Jackson Stiles, Road to Redemption

by Jo Richardson

  It lasts a little longer than it should, but hell, what the fuck else was I supposed to do here? Between the shampoo and the lotion, the arm grazing, and that look of wonder she was giving me a few seconds ago, I could no longer control myself.

  I half expect her to push me away. Maybe clock me again. But she doesn’t. She lets me assault her mouth like I just learned how to do this shit. When I let myself think about what the fuck I’m doing, I stop.

  The room spins for a split second, which is fucking weird. Green’s got this shocked expression on her face. Maybe she’s waiting for me to explain myself. I don’t know. But I can’t. So instead, I say the first thing that comes to mind.

  “You taste like cherries.”

  And I want to taste more of that shit.

  “I know.” She’s breathless and shaking. “It’s new. Usually I buy generic ChapStick, but they were out. I grabbed the first thing I saw and─” I press a finger against her lips to shut her up.

  “I fucking love cherries.”

  Her expression morphs into something more seductive. Expectant. “Good.”

  This time, I don’t think. I’m tired of fucking thinking tonight.

  I slide a hand around her neck and pull her mouth to mine again. Her body softens and her arms ease around my waist like they’ve done it a thousand fucking times already.

  Somehow, this, whatever it is, has turned into something else. If I’m being honest, it did the first time our lips touched.

  That’s a sign.

  I should stop here, right?

  I mean, come on, we all know I should stop here.

  Instead, my feet shuffle backward, and she moves with me. When I find the couch, the same damn couch I was avoiding a while ago, I collapse onto the cushions. Before I know it, Green is on top of me, straddled, flushed.

  My hands rest on her hips, itching to move, but in the end, it’s not my decision.

  She leans in and kisses me hard. My hand tangles in her hair, and after a couple attempts to test the waters, my tongue meets hers. We move like teenagers in some ways. I’m trying to be slow but everything’s moving at an urgent pace. It’s comfortable but not. New, but not.

  Her hands rest against my chest at first then move to my shoulders. I’m pretty sure she’s aware of what’s going on between my legs, but she doesn’t seem to be bothered too much by it. Even when I move her hips against me for some kind of relief.

  Not that it helps much.

  I’m gonna need a lot more than a fucking grind against my dick to make this itch go away.

  Green lets out a small sound that sends blood rushing toward my head.

  The one that’s trying to think straight, that is.

  As her hands reach around my body to pull herself closer, she spreads her legs a little. If I don’t cut this short immediately, we might very well defile the couch soon. Followed by the coffee table. Maybe the bed after that; I’m not sure. Kinda torn between some wall sex and being fucking comfortable.

  Who am I kidding? That shit will definitely all happen.

  Jesus, this feels good.

  She feels good.

  Baseball stats, baseball stats, baseball stats.

  Why can’t I think of a single goddamn baseball stat?

  Regardless how very much I’m interested in having Green’s body lying naked on my bed at some point in time this evening, today, whichever, I pull up on the emergency brake.

  Either because I’m an idiot. Or intelligent.

  I’m going with intelligent.

  I break the kiss and let my head fall back, frustrated with my poor judgement.

  Green’s breathing is heavy. She’s flushed and confused, if I’m reading the look on her face correctly, which I’m pretty fucking sure I am.

  “Was that another thank you? Because I don’t know if I can handle such niceties.” Her voice is throaty and sexy as hell.

  Not helping with the whole wanting to do the right thing here.

  I smirk up at her, mildly breathless, my damn self.

  “Well played.”

  She hums. As we sit there for another minute, she works to control her breathing. She might be good at composing herself in some ways, but her skin is still warm to the touch. I know because my hand has somehow made its way inside her shirt.

  Something she’s suddenly very aware of.

  “Stiles?”

  “Yeah?”

  “That’s my boob.” She points.

  “Right.” I pull my hand out and wiggle my fingers for her. “All done.”

  Jesus, I need a cigarette.

