Jackson Stiles, Road to Redemption (Road to Redemption #1)(31)
“Then what would, Lana? Huh? Telling him he’s an * and has been for the past fifteen to twenty years now? He doesn’t give a shit anymore.”
“I bet he does.” She is seriously pissing me off.
I laugh. I have no idea why. It’s not really that f*cking funny. Frank Stiles doesn’t give a damn about anyone but himself.
Maybe, maybe, once upon a time, but nowadays? Not so much. Lana knows this. But since it’s her job to tell me otherwise, she insists on contra-f*cking-dicting me.
“Would you rather talk about the tattoo?”
She nods toward the ink peeking out from under my shirt, making this one of the few times I wish I’d buttoned all the way up. The other being when my twelfth-grade tutor made a pass at me after school.
Fucking gross.
“Not really.” I inadvertently reach to cover it up.
“Mikey always referred to you as Batman.”
The sound of his name being announced, out loud like that, gives me a cold chill in the center of my chest.
I don’t wanna go there today.
Maybe I need the f*cking cigarette, after all. I don’t care if this is a non-smoking establishment.
Screw that.
I pat myself down, but it’s nowhere to be found.
Must have left it at the apartment.
Stix better not f*cking smoke my cig.
“Jackson?”
My head snaps up. “What?”
“Why did you go with a rendition of the Joker?”
She’s not gonna let this go.
Okay. Fine. She asked for it.
“Because despite what my little brother might have thought, I’m not a f*cking Dark Knight ready to sacrifice myself for the greater good, Lana. That’s why.”
Straightforward enough for you?
“Aren’t you, though?” She says it like she knows something I don’t know. Only she doesn’t know shit about me. Not anymore.
“No.” I hear the defensiveness in my voice and settle the f*ck down. Meanwhile, Lana gives me a soft nod and stays quiet for a minute or so. This is doctor code for go on. Only I have nowhere to go from here.
I check my watch. It has to have been an hour by now. My watch, however, is telling me it’s only been fifteen minutes.
This is bullshit.
“Look,” she offers. “You’re here. You may as well tell me something. Did you reach out to your mother this week like I suggested?”
I shake my head. “Didn’t have time.”
Sixteen minutes.
Seriously?
“Story of your life, right?” She smirks for the first time today, and I relax a little into my chair.
“Damn straight.” I look her dead in the eyes when I answer her. My to-do list grows every day, and with me trying to solve the murder of a possible innocent these days, there’s not much room for casual conversation and kicking back at the old homestead.
“Why do you think you make your mother pay for the problems you and your father are having?”
“What the f*ck kinda question is that?”
“A fair one.”
“I love my mother. She knows that.”
“Does she? When was the last time you told her?”
“I haven’t said that shit since I was ten, Lana.”
“Actions speak louder than words.”
“Exactly.” Damn, my f*cking eyebrow itches like a boss right now.
“And what have your actions been saying lately?”
“They…”
Son of a bitch.
I hate it when she does that shit.
“Fuck you.”
She smiles. She knows she got one over on me.
She’s shameless.
The rest of the hour goes on, slightly less tense than how it started. Before I know it, she’s wrapping up.
“I want you to do me a favor, Jackson.” She pulls out a pad of paper and picks up one of her sharp ass pencils.
“Here we go.”
She begins to write but doesn’t say anything else. She hands me the piece of paper and waits for me to say something.
I say something, all right. “I don’t f*cking think so.” I try to hand it back to her but she refuses it.
“Just try it.”
“Why?”
“You tell me next time.”
Next time.
She’ll be lucky if I step another foot inside this hellhole again. Ever.
I huff. Frustrated. I crumple up the piece of paper then stand and grab my jacket.
“I’m done.”
“For today. Lucky for you, I have someone coming in about five minutes.” She pushes up onto her feet as well, and I head for the door. I open it and salute the receptionist as I rush to the front door, but I’ve got no winks left for the day.
“See you in a week, Mr. Stiles.” Lana moves next to her assistant as she bids me a professional f*cking wave goodbye, and just like that, we’re back to the formalities.
If I was in any worse of a mood, I’d call her ass out. Then again, maybe her assistant doesn’t like her, and maybe she’ll call the big man in charge to let him know there’s a conflict of interest here. That thought alone is enough to keep my big mouth shut.
I like to stick with the devil I know personally, and besides, that would make me a dick.