Jackson Stiles, Road to Redemption (Road to Redemption #1)(43)

“Does that include the pizza guy?” he asked with all the teenaged sincerity he had in him. To which I stared blankly at him until he figured out for himself that I wasn’t dignifying that shit with an actual answer.

I grabbed some food from the local grocery store. That took a good two hours since, hello, never shop. But, hell, I got it done. That’s something.

I did a sweep of the property to make sure no one’s scoping out the apartment.

And finally, I made my last ditch Hail Mary throw at Ma. Told her I have a weird-looking lump I wanted to check out. Being the old-fashioned nurturer that she is, she told me if I didn’t get my ass over there for Dad’s birthday she’d give me a lump to check out.

In so many words.

Feel the love, people.

Not being one to forget my day job, I contacted the Redemption police department and told them I was some schmuck reporter from a couple counties over. When I asked for the names of the police officers who booked Donnie the night before he was killed, I got put on hold four times, transferred twice, and finally, I was randomly disconnected. When I called back, someone with authority in their voice answered the phone and told me they had no record of a Donnie Leary being booked the night I was inquiring about.

Which wasn’t suspicious at all.

I thought about calling Green because, back at the courthouse a few days ago, she flippantly mentioned she’d seen me that night “hanging out” with my cop friends.

I don’t make the call, though. I need some time to digest that fun fact and decide whether I think she was there for a reason or if it was just a coincidence.

For now, I need to concentrate on surviving dinner with my family.





X X X


“You coulda dressed a little nicer.” My brother checks his speed as he gives me fashion advice. He thinks, for some reason, he’s my mother when she’s not around.

“Didn’t have time.” I fidget and wipe some lint I found on my shirt because, apparently, I think he’s my f*cking mother too. “Where’s Mia and the kids?”

“Already there. She’s been hanging out with Ma this afternoon. Shopping and shit.”

I nod.

“And, uh, where’s Emma? I thought─”

“You thought wrong, as per f*cking usual, bro.”

Green. I cannot escape her, even when she’s not around.

Do I take this opportunity to fess up and let Nick in on the fact that she played his ass the other day?

Nah.

I mean it’s not like it’s gonna be an issue. All I have to do is wait a few days and tell him, like every other relationship in my life, it fizzled the f*ck out.

No big.

It’s inevitable.

Actually, it’s not inevitable. Because there isn’t an us to have the chance at being anything anyway.

In the first place, there’s a boyfriend, or whatever the hell she considers good old Connor to be. Secondly, let’s say, for the sake of entertainment, that she’s all right. Maybe she’s not the evil spawn of Satan I thought she was a few days ago. And maybe, just maybe, something’s there between us somewhere. None of that crazy makes sense on any level.

Okay, one level. About midway between my head and my feet.

But I digress.

Not only would I never subject any woman to being around the tyrant known as Frank Stiles, not so loving father, but I’ll be damned if I’m gonna give my brother the satisfaction of thinking he gave me advice in the romance department, and I actually listened.

“Gonna be one of those nights, huh?” Nick sneaks a peek at his rearview mirror. It’s a good thing he can’t eyeball me while he’s driving. Avoiding eye contact is the fundamental key to withholding information in my family. Don’t look ’em in the eyes, and they can’t make you talk. Period.

“It’s been one of those nights all year, Nick.”

A deep, thoughtful hum and he shakes his head. “Jackie, try and make it through at least the first hour before you start in on Dad, will ya? He’s had a rough week.”

Shit.

I reach inside my jacket pocket. I twist the cigarette between my fingers. It helps. A little.

“I’ll be sure to kiss his ass to your liking, Nick. Provided you get your head out of it long enough for me to do it, that is.”

In other words, not gonna happen.

“You know what? Fuck you.” He grips the steering wheel a little tighter.

“Ooooh, watch it there, Nick. You almost had a temper.”

That was a joke. Nick doesn’t do angry. Ever.

“At least, I’m making an attempt to be nice, here. And he’s been dealt a shitty hand too, ya know. Maybe even shittier than the one you think you’ve been dealt.”

“Wouldn’t wanna ruffle any feathers, would we?”

He throws a hand up.

“This is so typical. You haven’t even stepped into the house, and you’ve already decided you’re gonna piss off the old man.”

“Deciding has nothing to f*cking do with it. My very existence pisses him off.”

“Your very existence pisses everyone off.”

“Then my work is done.”

“Jesus, you are so—”

“Hey, what are the troopers doing hanging out with the gangs? They need a little extra help these days?”