Jackson Stiles, Road to Redemption

by Jo Richardson

  “Nobody did.” I’m still trying to comprehend that shit.

  “How did you even know where we were, anyway?” she asks and I think about Thomas for a second or two and how maybe there really is a conscious underneath that drug-dealing, potential psychopathic facade of his.

  Nah.

  “A friend tipped me off.”

  Green nods and turns quiet. “Tell me you believe me.” She tugs at my hand, which is still firmly gripping onto hers. “I really didn’t know anything about any of this until we were at that bar.”

  I search her eyes for answers while she continues.

  “There wasn’t enough time to explain, and I knew you’d try to talk me out of it. But we needed this. We needed to get him, Stiles. Tonight was it.”

  She doesn’t twitch, or tuck, or lose eye contact one time.

  She’s being truthful.

  She wasn’t screwing me over.

  She’s not planning on it either, despite whatever plans Walker might’ve had.

  Not that it should surprise me, but I let out a sigh of relief anyway.

  “Listen.” I don’t do apologies. It leaves too much out there for people to hang over your head for too long. “I am sorry about that whole having my dick in the evil temptress comment back there. I didn’t mean─”

  “Yes you did.” At first she’s bitch-faced, but then I see it.

  A grin.

  A smug, pompous, sexy grin.

  “A ‘thank you’ and an ‘I’m sorry’ in one night. I don’t know what to say, Stiles.”

  Me either. So I pull her into my arms and wrap them securely around her frame instead. I’m fucking tired, and I use her shoulder as a pillow of sorts, burying my face into her hair, like it’s the last time this’ll happen, even though, if I have anything to say about it, that’s far from the fucking truth.

  Her arms slide around me too, and when she leans in closer, I know for now, she doesn’t harbor too many hard feelings about the shit I said outside by the fence.

  The two of us, here, like this, in this fucked-up barn, in the middle of this fucked-up situation, takes some of the confusion and pain away.

  I find myself breathing a little easier than normal.

  Part of me hates to admit this, another part is relieved, though—having the knowledge that there’s someone out there to count on.

  Her name being Emma Green.

  I keep my eyes closed for a few seconds. When the moment’s over and there’s some space in between us again, I breathe out everything I’ve been holding in. When our foreheads rest against each other, everything feels right. As miniscule as it may seem, I feel relief because the shitstorm is over.

  At least the worst part of it is.

  A small win, in my book. I’ll take what I can get.

  Green slowly pulls away. I half smile at her, glad to have gone down this road with her. Relieved we’re both still alive, and hopeful that it’s just the beginning of letting a few things heal inside.

  Her eyes narrow at me. “You totally thought I was gonna shoot you.”

  I admit, the accusation is surprising yet not completely unexpected. I wave that shit off anyway.

  I stand up straight and start off toward the other side of the barn where Nick’s getting wrapped up in bandages.

  “No, I didn’t.”

  She follows me.

  “Yeah, ya did.”

  We’re next to the ambulance when I insist, “Green, I knew you had my back the whole time.”

  “Bullshit.” My brother, the interferer, jests from within the confines of his hospital on wheels. He’s just about ready to get the green light from the medics, and I’m relieved, but he still annoys the shit out of me.

  “You stay out of it.” I point over at him.

  “You have trust issues.” Green has decided she is my psychotherapist. As if I need another one of those.

  “I do not have…”

  You know what? I give up. “Okay, I have a couple of petty issues, but what the fuck was I supposed to think?”

  “You’re supposed to think, It’s Green. I know her. We have this sexy, awesome, true connection. She’s here for me. She always will be.” The bitch face I’m on the receiving end of right now should be enough to tell me to shut the fuck up, but let’s be honest, I’m too goddamn stubborn to take that hint.

  “T.M.I., guys. T.M.I.” Nick chuckles again, and I realize he’s on a wonder-drug of some sort.

  “How about next time you steer clear of the bad guys, and I won’t have to wonder. Deal?”

  She sucker punches me in the arm.

  “Ow.”

  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.”

  “I’ll give ya that.” I say it under my breath. She doesn’t need to know she’s right sometimes.

  As I flip through the albums, I see she’s got every single release the man made, and my opinion of Green just rose even higher than before stumbling upon her den of quirky collectibles.

  I pull one out and blow the dust off it. I set it onto the player and turn the old relic on.

  Once I find the song I wanna hear off of B.J.’s Storm Front album, I carefully place the needle down on the shiny, black vinyl. When he starts to play the sad song I’ve always felt a morbid sort of connection to, I work my way farther into the penthouse apartment Green shared with our friendly neighborhood douche-nozzle.

  At the bedroom, I see Green’s finished with what she’d come back here to do, but now she’s stuck in a memory, off in the corner of the room.

  I know the feeling.

  “Hey.”

  This situation bothers the living hell out of me.

  I’m used to the Emma Green who’s tough and ornery on the outside and always thinking of her next move on the inside. This Green is none of those things. She’s defenseless. Vulnerable.

  It’s the saddest, and the most beautiful, I’ve ever seen her.

  She tries to smile when she looks my way, but I can see she’s struggling with the knowledge that she’s been under the influence of a very bad, very conniving dude over the past couple years.

  Guilt. It’s a fucking bitch.

  “Green.”

  I stride up to her and wrap my arms around her frame. Not gonna lie, I wanna protect her from the dark feelings I know are creeping up inside her. I also know she doesn’t need that protection. Not by a long shot.

  She’s tough. She’ll work through this shit.

  Eventually.