  Where is that rascally motherfucker?

  Green pushes against my chest to sit up straight while I adjust my dick and try not to be too damn obvious about it.

  “Sorry about that,” she starts, with only slight embarrassment. She’s back to reality. “I don’t know what that was.” She pushes some hair behind her ear as she lets out a short laugh.

  “I think I do.”

  Hormones, ladies and gentlemen. Complicating shit, one horny bastard at a time.

  “Well, whatever it was,” she pulls at her top to make herself presentable again, “it was unprofessional, and I apologize.”

  I let out a chuckle. “Unprofessional. Seriously?”

  That’s what she’s calling it?

  “Yes.” She stands and pulls her jacket off the edge of the couch. Like standing and covering herself up is gonna make me forget about the curves I now know lay underneath all that fabric.

  I put a hand behind my head. “Well, technically, I started it.” Which is the odd thing because, typically, when I start something, I end it. And I end it well.

  Okay, not so well, sometimes.

  I digress.

  “True. You did. But I ended it.” This statement right here is where I see how Green has this way of trying to come off as completely focused when really she’s got about a million things going on inside that head of hers.

  Does she regret what just happened is the question. Or is she trying to play like she regrets it so I’ll drop it.

  “Pretty sure that was me, too.” I can’t help it. It’s in my nature to contradict every fucking thing she says.

  “Yeah.” She scowls and ponders something. Maybe she does regret it. That gets me thinking again.

  Do I regret it?

  “Well, anyway.” She turns away from me to start cleaning up the Chinese containers. “Let’s forget it happened and try to figure out our next steps on the Donnie Leary thing.”

  I could push her buttons some more. Avoid the questions swarming inside my own head about the fuckery that just evolved here. Have a few more laughs maybe, but when she mentions Donnie, I’m pulled back from the bliss. She’s right. We need to figure this shit out.

  It’s the exact thing she needed to say to get me to drop the teasing.

  Did she know that? Or was it a fluke?

  Regardless, she’s right about the unprofessional thing. Or however you wanna spin it. It’s one thing to flirt, but getting physically involved with a woman in the media?

  Another one, that is.

  Bad idea on a good day. Getting involved with a woman who’s as savvy as Green? Very bad idea.

  The upside? Even though she tries to hide it, I can see she’s blushing. And I have to say, I fucking love that I put that color red in those cheeks.

  “You should probably get home.”

  I say it, half hoping she’ll leave, half hoping she’ll fucking stay. When Green checks her watch, panic flashes across her face.

  She’s leaving.

  “Home. Right.” She drags her fingers through her hair to keep it from looking like she just dry humped a colleague, then she starts pulling her boots back onto her feet.

  “I’ll walk you down.”

  “I’m so sorry about that.”

  “Stop fucking apologizing for everything.” Damn. She irritates the hell out of me with that shit.

  My tone throws her off, and it shows in her
expression. “Okay, jeez. Sor…” she starts to say it again then stops. She reaches for the door, and this time, I’m the one apologizing.

  “Green, I didn’t mean─”

  “I know what you meant.”

  We don’t speak until we’re at the bottom of the stairs. Even then, I’m kind of at a loss for words.

  Lilah’s murder scene is empty except for the police tape.

  A lump gets stuck in the back of my throat when I think about her again. The rage I feel for being the cause of yet another kid, too young to be dealt a grisly death, starts to build up.

  “Hey.” Green’s hand is on my arm. At first, I don’t want to look at her, but she turns me around in such a way I’d look like an idiot kid trying to avoid eye contact with his parents if I didn’t. So I stare into those emerald eyes of hers, and she tells me point blank.

  “This wasn’t your fault.”

  I nod but we both know that shit’s not true.

  “Jackson.” I can’t decide if I love or hate it when she says my name like that. For now, I kinda fucking hate it.

  “You’re going to figure this out.” She says it like she means it. “The connection between Lilah, Stix, and the other murders, I know you’ll figure it out.”

