Wherever It Leads (39 page)

“Me too, Mom,” I say through my own tears. “Me too.”

The line jostles and my father’s deep timbre comes through. “You okay, Brynne Girl?”

“No.”

He laughs somberly. “Me either. Just keep praying. Keep holding on.”

“I will. Do you want me to come home, Daddy?”

“Unless you need us, I think you’re better off staying there. It’s just a pit of despair here. Everything revolves around Brady all day and you need to go to work, go to school, you know? Life must go on.”

“Okay.”

“I’m going to go take care of your mother. This has hit her pretty hard. Donna is staying a few more days.” His voice breaks and the sound of my father, the strongest man I know, cracking, pummels me. “We gotta make it through this.”

“We will,” I say through my own tears. “I love you, Daddy.”

“I love you too. I’m gonna go now and be with your Mom.”

“Yes, go. I’ll talk to you soon.”

I click the phone off and look up to see Presley standing in the doorway. I don’t know how much she heard, but apparently enough to get the gist of what happened. She doesn’t say a word, just marches across the room and pulls me into a huge hug.

“It’ll be all right, Brynnie.”

“I don’t know anymore,” I sniffle, releasing her. “The demands have been made and they won’t be met.”

She sits beside me and looks at me curiously. “Could Fenton know anything else?”

“I don’t know. Maybe?” I mull it over. “Even if he does, would he even tell me?”

“I think you should call him. Just see.”

”You think?”

She nods and hands me my phone. “Just see.”

I hold the phone in one hand and dry my face with the other. I flip through the phone, my fingers shaking with anticipation. I find his name and call. It rings three times before his voicemail picks up.

My spirits crash in spectacular fashion. Once his prerecorded message plays, I say, “Hi, Fenton. It’s Brynne. My mom said there’s been a development, and I was wondering if you knew anything about that. I’d, um, like to know if you do. Thanks.” I end the call.

“He sent me to voicemail.” I rest my head on Presley’s shoulder, crushed. “He’s probably done with me. He hasn’t called or texted in days, anyway. I don’t know why I think he would’ve answered now.”

“Maybe he’s busy.”

“Maybe he doesn’t want to talk to me. Maybe this was some big game to him.”

“You know that’s not true,” she scoffs. “I saw that man’s face the other night. He was as fucked up as you about this whole thing.”

“He should be. I hope he’s miserable.”

Presley grins and stands, surveying the state of my existence. “Okay, you get a shower. I’ll order food and we can sit around and watch movies tonight and not think about all of this. Deal?”

“Shower. Ice Cream. And Netflix. That’s a deal.”

“I’ll take it,” she laughs, throwing her hands up. “Get in the shower and I’ll go get some Rocky Road.”

“I
never thought I’d say I’m tired of eating ice cream,” Presley says, dropping a spoon into a container, “but the day has come.” She sits the box down and rubs her stomach. “I think I might be sick.”

“You’re weak.” My lips wrap around another spoonful of Rocky Road. The chocolatey, marshmallowy goodness is probably the fourth quart I’ve put away in as many days. It’s comfort food at its finest, and comfort is what I need, although it’s not being entirely forthcoming.

The movie flips off, a throwback Julia Roberts flick about a best friend getting married. I’m not sure why Presley chose a movie where the heroine doesn’t get the guy, but I eye her suspiciously.

“What?” she asks.

“Just wondering why you picked this movie out of all the movies in the world.”

“I’ve always liked this one,” she declares. “It proves that sometimes not getting what you think you want is the best thing. That, you know, there are multiple good endings.”

I toss her a look that lets her know I think she’s full of crap and reach for my buzzing phone. My body is sore from lying on the couch for however many days and it takes more effort than normal to reach that far.

The number on the screen is not one I know, but I answer it anyway.

“Hello?”

“Is this Ms. Calloway?” A man’s voice, calm and collected, asks. It’s not a voice I’ve heard before and something about the way he addresses me makes me nervous.

“It is. Who is this?”

“My name is Duke Canon. I work for Fenton Abbott as the Director of Operations for Mandla.”

I slink back in the chair, letting my mind run away with me. The sound of Fenton’s name makes my heart flutter. “What can I do for you?”

Presley leans forward, not bothering to pretend that she’s not listening.

“Mr. Abbott wanted me to call you this evening for a few reasons. First of all, I’ve sent an envelope to you by courier. It should reach you at some point within the next hour if you haven’t received it already.”

“I haven’t,” I say, my throat dry. “What’s it about?”

“I’m not sure. He left it for me to forward. And also, I wanted to tell you that an entire, complete copy of your brother’s employment history can be obtained on Monday, if you wish.”

“What?” I choke out.

