Maybe Never (Maybe #2) (6 page)

I nod, unable to speak about the fact that I know Kinsley won’t take the plea deal as much as I want her to. She won’t betray her family. She won’t leave and take the easy route as much as I want her to. And her grandfather is a stubborn man. He won’t go to jail either without a fight.

“Is that all, sir?”
 

“Yes, and don’t forget to set up a meeting with the prosecutor tomorrow to begin preparing for trial, just in case.”
 

“I will, sir.”
 

I walk back out of his office and head down to the main floor, the whole time thinking of Kinsley instead of what I’m going to do next. All this time, I’ve been living in a hotel room at the Felton Grand. I’ll have to find an apartment now because I can’t see her again.

“Stop it,” Agent Hayes says to me.
 

I glance up at him, not understanding.
 

“Stop thinking about her. You can’t have her. It would ruin your career and the case. You have to stay away from her.”
 

“I don’t know what you are talking about.”
 

“Sure you do. I saw you with her outside the jail. I read your reports that were biased toward her. Stay away from her, or you’ll end up in a jail cell yourself.”
 

I glare at him but don’t argue. He’s right. I can’t have it both ways. I’m either loyal to the FBI or her.

“I have a report to write.”

“Good. See that you write it without telling the whole FBI that you love her. Here’s your ID and FBI badge.”
 

I roll my eyes at him and take them from him. Choosing the FBI means that I’ll be returning to a life I haven’t known in five years. While I was undercover, I got to pretend I was someone else and could put the past behind me. Now, I have to face my life head-on. A life I never wanted to return to that is filled with more pain than I can bear. A life that is no longer who I am.

Scarlett pulls into the driveway of the house I grew up in. I’ve been living in a hotel room at the Felton Grand, but I can’t go back there. It would remind me too much of Killian, and I can’t handle that.
 

I get out of the car without talking to Scarlett. I haven’t talked to her since I got in the Mercedes, despite her incessant trying. I just couldn’t.
 

I throw the front door open without testing the lock first. It’s almost always unlocked. I run up the stairs two at a time and run down the hallway to my bedroom. I run to my bed and collapse on it just as the tears begin burning in my eyes.
 

I hear Scarlett come in, but I still don’t say anything to her. I’m not sure what she is going to do, but then I feel her wrap her arms around me as she lies next to me on the bed. She doesn’t say anything further, and she doesn’t try to question what happened or why I’m crying.
 

I let everything out. I let the fear out that I felt while I was sitting in the holding cell. I let the worry out that my grandfather and father could have done something illegal. I let the pain out Killian caused me. I let it all go.
 

And, when it’s all out almost an hour later, I finally speak, “I still love him.”
 

“I know,” Scarlett says.
 

“I can’t go to jail.”
 

“You won’t. You did nothing wrong.”
 

“Granddad can’t go to jail either.”
 

Scarlett doesn’t respond. Instead, the room is eerily silent.
 

“Scar?” I say, sitting up.
 

She stares down at my comforter.
 

“Granddad can’t go to jail. They can’t ruin my father’s memory.”
 

Scarlett hesitantly looks up at me. “But what if he did something? What if he did lie and cheat and smuggle money or whatever they are charging him with? What if he deserves to go to jail? What if your father helped him?”
 

I stand from the bed. “He didn’t do anything. Neither of them did!”
 

Scarlett gets up. “But what if they did? The FBI wouldn’t have arrested your grandfather if he didn’t do something wrong.”
 

“They arrested
me
, and I didn’t do anything wrong.”
 

Scarlett doesn’t say anything, but she looks guilty, like what she wants to say next is going to hurt. She opens her mouth to say the words anyway, “But you did do something wrong, Kins, or they wouldn’t have arrested you. Even if you didn’t mean to. Even if you were just doing whatever your father or grandfather had asked of you, you did something. You were just too naive to know what you were doing.”
 

“Get out!”
 

Scarlett looks at me in shock.
 

I walk over to my bedroom door and open it, indicating for her to get out. I’m not going to listen to her blame my father or Granddad or me on what’s happened.
 

“Get out,” I say firmly.
 

She sighs and picks her purse up off the floor where she must have dropped it before climbing onto my bed. “Call me when you realize I’m right.”
 

I don’t say anything even though I think of several comebacks that I would like to say to her. We’ve been friends too long, and I know, deep down, she is just saying what she believes to be true. I just can’t believe them to be true.
 

I walk back to my bed, planning on sleeping the rest of the night away, when my phone buzzes in my pocket. I look at the number and realize it’s my lawyer. I moan but answer anyway, despite not wanting to talk to him tonight.
 

I hit the Answer button. “Hello?” I say.

“Ms. Felton. This is Mr. Greene. We need to set up a meeting in my office to go over your options.”
 

“When?”

“This week would be best. They are going to move quickly with this case since it is a high-profile one that they have been working on for five years, and they think they have an airtight case against you and your grandfather. So, the sooner we can discuss your options, the better.”

“I can meet tomorrow.”
 

“Good. Do you have any questions for me now?”
 

“A million.”
 

He chuckles. “Any that can’t wait until tomorrow?”
 

“All of them.”
 

He chuckles again. “I’m not meeting with any other clients tomorrow. You’re the only one on my list, so we will have all day to answer all your questions. Don’t worry though, Ms. Felton. I’m the best in the country. You won’t spend another second in jail.”
 

“Thank you. I’ll be there first thing in the morning.” I end the call, and then I look back to my bed. I climb in, but it doesn’t have the same appeal that it had earlier.
 

