Wherever It Leads(31)

”We just need something to go on,” I sigh.

“I have a really good feeling about Hyland on our side. He thinks Mandla has more information than they’re letting on and has really been pressuring them to turn it over. He’s exactly what we’ve been needing, someone on our side.”

“It’s about time. We’ve gone this long with no one giving a shit. Someone needs to do something besides you and Dad.”

“I agree, honey. But we’re finally on the right path, I think. Besides, Brady is fine. I feel it. When you’re a mother, you can sense when things aren’t right. I just . . . I never should’ve let him go.” Her voice breaks and it breaks me.

“No, Mom. You can’t do that. We’ve been over this a million times. He’s a grown man. He knew exactly what he was doing.”

“I know. And I know he knew the risks and did it anyway.” I hear her try to hide her sniffle from me. “He’s always been such a good boy. I just can’t imagine what he’s going through.”

We both get lost in our own thoughts for a beat. I watch the steam shoot from my cup of coffee—it rises up in a single line and disappears slowly into the surrounding air. It reminds me of life—we are here one second and the next, we could be evaporated into a memory.

“I need to go. I have a few things to do today. Call me if you need anything, sweetheart.”

“Love you, Mom.”

“Love you, Brynne.”

I pad into the master bedroom and find an emerald green bikini in my suitcase. I slip out of my robe and gown and into the swimsuit.

I need some sunshine and fresh air.

A grin slips across my lips as I remember Fenton’s warning. I jostle through the suitcase until I find a white swimsuit coverup.

And I better take this too.



“I don’t know, Presley,” I say into the phone, searching for an empty chaise. “There really are no words to explain it. It was just . . . it was the best thing I’ve ever had done to me.”

“That’s it! I’m going to the grocery store today and dropping my phone into the avocados. Done.”

Giggling, I spot an open lounge a few feet from the pool, beneath a looming palm tree. It has lots of shade and even more privacy. There are no chairs in the immediate vicinity and I’m fairly confident I can kick back and not be splashed or annoyed by the inebriated twenty-somethings.

“Good luck with that,” I offer. “Because even if someone does find it, what are the odds he looks like Fenton?”

“And what are the odds he looks like Fenton and he licks my * until I come in his mouth?”

“My Lord, Pres!” I place my bag next to the chair and strip off my coverup. I lean back on the chaise and get situated. “Can you be any more descriptive?”

“I could. Wanna hear?”

“No.”

She laughs. “So, was he better than, less than, or equal to that guy you banged on the boat? What was that guy’s name?”

“The doctor?”

“Yeah.”

“Connor,” I giggle, thinking back to the cutie I met while he was on vacation. “Connor was great, as you know.”

“Yes. I’m still pissed you didn’t give me his number.”

“He went back to Arizona! You don’t date well when they live in Santa Monica, Pres, let alone Scottsdale.”

“Whatever. Keep going with your story.”

“Fenton is just . . . How do I explain it, Pres? It’s not about the actual act. It’s more like he builds you up, makes you think about it, and when he finally touches you, it’s like bombs dropping everywhere.”

“I want bombed.”

“You don’t even know,” I taunt.

A long silence extends between us. It’s an awkward kind of lull in the conversation and I feel the hair on the back of my neck stand up. Something tells me this discussion is going to make a turn and I’m not going to like it.

“Hey, Brynne. I have something to tell you . . .”

And I was right.

I brace myself. “What?”

“So, today I went to Pilates and grabbed a bagel, which I know offset—”

“Pres,” I warn.

“When I got home, Grant was here.”

“Why?”

“He was just sitting on the steps.”

She has to be kidding me right now.

“I would’ve hit him in the chest with my stiletto, but I had on sandals.”

“What did he want?”

“He didn’t really say,” she sighs. “I didn’t know whether to tell you this now or later, but I felt guilty as hell not telling you. I’m such a bad secret keeper.”

“No,” I croak. “Thank you for telling me.” I slip back against the cushion again and try to find my zen. “He didn’t say what he wanted?”

“Uh-uh. He just said he wanted to see you. And that he wanted to see you face-to-face.”

I stare at a passing cloud that looks like a mushroom. It floats through the sky and I try to use it to find some calm.

I have nothing to say to him and we have nothing in common anymore, unless he wants to tell me what he knows about Brady.

“I told him you were out of town with a friend,” Presley explains. “I said you were getting a break and that he needed to give you some space.”