Wherever It Leads(83)

He pounds on the door behind me. I hear the words he’s saying—that he’s sorry. That he wants to talk to me. To let him in. But I don’t. I can’t. Letting him in would betray my family, and I’m not going to do that.

Tears fall across my cheeks, so hot they sting, as I get dressed. I cram my things back into my bag and look longingly at the bed where, just a few hours before, I lay with him and had all kinds of silly thoughts about what might be, where this might lead. None of the options were this.

I realize he’s stopped knocking. My phone buzzes that Presley is at the front door and I tell her I’m coming out. When I open the door to the master bedroom, I catch the end of Presley barreling through a Fenton-opened door, her black hair flowing behind her. Her eyes are wide as she scans the room, and once she finds me, she runs to me.

All I can do is look at Fenton. His head in his hands, his back against the wall, he looks as beaten as I feel.

“Are you okay?” she asks, running her hands up and down my forearms.

I shake my head, the tears coming harder now. “Can we go home?”

Her lips pressed into a hard line, she takes my bag and then steps in front of me.

“Fuck you, Abbott.” Presley leads me out of the house, but as I walk by, Fenton touches my arm. I don’t have the power to pull it back.

“I am so sorry, Brynne.”

I just blink through the tears and leave him standing there, a line of wetness flowing down his face too.





My head throbs. Each pump of my blood feels like it’s going to split my skull in two pieces. Or three. Possibly four.

I stare off into space at the general direction of my closet, trying to figure out how I got in this position.

Nothing seems right. I’ve thought about it all day. The sun is going down, the world behind my windows sunless now. I’ve lain in bed for hours, alternating thinking with crying and doses of sobbing.

How can this be happening?

I flop onto my back. My body feels hollow. My soul is crushed, my heart splintered with the news that he broke my trust before he even knew he had it.

How could he not tell me? How could he lure me in and make me fall in love with him and all the while know that he’s the one person I loathe more than anyone else in the world?

He’s the man that won’t tell the truth about what happened that day. He probably paid off Grant and the others.

My stomach rolls and I race to the bathroom and spew the three bites of Greek yogurt Presley forced me to eat at lunchtime. I rinse my mouth with water and look at my reflection.

I look about as good as I feel.

My eyes are swollen, my cheeks now the carriers of burst blood vessels from puking. My face is stained with tears and the agony of realizing I’ve been lied to and played for a fool . . . and that a man I trusted betrayed me. Again.

I return to my room and see Presley sitting on my bed. I sit next to her, letting my head fall to her shoulder.

“Heya, friend,” she says. “You okay?”

“No.”

“Can I get you anything?”

“I have a couple of snarky comments, but none of them will actually fix anything.”

“I know, Brynnie. I’m sorry.”

“Me too.”

“You really liked him, didn’t you?”

I nod and raise my head, feeling like a fool. “How could he do this to me? How could he not tell me?”

“Brynne. Breathe.” I hear Fenton’s ringtone and see my phone in her hand. “He’s been calling you today. I took your phone when you fell asleep.”

“I don’t want to talk to him. I have nothing to say.”

She frowns. “Are you sure? It seems like you have a lot of questions to me.”

“He won’t answer anything,” I snort. I stand, restlessness getting the best of me. My phone goes off again. “Turn it off.”

Presley doesn’t look convinced, but she does it.

“Ugh!” I growl into the air, tugging at the roots of my hair. “Why, Pres? Why did he have to be him?”

“I don’t know. It seems so unfair.”

“Unfair? How about asinine? How about the world f*cking hates me again? Even after he knew who I was,” I say, still piecing everything together, “he told me he wanted to see where things went with me. He was still leading me on, making me think . . .”

I still, my heart breaking again. I look at my best friend and see the pain on her face.

“You really were starting to love him, huh?”

“Yeah,” I whisper. “But not now. I can’t possibly love him now.”

“You can’t turn love on and off, Brynne.”

“Watch me.”

She stands and heads to the door. “I’m going to grab a shower.” She leaves me alone with my thoughts.

My phone lies on my bed and I pick it up and hold it. I know I could turn it on and call him, but the sound of his voice would break me in two. I already miss his touch, miss the smell of him on me. Miss desperately the idea of seeing him again.

But I won’t.

Because he lied.

Because it’s possible I don’t even know who he is.

I fall onto the bed and cry myself to sleep. Again.





A soft knock raps against my door. I open my puffy eyes, stinging with the tears that have burned them all day, and struggle to sit up in bed.