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

Although there’s at least one reason I can think of that still makes me want to scoot the fuck on out.

“Okay then.” I push up onto the arms of the chair I’ve called home for the past hour and clap my hands together. “We good?”

She pulls the slip of paper I need out from between a folder and hands it to me.

“We’re good.”

“You rock, Lana.”

“I know.” She smirks over at me. “Please don’t come again.”

“Ouch, that hurts.” I grab my chest but I’m smiling, dammit.

Kill me now.

“Not for legal reasons, anyway. For social visits, you’re welcome anytime.”

“I can’t make any promises,” I tell her honestly. ’Cause who knows when the next bad guy, or supposed good guy, is gonna drive me to physically harming them again.

Lana shakes her head, and I go without another word. I wave and wink to the receptionist.

“Do we need to schedule another date, Mr. Stiles?”

“Hell, no, Tracy. I’m out of here.” I show her my graduation documentation, and I swear she looks disappointed.

Out in the bright white hallway, I shut the door behind me, fold up the piece of paper I need to show the circuit courts that I’m sane, and check my phone for messages.

There’s one from Ma, two from Dad, ugh, and another from Nick. I call the lesser of the three evils.

“Hey, Nickie.”

I smile, knowing that nickname annoys the shit out of him about as much as mine annoys me.

“Dude, I just got off the phone with Walker. He told me the good news.”

“He’s being indicted?” ’Cause that shit’s cause for some celebrafuckery. Next on the list, Graham Black.

“No, asshole.”

“Thomas has his number?”

“Jackson.”

So serious, my brother.

“Okay, I give.” I press the elevator button and wait.

“That you’re getting an accommodation, dude.”

Shit, he practically sounds giddy. I’m sure it would do his rep a ton of good to have his troublemaking brother sit on a bench and get a shiny new medal for helping the city out.

“Yeah, that’s not gonna happen.” I should have known Walker was serious. Dick.

“What? Come on, Jackie. It’ll be great. Maybe even, you know, you might wanna actually consider coming back to the force after all. I mean, with this under your belt, they might even skip over all the other bullshit and promote you directly to detective.”

The doors open, and I pause before stepping in.

Detective.

Not bad.

I gotta admit. My brother makes a good case.

“What about my pay grade.”

“Probably negotiable.”

“And benefits?”

“One hundred percent covered.”

Huh.

I push the lobby button and begin my descent to the bottom floor.

“And you really think we could work together.”

It’s not a question. Nick’s had this conversation with me before. Only now it’s tangible. Possible even.

When the doors open to the lobby of Lana’s building, I look around and remember why I’m here in the first place, and I answer my brother with a definitive, “No can do, Nick.”

He knew it was coming.

So did you.

Right?

The police force is, simply put, not my style.

After a few seconds of mourning silence, he tells me, “I get it.” And the sound of his voice is enough to make me wanna change my answer.

Only not.

“You and I both know I can’t work for Walker. I’d kill him by week’s end. And even if I didn’t, I’d want to. That kinda grudge interferes with what’s really important.”

“What’s that?”

“Getting the job done.”

Nick lets the gravity of what I’m saying sink in.

“Yeah. I guess.”

He guesses. Fuck him. He knows I’m right.

“But you’re wrong about Walker, Jackson. He’s got issues, sure, but he’s one of the good guys.”

I highly fucking doubt it. “We’ll see.”

“Stalemate, huh?”

“Stalemate.”

“All right then. Look, I gotta run; Mia and the boys are waiting for me. We’re heading up to Octoberfest. Wanna come with?”

I laugh. “Hell. And no.”

Nick chuckles. “Ow, fuck.”

“Still hurts?”

“A little. It healed up great and everything. Doc says I might have a built-in weather app from now on, though. Hey, thanks, by the way.”

“For?”

“Trusting me.”

Nick likes to get all mushy and shit when he’s wounded. I’ve seen it a million times.

“Whatever.” But he’s not sucking me into it.

“Okay, I’ll talk to you soon.”

“See ya.”

I end the call, and as I’m about to put it away, I remember another person I need to touch base with.

It’s become, as Lana would say, a ritual.

I dial the number while I’m still inside the building. And, of course, I get voicemail. So I send a text instead of leaving a message. It’s how kids work anyway. And quite frankly, I’m not a talker.

Hey, kid. Just checking in.

He shoots back, almost immediately.

All good here. I love it. The math teacher is a dick, but English is the bomb, and this kid invited me to try out for the soccer team next week.

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