  I swallow down the guilt for the time being.

  “I’m going to help you.”

  She checks the time again. “I’ve gotta go. I’ll check in later.”

  “Right.” I wave her off, and as she pulls out of the parking lot, a familiar cruiser pulls in.

  Air leaves me, heavy and filled with the unknown.

  As Nick parks and starts to get out of his vehicle, I’m still wondering if what Green said tonight is true.

  Am I gonna figure this shit out? Or die trying?

  “What’s wrong with you?” he asks as he approaches. The look on his face screams half worried, half amused.

  “What? Nothing’s wrong with me? What’s wrong with you? And why the fuck are you here at oh dark thirty?”

  “Not dark, Jackie. The sun?” Nick points. “It’s right there.”

  Smart ass. “Beside the point.”

  “I need to talk to you.”

  “About?”

  “Was that Emma?” He hooks a thumb over his shoulder.

  “It’s not what you think, Nick.” I head back inside. I can’t do this shit right now. My brother or Emma.

  “Dude.” He laughs from behind me. “It’s totally what I think.”

  It’s so not what he thinks. Green and I are probably the furthest thing from girlfriend and boyfriend two people can get. I mean, we kissed. More than kissed. Participated in Grind-Fest 2016, if I’m being honest. But so the fuck what? Who gives a shit if she gets me going like no other woman I’ve ever met.

  Ever.

  I mean that intellectually speaking as well as physically, by the way. She doesn’t let shit slide, and I respect that.

  I’d be a dick if I didn’t. No pun intended.

  “Okay, maybe it was what you think.”

  Green’s eyes flash before me for a second. The way they looked at me just before that second kiss.

  Fiery.

  “But she’s got a boyfriend.” For lack of a better word right now.

  “I thought you were─”

  “Wrong.”

  “Sorry, dude.” Nick punches me in the arm, and I raise my other hand because fucking ow. Why is everyone beating me the fuck up lately?

  Upstairs, he closes the door behind him and gets quiet.

  “Look, Jackie.”

  I turn and give him what Ma would call the stink eye. One of these days I’ll deck his ass when he calls me that.

  He gives me a half smile, half you-sunk-my-battleship, kinda look. “First of all, I’m sorry about last night. I shouldn’t have pushed you to go over there, and─”

  I stop him before this can get any mushier than it needs to be. I know what it’s like to push people into doing shit then regretting it like hell later on.

  “Don’t worry about it. Already forgotten.”

  “I doubt that. But thanks.”

  “Wanna drink?” God knows I need one.

  I head for the kitchen.

  “It’s six-thirty, Jackson.”

  “But it’s─”

  “Five o’clock somewhere.” He finishes the saying before I can, and we laugh for a second at the old days. It’s not long before he’s serious again, though.

  “You trying to give Dad a run for his money?” He nods toward the bottle. I stop pouring the shot of tequila when he says it.

  I take a breath. Then I do the shot.

  “Just trying to keep on keeping on, Nick. I’m nothing like him.” I point at him. “So don’t ever fucking say that shit to me again.”

  “When are you gonna do it?” His eyes search mine for something that’s not there anymore.

  “What?” I’m being a dick here. I know what he means.

  “Move on.”

  It stings to think about it.

  For a split second, my heart wants to rip right through my chest.

  So no. I’m not doing this.

  “There another reason you stopped by, bro? Or did you just feel like waking my ass up early for the fun of it.”

  His phone goes off, and Nick’s face turns into a scowl when he reads whatever message he just got. I see what Green’s always talking about with me—between his brows—the crease. Like he’s stressed.

  Maybe he is here for something else.

  “Nick?”

  His expression changes, and he’s snapped out of whatever thoughts he was letting take over.

  “Right. On the way in, I heard about Lilah.”

  Shit. Of course he’d hear. It totally makes sense why he stopped by now. My demeanor changes from irritated to solemn.

  “Yeah. It’s fucked.” That calls for another drink. So I pour one.

