Maybe Never (Maybe #2) (14 page)

“I loved him almost as much as I love you.”
 

“You don’t love me. If you did, you would listen to me. You would realize that I’m not related to a monster.” I take a deep breath, hating the next words I have to say. “We can’t be together, can we?”
 

Killian looks at me with sad dark eyes, but he answers automatically because he has already come to the same conclusion, “No, we can’t.”
 

I hate that he doesn’t fight it. I hate that he doesn’t say that we will find some way to make this work. Some way to get around the fact that I’m loyal to my family and he’s loyal to the FBI. He doesn’t try to fight it. He thinks it’s hopeless, just like me. I can’t love him while I hate him. And he can’t change his loyalty for me.
 

“I should go.”
 

He nods, looking like a sad, hurt puppy. He walks me to the door and holds it open for me.
 

“Good-bye,” falls from my lips. Then, I turn to leave him.
 

He grabs my arm, stopping me. “It doesn’t change how I feel. I still love you. Just thought you should know that. I never faked my feelings for you.”

“I still love you, too, but that love is quickly turning into hate.”
 

“Stay,” he says in almost a whisper.
 

Even though he knows I can’t, it still feels good that he is fighting for us even if this is the only time he ever does it. I can’t stay though, and I can’t bear to say good-bye to him again. So, I don’t say it, but my body tells him as I walk out the door.

The flight to Kansas City is short and easy. Since being undercover while working for the Felton Corporation, I have flown hundreds of times on worse flights than this. Longer or bumpier, dealing with rude people, or being delayed because of weather or some other obstacle.
 

The flight wasn’t what I was dreading. The next part is.
 

I walk through the small airport. Everyone around me is moving quickly to get to their destination. Everyone is in a hurry, except for me. I slowly walk through the terminal, taking in every bit of color and happiness that surrounds me. I know, as soon as I get to where I’m going, there will be nothing left, no joy to be found anywhere, so I’d better get my fill now. Not that I can find much joy after Kinsley left me. She left me, and I know she isn’t coming back. The only way I could win her back was if I left the FBI and didn’t testify against her grandfather, but that isn’t even a real option.
 

I walk outside the terminal and immediately feel the warm, humid air that is so different from the dry Las Vegas heat I’ve grown accustomed to. I walk to the curb where a bus is waiting to take me to my rental car. I climb in and take a seat on the empty bus.
 

I try to find some joy in the ride over to the car, but there is none to be found on the creaky, bumpy ride that ended up being crammed full by the time we left. I climb off the bus last and then wait in the long line to get my rental car.
 

“Name?” the woman asks when I get up to the counter.
 

“Killian Browne,” I say on autopilot.
 

She looks at her computer screen. “Sorry, sir, but there isn’t a reservation in our system for a Killian Browne, and we are booked solid today.”
 

I shake my head at my mistake. “I’m sorry. It’s under Liam Byrne.”
 

She raises an eyebrow at me. I guess it’s not believable that I would forget my own name.
 

“Can I see some ID, sir?”
 

I nod and pull out my wallet. On top is my ID with the name
Killian Browne
on it. I leave it in place and find my real ID that says Liam Killian Byrne. I hand it to her. She looks at it and then types something into her computer. Then, she hands me back my ID with the car keys and a paper.
 

“Sign here. The car is parked in slot fifty-six.”
 

I sign and then I walk to slot fifty-six. There’s a Ford Ranger parked in the slot. I specifically asked for anything but a truck. I’m tempted to go back and ask for another car, but I’m tired, and I still have a two-hour drive ahead of me before I can sleep. Plus, I don’t think that woman trusted me enough or liked me enough to swap this truck for another vehicle.
 

I climb in the truck after throwing my suitcase into the bed. I put the key into the ignition and turn it on. I take my wallet out of my pocket to put my ID back in it. I see my old ID again, the one that says
Killian Browne
. I take it out and put the one that says
Liam Killian Byrne
in its place.
 

I climb back out of the truck and walk over to a trash can a couple of feet away. I stare one more time at my face that’s next to the words
Killian Browne
. That name feels more like me than any name I’ve ever been called. But it was all a lie. It’s not who I am. I have to let that person go. I drop the ID into the trash and then walk back to the truck, ready to drive the two hours home.
 

And I hope I can find myself again along the way.
 

***

It’s dark by the time I see the Marysville water tower come into view. I drive past it, trying to decide what to do. I could stop at my family’s house, but I never called to let them know that I was coming home, and I’m not ready to deal with them yet. Just coming back to this godforsaken town after five years is hard enough. I can’t face my parents and the town all in one night. That leaves me only one other choice. To stay at the only hotel in town.
 

I take a deep breath as I drive down the main street toward the hotel. I see only one other car pass me as I drive through town. It is mostly deserted, despite it only being a little past eight. That’s how small the town is.
 

I turn right and pull the truck into the parking lot of the hotel. I feel every crack and bump in the parking lot that needs to be repaved. I park the truck between two other trucks and then turn off the ignition.
 

I sit in the car for a while, letting it sink in that I’m really here in this town I swore I would never return to, yet here I am. I take another deep breath before glancing into the lobby of the hotel, hoping that whoever is working tonight is someone who doesn’t know who I am. Except everybody in this town knows who I am. Especially anybody working in the hotel. They would know the son of the owner who runs the only hotel in town.
 

I can’t see who is behind the desk most likely because there is a small room behind the desk with a bed and TV so that whoever is on night duty doesn’t have to stay awake all night. We don’t get enough business for it to matter.
 

I climb out of the truck and grab my bag from the back. I walk toward the hotel that is the only reason I got the assignment to go undercover in Las Vegas in the first place. Because I had hotel management experience.
 

