Jackson Stiles, Road to Redemption (Road to Redemption #1)(32)

Okay, maybe a bigger dick than I already am.

So I leave without so much as rolling my eyes. When I get back to the car, there’s a present waiting for me.

My favorite snack, taped to the driver's side window, tells me one thing, and one thing only.

Lilah’s here.

I take a look around. It doesn’t take long to spot her─ exactly one hundred and one feet away.

She waves, excitedly at first, but then thinks better of it. The innocent yet slightly off-balance girl ducks behind the side of a storefront, then peeks around the corner again.

I’m still here, Lilah.

Unfortunately.

I wave to her to let her know I see her. I pull the candy bar off the window and slide into the Chevelle so there’s no misunderstanding here. This isn’t okay.

I eat the Twix after giving it a good once over. I’m not a f*cking idiot.

On the way back home, I try to drown out what Lana said back at her office. I want to forget about the fact that my one-time best friend from high school thinks she still knows what makes me tick. However, that piece of paper in my pocket is making the loudest noise of all inside my head.

At a stop light, I take it out and read it again.

Tell someone “thank you” today, and mean it.

Mean it is not just underlined, it’s double underlined.

What the f*ck does that even mean?

I tell people thank you all the time. As a matter of fact, I just told someone thank you yesterday.

I told the cashier at the sub joint slash gas station I filled up at thanks a whole hell of a lot for screwing up my f*cking sub order. Instead of turkey on wheat he gave me ham and Swiss on white. I hate Swiss cheese. And ham.

“Fuck it.” I crumple it back up and shove it back into my pocket. I need to get home. And Ma knows I love her despite what doctor Likes-to-use-big-words-to-impress-people says.

I turn the tunes up for the entire thirty-minute drive back to my apartment. It’s decidedly calming, despite the backups on the road or the way my mind races over everything that’s happened this week.

And why the f*ck do I care?

Donnie Leary got himself involved in shit he had no business getting involved in. I did my job. I took him in.

And now he’s dead.

“Shit.”

Okay, do I have an opportunity to make amends here?

Maybe.

But for what? Another kid from the poor side of town bitching about how his brother didn’t do it, and the injustice of his death is the epitome of the infestation of dirty cops.

Hold up. He is just another kid bitching about this shit.

In fact, the other kid I remember bitching about something very similar to Donnie’s situation was just over the summer. And not too far from where Donnie was found, if I recall correctly.

They never found the shooter there either, but it was implied Thomas Flint was behind that one, too.

Wait.

Why am I doing this again?

Despite my doubts of whether or not it’s a good idea, I pull out my iPhone and tell Siri I need to make a note. “Check out that case from last summer about the… shit!”

He did NOT lie in wait at my own home.

I slip the phone away and park. My brother leans against the outside railing with that smug ass I win motherf*cking look on his face.

If I try to make a run for it now, he’ll spin his big ass red and blue flashing lights that he likes to show off and pull my sorry ass over.

I shake my head at him and he smiles.

Dick.

I grimace. That’s all I’m giving him.

“Here’s to family disputes and argument hangovers,” I tell myself as I head toward the apartment.

I grab my shit and lock up the Chevelle. As I stroll over to Nick, I’m formulating a plan to prevent my brother from coming into my apartment. The last thing I need is for him to be aware of the minor I have stowed away in my place, who may or may not be wanted by the police.

“What’s that look?” He laughs, flashing those bright ass teeth that he whitens every six months like clockwork.

“What look?”

He points at me. “That one. You used to make it in calculus class when you were thinking, super hard.”

Because it was f*cking calculus. Helloooooo.

“Nothing.” I brush past him. “I’ve got shit to do, Nick, so…”

“Well good, ’cause this won’t take long.”

I start up the stairs. “I mean I have zero time to talk right now─”

“I have zero reasons to believe that.” He follows me.

Fucking A.

I stop and turn on him so he can’t go any farther.

“What do you want, Nick?” Dammit, I’ve got a kink in my neck, now. Great.

His laugh is annoying as hell. “You know what I want.”

He’s talking about the dinner at our parent’s place, of course.

“Again, can’t.” Does he not understand the English language today? Granted, okay, there was a time in the Stiles family history books when celebrating birthdays was, I don’t know, fun?

Not anymore.

“You have to.”

“Why?” I turn and quicken my steps. He stops behind me.

“Because if you don’t, Ma’s making a trip over here, and I think we both know you don’t want that to happen.”