  Here’s to you, kid.

  I drink it.

  “Yeah, it is. They have any idea who did it?”

  “You’d know the answer to that before I did.”

  “Do, uh, you have any idea who did it?”

  I look him in the eye so he can get that crazy ass idea out of his head.

  “No, Nick. I don’t. I saw her outside Lana’s office, and we didn’t talk. Next thing I know, she’s face down in my parking lot.”

  “It’s only a matter of time before they figure out she’s connected to you, ya know.”

  “Yeah, and I’ll be sure to have all of my fucking ducks in a row when they do.”

  He breathes easier and nods. “Okay, cool. I just wanted to─”

  “Make sure I’m not as big a fuck up as they say, I know.”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  I pour another drink and silently toast to him.

  “You didn’t have to.”

  A grimace spreads across his lips.

  Hell, I know he feels bad, but it’ll be forgotten in about five minutes. Or as soon as he walks out the door. Whichever comes first.

  “Ya know what? Sorry I bugged ya, man.” He claps his hands together. “And next time, I promise, no means no.” He goes to punch me in the arm again. I swat his hand away this time before opening the door for him.

  “Keep in touch, bro.” He gives me a weak smile as he leaves, and I promise to follow orders, knowing I won’t.

  I watch him as he makes his way back down the stairs and to his cruiser. Before he leaves, though, he clears the tape away from the murder scene and stuffs it into the back of his car.

  Mother hen, indeed.

  In the bedroom, I lay the fuck down and close my eyes. Despite how desperately I try to avoid it, I think of Mikey and one of the many times I gave him advice that probably set him on a course for death.

  As unconsciousness engulfs me, I hear his voice, and I feel the pang from the feeling of steering him wrong once again.

  “Do you think Dad’s gonna be happy I’m joining the force?”

  He was tryin
g on my old academy gear the night he found out he was accepted. He couldn’t wait to tell our parents when they got home. The kid was always trying his best to make Dad proud of him. This was his shot.

  “Are you happy?” I don’t know why I even asked. I already knew the answer.

  My little bro shrugged and checked himself in the mirror.

  “I can always draw as a hobby.”

  It bothered me the way he chose to put his dreams on the backburner for dear old dad.

  See, Nick joined Redemption’s police force because it’s in his blood. It always has been. I joined because I followed Nick every fucking where he went. It wasn’t really about what I thought he or Dad wanted me to do. It was about how much time I could spend pestering the shit out of my big brother, and bonus, I’d get to beat the shit out of bad guys.

  With Mike, though, it was always about Dad, which meant hiding his art projects when our father checked in on him at night. Worst of all, it meant declining an invitation to participate in the county-wide art contest and giving up art school for the academy.

  I should have told the kid then and there to fuck what Dad thinks. Make your own life. If he can’t accept it, that’s his problem.

  Instead. I went the easy route. I didn’t want to make my brother feel any worse than I knew he already did.

  “I think he’s gonna be really happy, Mike.”

  I swing an arm over my face to try and block out the sound of his voice that day. The look in his eyes. Both telling me no. Screaming at me, subconsciously or not, to support him instead of the ideas our father had for us to live as legacies to his name.

  The quiet in this apartment isn’t fucking helping much, though.

  Where’s a train wreck when you need one?

  X X X

  I’m not sure how long I was out. It’s not until Frodo jumps on my gut, and I throw him off the bed in a knee jerk reaction to getting my bladder assaulted that I even realize I fell asleep.

  That shit hurts.

  Unfortunately for me, bladder control isn’t enough to make me forget the dream I just had. So I play a mind game with myself to push away the pain of being a failure of a brother for the time being. I get my ass outta the bed and take a piss because now I fucking have to. After that, I go through the motions of a day in the life of Jackson Stiles.

  It’s much later now. The sun isn’t blinding me so it must be on the other side of the building, making it after noon sometime. Not that I give a shit about time. Just an observation.