My mind spins, going through a million different reasons why I would want, or need, that.

“I can have it sent by courier as well, or you can pick it up. That is, if you want it.”

“Yeah, I guess I do,” I stammer, still working out what this means. “Monday? Why can’t I have it now?”

“Again, Ms. Calloway, I’m following orders. I will say that it’s highly unusual and potentially unlawful for us to give out this information. And between us, I would ask that you not turn this over to the authorities. Mr. Abbott could risk losing his company over this and Mandla is more of a family heirloom to my boss than anything.”

“I understand,” I say, touching the elephant around my neck. “I wouldn’t do anything to jeopardize that. Can you please have it sent to me?” I ask, hearing the doorbell ring. Presley jumps up to get it and I watch her leave the room. “Mr. Canon, I have a question.”

“Sure.”

“I called Fenton tonight and he didn’t answer. Do you know where he is?”

“He’s unavailable, Ms. Calloway. That’s all I can say.”

Presley comes into the room, a large envelope in her hand. She places it next to me on the sofa and takes her seat across from me.

“I got your envelope,” I say, looking at Fenton’s handwriting across the package. It makes me smile. “Did you know my brother, Mr. Canon?”

A long sigh trickles through the phone. “I did not. However, I know Mr. Abbott thinks a great deal of Brady. When the reports came in that he was missing, my boss was beside himself. They met, from what I understand, very randomly one afternoon when Brady was in the office signing paperwork. They struck a conversation up about the Dodgers and had lunch, I believe.” He takes a deep breath. “I’m talking entirely off the record when I say that your brother must have been an amazing person for Mr. Abbott to have done some of the things he has in order to try to secure his return. Please know that. It’s the truth.”

My heart swells at the possibility, at the thought that maybe, just maybe, Fenton didn’t leave him there. I hold on to the thought for a long minute before Mr. Canon speaks again.

“I’ll send the other package to you next week, Ms. Calloway. Have a good night.”

“You too.”

I toss the phone beside me and look at Presley, stunned.

“Who was that?” she asks, her brows pulled together.

“Someone that works for Fenton. He sent this,” I say, scooping up the envelope, “and told me Fenton tried . . . is trying to get Brady back.”

A small smile slips across Presley’s cheeks. We exchange a look, one of hope, before she full-out grins. “I knew he wasn’t a complete asshole.”

I laugh, a drop of hesitation in my tone. “I hope not, Pres.” I rip open the top of the envelope and pull out a single sheet of paper. It’s on Nzou Ltd letterhead and handwritten.

Brynne,

I called to say these things to you a hundred times and a hundred times I hung up the phone before it could ring. I suppose that makes me weak, but I can’t hear the break in your voice when you answer and hear it’s me—if you do answer at all.

I know you’re angry at me and rightfully so. But know I didn’t hurt you on purpose and I was going to tell you everything. You have to know I didn’t realize who you were until Vegas. I swear on everything I am, rudo. Every time I got ready to spill it, I would put it off for another day, just so I had one more day with you in case it didn’t go as planned. Because the thought of hurting you and maybe never seeing you again wasn’t one I could deal with. Remember when we talked about losing someone being the more painful part of life? Losing you is the worst feeling I can ever imagine.

The world works in mysterious ways. I had never been into Angel’s until the day I found your phone. I only stopped because I checked out a new gym in that area and my housekeeper was on vacation. I never go shopping, and on the rare occasion I do, it’s not anywhere near your house. And there I met you.

It’s all kismet, Brynne. Although I hate I have anything to do with Brady’s disappearance, in a way, I’m glad I do. Because that means someone—me—is involved and gives a shit about what happens to Brady. Even if this ruins your perception of me, I wouldn’t give away the opportunity to do this for you. To bring your brother home. Because I will, regardless of what it takes.

Even if you won’t see me again, know I wouldn’t trade the last few weeks for anything in my life. You’ve waltzed into my life and made everything better. I hate that it couldn’t have been at another place and time so that I could still have you next to me, waiting for me when I got home, ordering bikinis from the concierge. Those were the best days of my life.

Love,

Fent

The paper drops to my lap and I look wide-eyed at Presley. My wits are wound together in a tight little ball, everything I feel, hope, dream, hate, fear are all coiled together. It’s impossible to see where one emotion starts and the other ends.

My bottom lip quivers and I wish he was here right now. I’m not any less angry, maybe even more so, but I need him. I need his arm around my waist, his lips against my forehead, his words of encouragement in my ear.

“What did he say?” Presley asks.

I don’t answer her. I can’t put into words what he did. I can’t make her understand his sentiments.

Instead, I pick up the phone and dial his number. It rings three times and goes to voicemail again.