Maybe Never (Maybe #2) (7 page)

My mother raises her hand a third time.
 

“Enough,” Granddad says.
 

My mother stops midair, and instead, she lifts the bottle of amber liquor to her lips, swallowing large gulps. “You stupid fucking child! You’ve fucking ruined everything!”
 

My mother storms over to my father, and as she walks by me, I smell the alcohol seeping out of her pores. She’s had more than she should have, more than anyone should have.
 

“This is your fault,” she says. Her face is red. “We should never have had her. I told you! I told you she would destroy the family!”
 

At my mother’s cruel words, I feel tears falling, but she’s right.
 

“Kinsley hasn’t destroyed the family. She has merely provided a setback, but we will get through this, just like every other crisis our family has faced,” my father says.
 

“Don’t bullshit her! She has destroyed the family. We will recover—we always do—but Kinsley has effectively destroyed the image of the family and company. And, no matter what we do, the shame of public opinion will never go away. The question now is, what do we do with her? I say, throw her out on the streets. Disown her. Let her go to prison to pay for her crimes,” my mother says.
 

“No, that won’t do. It would make the family look worse. Boarding school perhaps?” Granddad says.
 

“Rehab?” my father suggests.
 

I feel more tears burn as my father suggests rehab. I never told him that the drugs weren’t mine. I never turned in Tristan. I just…couldn’t. Not when I was so stupid to do what I did. Not when I almost killed someone for my stupid mistake.
 

“I’ll do whatever you say. Whatever you want,” I say.
 

The room falls silent.
 

“What do you mean?” Granddad asks.
 

“I made a mistake, a horrible mistake that I will never forgive myself for. I make horrible decisions. I chose a horrible person to date.. I won’t do it again.”
 

Granddad smiles at me. “Excellent. Then, it’s settled. You will speak to me or your father from now on before making any decisions, no matter how trivial. Do you understand?”
 

“Yes.”
 

“And when the time comes your father and I will choose the man you marry.”
 

I nod.
 

“Good. Now, go to your room, and don’t come out until dinner.”
 

I nod and head off to my room, feeling better, knowing that I will never make this horrible of a mistake again. I will never hurt my family or anyone else ever again. I will never choose whom I will date or fall in love with again.
 

My mother didn’t drink again after that day. Father and Granddad got her help and convinced her that, if she continued to drink, it would just further ruin the reputation of the family. She didn’t drink again until my father’s death.
 

Now, I have to put a stop to it. Not because she will destroy the family. Her drinking is the least of the family’s worries at the moment, but because, deep down, I still love her. I don’t want her to drink away her life any further.
 

I remember my promise. That I would never date or choose who I fell in love with again. I’d let my family do that. My family chose Killian though, and he turned out wrong, but I chose him, too. We both chose wrong. Maybe it’s best not to choose anyone if they all end up like this—with a broken heart and family.
 

I park the car in front of the rehab center, the same one she went to the last time.
 

“Go inside,” I say calmly to my mother.
 

She laughs. “I’m not going inside. I’m not the one in trouble. I’m not the one who has done something stupid again and given up my freedom.”
 

“No, you’re right. I’m the bad apple in the family. But I’m not the only bad apple. It seems I come from a family of bad apples.”

My mother moves to grab me, but I’m already prepared. I grab her arms, and in her drunken stupor, she is too weak to hurt me.
 

“Go inside, Mother. Get clean. You won’t get any money if we are all in jail unless you get clean.”
 

That makes her pause for just a second. I shake my head. She didn’t love my father like she told me. She loved his money.
 

“Go,” I say again.
 

This time, she gets out of the car. I get out, too, as much as I don’t want to, and I help her walk inside. I help her check herself in. And then I leave her to be taken care of by the rehab center. If only fixing the rest of my family’s problems were so simple.

I unpack the last of my boxes in my new apartment. I started at six a.m. and didn’t have many boxes since I’d been living out of a hotel room for five years, so it’s just six thirty in the morning when I finish. The apartment is small compared to the luxurious hotel room I was staying in, but it will do for now.
 

I won’t have the apartment for long anyway. Once the trials are over, I’ll be on break for a few weeks where I can go home or go on vacation. And then I’ll get a new assignment, which could be anywhere in the country.
 

So, this apartment will do. It’s modern and fully furnished, and it does month-to-month leases. That’s all that matters.
 

I grab a bottle of water from the fridge and chug it. I have time to work out before my meeting with the prosecutor this morning. I think about heading to the exercise room at the main building in the apartment complex, but I don’t think working out indoors will do enough to distract me.
 

So, instead, I grab my headphones and connect them to my phone. I turn on Spotify and pick the first playlist, which is Today’s Hits. Then, I crank the music as loud as I can. I don’t bother warming up. I just begin running full speed as soon as I make it out of my apartment building. I don’t know the area well enough to know where I should run, so I just run through a neighborhood while focusing on my breathing and the music.
 

I breathe in and out to the beats of Adele, followed by The Weeknd and then Beyoncé. My speed matches the song that is playing, which means I run faster or slower, depending on the beat and not how my body feels. I listen to the lyrics, really concentrating on each word to keep every other thought out of my mind.
 

It works until Justin Bieber comes on, singing about how sorry he is to some girl, and I lose the rhythm of my breathing and running. I quickly lose my breath until I can’t breathe or run. All I can do is listen to the lyrics of the song and think about how much Kinsley loves Justin Bieber. I might not be a fan of his music, but I will never be able to hear his songs again without thinking about her.
 

