Jackson Stiles, Road to Redemption (Road to Redemption #1)(104)

“You stay out of it.” I point over at him.

“You have trust issues.” Green has decided she is my psychotherapist. As if I need another one of those.

“I do not have…”

You know what? I give up. “Okay, I have a couple of petty issues, but what the f*ck was I supposed to think?”

“You’re supposed to think, It’s Green. I know her. We have this sexy, awesome, true connection. She’s here for me. She always will be.” The bitch face I’m on the receiving end of right now should be enough to tell me to shut the f*ck up, but let’s be honest, I’m too goddamn stubborn to take that hint.

“T.M.I., guys. T.M.I.” Nick chuckles again, and I realize he’s on a wonder-drug of some sort.

“How about next time you steer clear of the bad guys, and I won’t have to wonder. Deal?”

She sucker punches me in the arm.

“Ow.”

My brother laughs. Again. “Man, I am good.”

“What the f*ck are you talking about?”

“You two.” He’s proud of himself. Over what I have no idea.

“What about us?”

Nick chuckles even louder. Emma smiles a sly smile. I raise a conflicting eyebrow at the two of them. “Like you had anything to do with─”

“Oh, I had everything to do with it, considering you weren’t about to make anything happen.”

Who is he? Dr. Phil?

“I’d a gotten there.” I insist my brother knows not what the f*ck he’s talking about. Emma turns to me, strategically places a hand on her hip, and tilts her head.

“Really.”

“Yeah.”

“You hated me.”

“I didn’t hate you, per se.”

I kinda f*cking hated her. It’s in the past. Whatever.

“I’d have gotten there, trust me.”

“When?”

“Eventually.”

This time, her come back is interrupted by a certain troublesome teenager who doesn’t listen worth a shit. Ever.

“They said I can only leave if I’m in an adult’s custody, Jackson.”

I spy the clean-cut officers he’s been talking to, who are looking at the two of us suspiciously. I nod over at them.

“He’s with me.”

They don’t look convinced, but you know what? Fuck them. I dare ’em to say something. I’ve got connections and shit.

Stix beams like I just took him to a night of endless video games and bottomless tanks of sugar.

He thinks his worries are over.

Little does he know.

“Don’t get too excited, kid,” I tell him. “We’re not outta the woods yet.”

Not by a long f*cking shot.

“Let’s get outta here.” Green slides an arm around me, and I hang mine over her shoulder.

“Best idea I’ve heard all night.”

There’s a group of police, discussing something of utter importance, I’m sure, not too far away. My dad is huddled with them, and Walker seems to be running the conversation.

My gut twitches with the urge to go see what the f*ck they’re up to. Not to mention I owe dear old Dad a good grilling about what in the mother of f*ck his connection is to this Threshold guy.

Green nudges me. I suppose she has a point. There’s plenty of time to stir up shit and get some answers later. I’ve had enough fun for one day. Or ten. Whatever.

Nick’s in good hands. We promise we’ll touch base tomorrow, and I remind him to call his wife. This leads to him freaking out and asking for a cell phone.

The three of us are officially cleared to go, pending interviews, so we head out to get some much needed rest. And maybe a conspiracy theory or two moving forward.

We hitch a ride back to the Chevelle. As we pull out onto Route fifty I watch the farm disappear in my rearview mirror. I spy the kid, who’s practically passed out already in the back seat, which means it’s pretty f*cking quiet in the car right now.

My chest tightens and the ink on my chest burns with the realization that none of this has made me feel any better about what went down with Donnie. However, when I think about the possibilities that are in store for Stix now, I guess I can give myself a small break, for lack of a better word.

I still can’t seem to cut myself any slack when it comes to Mikey. I may never be able to do that, but I can try.

One day at a f*cking time.





THE AFTERMATH


PACKING UP HAS never really been my forte. I’ve spent too much time putting too many things away that I have zero extra time to worry about. It’s why I haven’t moved since the first day I left home.

Packing Green’s shit up and moving her the hell out of Connor’s den of dickheadedness, however? That I can do. Especially since there doesn’t seem to be a chance in hell we’ll run into El Diablo. He wasted no time emptying out the place of his shit. By the time the cops arrived, searching for his sorry f*cked-up ass, there wasn’t a damn trace of him anywhere.

My cell phone buzzes, and I check the text. It’s Nick.

Surprise, surprise.

Twelve f*cking stitches because of you.

I grin and let out a quiet chuckle. Like that shit was my fault. I shoot him back a text.

’Bout time you garnered some battle scars. Maybe now you can actually identify with the big dogs. Namely me.