Wherever It Leads(89)

“Unless you need us, I think you’re better off staying there. It’s just a pit of despair here. Everything revolves around Brady all day and you need to go to work, go to school, you know? Life must go on.”

“Okay.”

“I’m going to go take care of your mother. This has hit her pretty hard. Donna is staying a few more days.” His voice breaks and the sound of my father, the strongest man I know, cracking, pummels me. “We gotta make it through this.”

“We will,” I say through my own tears. “I love you, Daddy.”

“I love you too. I’m gonna go now and be with your Mom.”

“Yes, go. I’ll talk to you soon.”

I click the phone off and look up to see Presley standing in the doorway. I don’t know how much she heard, but apparently enough to get the gist of what happened. She doesn’t say a word, just marches across the room and pulls me into a huge hug.

“It’ll be all right, Brynnie.”

“I don’t know anymore,” I sniffle, releasing her. “The demands have been made and they won’t be met.”

She sits beside me and looks at me curiously. “Could Fenton know anything else?”

“I don’t know. Maybe?” I mull it over. “Even if he does, would he even tell me?”

“I think you should call him. Just see.”

”You think?”

She nods and hands me my phone. “Just see.”

I hold the phone in one hand and dry my face with the other. I flip through the phone, my fingers shaking with anticipation. I find his name and call. It rings three times before his voicemail picks up.

My spirits crash in spectacular fashion. Once his prerecorded message plays, I say, “Hi, Fenton. It’s Brynne. My mom said there’s been a development, and I was wondering if you knew anything about that. I’d, um, like to know if you do. Thanks.” I end the call.

“He sent me to voicemail.” I rest my head on Presley’s shoulder, crushed. “He’s probably done with me. He hasn’t called or texted in days, anyway. I don’t know why I think he would’ve answered now.”

“Maybe he’s busy.”

“Maybe he doesn’t want to talk to me. Maybe this was some big game to him.”

“You know that’s not true,” she scoffs. “I saw that man’s face the other night. He was as f*cked up as you about this whole thing.”

“He should be. I hope he’s miserable.”

Presley grins and stands, surveying the state of my existence. “Okay, you get a shower. I’ll order food and we can sit around and watch movies tonight and not think about all of this. Deal?”

“Shower. Ice Cream. And Netflix. That’s a deal.”

“I’ll take it,” she laughs, throwing her hands up. “Get in the shower and I’ll go get some Rocky Road.”





“I never thought I’d say I’m tired of eating ice cream,” Presley says, dropping a spoon into a container, “but the day has come.” She sits the box down and rubs her stomach. “I think I might be sick.”

“You’re weak.” My lips wrap around another spoonful of Rocky Road. The chocolatey, marshmallowy goodness is probably the fourth quart I’ve put away in as many days. It’s comfort food at its finest, and comfort is what I need, although it’s not being entirely forthcoming.

The movie flips off, a throwback Julia Roberts flick about a best friend getting married. I’m not sure why Presley chose a movie where the heroine doesn’t get the guy, but I eye her suspiciously.

“What?” she asks.

“Just wondering why you picked this movie out of all the movies in the world.”

“I’ve always liked this one,” she declares. “It proves that sometimes not getting what you think you want is the best thing. That, you know, there are multiple good endings.”

I toss her a look that lets her know I think she’s full of crap and reach for my buzzing phone. My body is sore from lying on the couch for however many days and it takes more effort than normal to reach that far.

The number on the screen is not one I know, but I answer it anyway.

“Hello?”

“Is this Ms. Calloway?” A man’s voice, calm and collected, asks. It’s not a voice I’ve heard before and something about the way he addresses me makes me nervous.

“It is. Who is this?”

“My name is Duke Canon. I work for Fenton Abbott as the Director of Operations for Mandla.”

I slink back in the chair, letting my mind run away with me. The sound of Fenton’s name makes my heart flutter. “What can I do for you?”

Presley leans forward, not bothering to pretend that she’s not listening.

“Mr. Abbott wanted me to call you this evening for a few reasons. First of all, I’ve sent an envelope to you by courier. It should reach you at some point within the next hour if you haven’t received it already.”

“I haven’t,” I say, my throat dry. “What’s it about?”

“I’m not sure. He left it for me to forward. And also, I wanted to tell you that an entire, complete copy of your brother’s employment history can be obtained on Monday, if you wish.”