Wherever It Leads(51)

I recognize the street we’re on over Fenton’s shoulder and start to pull my hand out of his. Before I can, he brings it to his luscious lips and presses a heavy kiss against each knuckle.

I take in his face, the lines around his eyes, the intensity of his gaze and the heaviness of my heart.

Giving him the best smile I can, I withdraw my hand. I start to speak, to thank him again for a great few days, but when I open my mouth, I sense the tears that may start and I’ll be damned if I’m going to cry. So instead, I nod and open the door. His seatbelt clicks and I turn around.

“Fent?”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t.”

“I just want to walk you to the door.”

“Please. Don’t. This will be much easier if we just end this here.”

“I didn’t say end, Brynne,” he grimaces. “I said put on hold.”

I shrug and start out of the car again.

“Brynne . . .”

I turn to look at him. I can’t read anything he’s thinking or feeling and it makes me feel so alone.

He takes stock of my features, of the pleadings of my eyes. With a heavy sigh, he sinks back into the seat.

I climb out and close the door and follow the driver that’s carrying my suitcase up the walk and never look back.





“I’m going to be real honest with you, Brynnie. I didn’t expect you to look like this when you got home.”

“Shocker.”

“I expected a post-coital glow, maybe a permanent smirk from all the sexy times. Not . . . this.”

I huff, stirring the sugar into my coffee. “Yeah, well, this wasn’t on my list of to-do’s either.”

Presley clasps her hands together and sits them on the table in front of her, which is across the kitchen table from me. Her bracelets rattle off the wooden planks, jingling through the room.

“I’m sorry, Brynne. I know what happened with Brady.”

“Yeah,” I exhale, lifting the warm mug to my lips.

“Your dad told me last night when they called here looking for you. I called them this morning to check on them. Your poor mother. I almost drove to their house just to try to offer some support or something.”

“I called her before the plane left Vegas and she just sounds numb this morning. I guess we all are in our own way.”

“Do you want to go see them?”

I’ve considered it. It’s just a couple of hours drive from here and if I left now, I could be there before dinner. But when I proposed it to my mother, she demanded I stay home and go through the motions of my day.

“Nah,” I say, sipping the coffee. “I have to work. And really, if I were there, I think they’d feel torn about spending time with me and focusing on him. At least if I’m here, they can do what needs to be done, if that makes sense.”

“It does.” Presley watches me with narrowed eyes before speaking. “You’re pretty calm about it. Calmer than I thought you’d be.”

“I think I cried myself out last night. Today, I just feel . . . dull. I don’t know how to explain it. There’s nothing I can do, Pres.” My jaw tenses as I think about the *s who won’t go get him and how they’re having breakfast with their families today, sleeping in their beds tonight.

“Did he even know who he was going to work for?” I ask, tossing my thoughts into the universe. “Did he know how dangerous it would really be—not just the generic ‘I’m going out of the country so there’s a level of danger involved’? Maybe they let him be taken—”

“Whoa,” Presley interrupts. “You’re pissing yourself off. That’s not going to do anyone any good.”

I roll my eyes. She’s right, of course, but screw that. At least when I get pissed off, I care, and that’s more than anyone besides my parents have done since day one.

“Let’s change the subject,” Presley proposes. “What happened with Cashmere?”

“Well, he whisked me away on his private jet. He f*cked the sense out of me. He was kind and sweet and playful and it was just amazing.”

She beams.

“He took me away to Lake Las Vegas and chartered a private yacht,” I feed her. “We screwed on the balcony as the sun set, drank a lot of frozen drinks, ate the best hamburger I’ve ever tasted, and he told me he wanted to see me when we got back to California.”

“For real? How awesome! I’m not jumping ahead, and I know I said he was just a rebound, but—”

“And then,” I cut her off, “he got a call from work and, whatever it was, really perplexed him. And then Mom called and I think he realized how much he needed to focus and what a hot mess my life is.”

We exchange a sad smile. Presley’s lips twitch before she finally bites the bottom one to keep from talking.

“So, here I am a couple of days early. But,” I sigh, looking at the ceiling, “it’s not even that, Pres. It’s like he let me down easy. He tried to make it seem like we might see each other again, but I really don’t think he means that. And while I appreciate the gentle brush-off, the ‘hold’ part of ‘on hold’ feels pretty damn permanent.”

“Oh, Brynne . . .”

My spirits sink. Again.