Jackson Stiles, Road to Redemption (Road to Redemption #1)(44)

Diversions. My specialty.

I wasn’t exactly planning on bringing up the trooper thing with Nick just yet. It kinda popped out at the last minute. Just as well, though. I admit I wanna see how big bro reacts to my accusation.

“How’d you know about that?”

Interesting. However, I’m not sure that’s a good interesting.

I give him a Jimmy Leary shrug. “Just something I heard.”

“What’d you hear?”

“Why do you need to know?”

“Because nobody’s supposed to know about it. That’s why.” His voice is gruff, frustrated. He might very well be getting agitated. I, of course, press on.

“Why wouldn’t they want anyone to know, Nick? Someone hiding something?”

“You are so f*cking paranoid, man.” Nick tries to laugh the idea off, but I know better. This is his I’m not allowed to speak of it standard diversion tactic.

“Don’t you think it’s a little odd they want it kept hush-hush? Or, wait, maybe you’re in on it, and that’s why you’re giving me a hard time about it.”

We pull up to Ma and Dad’s place. I have conflicting emotions. What if he’s actually in on it?

“I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours, Jackie.”

He looks over at me as he puts the car into park. He’s serious as a heart attack for a minute, then he waggles his eyebrows, smiling the signature Nick Stiles smile he likes to sport for the press.

Dick.

I give him the finger and push the car door open to get out before we start straight up wrestling. I breathe in the cold almost winter air and ready myself for a night of nitpicking and sarcasm.

Good times.

When I spot an old dirt bike leaning against the corner of my parent’s garage, my heart stops for a minute. My feet slow to a halt. The tension in my neck becomes so tight I can’t move it.

“Where’d that come from?”

Nick’s buoyant attitude takes a nosedive as he moves in next to me. He shoves his hands into his pockets.

“Dad was cleaning out the garage last weekend. Found it under a tarp. He called and asked me if I wanted it. I told him sure.”

I haven’t seen that old bike in probably fifteen years. It reminds me of better times. As in, pre-overbearing my-way-or-the-highway times.

I want to give my brother a look. One that says what the f*ck. All I can do is stare at the beat-up piece of shit that’s leaning up our old house while I fight back emotions I swore off a long damn time ago.

“Why in the hell would you want it?”

“Not really sure. I just didn’t want him to throw it in the dump.”

When shit like this comes up, typically, I ignore it. I pretend it doesn’t exist, and the sting passes fairly quickly, but this… That bike. It demands my attention as it stands there, daring me to say something about the last time I saw it.

Also not gonna happen.

Not if I can help it anyway.

So, I can stand here all night, glaring at the past, letting it carve a hole inside my chest, or I can snap myself the f*ck out of this unexpected funk.

Not a big fan of funks. They mess with my focus.

“Well,” I clap my hands, “we’ve got a dinner to get to.”

I will my legs to move and make my way up the walk to the front door, leaving Nick and the bike behind.

Easy-peasy.

A few more minutes of prep-time would be nice, but I’m not afforded that as Ma opens the door before I can raise a fist to knock.

“Jackson!” She pulls me into a tight hug. The same perfume she’s worn for as long as I can remember assaults my nose, but the comfort of her laugh makes up for it.

I peek around to see if Dad’s lurking anywhere. He’s not. Which is fine by me. I do, however, spot the framed picture, of three stupid kids with their arms around each other, at the end of the hallway.

The floor is a nice deflection.

“Hey, Ma.”

I put my arms around her, and her grip tightens, if that’s even possible.

“I missed you.”

I can’t breathe.

“I think a rib just cracked,” I choke out, and she laughs again. Thankfully, she lets go. Not entirely, though. She holds me still, at arm’s length, looking me in the eyes. She’s not gonna let me off easy.

“The next time you try to weasel your way out of coming to see me, young man…” She’s got her mother-voice on now. Awesome.

“Okay,” I promise. Not that I’ll keep it.

“The boys causing too much grief, yet?” Nick breaks up the mini-reunion. For once, he does something right, in my book.

I head off to look for the alcohol because I know there’s f*cking alcohol here somewhere. It’s the only thing that’s gonna make tonight bearable.

“They’re watching the YouTube in the other room.” Luckily, my mother doesn’t notice.

“Just YouTube, Ma. Not the YouTube.” Those two. They kill me.

“Oh, there she is!” My mother squeals as I down my first shot of the night.

She?

Mia’s already here, who the f*ck is─

“You must be Emma.”

Clear, potent liquid sprays across the kitchen counter as I hear my mother greeting… she did say Emma, right?