  When she melts into my grasp, I can’t help but doubt my theory.

  “This really smart woman told me something once.” I kiss the top of her head.

  “Yeah?” she mumbles into my chest.

  “She said, it wasn’t your fault.” I repeat the words she told me not too long ago. Green turns her head to hide some more, but I’m not letting her off that easy.

  “Listen.” I pull her away from me and sit her down on the bed. “You got played. Big goddamn deal. That shit happens to everybody.”

  “Not you.”

  “Wanna fucking bet? I haven’t always been this smart, believe it or not.”

  She laughs, kinda, but I’m not joking. Once upon a time, I believed everything my father told me about life. Then I grew the fuck up.

  Her face falls again. Green glances out the window at the trees with non-existent leaves. Bare naked, just like the mood she’s in right about now.

  “Being an idiot about men once might be excusable, but twice? In a row?” She shakes her head.

  Remember the previous life she didn’t want to chime in about back at Target? She just confirmed my suspicions about the ex down in Florida.

  I definitely want to punch something now. But I remind myself this isn’t the time or the place. Doesn’t mean I don’t plan on paying that douchebag a visit someday.

  “Listen to me.” I turn her chin toward me. It’s hard to look at her like this. I want to shake her and tell her to wake the fuck up, but I rein in that instinct and try to handle this like a fucking adult for once.

  “You can’t let yourself get stuck in the mud, Green. I need someone to keep me on my toes. If that’s not you, I’m pretty much screwed here.”

  Her lips purse and she tries not to give in to the smile that wants to crack through her deep blue funk, but she’s failing.

  “I’m pretty sure Anonymous is Connor,” she admits.

  “That idiot?”

  She nods solemnly.

  “I don’t think so, Green.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I basically asked him, and he said no.”

  “He could have just been lying.”

  “Why would he?” Right? He had nothing to lose at that point. The guy thought he was free and clear.

  After a few seconds of mulling it over, she shrugs, unsure, but she doesn’t have the energy to debate it, I guess.

  I’ll convince her later.

  Her eyes tell me a story she’s not ready to say out loud yet, and all I want to fucking do is take that pain away from her. I’ll assume the whole of it, for all I care, as long as she doesn’t lose who she is in the process of dealing with Connor’s inability to treat someone like they’re human beings as opposed to possessions.

  I’m not great at words or coming up with some great life lesson to learn in the midst of fucking bullshit like this.

  I can be good at making Green forget about this shit. Even if it’s only for a little while.

  Sixty-minute man coming up.

  “Grim doesn’t look so good on you, Green.” I brush the hair out of her face and leave my hand against her cheek, as a reminder, that she’s not alone.

  She takes a deep breath in and wants to know, “What does, then?” As her eyes well up, I’m angry again. She can’t possibly think that low of herself.

  Can she?

  I refuse to let the waterworks begin. I can’t take it that some fucking asshole is to blame for them.

  “Come here.”

  I lean in and press my lips against hers, hoping the warmth can penetrate some of those dark corners of her mind.

  I didn’t plan on coming in here and starting something like this with Green, but when I think about it, this bed.

  Connor’s bed.

  It’s the best place in the world right now to make sure she gets over him, once and for all.

  The king-sized mattress deserves to be the host of a proper fucking; don’t you think?

  Green lets herself lean back, and I follow along. She strips me of my jacket, and I return the favor by helping her out of the vintage tee she wore today.

  She kicks her tennis shoes off, and I’m right behind her.

  “I ever tell you how much I fucking love it when your hair is jacked, Green?”

  She rolls her eyes. “Always the romantic.”

  “It’s a gift, really.” I pull her jeans off along with the lingerie she’s sporting today. On the w
ay back up to meet her lips, I leave a trail of hot kisses, and maybe a few nibbles here and there. I kiss her calves and her inner thighs. I take my time around a certain sensitive area I like to refer to as the River of Dreams and relish in the sounds she makes because, clearly, it hasn’t been visited by the right kind of guy, with the right kind of skills, in a while.

  Her stomach flinches when I arrive there, and I remember the ticklish spots.

  “Oh, my God, Stiles. Quit it.”

  I don’t, and she coils away from me some more.

  Which is unacceptable.

  “Pleee-he-heeze.” Although I like the way it sounds to have her beg, I continue on.

  “Jackson!” She screams my name out in a squeaky voice, but all it does it egg me on.

  I fucking love it when she says my name like that.

  I grin against her skin, and she tugs at my hair, drawing me back to see her.

  “Just kiss me already.”

  “I thought I was.” I raise an eyebrow, and she pulls me down into a long, deep, satisfying meeting of the mouths. She tastes like strawberry today. It’s almost as good as the cherry.

  Almost.

  Green arches into me, giving a sign that she’s not willing to wait any more. So I get my damn jeans off and let my skin enjoy the heat between the two of us for a minute or two.

  I kiss her neck and then the dip between her breasts.

  Her hands roam my back, lower and lower until she cups my ass and pulls me into her hard.

  “All you have to do is ask.” It’s a low growl as I say it.

  In other words, it’s not a joke this time. It’s a fucking promise.

  She pulls again, and this time, I slide into her. But it’s not hot and heavy or drastic and animalistic. It’s slow and gentle. With meaning and purpose. To make sure she fucking understands what it’s like to be with someone who has absolutely no intentions of hurting her physically or otherwise.

  Ever.

  We don’t close our eyes, Green and me. We watch each other’s responses to every move the other makes. We respond with light scraping, kisses, fingernails, and lip biting.