I try to sleep—God knows I need it—but it never comes. It seems I will never get a good night’s sleep again.
 

After trying for three hours to fall asleep, I get out of bed and make my way downstairs. I find my grandfather’s bedroom and push the door open.
 

The smell of his cigars immediately overwhelms me as I step inside. The furniture in the room is all dark oak. The comforter is shades of red. On each wall are all of my grandfather’s accomplishments. A picture of every casino and hotel. I glance to his nightstand where there is a picture of his family. I must be no more than five in the picture. It was the last picture my grandmother was in. Lying next to it is a business book and his reading glasses.
 

I pick up the book. It’s a book on leadership. I take the book onto the couch in the living room and open it to the first page to begin reading.

Scarlett’s wrong. Killian’s wrong. The FBI’s wrong. Granddad is a good man who loved the company. He would never have done anything to endanger it.
 

I wake up to the first ray of sunlight streaming into the living room. I must have fallen asleep at some point. I pick up the business book off my lap. I read almost halfway through it before I fell asleep.
 

My next thought is of Killian. I want to call him and see him, but I can’t. Killian is gone, replaced by Liam.

My stomach growls as I push those thoughts out of my head. I haven’t eaten since I got out of jail.
 

I glance at my phone to see the time. It’s just after six. I have time to eat something and shower before I need to leave to be at the lawyer’s office by eight.
 

I head downstairs to the kitchen.
 

“Morning, Ms. Felton,” a new staff member I don’t recognize says.
 

My family is always going through new cooks and maids. This woman looks young, closer to my age than any of the other cooks or maids we usually hire. Her brown hair is pulled back in a ponytail, and she looks casual in her jeans and white blouse. She looks likes she could be living here instead of simply working here.
 

“Morning,” I say groggily.
 

“I’m Paige. Can I make you something for breakfast? Coffee? Eggs? Pancakes? Anything?”
 

“Pancakes and coffee would be great. Thanks, Paige.”
 

The woman smiles at me as I take a seat at the bar. She doesn’t try to talk to me as she makes my breakfast and coffee. I appreciate it, but it gives me more time to think about Liam, which I shouldn’t do.
 

I sip on my coffee and take out my phone while I wait for my pancakes. I type in his name—
Liam Killian Byrne
. Nothing comes up though. Not a Facebook page. Or Twitter. Not a mention of a school he attended. Just nothing.
 

I sigh in frustration and put my phone back in my pocket.
 

“Here you go,” Paige says as she places a pile of pancakes in front of me.
 

“Thank you.”
 

I quickly eat my pancakes, too lost in my own thoughts to even enjoy the food that is going into my mouth.
 

“Has my mother been down for breakfast? How has my mother been doing?” I watch her freeze holding a dish she was cleaning in her hand.
 

“No.” She looks at me like she wants to tell me more, but is afraid to.
 

“What is it? You can tell me.”
 

“The maids went through the whole house, making sure there was no alcohol like Scarlett asked, but somehow, she found some. I’m sorry.
 

I shake my head. “It’s not your fault. Thanks.”
 

I finish my pancakes and go shower quickly.
 

When I come back downstairs, I go to find my mother. I find her passed out in her bedroom with a bottle of alcohol in her hand. I’ve had enough.
 

I try to wake her, but she doesn’t wake. She still has a pulse and is breathing fine. She’s just too drunk to be able to wake up. I’ll have to find some of the staff members to help me carry her to my car because she can’t stay here.
 

***

“What are you doing?” my mother asks when we are halfway to the rehab center.
 

“Getting you help.”
 

“I’m not the one who needs help,” she spits at me, referencing my current predicament with the law.
 

It is only a matter of time before she brings up the last time again.
 

At hearing my mother’s words, I purse my lips but don’t allow my anger to overtake me. I won’t allow her to get to me like last time. But the memories of last time, the memories of five years ago, still ring in my ear.
 

The drive home from jail is long and silent. My father sits in the driver’s seat, next to my grandfather. Neither of them has said a word to me since they picked me up, but from their expressions, I know that they are disappointed in me, worse than disappointed in me. As soon as I walk through the door to our house, I will be lectured. I try to prepare myself for it as I sit in the backseat of the car, but I know I will deserve it or worse, and there is no way to prepare for it.
 

We pull up to our house. My father parks his Audi in the driveway, but none of us move to get out. None of us want to deal with what we all know must happen once we get inside.
 

We have to deal with the reality that I might go to prison. That the Felton Corporation is now under investigation for selling drugs since the man who gave Tristan the drugs was an employee. Since I was found with the drugs, that makes two people linked to the Felton Corporation.
 

The family of the boy I almost hit is suing. Once they found out how much money our family had, they decided to sue for emotional damages I caused the boy and mother.
 

Tristan’s family is pressing charges against me for stealing and damaging his car.
 

There has been a wave of cancellations of events and bookings in our casinos and hotels after our family was portrayed as druggies and our hotels as drug rings. We are at risk of losing everything my family has worked for because of me.
 

Granddad is the one who finally decides it’s time. He opens the door and climbs out. So, my father and I do the same. Still, no one says a word as we walk into the house.
 

That silence ends though as soon as my mother sees me.
 

“You fucking little shit,” my mother says, striking me hard on the cheek while holding a bottle in her other hand.
 

It burns where she hit me, but the embarrassment and pain of being hit by my mother at sixteen hurts worse than the physical pain. My father moves to stop my mother from doing it again, but out of the corner of my eye, I watch Granddad stop him. My mother slaps me again, but this time, I expected it, which somehow lessens the pain.