause before stepping in.

Detective.

Not bad.

I gotta admit. My brother makes a good case.

“What about my pay grade.”

“Probably negotiable.”

“And benefits?”

“One hundred percent covered.”

Huh.

I push the lobby button and begin my descent to the bottom floor.

“And you really think we could work together.”

It’s not a question. Nick’s had this conversation with me before. Only now it’s tangible. Possible even.

When the doors open to the lobby of Lana’s building, I look around and remember why I’m here in the first place, and I answer my brother with a definitive, “No can do, Nick.”

He knew it was coming.

So did you.

Right?

The police force is, simply put, not my style.

After a few seconds of mourning silence, he tells me, “I get it.” And the sound of his voice is enough to make me wanna change my answer.

Only not.

“You and I both know I can’t work for Walker. I’d kill him by week’s end. And even if I didn’t, I’d want to. That kinda grudge interferes with what’s really important.”

“What’s that?”

“Getting the job done.”

Nick lets the gravity of what I’m saying sink in.

“Yeah. I guess.”

He guesses. Fuck him. He knows I’m right.

“But you’re wrong about Walker, Jackson. He’s got issues, sure, but he’s one of the good guys.”

I highly fucking doubt it. “We’ll see.”

“Stalemate, huh?”

“Stalemate.”

“All right then. Look, I gotta run; Mia and the boys are waiting for me. We’re heading up to Octoberfest. Wanna come with?”

I laugh. “Hell. And no.”

Nick chuckles. “Ow, fuck.”

“Still hurts?”

“A little. It healed up great and everything. Doc says I might have a built-in weather app from now on, though. Hey, thanks, by the way.”

“For?”

“Trusting me.”

Nick likes to get all mushy and shit when he’s wounded. I’ve seen it a million times.

“Whatever.” But he’s not sucking me into it.

“Okay, I’ll talk to you soon.”

“See ya.”

I end the call, and as I’m about to put it away, I remember another person I need to touch base with.

It’s become, as Lana would say, a ritual.

I dial the number while I’m still inside the building. And, of course, I get voicemail. So I send a text instead of leaving a message. It’s how kids work anyway. And quite frankly, I’m not a talker.

Hey, kid. Just checking in.

He shoots back, almost immediately.

All good here. I love it. The math teacher is a dick, but English is the bomb, and this kid invited me to try out for the soccer team next week.

I grin because his enthusiasm is contagious.

Not for me, mind you, but I’m sure all the silver-spooned teenagers he’s hanging out with over at Redemption Prep are getting a kick out of his brain. And maybe asking him to teach them how to pick a lock.

Getting the kid set up with a sponsor family wasn’t nearly as difficult as I might have thought it would be. Ma knew some people who ran the program, and Stix was scooped up pretty quickly.

Motherfucker is thriving.

Go figure.

His brother would be proud as hell.

Sports are good. Don’t take any shit from the older kids.

He sends me an emoji of red lips. I can’t for the life of me figure out why in the hell he’d send me something like that. Then he says,
Sorry, that was Tina.

I don’t even wanna know who Tina is.

Gotcha. Gotta run,
I tell him. And he replies,
SAME.

I don’t have the time or patience to call the rest of my family, so this time, I do put the phone away and push the exit door open to sunshine and cold air.

I step out of Lana’s office building and take a nice, deep breath of air. Only to choke out the smog and shit.

I half laugh because fuck it. Ya know what I mean?

Green’s waiting for me just like she said she would be.

By now, that shouldn’t surprise me, but it does.

I mean, what the fuck would she want to put all of herself into me for? Right?

Damaged.

Bitter.

Fucking asshole at times.

Okay, most of the time.

On top of which, I’m about to have my damaged, bitter, fucking asshole
all the time
father move in with me.