Chapter 3 #2
Killian crosses over to her and takes her face in his palms, kissing her long and deep and whispering something I’m glad I can’t hear.
I’m happy for them.
That they finally found…this.
That they finally have each other and their family.
But it’s impossible to see them together with the baby and not think about everything they went through. Everything that Willow suffered at the hands of the man who gave me half of my DNA.
That icy shiver rolls through my spine and floods through my veins, chilling any warm feelings that playing with Gizmo has brought to my morning.
Willow offers me a smile and says goodbye as she slips out, and I feel Killian’s eyes on me, even before he says anything.
“Are you all right?”
I grit my teeth. “I’m good.”
He releases a sigh as he runs a hand back through his long, blond hair. “Well, you didn’t seem good at the festival yesterday. And I saw that look that just crossed over your eyes as you looked at Willow.”
“What look?”
“The same one you’ve been giving her and me for months, like you somehow feel that everything that happened was your fault.”
I shake my head. “No. I don’t think that.”
But I’m not about to tell Killian that my thoughts have been haunted by what having that man’s blood running through my veins really means.
Killian’s jaw hardens, and he watches me for a moment before he sighs. “You didn’t even know the man. The fact that you are biologically related to him in no way makes you responsible for what he did to her.”
I shove up behind my desk. “You think I don’t know that?”
He throws his hands out. “I don’t know what you know, Liam, because you won’t talk to me! You won’t talk to Connor, you won’t talk to Willow, you’re just completely shut off from the world, and I don’t know what the fuck to do about it!”
Fucking hell.
I knew this confrontation was coming.
It’s been building for months.
As they’ve settled into their lives together, mine has grown more and more out of control, twisting into darker and darker places as I think about all of the horrible things that man did to my mother, to Willow, and to who knows who else over the years.
It doesn’t matter that I didn’t know him, that I was raised by Constance McBride, the most wonderful woman on the planet, or that Killian and Connor are my brothers in every way but blood.
I can’t help the way I feel inside, like knowing who I am and where I came from is some sort of rot that’s working its way through every organ of my body and eating me alive from the inside out.
“I’m not talking to you about this, Kill.”
He crosses his arms over his chest. “No shit!”
“No”—I shake my head—“I mean ever. It’s none of your business.”
“It’s not?” His brows fly up. “Because I’m pretty sure I promised Mom that I’d take care of you when she was on her fucking death bed. This is part of taking care of you.”
Putting me under the fucking inquisition again.
“Well, I don’t want your help, and I don’t need it.”
Even as I say the words, they feel wrong.
We’ve always been close. We’ve always been there for each other and talked through all the tough moments in life. I’ve always been the one pushing everyone else to say the hard things they don’t want to and to face those demons they’re running from. But when it’s my own, I can’t seem to do it.
“Yeah.” Killian releases an incredulous snort. “Seems like you’re handling it pretty well yourself.”
The sarcasm drips from his words, and it’s enough to make me scoop up Gizmo and stalk toward the door.
His gaze follows me. “Where are you going?”
“Anywhere but here. You handle the fucking shipment.”
* * *
LUCKY
I can see it coming from a mile away…
Like a train barreling down the track at you and being unable to leap out of the way before it crashes into you full force…
It’s going down.
The tray rocks unsteadily in my hand, and the drinks tumble from it, spilling all over the table and the two men sitting at the booth in front of me.
They both yelp and lean backward to try to avoid the deluge, but it’s far too late to save themselves—sticky soda and ice soak them.
Shit.
Not again.
I cringe, squeezing my eyes closed in the hope that when I open them again, this will all have been a bad dream instead of a reality I know all too well.
The sounds of the busy diner float around me—laughter and chatter, clanking silverware against plates, Elaine calling for orders from the kitchen—and I know I can’t stand like an ostrich with my head in the sand any longer.
No matter how much easier that would be…
So. Much. Fucking. Easier.
I open my eyes to disgruntled faces as they try to use their napkins to mop up their clothes. “I am so sorry. I tripped and…I’m so, so sorry. Let me go get something to clean this up.”
Or find somewhere to hide for real.
If that were actually an option, to hole myself up in the storage room or one of the bathroom stalls for the rest of my shift and pretend I was never here, or somehow sneak out the door without anyone seeing me, I would do it in a heartbeat.