I chuckle to myself. It might be true, but this isn’t a hotel—at least, it is nothing like the hotels in Vegas. My experience helping to manage this hotel did nothing to help me with my undercover placement. It’s a wonder I did as well as I did. I expected someone in the Felton Corporation to fire me during the first week. I never expected to last five years there and to uncover what I found in the process.
 

I place my hand on the door and pull it open. The door creaks. I shake my head; nothing has changed here. I walk to the counter that has no one behind it and hit the little bell on the table. I holler, “Hey!” into the back room for whoever is working tonight.
 

A young boy walks groggily from the room. He’s probably seventeen, maybe eighteen, if I had to guess. Most likely, this is his summer job before he heads back to school in the fall.
 

He doesn’t look up at me as he asks, “Can I help you?”
 

“I need a room.”
 

“King or two queens?” he asks while looking at the computer that still has the thick monitor attached to it instead of the more modern flat screen.
 

“King.”
 

He clicks a button. “Name?”
 

I hesitate before answering so that I don’t make the same mistake again, “Killian Byrne.”
 

The boy looks up at me when I say my name. His eyes widen when he realizes it’s really me, and I realize who he is.
 

Chris Asher. Younger brother to Scott and Jeffrey. Scott was in the same grade as me in school.
 

“Chris.” I nod my head, acknowledging that I know who he is. “How are Scott and Jeffrey doing?”
 

“Scott’s doing well. He’s married now, and he lives in Kansas City. He comes home once a month or so. And Jeffrey enrolled in the Marines.”
 

I nod. “Good to hear.”
 

“What are you doing here?”
 

“Just need a room.”
 

“Your folks are in town. Why aren’t you staying with them?”
 

I frown at him, and I’m tired of dealing with his nosy questions. I walk around the desk and grab a key. I put the key card into the slot on the machine and enter the code that coordinates with the room he has pulled up on the computer. I wait until it beeps, indicating the card is ready. I take it out and look at a frozen Chris.
 

“I’ll be in room two-oh-three.” I grab my bag and make my way down the short hallway to find the staircase.
 

“Don’t you need to pay?” Chris hollers at me.
 

“No!” I shout back before I take the stairs two at a time, up to the second floor. I take a left and then slip the key into the door. It stays red. I close my eyes in frustration. I try again, and the light stays red. “Fucking piece of shit. Work.”
 

I try again, but the light remains red. I kick the door and am surprised when I see a man poke his head out of a room down the hallway.
 

“Sorry,” I murmur.
 

I head back downstairs to try to fix the key again. This has happened every fucking time I’ve stayed here. It happens to so many guests that several of them will leave the door propped open when they leave. I guess it’s the small-town trust.
 

I make it back to the first floor when I hear him. My father is speaking to Chris. I wait in the hallway just around the corner so that neither of them can see me.

“Killian’s here?” my father asks.
 

“Yes,” Chris answers. “Do you want me to call his room for you? Or I could go get him?”
 

“No,” my father answers immediately. “I don’t care to see him. I am just stopping by to pick up the package that was dropped off earlier.”
 

I hear Chris hand my father the package, and then shortly after, I hear the creak of the door as it opens and closes. I wait a few minutes longer before I go back behind the counter and try the key again.
 

I have to repeat the process two more times before I can get the damn key to work.
 

When I finally make my way inside the hotel room, I crash onto the bed. “I hate this godforsaken town.”
 

***

I wake up early the next morning, despite my routine for the last five years, requiring me to go to bed late and wake up late. I would much rather sleep in instead of going to see my family, especially after what my father said last night, not that I hadn’t expected it. But I find it hard to sleep after having Kinsley in my arms just last night.
Was it really just last night when she was lying in my arms? It feels like a lifetime ago.
 

I might as well get it over with though. There is no point in putting off seeing my family any longer. I get out of bed, shower, and get dressed quickly. I put on jeans and a T-shirt. There is no use in wearing a suit, not in this town anyway.
 

I grab my bag and take the stairs down two at a time. I walk by the front desk that is still empty. I hear Chris snoring in the room behind the desk.
 

I shake my head at the incompetence of this hotel. I never realized how bad it truly was until after I worked at the Felton Corporation. After spending an hour there, I knew how inefficient my family ran this hotel.
 

I walk outside and throw my suitcase into the back of the truck again. I climb in, start it up, and then pull back out onto the main street. I drive for half a mile and then take a left down a road so familiar that I could drive down it in my sleep. I name every family who still lives in each home as I make my way down the street. The Martins, followed by the Camdens, and lastly, the Stevensons, who still have a bent mailbox from when I backed into it the first time I backed out of our driveway a little too fast.
 

I pull into my family’s driveway that is nothing more than gravel, and then I turn off the engine. I stare up at the house that I grew up in and that will forever haunt my memories. The blue paint on the siding is coming off in long flakes. The house long ago needed a new paint job. Weeds are growing in the flowerbed at the side of the house, so much so that I would say it’s a weed-bed instead of a flowerbed. I look to the door where the same old sign has hung for fifty years.
Byrne Family
, it reads.
 

I climb out of the truck and leave my suitcase in the bed. I’m not sure if I’ll be welcomed to stay, and I’m not sure I want to stay. I walk up the cracked sidewalk. I knock once on the door, and then I wait. I wait a long time before the door opens, and my father stands, looking at me, with the same frown and grimace that always marks his face.
 

“Can I come in?” I ask.
 

He doesn’t answer. He just turns from the door and walks back inside. I push the door open and walk inside. I walk through the hallway to where my father is now sitting in the living room. Nothing has changed in any of the rooms. Not a picture on the wall or rug on the floor or furniture in the house. Nothing has changed. It still feels like death and pain in this house. Even before it happened, it wasn’t a happy place to grow up in—at least, not for me.