My brother laughs. Again. “Man, I am good.”
“What the fuck are you talking about?”
“You two.” He’s proud of himself. Over what I have no idea.
“What about us?”
Nick chuckles even louder. Emma smiles a sly smile. I raise a conflicting eyebrow at the two of them. “Like you had anything to do with─”
“Oh, I had everything to do with it, considering you weren’t about to make anything happen.”
Who is he? Dr. Phil?
“I’d a gotten there.” I insist my brother knows not what the fuck he’s talking about. Emma turns to me, strategically places a hand on her hip, and tilts her head.
“Really.”
“Yeah.”
“You hated me.”
“I didn’t hate you, per se.”
I kinda fucking hated her. It’s in the past. Whatever.
“I’d have gotten there, trust me.”
“When?”
“Eventually.”
This time, her come back is interrupted by a certain troublesome teenager who doesn’t listen worth a shit. Ever.
“They said I can only leave if I’m in an adult’s custody, Jackson.”
I spy the clean-cut officers he’s been talking to, who are looking at the two of us suspiciously. I nod over at them.
“He’s with me.”
They don’t look convinced, but you know what? Fuck them. I dare ’em to say something. I’ve got connections and shit.
Stix beams like I just took him to a night of endless video games and bottomless tanks of sugar.
He thinks his worries are over.
Little does he know.
“Don’t get too excited, kid,” I tell him. “We’re not outta the woods yet.”
Not by a long fucking shot.
“Let’s get outta here.” Green slides an arm around me, and I hang mine over her shoulder.
“Best idea I’ve heard all night.”
There’s a group of police, discussing something of utter importance, I’m sure, not too far away. My dad is huddled with them, and Walker seems to be running the conversation.
My gut twitches with the urge to go see what the fuck they’re up to. Not to mention I owe dear old Dad a good grilling about what in the mother of fuck his connection is to this Threshold guy.
Green nudges me. I suppose she has a point. There’s plenty of time to stir up shit and get some answers later. I’ve had enough fun for one day. Or ten. Whatever.
Nick’s in good hands. We promise we’ll touch base tomorrow, and I remind him to call his wife. This leads to him freaking out and asking for a cell phone.
The three of us are officially cleared to go, pending interviews, so we head out to get some much needed rest. And maybe a conspiracy theory or two moving forward.
We hitch a ride back to the Chevelle. As we pull out onto Route fifty I watch the farm disappear in my rearview mirror. I spy the kid, who’s practically passed out already in the back seat, which means it’s pretty fucking quiet in the car right now.
My chest tightens and the ink on my chest burns with the realization that none of this has made me feel any better about what went down with Donnie. However, when I think about the possibilities that are in store for Stix now, I guess I can give myself a small break, for lack of a better word.
I still can’t seem to cut myself any slack when it comes to Mikey. I may never be able to do that, but I can try.
One day at a fucking time.
THE AFTERMATH
PACKING UP HAS never really been my forte. I’ve spent too much time putting too many things away that I have zero extra time to worry about. It’s why I haven’t moved since the first day I left home.
Packing Green’s shit up and moving her the hell out of Connor’s den of dickheadedness, however? That I can do. Especially since there doesn’t seem to be a chance in hell we’ll run into El Diablo. He wasted no time emptying out the place of his shit. By the time the cops arrived, searching for his sorry fucked-up ass, there wasn’t a damn trace of him anywhere.
My cell phone buzzes, and I check the text. It’s Nick.
Surprise, surprise.
Twelve fucking stitches because of you.
I grin and let out a quiet chuckle. Like that shit was my fault. I shoot him back a text.
’Bout time you garnered some battle scars. Maybe now you can actually identify with the big dogs. Namely me.
To which he replies: Dick.
Followed by: Say hi to Emma for me.
I take a pic of my middle finger and send it to him. Because he thinks he’s fucking hilarious, assuming I’m with Green all the damn time now. I slip the phone away and get back to the task at hand.
“Green.”
“Hmmm?” She’s in the other room getting her toiletries and other such things rounded up. I don’t need to know the specifics of that fuckery.
“Why do you have a box of old ass vinyl records?”
“Do not scratch those, Stiles!”
“I mean, really? Who listens to this shit anymore?”
“Billy Joel is a musical genius.”