Wherever It Leads(63)

“The odds of that being random are like one to I’ll-get-to-f*ck-Thor. Not good.” She leans back in her chair, her brows pulling together. “Did you ask Fenton about it?”

“Not yet. Grant did say he got a gift certificate yesterday while at the marina.”

“That’s odd.”

“That was done intentionally,” I propose.

“But how could Fenton have known that? And why?”

I shrug and pick up my wine. I down it in one long slurp. Presley has the bottle primed as soon as I finish and refills it to the brim.

“You’re going to have to talk to Fenton,” Presley points out. “You need to get to the bottom of this. But I’ll be honest, I’m not sure how I feel about that. Did he know Grant? How did you all show up at the same spot? This is a big freaking city.”

“I know. I get it. I just don’t have the answers.”

“But you need them.”

Sighing, I take another sip. The wine begins to fog my brain in a delicious way. I close my eyes and feel the softness that dampens my thoughts. “I know I need them,” I mutter, “But I need to get them tomorrow. I need to wrap my brain around it tonight and then ask Fenton when I can think clearly.”

“Don’t let him sidetrack you with his sexiness.”

“He uses it like a weapon. It’s like when he comes into the room, it comes in first and just obliterates a path to my clit.”

“Ha!” Presley barks. “You’re starting to sound like me!”

I groan. “That was a you thing to say.”

“I’ll take that as a win.”

“You do that. Why don’t you also flip on the television and let’s watch some Netflix?”

She swipes the remote off the table and a sitcom blares from the screen. I let the problems of the characters on the screen trump mine and snuggle in for a night of made-for-television hospital angst, leaving mine in the back of my mind for later.





“I thought you had to work today?” Presley asks, standing up from a yoga position.

“Nope. Someone wanted to trade. Wanna do something?”

I pour a cup of coffee and glance at the clock. It’s already eleven and I haven’t bothered to even take a shower yet. Sleeping in is one of the best things in life and I’m enjoying it while I can.

“Are you seeing Fenton today?”

That’s the million dollar question. “I don’t know. I didn’t commit to anything, mainly because I don’t want him thinking he can get me to do whatever he wants.”

“I—” Presley’s phone starts ringing before she can get out the sentence. She holds up a finger and grabs her phone off the counter. “Hello?” She pauses, her smile slipping. “Yeah, sure. Hang on.”

She thrusts the phone towards me. “It’s your father.”

“Why is he calling you?” I ask, taking the device as Presley shrugs. A ball of uneasiness curls in my belly. “Hi, Dad.”

“Hey, sweetheart.” His voice is scratchy, without the usual cheer when he greets me. “You’re home with Presley, right?”

“Yeah. Daddy, what’s wrong?”

“We got a video today—”

“Is he okay?” I cry, grabbing the back of a chair. My legs wobble beneath me as I await his response. The delay makes me panic, my chest heaving. “Daddy?”

“He’s alive. That’s what’s important.”

“Oh my God.” Images flash through my mind, every worst possible scenario rapid-fires across my eyes. I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to block out the ideas that are making me want to shut down. “What happened? Did he speak?”

“He did. He said a little bit,” he sighs. His exhaustion is evident, palpable, even. “I can forward it to your email if you want. But, Brynne—don’t watch it unless you’re with Presley, okay?”

“Send it. I want to see,” I say, unsure if I really do or not.

“I’m doing it as we speak. They said they think it was taken a few days ago. There were parts the government didn’t give us, things that could be classified, so we aren’t sure what else was said. Our attorneys are fighting them to see the rest now.”

The tears blind me as I march down the hallway and grab my laptop out of my room. My hands shake as I toggle it back and forth as I go back down the hall. Presley watches me as I set it on the kitchen counter and motion for her to pull up my email.

I slide onto a barstool and soak up my tears with the hem of my shirt. Presley watches me out of the corner of her eye and gives me the best reassuring smile she can manage.

Phone still to my ear, my dad continues. “I’m trying to get to Zimbabwe. I just feel like I need to be there, on the ground, trying to find him. We’re trying to get the money gathered now, even though I have no idea where I’d even start there,” he chokes out. “This video, Brynne—it’s not pretty.”

I cry softly into the phone, saying silent prayers on repeat that it isn’t as bad as he’s making it out. That there’s a mistake. That this is a bad dream.

“Do not let this break your spirit,” Dad says, his voice even. “Wherever your brother is, he’s getting power from you—he always has. You two have always been so close. Use that connection by living well and sending him energy to come home.”