But I’m not sneaking anywhere with this hair.
Definitely a bad call.
And I am paying for it now with nowhere to hide.
This day has been nothing short of a shit-show. Anyone who has come in and seen me working must have thought I’ve never held a damn tray or worked as a waitress before—and that I’m the clumsiest person on the planet.
They wouldn’t be wrong about the last part.
My feet keep tripping over nothing.
My hands won’t seem to grip anything securely.
And I can’t concentrate on my actual job because I’m worrying about the one thing I have no control over—when my past is going to catch up with me.
It’s a mystery why Elaine hasn’t fired me already.
I’m certainly more of a hindrance than a help at this point.
I grab the empty glasses off the table, put them back on the tray, and hustle to the kitchen, my face heating as my cheeks burn bright red.
“Shit, shit, shit.” I open several cabinets, looking in every single one of them for more clean rags to use to sop up my mess. “Where are they?”
Probably all gone since this seems to happen every other table I deliver something to.
“What do you need, dear?”
Elaine’s voice cuts through my panic, soft and welcoming, and for a moment, I want to luxuriate in the sound. It’s precisely what I always imagined grandmothers sounded like for those kids who had them—warm, welcoming, comforting in a way almost nothing else is.
Yet it makes me cringe.
Again.
Because I don’t want to face her and have to admit what I did.
But just as there isn’t any hiding from my mess out in the diner, there isn’t any hiding from Elaine, either.
I glance over my shoulder at her. “Oh, um, I spilled some soda. I need to clean it up, and I already used all the rags that were out under the counter.”
To clean up my other half-dozen messes.
Yet, those were easy compared to the mess my life has become.
Not that it was ever exactly clean and orderly.
As early as I can remember, it was always chaotic. Nothing stable. Nothing real or true. Nothing I could rely on except myself.
Learning that truth young served me well, until I forgot it for one brief moment. When I gave in to that need to lower my guard and let someone else carry the weight. When I trusted for the first time in a long time…
And got burned.
Now that’s what I’ve done to Elaine.
She trusted me, without any reason to, and I’ve burned her. I’ve made a mess of her diner and customers—and it’s only my first day.
Maybe staying was a bad idea.
Maybe I should have just grabbed Gizmo and kept walking out the other end of Main Street and toward wherever the road led me—
Elaine pats me on the shoulder, halting my downward spiral before it reaches the point of no return. “I’ve got it, dear. Just refill the drinks.”
I release a shaky breath, trying to regain my composure, but my hands won’t stop trembling no matter how tightly I grip the edges of the counter.
I’m fucking this up left and right.
Of all the odd jobs I’ve done since I was fifteen, waitressing has always been the worst. Not in terms of the work itself—that I actually like—but in terms of my performance.
What just occurred is not an isolated incident, and the longer I stay here, the worse it will become.
Not because I can’t do the job but because every time that bell jingles, my heart stops and I peer over my shoulder, praying I won’t recognize the face that walks in.
It’s hard to stay cool, calm, and collected and balance a tray when you live like that—jumpy and always on-guard.
And Elaine was right when she told me they needed help.
They’re busy here. As one of the only restaurants in town, there’s no such thing as a rush at lunch or dinner. It’s a steady stream all day—apparently especially when the festival is happening and immediately before and after—which I’ve learned the hard way.
My feet ache.
So does my lower back.
But that could also be from all the walking I did before I got to McBride Mountain and sleeping in a place that certainly isn’t meant for it.
I know my body will get used to this job, but I don’t plan on being here long enough for that to happen.
All I need is to get enough cash to get me farther north.
A few days—tops.
You can tough it out until then, Lucky.
I close the cabinet and refill the sodas, then carefully carry them in both hands instead of balancing them on the tray as I make my way out to the table.
Elaine is chatting with the two gentlemen there, all of them laughing as if nothing happened, and they each offer me a kind smile.
“Just the first-day jitters, hon.” Elaine pats me on the shoulder again as I set down the drinks. “You’re doing fine.”
I wish that were true…
One of the two men I soaked earlier motions to his jacket that’s now covered in Coca-Cola and draped over the empty seat beside him. “Don’t worry about it, hon. I never liked this jacket anyway.”
He winks, offering me a reassuring smile after.
Kill me now…