Wherever It Leads(3)

“Shut up.”

“Let me refresh your memory,” I fume. “I get accepted into the college of my dreams. I manage to get my brother’s best friend, Grant McDaniels, the boy I’d pined for all of six years, to fall in love with me as soon as he’s back from the Marines. We spend an ah-mazing year together—the best year of my life, mind you—and then he goes away to Africa for some f*cked up job and comes home a weirdo. Within four months, I catch him with another woman, he gets my brother a job and they go back to Africa . . . only my brother doesn’t come home. And to top it off, I have to drop out of school to deal with everything.”

“I know how bad it’s been for you. I’ve been here the whole time. I’ve seen it.”

“So tell me how I f*cked over karma.”

“You didn’t. It’s a terrible aligning of the stars, I know. But this isn’t personal.”

“Oh, it’s personal.” I jump off the sofa and turn to face her. “How is it not? My life goes from basically perfection to utter destruction in the course of a few months. How’s that not personal?”

Presley watches me. “Because bad things happen to people every day. The people that make it through life without being complete *s are the ones that can see the silver lining and go forward.”

“I’m trying. I’m trying so hard to keep my head right and think Brady is going to come home. That this whole thing will change our family in a good way. That watching my boyfriend f*ck a random blonde on the bathroom floor was somehow a positive in my life, but right now, it all seems like I’m being punished. I’m in this rut of losing and can’t get out.”

“There’s a silver lining somewhere in Grant, but not Brady.” Her lips flip to a frown. “The fact that you haven’t had a complete breakdown is a miracle. I mean, he was freaking kidnapped in Zimbabwe. So, yeah, feel all pissy about that if you want.”

“I want.”

“Brady’s going to be fine, though. I’m telling you. He’s tough. And smart.” A grin teases her lips. “And so, so hot.”

“Presley . . .”

Her giggle pierces my heavy mood.

“Stop,” I say, trying to stifle a laugh. I know she’s just going there to break the tension, not that she doesn’t believe it. She’s made it known my brother was “hotter than hell” a number of times since meeting him for Thanksgiving a couple of years back. And then she heard he was a doctor and her jaw dropped. At least she didn’t ask for a physical.

“Let’s try to call it again. And if we don’t find it, we’ll go to the carrier and get a new one and see if they can remotely disable your old one or whatever magic they do,” she says in her easy way.

I start to argue, but the look on her face stops me. “Okay,” I say in defeat. “Let’s try it.”

Presley picks up her phone and turns to face me again. “We need to get away for the weekend. I’ll just use Daddy’s credit card since mine’s at the limit—thanks to the sale at Kitson on Melrose—and we can go somewhere fun.” She taps her lips with the tip of her finger. “How do you feel about Tybee Island?”

“I feel like you’re crazy.”

She laughs, having heard that from me a number of times over the course of our friendship. When I met her at the beach a couple of summers ago, I never imagined she was as carefree as she is. She was lamenting a red wine stain on her new white bikini and I mistook her for an uptight bitch. She set me straight, waving a finger in my face, then offered me a glass of the offending wine, and we’ve been best friends ever since.

“I’m not crazy. I’m fun. There’s a huge difference.”

Before she can continue, her phone rings in her hand, a quirky little melody chirping through the room.

“Hello?” Her eyes light up as she listens, a slow smile touching her lips. “No, I didn’t lose my phone today. But my friend did.”

“Someone found it?” I leap across the room until I’m right in front of her. I try to hurry her along, to get more information, but she just waves a hand to silence me.

“Why, yes, it was a great day on the beach.” She fans her face, her wide eyes sparkling with mischief. “I’m the one in the white bikini. My name is Presley Bradshaw, by the way.”

She listens again, mouthing oh my God, before composing herself. “That’s Brynne Calloway. It’s her phone you have.”

“Where?” I thunder. I’m bouncing up and down, saying a prayer of thanks that a do-gooder did find it, vowing to be a better person, cleanse my soul, eat less Snickers—whatever it takes to keep this good tide rising.

“Of course,” Presley coos. “Absolutely. How thoughtful of you to do this. You’ll never know how much it’s appreciated. We’ll be right there.” She ends the call and sighs dreamily. “He sounds gorgeous.”

“You can’t sound gorgeous.”

“Just wait till you hear him.”

I roll my eyes. “The important thing here is that he has my phone. Yes?”

“Yes! Yes, he does,” she sing-songs. “And he’s waiting for us at Angel’s Market.”

“He’s probably homeless,” I say, heading to the door and making my way down to Presley’s Mercedes. “We’ll have to make sure we give him a big reward.”