Jackson Stiles, Road to Redemption (Road to Redemption #1)(20)

The priest, down below, begins a speech. I keep my distance for a lot of reasons. It’s not like I need to be down there to know what’s going on. It’s easy to imagine what’s being said. Some form or another of “ashes to ashes and dust to dust” that doesn’t really apply to real world bullshit on any level whatsoever; and the way the preacher says it makes you think he’s repeated it so many times even he doesn’t know what it means any more. And when the dirt starts getting shoveled on top of the person you’re trying desperately to hold onto, you realize you’re never getting him back. So what f*cking difference does it make what anyone says, anyway?

A police cruiser pulls up to the site and everyone, including Donnie’s girl, distances themselves from the plot. In fact, hardly anyone’s left as the casket starts to lower, save the cops who showed up last minute and a couple of stragglers who must not have anything to hide today. My feet take a few steps backward. It’s time for me to get outta Dodge myself.

“Sorry, kid.” The words sting and feel empty. Don’t get me wrong, I mean them. But are they enough?

When I can’t see his casket any more, I turn to go.

Just in time, it seems, as the first raindrops begin to fall from the sky.

Mikey’s grave isn’t too far from where I’m standing. I can almost see it in the distance. His headstone pulls at me like a magnet, but I fight against it. I’m f*cking tired of trips down memory lane today.

I’m out.

“Stiles?” A curious voice calls out from the bottom of the hill. And just when I thought I was gonna make a clean getaway, too.

You’ve gotta be f*cking kidding me.

Is lightning about to strike me dead?

Affirmative.

I could pretend I didn’t hear her. Go on about my business. But something about Green’s pompous attitude, every goddamn time I see her, makes me wanna run her off a high bridge into some shallow water.

For now, I don’t have the f*cking energy. So I wave and figure that’s that.

“Are you following me?” she calls out.

My feet screech to a halt. Am I… Did she just…

“No.” Seriously? “Why would I-”

“What are you doing here, Stiles?” She pulls her pad and paper out of the bag she’s got flung over her shoulder. “I mean, it can’t possibly be for Donnie Leary’s funeral since you have no idea what’s going on with that.”

I’d say something but the words inside my head aren’t quite forming a logical thought.

Yet.

“Unless you lied.” She waits a beat. “Did you lie to me, Stiles?” She readies her pen and paper for something to write.

How did she get right up into my personal space so fast?

“Like I’m gonna spill my guts to the woman who wouldn’t know the truth if it smacked her in the face.”

I don’t f*cking think so.

“Is it another case? Or…” She thinks it over and a thought strikes her. “Are you actually following me?”

Her hand lowers. “Because that’s harassment, Stiles. I do have a day job you know, and every right to-”

“Jesus.” Enough with this shit. “No I am not f*cking following you.”

No way in hell am I telling her I’m here for Donnie, but what the f*ck else am I supposed to do?

My thoughts are, once again, drawn to Mikey.

And I really hope he forgives me for this someday.

“Tell ya what.” I take her by the shoulders and spin her around, then I point in the general direction of where my brother’s body was buried. “Take a walk about fifty or so feet in that direction, and have a nice f*cking day.”

I leave her there without a single look back to see if she went for the bait.

“Stiles! I’m—”

I don’t hear what it is she says. The door is closed and I’m in drive before she can finish.

Deep breaths. I hear my therapist’s voice in my head. Which I ignore because screw breathing. I need a drink.

I pull the last cig standing out of my pocket. It’s tempting. All I need to do is light it up and inhale. One puff and the stress of dealing with the smartest mouth in America would be over. Alas, I’m not giving in. Not today. And not over Emma motherf*cking Green. So I hide the stick away again and move on to a very important decision I need to make. Lunch or work?

I have zero appetite, between Donnie Leary’s funeral, Emma Green being Emma Green, and the warped adaptation of Jackson Stiles, this is your life that I was playing back there, so I head for the office.

Let’s do this.





X X X


I know I said it’s my safe haven, but really, it’s mostly mindless paperwork I do at the office. Today, I’m thankful for it. Not only because it’s raining cats and f*cking dogs outside, but it busies my brain and keeps me focused on what’s important. Getting paid. Something snooping around Donnie Leary’s fresh grave isn’t gonna get me.

I solemnly swear to leave the police work to my brother.

Most of the time.

Hours upon hours go by. It’s been pouring for most of the day but the steady sound of rainfall has proven to be a sedative of sorts. I’ve gotten a lot of shit done, and I’m feeling pretty damn good about it as I file away the last manila folder, ready to call it a day.