Jackson Stiles, Road to Redemption (Road to Redemption #1)(107)

“Can’t.” She’s quiet, but she’s not thinking about crying any more, which is a good thing on any day. “I told Mia I’d come help with the boys and make dinner tonight.”

Jesus.

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 f*ck is going on with him. He’s not eighteen yet, so someone’s gotta raise him. It can’t be me, that’s for f*cking 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 f*cking 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 f*ck 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 f*ck out the way you know that shit.”

A stray, blue thread on the arm of Lana’s patient chair bothers the f*ck 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 f*cking 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 f*cking 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 f*cker.

What did Green see in that f*ck?

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.”