I walk back to my apartment, replaying the song over and over again in my head and picturing how I could say sorry to her.
How can I make it up to her?
 

I can’t though, and even if I could, I could never say sorry enough to make it up to her. Because
sorry
isn’t enough after you’ve destroyed someone’s family.
 

When I make it back to my apartment, I shower and change into a suit. The same suit I would wear when I went to work at the Felton Corporation. It feels weird to put it on and not go into work there. Instead, I’ll be going to the FBI office.
 

I grab my laptop that I used last night to finish my last report on the Felton case. I made sure it contained no feelings of empathy for the Felton family. I place the laptop in my briefcase and then head out to my Chevy Malibu rental car.
 

The drive to the FBI office building seems long. I’m used to just walking downstairs to my office at the Felton Corporation. I find a parking spot on the street and then make my through the dry heat and into the building. People smile at me, but I don’t return the pleasantries as I make my way through the building to the law offices where the prosecutor wants to meet. I don’t understand the point in fake smiling when you don’t actually feel like smiling. Although, with that attitude, I might never smile again because I’m not sure I’ll ever really be happy again.
 

I make it to the door of the prosecutor’s office. The door is closed, but I don’t bother knocking. It’s one thing the FBI has taught me—to own my power as an agent. And walking into someone’s office is a great way to show people that I have power while also catching them off guard and in their real state instead of the fake demeanor that they most often offer you.
 

The man behind the desk isn’t fazed though as I walk into his office, unannounced. Working in an FBI building like this, full of agents who probably walk in on him all the time, probably did that to him.
 

He looks up at me but doesn’t smile. I like this man already.
 

“Agent Byrne, I presume?”
 

“Yes.” I extend my hand to him.

He takes it, and we shake.
 

“I’m Roy Fowler, head prosecutor. Have a seat.” Roy motions for me to take a seat opposite him.
 

“I’ve spent the last few months reading through all of your reports. Excellent job. This will be an easy open-and-shut case if you ask me. Honestly, I shouldn’t even offer Ms. Felton a deal because it’s such an airtight case, but we did offer her a deal already. I could rescind it…”
 

“No!”
 

He looks at me with a confused expression, and I shut my mouth, realizing I can’t stand up for her anymore, not here.
 

“I was saying I could rescind the deal, but I’m not going to. I don’t think she was the ringleader in this. I think she was just doing what her family told her to, and she didn’t even realize she was breaking the law.
 

“I’ve thought long and hard about Mr. Felton, and based on his age, I’m planning on offering him a deal for ten years. He’ll easily get out in five to seven. The most important thing is for him to step down from running the company to ensure the company is now run legally.”
 

I take a deep breath, realizing he isn’t going to send Kinsley to jail. The offer he is going to make to her grandfather is more than fair. “I think that’s fair.”
 

He nods. “If they are smart, they will take the pleas, and this will be over this week, but if they decide to go to trial, I want you to be ready to testify. We could go to trial against Ms. Felton as soon as next week if she doesn’t take the deal by tomorrow. Her acceptance of the deal or conviction, if it comes to that, will put the pressure we need on Mr. Felton. Either way, I don’t think he will go to trial if she agrees to testify against him or ends up in jail herself.”
 

I suck in a breath to keep myself from further discussing Kinsley.
 

“Anyway, here is a list of questions that I will be asking you when you testify as well as some questions the defense might ask you about Ms. Felton. I want you to spend the morning going through them on your own. Then, this afternoon, I will have time to better prep you on your answers to ensure they are clear and concise.”
 

I look down at the long list of detailed questions about Kinsley that I don’t want to answer, especially in front of a jury. “I understand.”
 

I take the papers and leave the room, hating the fact that the rest of the day is going to be spent thinking about how I’d answer questions that could put Kinsley behind bars for at least ten years. I just hope she’s smart enough not to let it come to that.
 

I shake my head. It’s not that she isn’t smart enough. It’s that she cares about her family too much. I have to find some way to convince her to take the deal before I am forced to send her to jail.
 

I’m anxious as I drive to my lawyer’s office. My heart rate increases each second that I drive closer to his office. I’m not sure what he is going to tell me.
Is he going to tell me that there is a chance of me spending time in jail? Is he going to tell me that my only chance for freedom is to testify against Granddad? Is he going to tell me that the FBI is wrong and that they don’t have a case built against us because we did nothing wrong? Or will my worst nightmare come true, and he’ll tell me that Granddad did do something criminal?
 

I loudly tap my fingers against the steering wheel as I sit at a stoplight only two blocks from my lawyer’s office. I’m already late by over an hour after dealing with my mother, but making sure my mom is back in rehab is worth the extra wait I have to endure to find out the answers to my questions.
 

I catch movement out of the corner of my eye that draws my eye away from the road to the building next to me. A man in a sharp suit with an intense scowl on his face exits the building.
 

Killian
.
 

He glances up, and our eyes meet. The pain from our last meeting comes flooding back. Pain. Anger. Hurt. Need. They all mix together until I have no idea which feeling is strongest.
 

Just the sight of him has my body in knots. I didn’t want to see him again, especially not so soon when I haven’t convinced my heart to let him go yet. But here he is, and I feel my heart begging me to pull the car over and run into his arms. I feel need growing in my belly, the need to kiss his lips again and take him back to my house so that I can ride him until he satisfies my lust. I also feel the need to turn my car and run him over for what he has done to my family. I just don’t know which of the three feelings is strongest—love, lust, or anger.