Stix finds me pretty quick. His tall, skinny frame wraps everything it’s got around me and holds tight for a long time.
“Mr. Stiles?”
“Yeah?” My dad and I both answer at the same time.
“Mr. Reed appears to be gone, sir. Are you sure he was here?”
“He was here.” Green answers before I do. “He must have taken off during the fight.”
“Mother of…”
“We’ll keep searching. He’s got to be around here somewhere.”
Or maybe not. Maybe Anonymous was waiting for something like this to happen and swooped him off to who fucking knows where.
Stix is still holding on for dear life. Try as he might to hold back the tears, it’s time I guess because they come gushing out.
This might have, once upon a time, been the moment where I tell him to grow up and grow a pair. That shit isn’t really playing into my mentality, though.
We stand there, as he lets it all out. I put an arm or two around his shoulders while he does it, wishing I hadn’t been such a fucking dick to Mikey.
Maybe he’d still be here if I hadn’t been.
Maybe not.
The suck-ass thing is, I’ll never know.
Green watches the two of us. She’s flushed and visibly shaken. Maybe because she’s glad this is all over, or maybe because she’s afraid the jig is up.
Time to figure out, once and for all, which side she’s on.
I WAS NEVER WORRIED
BY THE TIME the kid lets me go, and I’ve given it the official Jackson Stiles effort at telling him shit’s gonna be okay, the place is a little less crowded. Up to and including the fact that there are a couple of troopers leading Bulldozer outside and into a mobile trailer.
You don’t see that kinda crazy every day.
Stix wipes his face, and I tell him to go grab some water or something from one of the EMTs. Green and I keep eye contact for a minute, only to be broken by my father approaching me.
Suddenly, my demeanor is a little less thoughtful and a little more, well, let’s face it, bitter.
“They haven’t found any trace of Connor.” He checks his watch. “And Graham Black was forced to backpedal in the middle of the speech he’s still giving.”
His amusement almost makes me wanna join in on his happy.
Almost.
I’m dying to see how Black talks his way out of this.
Later.
“What the hell are you doing here, Dad?”
I can’t help but be a little bit in awe of the man, despite our complicated history.
“I almost wasn’t.” He seems impressed with himself. Or someone, at least.
“The fuck does that mean?”
“Nick didn’t explain? I figured he’d─”
“He explained.” I give my father a cold stare. Waiting.
For what?
“Then─”
“I guess what I’m trying to understand is how you managed to stay sober long enough to even pull this shit off? And why didn’t you mention this when you saw me?”
“It was a covert operation, son. I had no idea you were in on any of this until I saw you at the gate. Nick never mentioned─”
“He didn’t know either. Until tonight.” Beside the point. “Did Ma even really leave you?” Because it wouldn’t surprise me if he was a liar on a top of being a dick.
“She did.” His voice is gruff and stressed. Fine. I’ll give him that one. His expression hit the emergency brake. And, yes, I question every fucking thing.
Always.
“It was ugly and happened at the worst time.” Of course, he’d see it that way. “She made me wonder if I was going through with this whole thing tonight.” He wears a cloak of wonder now. He looks about twenty years younger all of a sudden. “Then you said something.”
He doesn’t even know what the fuck he’s saying any more.
Clearly, he’s mistaken.
“Catching perps, taking down the bad guys.”
Yeah. I said that, all right.
I’m so confused right now. Was that a compliment?
“That’s why I started this all those years ago, Jackson. I wanted to end it that way. Even if I’ve screwed everything else up along the way.”
“Why do I get the feeling you’re not just talking about your family?”
His face falls into a sad, painful smile. “You always were the smart one.”
Okay that definitely was a compliment.
Right?
“You gonna explain yourself?”
He sets a hand on my shoulder.
It’s heavy.
“That’s a story for another time, son.”
The way he carries himself right now doesn’t look like a man who’s had a drinking problem for the majority of his life. He looks like someone who’s been dragged through the wringer about a hundred times over.
He’s not getting any sympathy from me, if that’s what he’s after.
One good deed doesn’t make the fuck up for all the shit he’s put us through over the years.
Am I a tad impressed that he pulled this shit off? Quite frankly, yes. Okay, maybe more than a tad. He doesn’t need to know that, though.
“For now, I’m just glad I didn’t lose another son through all of this.”
My breath catches with those last words of his.